End of Summer . . .

Some of my friends and followers have asked me where I have been. I haven't gone away and I haven't stopped blogging, but I found during the summer I was outdoors more than I was inside! There is always yard and garden work to do and when I take a break, it has been nice to just sit in our backyard and daydream. Since I don't spend as much time inside, like I do when colder weather arrives, I'm not at my computer organizing my thoughts into an outline or just typing some random ideas that might make their way into a post someday. You might think I could have squeezed in some time for a blog post here and there . . . and in hindsight, I think I could have, too; but . . . that's my story and I'm sticking to it!

This summer was especially tough with oppressive heat and humidity. It made me think a lot about my parents and how hard they worked every day on the farm in the heat of summer . . . and there were plenty of hot summers when I was a kid. My father would work in the hot sun and my mother would prepare big noon-time meals in the steamy kitchen. As I struggled just to have the energy to pull weeds and water my garden, I wondered how on earth they did what they did day in and day out for all their lives. Yet, I also think they enjoyed their lives and I am pretty sure they would be happy for me and the luxuries I have. They would be amazed at the conveniences we have today and would enjoy the time saved in the fields and in the kitchen because of technological advances.

Although we are now into fall, in many ways my garden is more beautiful at this time of year than in the summer. The perennials have had time to grow and fill out and some are now in full flower. I have some favorite photos I have taken this summer that appear in this post with captions under them. Other than that, this isn't a post of much depth; but instead, it is a post of summer memories and the simple delights that I found in my own backyard. The photos are a bit random and in no particular order, but are some of my favorites. I have more photos to post that are more recent and I will include them in a post later this month. :-)

You can click on the photos for a closer view.



A frequent visitor to the bird feeders.
You can see why we seemed to be going through bird seed so fast if you take a look at his chubby cheeks!
We managed to curtail his visits by strategically moving the baffle on the pole that holds the feeder.

While driving home from Attica about dusk one evening, I saw this beautiful hitchhiker on the antenna of my car.
I pulled into a parking lot and was able to get a photo of him/her with the clouds in the sky reflected in the red hood of my car.



Our neighbors' back yard is visited just about every evening around 7 o'clock by this small herd of deer.
There are adults and fawns that still have their spots.
They are enjoying the apples that have fallen from their trees.

A Monarch Butterfly Caterpillar chomping on milkweed leaves.

I saw fewer Monarch butterflies this summer than last year.
Every time I see one, it still thrills me!

I did some shopping on Facebook virtual garage sales this summer.
I was very happy to find these little metal trellises.
They are pictured lined up on my work table in the yard.
I spray painted them with glossy black paint and now they are ready for me to use next spring.

These dianthus smell like cinnamon!

You might remember seeing "Blossom" in the garden last year.
I decided she needed a new look, so I removed her dress and wings.
She is still waiting for her new ensemble and I feel bad for her. She makes me think of Cinderella after the ball. :-(
I hope to get her dressed up and back out in the garden soon.

The clematis climbed up the trellis and gave us some blooms this summer.
All that remains now are the seed pods.



Those seed pods on the clematis intrigue me!

At the base of the clematis vine on the trellis, the hydrangea had one enormous bloom!

One of the four Mullein that we planted around the gazing ball in the center of the garden to fill in the spaces between the butterfly bushes. The bushes have filled in a lot this year and by next year, I hope they create a ring of color around the center of the garden.

This coral and pink coreopsis just bloomed and bloomed for us this summer.

The shrub roses had to fight for their lives this summer because of the Japanese beetles that devoured the flowers. It was hard to find a pretty bloom for a photo. These roses were very fragrant and had that old fashioned rose scent that I remember from my mother's rose garden.

I used several of the hydrangea blooms to make some wreaths.
I cut them directly off the bush and used them while they were fresh to make the wreaths.
I really like how they turned out and they still look great five weeks later!

I liked this friendly butterfly.
He was very cooperative and posed for me on a phlox blossom.

I also cut some hydrangeas for drying.
They are dry now and I need to find a use for them!
I am thinking they may look nice on a Christmas tree.

A big rose hip on the shrub rose bush.
I hope birds will find them in the winter.

A cluster of blossoms on the shrub rose bush.

