One really cool thing about spring is the annual return of the Canada Geese. To our condo rooftop. These guardians of the gate, so to speak are noisy, nosy, and so, so beautiful. I look forward to seeing them return each spring.
They perch up on top of the roof, right above the front door, and vet each entrant as they approach. With such honking and hissing, you would think that we would be scared to run this gauntlet each time. But there are many people who live here that don’t even notice. Gar told me to grab the camera one day, saying “here’s a good photo op for you.” The geese would retreat to the middle of the roof if I got too close to them, but as soon as we backed away they would be right back on the edge again.
We tried to tell some of our neighbors who were exiting the condo to look up and see them. “Look up” we would call out, “look up and see the geese.” The neighbors would just stare at us like we were crazy. Totally oblivious to the noisy honking, and hissing right over their heads. I so look forward to seeing them again, because early morning wakeup calls are so much better with Canada Geese, then seagulls. Jane
Rustling birds disturbed by progress down the rural road fly by, flicking from branch to branch. Soon there will be nests, eggs and chicks. Life moving in circles.
My heart swells when I see the mountains bearing less snow, spring is arriving. Bleeding hearts, red stems shaded, cold, but determined to grow through the soil.
Pink blossoms give me a heart shaped thrill. Ferns unfurling, hairy, and brown, green hidden deep, soon to show. Hosta striped stems swirl from the ground, poking, pushing. Buds breaking, no spilled tears. Branches ripening, reviving.
Come spring! Come warm weather! Leave, snow covering the brooding mountains. Bring shine, and laughter to our world. Reach deep into my gardener's heart, and make it swell. PS: If spring has not reached your part of the world, I will send a wish that it will come soon.
I wrote and scheduled this post last week, and completely to my Gardener's embarrassment forgot that it was the first day of spring today. There's a pretty good reason why, and I will be sharing that along with a few other things on Monday's post, see you then.
The other day I was overcome with the amount of perfume a woman was wearing in a store, and I wrote this blog post titled Scents and Sensibility, describing how badly it affected me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like her scent, it was the rash it caused on my face. It struck a nerve, with many readers writing in to say that they too suffer from problems, allergies, and rashes from household cleaners, perfume, and chemical additives. Those of us who suffer these allergies, and problems are merely the canaries in the mine. We are the early warning signals that there is something wrong in the environment, in our food, in our every day world. Consider us the sentinels.
Miners used to lower a canary down into a pit to see if they became sick from toxic gases. That would allow them a chance to leave, or put on respirators. I first read about the practice in a Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House on the Prairies book, and it has stayed with me since. We are the canaries, and the mine is the environment that everyone is living in.
Go down the cleaning aisle, notice how strong the scent is, if it doesn’t bother you, consider yourself very fortunate. Like many people I am affected by the mere waft of household cleaners in the air surrounding the aisle. In fact when I worked at my retail job, I had to ask special permission to be excused from stocking any shelves in the Housewares area, because it caused my allergies, and a rash on my face to be so aggravated that I had to leave the store.
I can’t use any commercial cleaners that you purchase from the store, I can’t eat certain foods, and can’t use most lotions, makeup, and soaps that you might not even consider a problem. This is a sudden turn of events, my life wasn’t this complicated a few years ago. But apparently years of working in a greenhouse, and chemical exposure has resulted in my developing a severe chemical sensitivity.
Be aware of what you are using to clean your house, try a more natural approach, there are many premade solutions on the market that are more healthy, or you can make your own. Look into skin saving shampoos, and conditioners that contain less harmful ingredients. Laurie from When the bough breaks is linking up with me and you might like to see what she has to say also. If you suffer from environmental allergies feel free to let us know what you have to do to cope with them.
The other afternoon we heard a screeching outside, rough and ragged, shrill. It went on for a few minutes. The crows must be mad at Bootsie, I remember telling Gar. They sure are giving him heck. And they sound like they are recovering from Laryngitis.
Then just yesterday when I was busy at my drafting desk, I heard the same shrill screeching. Out on the branches of the giant Rhody were a pair of brilliant blue Steller's Jays. Busy telling everyone in earshot how upset they were that we did not include peanuts in our contraband birdseed. I guess they felt that the buffet was just not up to their standards, since they never stuck around long enough for me to grab the camera. They seem to be coming and going, a little camera shy, but loud, very badly behaved tourists, finishing up their winter vacation in White Rock. I've got to send Gar out to get some peanuts, or whatever these picky eaters prefer. Somehow I am sure that I would not want to be in the kitchen when they send back the meal.
