wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.

Monthly Archives: March 2021


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Getting Rid of the Evidence

Orson, the Oregon junco, has found a sunny spot to rest.

“Ooooh! This is so toasty on my body. The sun has warmed the railing. It feels glorious after so much cold wind.”

“Ahh … this is SO nice! I’ll get some of that warmth on my throat too. Oh, my goodness, that is so wonderful.”

“Oops! Excuse me. Nature calls. I’m trying to be modest, turning my back, but why do I have the feeling I’m on Candid Camera?”

“Hmm … the evidence … it’s still there. What to do? What to do? Oh, no! I’m such a birdbrain.”

“I just can’t have anyone pointing an accusing feather, saying it was me. They’ll probably put it on Twitter.  Still, I needn’t worry. If they put anything on Twitter, the birds would be canceled for expressing an unpopular opinion. Meanwhile, only one thing to do and that’s flee the scene of the crime.”

The evidence was left behind, but before a half hour passed by, the heavens opened up and the whole deck was full of evidence. Well … it looked like more evidence.

Loads of evidence covered the railing as a freak hailstorm blew in and then out again as quickly as it had come. Orson was spared many accusations, and he felt a lot lighter.

 


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Fir Cones

Lincoln finishes off yet another fir cone, leaving only the stem and a few messy bits on the ground. He likes to eat the seeds, one by one, from the base of the seedwings which are stuck to the stem of the cone. He spits away the rest, littering the forest floor with the brown dishlike flakes.

Then he goes into a fantasy world and pretends to be a star in his own movie. He takes the denuded fir cone stem and holds it like a king in a dubbing ceremony. Since Lincoln is alone he has to play the role of both the king and the young squirrel about to become a knight.

Are you ready?

A good bath is due, 
For the purification,
And so Lincoln scratches,
His mite infestation.

A red robe is worn, 
His fur coat has the hue,
For black shoes and socks,
His dark toenails will do.

The sword on the altar,
Awaits while Linc prays,
It should be ten hours, 
But that feels like days.

We'll gloss over that part,
A squirrel can't sit still,
At least he's not hungry,
He's eaten his fill.

Now here comes the king
He picks up the cone sword,
"Squire Squirrel," he says to him,
"Please harken my word."

The king lifts the cone sword
And whacks it right down,
Upon Lincoln's shoulder, 
And says with a frown.

"My faithful Squire Squirrel
While you kneel here alone,
I dub you, Sir Lincoln,
As knight you'll be known."

So whaddaya think, eh?

SIR Lincoln, heeheeheeheeheeeeeeeeee!

If you are a writer, please visit my other blog for a post about publishing.

https://annelisplace.wordpress.com/2021/03/28/publication-mania-2/


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Hidden Pictures

Do you remember “Hidden Pictures” in the puzzle books for kids? The drawings were usually full of squiggly lines and somewhere in the maze of lines were smaller hidden pictures.  The goal was to find them all.

In the photo below, there is only one hidden picture for you to find. It’s my friend Lincoln, the squirrel.  Can you find him?

You may have to click to enlarge the photo to find him. If you can’t find him even after clicking to enlarge the photo, I’ve made it easy for you by adding the cropped photo below, that zeroes in on him.

 

 

I’m hiding cones for later snacks,

Someplace behind these wooden stacks.

Some niches in the wood will be

Where future goodies wait for me.

The problem is to finally choose,

And that location not to lose.

So many possibilities,

They challenge my abilities

To know what’s where and how to find

The yummy snacks I’ve left behind.

 


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Pink Snow

Whoever said that snow was white

For certain didn’t get it right.

I know in shade it has some blues

And purples adding pretty hues,

It’s sad when snow shows bleeding red, 

A little bird may soon be dead,

If dusty specks turn snowflakes black,

Just turn, you’ll find a chimney stack,

Sometimes a doggie has to go,

So never eat the yellow snow,

But early sunrise glowing pink

Makes snow the prettiest, I think.

 

Please visit my other blog for writing tips and stories. Today’s post is about filter words.

Filtering

 

 


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Herring, and Egg on Your Face

So much fuss over a little fish.

But it is a very popular fish, especially on the tables of the UK and Germany. You can have it smoked or fried, or fried and served in tomato sauce, or pickled and rolled up into Rollmops. If you like fish, you probably love herring.