These yellow day lilies are now long gone and have been cut back.
We plan to dig them and relocate them to make room for something different in this part of the garden.
The lilies and the hydrangea were here before we put in the garden.
It was formerly our pool and deck area.

I had to remember it is okay to cut my flowers and bring them inside the house!



This swallowtail butterfly visited the Echinacea.

One of the Monarchs who landed on the butterfly bush.

This is how the hydrangea bush looked in the summer . . . before the blossoms turned green.
I think I cut about 150 stems and there are still about 100 left!

Now that it is officially fall, I plan to get back in the groove and write posts more often. I will miss the warm weather and hours spent in the yard and garden, but as I write this we are experiencing what might be the hottest day for October 9th in over 100 years, so the warm weather hasn't left us yet!

It is time to decorate for fall and to start thinking about buttoning up a few things outside. My mind will turn to thoughts of apples, cider, chunky sweaters, raking leaves, trips to the pumpkin patch and that crisp cool nip in the air that says "it's fall"! I will have time to think about things other than my yard and garden and I will be back without such a long delay. I admit it . . . I get rather myopic when it comes to my garden. I am sure you have noticed! ;-)

Thank you for taking the time to read my post. As always, your comments and questions are welcome. I hope you and those you love are well and happy . . . and until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand.

Emmy

Drought

"Evening’s hushed summer mist tries to comfort her earth and lays down like a whisper a blanket of soft purple haze."

Here in Western New York State, we don't experience the kinds of drought conditions that we read about in the western and southern United States. When we have a drought, it means that we haven't had enough rain over the course of a season, or over several weeks. It is especially hard on our local farmers who have a short growing season and deadlines to meet for harvesting summer and fall crops.


I happen to be familiar with how this affects farm families because I grew up on a cash crop farm, and I worked in the agricultural sector with an outreach program that was associated with and housed at my alma mater, Cornell University. I now reside close to the agricultural area where I grew up. I guess I have come full circle. There isn't a lot of development happening here in the way of cul-de-sacs and 2-story homes. The developments you see cropping up on the local landscape are bigger barns to house the ever-growing herds of dairy cattle and the ever-growing specialized equipment used to plant and harvest the acres and acres of crops that are grown in this and the surrounding counties.


I try to remain practical in my thoughts about farmers. After all, running a farm is just like running any business. There are the same management decisions, stressors, and hopefully . . . rewards. The only difference is that it is so dependent on the weather. Regardless of the type of farm . . . a fruit farm, a dairy farm, or a cash crop farm . . . the weather can make or break you. Managing the business and anticipating the future go hand in hand, but one is something you can look at on paper and the other is one you can only pray about. So, practical thoughts don't really make sense when I look at the brown fields and empty creeks. My heart starts to ache for each farm family, their employees and the ag-businesses that serve them. It is a close-knit community and they are dependent upon each other's success.


My post today is a personal one, not only because I identify with the agricultural community that surrounds me; but also because I am sharing with you something I wrote twenty years ago. I dig it out every now and then to read . . . only to put it back in its' dog-eared file folder and stash it back on the shelf. I don't know what to call it. A poem, an ode, a ballad? Maybe a ballad, if I wrote some music to go along with it, or perhaps it is just the beginning of a project I have contemplated over the years to make it into a little black and white movie. Unfortunately, the actor I had chosen for the main character, Sam Shepard, passed away last year. Not that I am certain he would have even been interested! But I loved him in the movie "Country", as well as many other roles he portrayed, and I thought he would be a good fit.


I have come to the conclusion that in many parts of my creative life, I have waited too long to step out in faith and put my work out there. I am trying to break that habit and this is a big step for me.

There's really no time like the present, so without any more excuses, I give you my poem, "Drought".

Drought

The summer’s been a dry one.

Crops are burning in the field.

We’ve lost hope of any chance

of eking a living from their yield.

It’s mid-July – almost harvest time.

The corn stands short, brown and stilted.

Tempers flare and payments bounce.

Feel like a lover who’s been jilted.

The chance of rain is zero.

Hasn’t been a cloud in the sky for days

Looking out over parched hard scrabble,

evening’s hushed summer mist

tries to comfort her earth

and lays down like a whisper

a blanket of soft purple haze.

The wind lifts behind me.

Cool air chills the nape of my neck.

Feels like it might be raining somewhere

Shoot! I must be dreaming.