Spring seeks to fulfill it's potential. As s now blowers hibernate, and neighbors appear. Heavier, older, happier.
Trees stretch, bees swarm in harmonious black clouds, honeyed splendor in a wooden crate. Fields thaw, flood, fill. Dust flies, buds swell. Ducks speckle the fields like crumbs of a cookie dashed to the floor. Cat stricken with unknown fever, rolls, runs, jumps, and suns as birds watch from trees.
Window cracked. Open Sounds of nature's symphony crawl in through the screen as night comes on to fill it's shift.
Tiny frogs croak, calling to mountains that glow with the last light. Geese, and ducks, honk, quack in formation, carried on the soft breeze. Spring arrives softly.PS: Just in case you missed it, I'm moving from Blogger to Word Press at the end of this week. So Muddy Boot Dreams new home will be at www.thelightlaughed.com. You can read about it here. I really look forward to seeing you there, and hope that you will come along to see my new home. Maybe I can get you to help unpack some boxes when you come to visit. And have you seen our new FaceBook group, The Over 40 Blogging World, that Laura from Simple and Serene Living, and I created? The response has been overwhelming wonderful. It's a great group of friendly bloggers getting together for support, and learning. Please check us out. Jen .
Spring is close, and then so far. Our snow fills deep shade, the nights are cold. Frosted roofs dusted, and revealed by sunlight each morning.
Buds want to open, branches fill the air. It's a matter of timing, of waiting, of wishing. Of being realistic. The sun shone like May, but the wind still bit like February. * In happy pockets of warmth Snowdrops race against swelling buds, fooling us into thinking it's going to happen sooner than the forecasts predict. Deep in my heart there is a desperate need for the green sprouts of bulbs, for sun filtered through greenhouse glass. A clamoring for spring. I may say it's only to visit, not to adopt, but there they sit, clothed in dirt, stuffed into mismatched green plastic pots, calling out to me. Who could not want to take them home? My desire wrestles with the knowledge that they will freeze. Look away, the time will come. Seasons change, Spring is certain to follow Winter. What we do not know is when it will happen.
It's in my gardener's heart, to want to plunge my hands deeply into a new bag of sun warmed potting soil once again. To scoop, to t amp, poke, and plant until my aching back will not allow me to stand any longer. The gardener in me lives for when I once again experience the feel of gritty pumice scratching my palms, mingling with the moist dampness of peat moss. To sift soil between my fingers, gloves heedlessly tossed to the ground. Dreaming of sun warming the back of my neck, birds calling in the trees, one eye on the cat who likes to wander. Attention caught by the slight breeze that is encouraging opened seed packets to spill their contents.
I yearn to feel the unfamiliar heft of a full watering can, after almost two seasons of it sitting empty. The way the rivulets of water rush off the edge of the potting bench as I water my new babies, wishing them into full grown beauty. The dreams, the planning, the waiting…all coming together. And in that we are given our first bit of spring.
P.S. Thanks so much for visiting, I don't know if you've read this post but Winter really seems to have rolled over. And I can't wait to buy some potting soil. *"The sun shone like May, but the wind still bit like February," courtesy of The Root of the Root. Find their Instagram feed here.
Doors open onto land transformed. Bird song echos through yards. Pitched off tree branches where sap runs bathed in light.
Quail scatter at the sight of. Sun warmed black cat's fur. Following a meandering path through the garden. Gracefully stepping over brown striped feathers.
Green sprouts, white snow, brown grass. Sun pushes through faded summer blossoms, stained glass in muted tones.
Blue jays squawk, scatter compost clippings. While denim colored feathers fly. Cedar Waxwings trill in tree tops, replacing Eagles. If the cock Pheasant crows. And the Magpie builds it's nest with twigs. Do we dare to question? Can spring be far behind? When the bird that is black sings? Did you enjoy this: you might want to read this post also.
February sun gently caresses the back of my legs. But it's warmth isn't enough to help my frozen hands hold the hot pink pruners. I end up dropping them into the middle of the thorniest part of the raspberry thicket.