My mother told me that back in the days before WWII, a fishmonger was selling herring in the street, and he called out to the customers, “Herring! Herring! So fett wie der Goering.” (“Herring! Herring! As fat as Goering” [the commander-in-chief of the Nazi air force]). Since Goering’s name rhymed with the name of the fish, it caused a chuckle among the townspeople who came out of their houses to buy his fish.

But the Nazi bigwigs didn’t like to be made fun of so they arrested the fishmonger and put him in jail for two weeks.

When he was released, the fishmonger went back out onto the streets to sell his herring, calling out, “Herring! Herring! … As fat as … they were two weeks ago.”

*****

Right now the local herring fishery is winding up and the cleanup begins.

Here is a photo of the beach area below our house where you can see the herring spawn turning the water close to shore a turquoise blue colour.

The seiners have caught their allowed quotas of herring and most have gone home.  There is still a lot of herring spawn (eggs) in the water, a lot of it stuck to seaweed and being washed up on the beach.

This is what the seagulls gorge themselves on.

The one on the bottom left has “egg on his face” but doesn’t seem to mind it. See the herring roe sitting on his beak?

*****

In my other blog, you might be interested in a post about what turns readers off.

https://annelisplace.wordpress.com/2021/03/20/what-turns-readers-off/


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Leftovers?

Same tree. Different bird. Same watchful eyes.

This is a good perch. I see this from my window as I look out towards the bay. I can’t resist trying to get a photo, even though it’s quite far away. I zoom in and try not to shake the camera as I press the shutter. It’s not perfect, but he (or she) is recognizable.  He’s got a great view of the beach and any activity that may signal food.

“Any leftovers?” he asks.

The herring fishery is as good as over, most boats having caught their allowed quota, but the feast for the scavengers is just beginning. Dead herring litter the beaches here and there, and strands of kelp and other seaweed have skeins of herring roe stuck to them. It all makes a tasty and healthy snack for seagulls and eagles.

I thought I’d try some of the herring myself. A friend working on a seiner gave us a few herring mainly for bait, since it isn’t the ideal food fishery time. The fatter herring are fished for food in November. But since these were so fresh, I fried a few fillets in the pan. They have a lot of little bones, but it’s so worth it to pick them out as you eat. They were delicious.

Of course they had to be cleaned up a bit first.

I feel a bit guilty about eating them. See how they are looking at me with reproach?


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Herring Provides for All

The seiners wait in the harbour for the signal that the herring are fat enough, with a high enough roe count, to allow the roe herring fishery to proceed.

Rafts of sea lions are waiting too. They will take advantage of the herring being “rounded up” in the purse seines of the big boats. Many herring “escape,” right into the waiting jaws of these huge mammals.

Some of them like the fishy smell coming from small power boats and are trying to investigate up close.

Seagulls wheel around the seiners trying to grab any herring that swims too close to the surface.

This immature eagle is about to find out that the beach will be full of bounty as roe and herring and bycatch float ashore. These foods provide much-needed calories for the eagles especially at their nesting time, which happens very soon after the herring fishery. Healthy eagles will have healthy chicks.

And let’s not forget that as much as we scoff at seagulls and their shrieking habits, they are the janitors of the beaches, cleaning up every bit of mess.

Once the carnage has been cleaned up, the animals have to scrounge what food they can until next year’s feast.


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Six Weeks?

On February 2, Punxsutawney Phil, the official groundhog weather forecaster, dashed back into his burrow because he saw his shadow, and thus predicted six more weeks of winter.

“Ugh! You’ve got to be kidding me,” says the Steller’s jay.  “Six more WEEEEEEKS!”

I felt the same way, and have been waiting (im)patiently for spring to come, and today I realized that six weeks must soon be up.

March 16 should be the last groundhog-predicted day of winter. So I expect spring to happen the next day.

One more week!

I’ll be looking for signs of spring for my next post. Are you finding any where you are?


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Marshall

Yesterday was like a usual West Coast winter’s day. Wind and rain, followed by rain and wind.

This morning it looked like Christmas on the hills. Luckily we don’t live up in the hills.

The air is still icy and I have to keep reminding myself that it’s March, still cold, but with a promise of warmer days to come. It reminded me of the stupid “Knock, Knock” joke which I’m sure you’ve all heard.

Knock, knock.

Who’s there?

Marshall.

Marshall who?

Marshall come in like a lion and go out like a lamb.

May it be so!

There’s hope, if these daffodils are telling the truth.