The weatherman said we don’t have a prayer.

Neighbors pass by on their evening ride,

tip their hats and cast their eyes low.

Palms up, they gesture skyward,

for rain they are pleading.

It’s a feeling too well we all know.

The tractors stand idle,

but ready and waiting still . . .

since in springtime when they tilled.

The men at the co-op are waiting, too, all set to mill.

But the summer’s been a dry one.

Crops are burning in the field.

We’ve lost hope of any chance

of eking a living from their yield.

The folks in the city think the cost

of food is too high

while we fight for fair prices

to earn a living unsubsidized.

Holding out for the promise

I made when I first plowed this land . . .

to till it season after season

and make a living with my hands.

My faith in God sustains me.

On Him I must rely.

With Him I have a line of credit

and I am valued in His eyes.

I pray to Him in the quiet night,

crouched on the back porch step.

“Take care of me Lord.

I’ll take care of Your earth.

Please give me some sign of Your plan.”

Heat lightning flashes

in the distant black sky.

I know He is listening,

but is that His reply?

I hang my head low,

cup my face in my hands.

My body feels heavy from woe.

My eyes start to burn,

my face feels on fire,

and the tears begin to roll.

Down my cheeks

and through my fingers they stream.

The salt burns my parched sunburned skin.

I hear the creak of a door

and the voice of my wife

saying, “Honey, it’s time you came in.”

I sit for a moment,

then rise up with a sigh,

unsure if I want her to see that I’ve cried.

She wraps her arms ‘round me

and softens the pain.

Her touch is gentle and warm . . .

like my memory of rain.

The moon washes white

the cracked sun-dried earth,

and my farm looks like a

world I don’t know.

Unreal and lifeless . . .

cold and barren . . .

a ghostly image

created by the

sterile moonglow.

In silence we walk

up the steps to the kitchen

and stand still in the shadowy night.

We both feel beaten by an unseen aggressor.

All we want is to make a good living . . .

not live an existence where each day’s a fight.

“I’m going to turn in now,”

I say to my wife,

and climb the back stairs to our room

where I used to find rest and wake up refreshed . . .

Nights are now spent

in restless dreams of a prisoner

closed in by calico walls.

Trapped in farm fields dressed in black,

where I can’t find my way

to answer my family’s distant

and desperate calls.

I awake in the night,

my heart pounding from terror,

my pillow soaking wet from my brow.

Staring into the darkness, my mind carries me back to

the day we recited our vows.

“for better or for worse,

for richer or for poorer,”

didn’t mean then

what they do now.

But the summer’s been a dry one.

Crops are burning in the field.

We’ve lost hope of any chance

of eking a living from their yield.

I feel a breeze from the west window

rush through the silent dark room

and hear a distant rumbling noise.

The lifeless gauze curtain jumps and starts billowing

out from the old papered wall.

I’d be crazy to think it might start to rain

just because the wind came up in the night.

But that noise . . .

sounds like thunder . . .

and I can hear the penned heifers

restlessly kicking their stalls.

Could this really mean rain?

Or am I still in a dream?

Is my subconscious

playing a cruel joke?

My heart starts to race

and beats loudly in my ears.

As I strain to listen for the sound of rain drops,

I sink my head into the pillow –

afraid of a sound I won’t hear.

My eyes burn from exhaustion.

My lids close and I drift off to sleep.

Just about dawn,

I awake to the squeals

of my children running wide-eyed and barefooted

down the hallway into our room.

“Daddy, did you hear the thunder?”

“Mommy, can we crawl in with you?”

Another loud clap

And there are five in our bed . . .

Three scared and two breathless with hope.

On the tin roof outside our window,

I hear the faint sound of raindrops

gently falling on the empty woodshed.

My wife takes my hand and gives it a squeeze

and the lump in my throat almost chokes me.

The sky opens up, the rain pours down from it,

and my eyes well up with tears.

My youngest beside me whispers,

“Don’t be scared Daddy.

It’s okay.

I’m right here.”

I put my arms around her,

hold on to her tightly,

and sob into her soft brown hair.



Our dry spell ended this week. We've had two and a half inches of rain.
We are hoping and praying we will get more rain this week.

Thank you for taking the time to read my post. As always, your questions and comments are welcome. You can leave them below or on Facebook. I will read them and I will reply. And until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand.