Prickles grab at my jacket, refusing to let go, and there is a disconcerting ripping noise as I try to bend. Score one for the red berries, another jacket down. Suckers try their best to poke through the heavy layers of vinyl dipped gloves I'm wearing in protection against the canes, but the point goes to me. Over our heads, past the dark feathery tips of the fir trees, ravens soar in soft circles. Wide spread black wings attempt to catch the clouds drifting by. The sky a blue so deep it should be summer, but the icy snow patches convince me it's Winter still.
The dark birds chuckle follows the keening of the Eagles, taunting, calling, chasing them across the endless skies. The Eagles more determined to gain a meal then territory, perch in the Firs outside our house, waiting to make a dinner of the covey of quail when they drop by the feeder. "Hold the post up straight" he pleads, bracing being both my job, and the temperature despite this sun streamed day. In my over zealous attempt to straighten it before it goes over to far, I've sent it careening over the other direction, and it knocks the yellow metal level he is using deep into the bushes. One more victory for the thorns.
Frozen ground, and snowy patches no match for the annoyance of gazing out all winter at crooked bird houses perched on a poles. It's been on our to do list to straighten them when spring comes. Frost heaves skewed the poles, the weight of snow dampened the enthusiasm of the raspberries canes, but it's time to prune before the buds swell. It's almost too late, bare grass, naked in it's"spring is coming" delight swelters in the sun, and freezes under a foot of hard snow in the shade. I stomp my chilled feet in time to the melodic trilling of the Cedar Waxwings beautifully chiming in the trees across the street. There is a sudden stop to their beautiful music, but it's not my fault. Eagles appear in the sky, white heads shedding sunlight as they glide overhead. Sudden, is the sound of silence.
Soft cooing of Quail breaks out from the bushes over the fence, our supervisors have shown up. The sun lowering in the sky means time for them to advance upon the feeder in squirming droves. One brave bird perching on the fence as a lookout. We gather up the prickly branches, carefully tossing them into the compost, but they refuse to let go, stubbornly reaching and grasping in desperation to avoid their doom. It's cold even in the sunlight now, February will fight for Winter. But March will bring on spring.
It’s a rare coincidence here, and whatever weather conditions that it takes to cover everything in hoar frost happened. “Oh my!” And miraculously I wasn’t working that day. Double “Oh My!” I truly think it was a once in a life time experience. Very cold, very dry, and very stunningly wonderful. And it almost never happens here, and if it does, I am working, or it rains right away, or it’s cloudy all day, or foggy, or something spoils it. So my good friend, Floweriscius and I went to Campbell Valley Park that day. That’s her in the photo above. She drove, thank goodness, because everywhere I turned it was a winter glitz snow covered, ice crystal laden branches, and sparkly, sparkly, icy lights bouncing of of the sunlight everywhere moment. I think that I would have driven off the road many times just trying to get the shot. And my shots cannot do it justice, they just can’t give you that feeling, that “living in the moment, and isn’t this the most beautiful thing you have ever beheld moment?” Trust me, it was. I still smile, and remember that feeling, of wonderment. Of how is this possible? And then a deep shiver because it was SOOOOO cold. That kind of feeling.
There were birds everywhere, and all of them were willing to eat out of our hands, not that my hand was out there that much. Tooooo cold, and to many photo ops abounding for me, I was firmly holding onto my camera. There was a real Bambi moment when we were standing on the path in a small patch of sunlight, the birds were twittering, flying from branch to hand, grabbing a seed and letting the next bird come in for a landing. Then the bushes started to rustle, and animals started to creep out from their hiding spots. It was quiet, and peaceful, and everywhere we cautiously turned there was more wildlife. Drawn to us by the thought of food, because of the cold, they seemed perfectly comfortable with us. Circling all around us, quietly waiting for a handful of seeds.
I felt like I was in the Bambi movie… Trust me, it was a moment I will never forget. ♥.
The gray dank fog that shrouds the beach is both eerie, and cold. Effectively hiding the water from sight. It is disturbing to hear voices speaking, and birds splashing but not be able to see anything.
The sun tries dishearteningly to burn off fog halo's that are circling visitors heads, instead giving up to sulk behind a curtain of gloom.
