No, squirrels don’t eat rope, and they don’t chew on it for fun. But Crispin has discovered that the old fishing float is still hanging by a few threads from when he worked on it last year. It’s real rope – not that chemical fake rope – so it’s quite chewable and the bits that break off are handy for padding the nest he is making somewhere deep in the woodshed.
After all, there was “snow in them thar hills last night.” It’s getting chilly, and a bit of lining would make nights in the nest cozier.
I’ve been waiting for the Scotchman float to fall onto the ground one of these days, when Crispin will chew through enough rope to send it tumbling down, but so far, so good.
What a little acrobat he is!
Watch him in the video clip below. See how his hands and feet move, and his nimble fingers keep him on task without him having to worry about falling.
Talk about multi-tasking!
This chrysanthemum hung in my parents’ back veranda in the fall of 1981, covered in many, many little white popcorn-like flowers. My mother died the next spring, leaving my father with a plant he didn’t care about or know what to do with.
I brought it home to my house and it has bloomed for me in the fall, every year since then.
This year, I was worried. It had been hot and dry and I wondered if I had maybe overwatered it to compensate. No buds. No sign of any flowers. Limp leaves. Would this be the first time in 45 years that my mother’s chrysanthemum would not bloom?
It seems like such an unimportant thing, but it meant a lot to me. I had looked after this plant for so long.
At the end of the summer I was SO happy to see a few hints of flower buds, and now, almost too late, as the temperatures get very low, it has decided to bloom after all. There are not that many flowers, but at least there is a sign of life here, and the tradition can continue for another season. The plant spends the worst of the winter inside in a “coolish” place and then goes out again in the spring.
I’m so happy to see the flowers. It’s as if my mother is waving to me from her garden in paradise, saying, “I’m still here, watching over you,” and I can show her, as always (at least in my mind), “I’ll never forget you.”