Emmy

Ginger Ale and Saltines

Last night was one of those nights when I really missed my mother. I was very close to her, even though at times we didn't see eye to eye. But who ever agrees on everything...and on some days anything? In retrospect, I can now understand her point of view. I just wish she was here, so I could tell her and thank her for so much that she did for me and taught me.


Snack dab right in the middle of what has been a pretty good week, last night I ended up sleepless with enough of a tummy ache to keep me awake. Too tired to trudge downstairs, I suffered through it for a while. When I decided that was pretty dumb, I went down to the pantry and got a bottle of ginger ale and a stack of saltine crackers . . . my mother's first line of defense for a stomach ache.


I prayed for relief and tried to rub my back the way my mother used to. She had such a loving and tender touch. I miss that. My efforts to rub my own back ended up being the comic relief I needed right then. Since I really couldn't reach all that far, and I was trying to be quiet to allow my husband to get a good night's sleep, I decided to use the door jamb to go back and forth across my back, but it hurt my backbone! That made me laugh, though, and I was glad nobody was there to see me. :-)  It reminded me of how the cows on neighboring farms scratch their backs on those cow scratcher devices that are out in the barn. :-) I sat up in the wing back chair in our bedroom and finally fell asleep for an hour or so.


I'm much better this morning, although I am rather tired from the lack of sleep and a bit achy; but the miracle of crackers and ginger ale brought me through. I'm still missing my mother, though. The experience made me realize that whether you are a mother, father, grandmother, grandfather, aunt, uncle or special friend, we should remember the things we do are being noticed and will be remembered by the children in our lives. It might not be what we think we'll be remembered for, such as the Cinderella watch my mother slipped on my wrist during the night on Christmas eve, or the twist blouses that were all the rage that she bought for my sister and me, or the specially sought-out birthday gift of a portable typewriter. Those are special memories, but it might be something that seems so random, something you'd never expect to be remembered for. Such is the memory when I hear my mother every time I clear my throat. I sound just like her to the point it sometimes startles me. It probably isn't what she'd ever have thought I'd vividly remember about her. And recently I heard myself faintly whistling while I watered my garden...the same way my mother did whenever she watered her garden. It made me smile. I wonder what my family will recall about me someday. I hope whatever it is, that it brings a smile to their faces and resides in a special place in their hearts.


I haven't been writing posts very often this spring because I spend much of my spare time outdoors. Our summers are short and it is a real joy to be outside in nice warm weather. I have a garden to tend to and a lot of yard maintenance to catch up on.

Taken from an upstairs window this morning after a lot of rain yesterday and overnight.
I will not need to water for a couple days until we get the stretch of extremely hot weather that is being called for.
Click on the photo to enlarge it, if you want a closer look.

I have been doing a lot of reading and watching videos about cottage gardens. I think I am on the right path. It is hard to be patient, but since it is only the first week of summer, I need to wait and see how everything looks as the weeks go by. One week can make a big difference in how things look. It is a good time to stop planting for a while and see what happens. Someday, I hope the garden will be filled to capacity to the point where I will need to divide plants and move a few things around. :-)


While it is hot this weekend, I plan to take it easy and, at my husband's urging, finally take the boxes of old photos off the shelf and start to go through them. It is something I always say I will do on a snow day. I think an extreme heat day will be just as good a day to start!


Thank you for taking the time out of  your day to read my post. As always, your questions and comments are welcome. I will respond whether you comment here or on Facebook.


And until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand.


Emmy









Andromeda Japonica and Other Fun-to-Say Botanical Names

Andromeda Japonica

Be still  my heart. I finally have one. A shrub that I fell in love with in the late 1990's, an Andromeda Japonica. Every day, and in every season, when I walked to my office at Cornell University, I purposely passed through Minn's Garden to enjoy the ever-changing gardenscape. Next to the garden, hidden in an alcove by the brick Plant Science Building, was a very large ornamental bush that entranced me every spring with its' delicate flower clusters and fragrance. The metal tag hanging on a lower branch provided the name Andromeda Japonica. Here is a link that shows the garden and the building. You can see the alcove to the right of the door. https://hort.cals.cornell.edu/about/facilities/ithaca/plant-science-building


Why did I wait over 20 years to buy one of these beautiful bushes? I can't answer that. It couldn't be cost, since the shrub we purchased the other day at the nursery was only $31.99. I think I may have thought I was not deserving of such a special plant. Maybe I thought a plant this gorgeous only belonged in a special place. Well, what can be more special than my own front yard?