As sounds echo from the water, I am reminded of a quote I once saw on a antique map."There be monsters", it referred to what was then considered the edges of a flat earth. It was thought that monsters lived below the ends, waiting to gulp up unsuspecting sailors. If they had encountered fog like this, then I could easily understand why they thought that.
Tiring of the fog's icy, and inappropriate pinches, I return to my car. Hoping to find some sunshine that will burn off thoughts of monsters shrouded in fog.
Take a look, so much for our beautiful sunshine we were promised.
We are having a inversion, or at least that is the Weatherman's version. Probably going to last through to the weekend. Which we know, means all weekend. Oh well, at least we don't need to shovel it. And it makes for nice photos. So here is a bright, and colorful shot to make up for all the fog pics that I just had to share.
There are some mornings that you just look forward to going to work.
We had clear skies, and a frosty night, it was our first real frost of the season. I just knew that there would be some really interesting photo ops available. After wheeling into the parking lot, I grabbed the camera, and headed out to the back of the nursery. I wanted to get to any frosty leaves before the brilliant sunshine melted them. Barely stopping to call out a greeting to Garden Brat, I crunched my way through the frozen grass, stopping and shooting as much as possible. I must have looked a funny sight, high stepping through the weeds, stepping and bending, all the time with a camera attached to my face.
A little ridicule was worth it, I got some amazing shots of the leaves. Some of them resemble pencil crayon drawings, so intricately painted with frost, the detailing crisp, and colorful. Nature is a amazing artist. Then the sun melted what little frost we had, but I didn't care, I had gotten what I came for.
Baby it’s cold outside… Baby it’s cold inside. Baby it’s cold almost everywhere right now. And it’s not even winter yet. You would think we get this kind of cold in January… and then it goes away mid February, like it should, like any good weather system would. Did anyone think to check the calendar? Maybe it is January, and we all missed something here. Christmas might be over and done with, oh no the sky is falling… and it’s made up of white flakes. Baby it’s cold outside.
So to honour the bone biting, deep chilling, freezing temperatures, frozen fingers, and frosty feet, and because I simply can’t wrap my mind around anything other then a image of a steaming mug of hot chocolate right now, here are some words for cold. Chilling Cold, Frozen Frigid, Frosty White, Winter wonderland Bitter, withering Brisk, Crisp Raw, harsh Snowy, shivery Brrrrrr… Starting to shiver yet? A long time ago I wrote a post titled “words for rain”, inspired by a long stretch of gloomy, sodden weather that we were trying to live through… weeks, and weeks of wet. It’s my most popular post of all time. Apparently there are still people out there looking for words for rain… wet, gloppy, gloomy, sodden, downpour… you know, those kind of words.
But I digress, or maybe I’m melting like a snowflake on a fingertip. So put down that snowball, sideline the shovel, wiggle on those warm woollies, sit down and add your words for cold, I know that you will come up with some frosty favourites. Freezing, frozen, crisp I’m blogging sporadically during this Christmas season… but I’m hoping to post at least twice a week, which days you might ask? Me too… hope to figure this out soon.
It is rare to have a sunny day here in November, it's mostly rain. So we made sure to utilize the extra light of a sunny day by visiting our favorite spot, Crescent Park. Life is better, walking in the park. It seems like the rain has brought a few clouds into every one's life lately. We went to enjoy the feel of beautiful sunligh t shining on our skin. There is a actual warmth from the sun, that contrasts against the crisp Autumn air. During the week day the park is secluded, silent excep t for ducks quietly bobbing for food, and squirrels darting through trees. There are few other walkers, and if you don't come across them you can almost imagine that it is your own beautiful acreage that you are traversing. We explored new trails, and discovered a few more bridges. Searched out fungi wrapped in winter shrouds of fallen leaves.
Together we stood still for a moment and drank it all in. The leaves that stubbornly refused to let go of branches, the greenness of the moss. The reflection of branches on pond water. And came away happier. After all, life is better after walking in the park.
Some posts write themselves almost without your help. Others hide in the corner of the room, unwilling to show themselves to the light of day. Stubborn.