It may sound silly, but even in gardening, I have been waiting for a perfect time, a perfect place. That is something I do in many aspects of my life, whether it be sewing, crafting, redecorating, or many other things, I tend to wait. There is not one reason why I waited, there are probably several. Instead of wondering why, I will now just enjoy the journey that my new acquisition and I will experience in our future together; and more importantly, I will pay attention to my planning and my waiting. If it was not for my husband and his urging, the plant would have remained at the nursery and I would have gone home without it. My husband Paul knows the importance of living for today and not letting opportunities pass you by, having lost his first wife to a horrible disease. At the end of their life together, they were grateful that they had no regrets. They did the things they wanted to do. They lived a rich life together and tried to give their two sons a good childhood. They didn't wait. They did things. We don't always have the privilege of waiting until the right time, or when we have more money, or have this or that crossed off our To Do List. (My To Do List has a life of its' own, so it is capitalized like a proper noun.) I thank God for my husband and his perspective on life.

Besides the Andromeda Japonica, our foundation plantings include a Dicentra Spectabilis, too. That is the fancy name for the perennial favorite, Bleeding Heart. Bleeding Hearts seem to be in every old fashioned garden I have ever seen. We planted three last summer and they have all survived. :-)

Dicentra Spectabilis

Passing through our side yard, the Allium, which don't even have a common name that I know of, that I planted several years ago keep multiplying and are filling in along the southern border of our yard.

Allium

A beautiful reminder of Kathy, Paul's first wife, are the delicate Anemone Blanda, or Grecian Windflowers that grow along side the south side of the house. I have always loved these sweet little low-growing flowers, but for that same  unknown reason as I mentioned before, never planted any. They are a very special gift in my garden.

Anemone Blanda

Moving into the back yard, I have made many surprising discoveries this week. Now that we have had warm weather and some rain, the perennials we planted last year are coming up. The Delphinium are getting really large, and the Russian Sage . . . Perovskia Atriplicifolia . . . are finally showing some little leaves at the base of the remnants of last year's plants.

Clematis

I am leery of pulling anything that resembles a weed in the gardens, because they might just be something we planted last spring and summer! Here in Western New York State, it may be mid- to late-June until we see some of our plantings emerge and be recognizable. Like I posted before, gardening has taught me about patience. I was quite disappointed last year with the clematis we planted, but this year they are looking robust and they are climbing on their trellises!


There will be more posts and more photos as the spring and summer months pass . . . and surely into the autumn months, but for now I am happy to see new growth emerge and on this sunny day, I will head outside soon to dig out the weeds I can recognize . . . dandelions! Those in the photo above have been removed . . . so please don't scold me!  ;-)


Whatever is in your garden, or in your view as you gaze at the gardens of others, I truly hope you are enjoying springtime. Ours burst forth in a glorious array of colors, textures, shapes and scents this year. It seemed so much better than in my memory of other springtimes. I think it was partly due to the very  long winter we endured, but also partly due to the anticipation of seeing what my gardens had in store this year.

Taken a week or so ago . . . it will be a while before it is in full flower . . . but the wait will be worth it.

Your questions and comments are welcome. You can post them here, or on Facebook. I do read them and will respond. :-) If you wish, you can enlarge any of the images for a better view by clicking on the photo.


As always, it is my sincere wish that you and those you love are well and happy; and until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand.


Emmy

As Mother's Day Approaches . . .

I didn't plan to write a post about Mother's Day. It wasn't even on my radar in the form of an idea or a bulleted outline. But this morning, when I read a Facebook post by a young mother who is one of my Facebook friends, I began to think about my own mother. The post I read wasn't about anything that was in relation to my mother. No. It was far removed from the birth and life of my own mother. But, because this young mother was writing from deep in her soul from her past year of experiences with her baby girl who has been diagnosed with Prader-Willi Syndrome, my mother and her struggles with health and survival came to mind. I will write a little about my mother and her birth and life in this post; but first, please read the following Facebook post from Amanda. If you are thinking about how crummy you feel today, have this problem, or that problem, a headache, too much to do, or whatever, I believe your perspective will be changed, and not just for today, but forever. With her permission, Amanda's post appears below.


https://www.facebook.com/amanda.yanik.3/posts/10101644483763391




My mother, born in 1909, was the first born to my young grandparents. Born on a dirt road, the name that was recorded on her birth certificate was "Baby Coyle". She was not expected to live. She weighed less than three pounds and could not digest milk. By some miracle, and because she had a large extended family who took care of her, she lived beyond anyone's expectations. So small was she, that she slept in a dresser drawer. True story. So, it isn't just in TV westerns that this was done. She was unable to sit up, so they improvised and placed soft cardboard around her so she would not flop frontward, sideways, or backward. Over time, she must have begun to take in some form of nourishment, and the stories that were told to me of the concoctions my grandfather made for her to ingest were gruesome. He ordered medical encyclopedias through the mail and used a meat press to squish the juices from meat to make broth for my mother to drink. I'm pretty sure raw eggs were in her diet, too. Ugh. Perhaps this is where the phrase, "if it doesn't kill you, it makes you stronger" originated. Because she could not digest milk, her bones were soft. Her caregivers couldn't even get her to crawl for a long time, but by the age of four, she began to walk. As it turned out, doctors later said it was good that she did not try to walk before because her soft bones would have been curved, which would have only added to her difficulties. I'm not sure how old she was, perhaps 7 or 8, when my grandfather's sister, who was a nurse in Rochester, suggested she be seen at a hospital where they had therapies that might help her. My mother told me the story of being put into a hydrotherapy tub that scared her so much that she pulled the plug and drained the water out. After that day, they didn't try any more hydrotherapy.

My mother, Edythe Louise Coyle's baby picture.

As a child, she was often tired and required a lot of sleep. She attended school when she could. The one room schoolhouse was about a mile away and my grandparents would take her there in the horse-drawn wagon. She walked with a limp and had a hard time keeping her balance. When it was time to play baseball during recess, she would bat the ball, but the boys in the class would run the bases for her. The tight-knit community she grew up in remained so all of their lives. There were 13 kids in the house up the road, and a dozen or so more scattered in the two or three houses within a couple miles.


My mother's family was poor. Like most farms of the day, theirs was a small one. They raised pigs, cows and chickens and the crops to feed them. They sold eggs and butter to the local community. When the Great Depression hit, they tried to keep food on the table by hiring the kids out to bring in some extra money. My mother and her younger sister were mother's helpers for a couple well-to-do families in the area. Because my mother was handicapped (or in those days, "afflicted"), she was paid $3 a week instead of the $5 that her sister was paid. When my mother wasn't employed in that capacity, she helped out her elderly relatives. She would often go stay with them for weeks at a time and she eventually learned to drive a truck and drove them to town for their errands and to visit their friends and family. My mother loved the feeling of independence that driving gave her. It allowed her to be mobile and when  she could, she would drive anywhere.


Throughout the 1930's and the 1940's, she remained on the farm and had a large flock of chickens and peddled eggs and butter in the nearby village of Leroy. In the mid-1940's a widower and his sons bought the farm just up the road. One of those sons used to call on my mother's family. He befriended my grandparents and eventually my mother. After a short courtship, he asked her to marry him. This was something my mother never expected to happen to her. She had watched her sisters as they dated, got engaged and married; but never thought it was in the cards for her. But God had a plan for her. He sent my father to her.

My parents, Ralph and Edythe Hawker, on their wedding day, June 24, 1948

Of course, there is much more to this story and to what follows in her life and theirs together; but as Mother's Day approaches, and as I read Amanda's post, I was reminded of my mother. I was reminded of the stories of her childhood, but also of her as my mother. Because she had been so well cared for, she learned how to be caring. She was a great mother. Strong when she needed to be, silly whenever she could be, and loving always. I see these traits in little Saoirse and in Amanda. God bless them and God bless all mothers and their children.


Thank you for stopping by today to read my post. As always, your questions and comments are welcome here or on Facebook. I do read them and I will reply.  It is my sincere wish that you and those you love are well and happy. God bless our mothers, and until we meet again, may the Lord hold you in the hollow of His hand.


Emmy