Delightful. Interesting. Petulant. We all encounter those kind. My favourite of course are those that demand to be written, and help guide your fingers as you type. Those are lovely. No checking for mistakes, no backspacing, worrying, explaining. Each word tripping over it’s self as it eagerly lines up on the screen. Wonderful. Some shots are easy, some shots are hard. Some of them make me work until I think I can’t do it anymore. It’s all part of learning. Some days my walk is easier then others. On some I find treasures that delight my soul. Feathers, a good angle for a shot, a branch, a leaf.
There are bits of joy, moments of bird song in the darkening day, the sun sinking sullenly in a peach colored sky. Proclaiming it’s self all grown up, and it’s too early to go to bed. But the birds are tired, it’s cold.
It’s been a long day. Now go gently into the night, let the shadows out to play. The moon will be the one to walk me back home.
The weakened Autumn sun is coming through my window, along with a beautiful song. Winding it's way through the glass, I can clearly hear natures choral music group, tuning up, joining in, and singing it's little heart's out. There is a group of small birds, mostly chickadees that live in the giant rhododendron by our deck. They flock together and lift their beaks to the sky, flighty, and skittish, with the slightest breeze. But the chirping and tweets that come from them is magnificent. How they manage to dive, and dodge each other, jumping from branches to the bird feeder, is beautiful to watch. They so resemble a school of small minnows, flashing by. The damp autumn air is their water. With no provocation they lift off with split second timing, and disappear to the safety of the nearby bushes. And then when one decides it is safe, they descend upon the bird feeder again.
Somewhere in the twittering, and song there are warning signals, and joyous exaltation. The sounds when they are eating from the illegal bird feeder we have hidden in the garden, are more reedy when there is a abundance of food. When the weather is about to change, the tempo speeds up. There is urgency in the singing. If it is a sunny day, they rival the most beautiful choral groups I have ever heard, there is harmony in every note. I might not love living in the city, and my heart might be longing to be transplanted to the country. But until then, I have one of the best examples of natures choral music living right outside my window. And if that is as close to the country as I can get right now, I will take it.
Any gardener will tell you. With a downward side glance that betrays a lie. They love all of their plants equally. But despite the assurances that they love all the same, they do have favourites. Nature doesn’t have favourites, all are treated alike. Summer to grow, Autumn for responding to the cold, dropping leaves, preparing. Winter is survival, not sleep. Spring is the reward for making it through. It’s a harsh and unforgiving world outside during winter, Autumn is a stern warning, predicting what is to come.
Gardener’s hope, dream, love, and think of spring, while trying to keep warm inside. Plants grow deeper roots, animals seek food, birds leave. Another pile of leaves onto a favoured tree, hoping to protect it from winters greedy fingers, that it will it make it without damage. There is little to do to save them besides hope, and worry. Wishing that the winter will be easier then the last is futile, it won’t save the plants from the cold, but it’s still done. Each gardener has favourites, even if nature doesn’t.
Vines once clinging greenly to bird house topped poles, withered like a piece of paper dropped in a puddle, worry the gardener. Grasses bent with the first too early snow, corn colored, rasping dry seed pods rattled together, cold weather taking the flush of summer color sadden the gardener. Nature doesn’t notice. Delicate annuals left behind, tightened mounds, dark with frost damage, soon the compost their new home, nature has no favourites. Bright colors meant nothing, cheery hellos turned to sad goodbyes when the first frost hit.
Bobble headed quail stand together on rocks that line the garden, feathers fluffed as they rest for a moment, huddled together for warmth, heads drooping from quick naps. Night time is spent balancing up on the branches, trying not to fall asleep too deeply, plummeting to the earth before waking, tipping back and forth all night, on sturdy little claws, clutching rough branches, they know safety in numbers. Bald Eagles, perched in the dead trees, brazenly tracking neighbourhood cats, whom intent on delicately picking their way through the grass, are deep inside some imaginary hunting expedition, not knowing they might become the meal instead. Worried squirrels chattering away at the Doves who come at dusk, there is only so much food and sharing isn’t something that they do well. Caught stuffing seeds in the empty bird houses, entry holes chewed down now blocked, they stand frustrated at the treasures they know are inside.
Mice scurry towards a open door, hoping to get through the winter in a warmer place are not Natures favourite, they might be the Eagles dinner one day, after it eats the cat for lunch. They seek shelter where ever they can fit a whisker into, squeezing through the smallest holes. Dark eyes peek out at the cat who strolls by his tail in the air. The gardener seeks shelter inside, catalogues open for enticement, watching as Nature prepares to do battle with those that are left outdoors. Knowing that there is little to be done, favourites or not.
New Renters November moved in quietly the other day, stealthily occupying that abandoned rental at the end of the street. We were just waking up from our Autumnal hangover otherwise known as Halloween. Before the candy low hit, there were lights in the windows, and a plant blooming on the doorstep.
Settled in quite nicely, fooled us when we weren’t looking into believing that October could be the one renting for a little longer. At least until Spring came along with it’s love of a good cleaning. Of course that was all for show, to impress the landlords. Soon the lawn will be ragged, the snow will fly, the sidewalks left unshoveled. The garbage piled up at the back door, blinds will remain drawn day, and night. Light spilling out onto the driveway, illuminating the shabby old vehicles parked in the driveway that never seem to move. Arguments will rebound from cracked windows, snow will swirl, noisy parties, comings and goings at all hours of the night. Cold weather, killing frosts, storms, it’s unsettling to think that this is happening. And there is November with its icy chill, giving us the cold shoulder and not returning our greetings when we waved “hello new neighbour” at it as we walked by. Slouching on the porch, smoke twirling in damp air, massing under the eves, butts now scattered on the beautiful garden that October had tended so carefully. Glaring at us. Well isn’t that nice… not. “Quick turn you head the other way, it will see you staring… Yes of course I care if it sees me, who wouldn’t.” “Now look at the what the neighbourhood has become, it all starts with just one.” “Maybe the owner will sell, and something better will move in… I wonder if Spring is looking for a place to rent.” Let’s give her a call, tell her know that we might know of a place to rent.
There’s a what in my front yard? There have been sightings of bear, deer, pheasants, quail. Along with the occasional run of too many eagles bent on eating the Boo for breakfast, but the other morning this one totally surprised me. My husband casually asked me what type of bird it was that my Sister had on their farm a while ago. They were Emus I told him. “Well, there was one in the front yard,” he told me. I ran to the window. “Its just sauntered on down the road,” he said. Yes, he said sauntered, I guess that’s what Emus do. We have a Emu sighting, and you don’t tell me… what's next a Elephant in the backyard that you forget to mention? No really, there was a Emu in the yard, it was just hanging out there having a good time. The second largest bird in existence, huge, tall, almost as big as a ostrich if you are comparing them. With beautifully iridescent, glossy feathers, this one seemed to be tame, most likely was a pet on the loose. Made for a welcome change from the errant dogs leaving deposits that we usually see. As we drove down our road later, it was hanging out in the front yard of another house. The owners standing in the front window, their housecoats wrapped around their slightly shocked bodies, morning coffee in hand, hair all mussed up. What a sight to see. You can decide if I mean the Emu, or the neighbours.
I had three things coordinating perfectly. The weather, while not sunny wasn’t raining, and around here that’s as much as we can hope for. The time, having just gotten off of work, there was still a good chunk of daylight left to enjoy. And my Sweetie, who was available to go with me for a walk. So we headed for Crescent Park with the camera, and high hopes. A beautiful urban park, it boasts acres of trees, miles of pathways, a pond, and even a bridge or two. With it’s meandering paths snaking through densely forested area, and looping around like a skein of wool, it’s easy to miss your destination. Our objective was to find the two paths that included the quaint wooden bridges. I was hoping to find some fall color framing them. It had been too long since I had taken my camera out for a walk. First we hit the duck pond, this is always one of the highlights of our trip, and then we set off into the woods, the twisting and turning paths making it hard to remember which one ended up exactly where. Somewhere out there were my bridges, and a background of colorful trees.
Each time we came to anther fork in the road, we would look at each other and say “I think it’s this one,” and off we went on another jaunt. Eventually after one too many roads taken, we had to admit that we had ended up traversing the entire park from one end to the other, and no success in finding the bridges. By this time the shy sun had taken cover, the wind had picked up, and the forest was no longer a inviting place to photograph. Mushrooms were dark blobs, and leaves no longer golden, so we had to head home.
This time it might have been a bridge too far, but I am certain to find it next time, and think of the exercise that we got.
