I’m giving myself another challenge for the month of May:
A picture of a bird or a flower with a short poem to go with it.
Don’t expect fancy poetry. It’s just for fun.
Category Archives: Gardening
Learning English is not Easy
As I’ve mentioned before, my mother had trouble learning the English name for daffodils when we first came to Canada a very long time ago. She had heard of Daffy Duck because we children used to listen to a Saturday radio show called Kiddies’ Corner and they often played stories about Daffy Duck.
She also knew what dolls were, of course, because my little sisters had to have their dolls.
So the best she could do to get her tongue around the word “daffodils” was “daffy dolls.” My mother has been gone for 43 years already, but I can’t help thinking of her every year when my “daffydolls” bloom, usually in the same month when she died so long ago.
These flowers bring me happy thoughts of her wonderful sense of humour and her sunny disposition. She loved gardening and would be pleased to see daffydolls in my yard. I wish she could see them. But who knows? Maybe she can.
cheerful daffodils
welcoming another spring
bittersweet flowers
V is for Vegetable and Varied Thrush
I look forward to springtime when I can try once again to have a good garden.
Vegetables never taste as good as when they are fresh from the garden.
Meanwhile, the varied thrush is singing “Merry Christmas” to you while you wait for spring.
V is for vegetable and varied thrush.
M is for Mice
Where is your mother, little mice?
You’d better get back into your nest.
Mama Mouse was found in an old apple box that, once she had jumped into it, was too high for her to jump out of.
Mama Mouse was exhausted from all the jumping efforts, and lay still after her rescue, soaking up the warmth until she recovered from her ordeal.
In a few moments, she perked up, and remembering her children, rushed to save them.
M is for Mighty Maisie the mama mouse and her three blind mice.
I know that some people are afraid of mice, but how do you think they feel about us?
Here is one of my favourite poems by Rose Fyleman:
Mice
I think mice
Are rather nice.
Their tails are long,
Their faces small.
They haven’t any chins at all.
Their ears are pink,
Their teeth are white.
They run about
The house at night.
They nibble things
They shouldn’t touch
And no one seems
To like them much.
But I think mice
Are nice.
Squish, Squash
Why would a vegetable that has such a hard skin be called a squash?
These are only a few of the squashes ripening in my garden. I have no idea what they are called, but I know they all taste good.
About four years ago, a friend gave me an assortment of squashes just like these because he had so many in his garden and gladly shared them. I happily made meals with them and enjoyed them so much, I decided to save some of the seeds to plant in my own garden the next year.
I got a few of them planted and was happy to see them sprout at last, but in the time it took for them to sprout, many squash plants sprang up in my freshly rototilled garden patch. How did that happen? I had spread the contents of my compost barrel over the ground before rototilling, and in the compost were many seeds from the squash I had cleaned and eaten that previous winter.
For the third year in a row now, I have had volunteer squash plants growing in my garden. I didn’t have the heart to pull them out, except to thin them a bit.
Now there are so many squashes of all the types my friend gave me, that the plants are “squashing” each other.
… Guess what I’ll be eating all winter …
Nothing squishy, nothing squashy,
Simply bring them in to washy,
Cut in half and scoop the seeds,
Feed the compost what it needs.
Place them on a baking sheet,
Spread with butter smooth and neat,
Salt and pepper if you like,
Gives the taste a little spike.
Easy peasy supper treat,
Hot and filling, can’t be beat,
If you want a next year’s crop,
Fill your compost to the top.
When the springtime songbirds sound,
Toss that compost on the ground,
Mix it in and water well,
And the squash will grow like heck.
Mystery Bug
I took this picture a few years ago and had forgotten about it. My white phlox plant still had a few flowers then, but later, most of the white flowers got eaten by this grasshopper and his friends.
I’m not crazy about insects, but this grasshopper had rather pretty markings. I tried to find out what kind he was. The closest I could find was a two-striped grasshopper. It looks to me that this guy has only one stripe but maybe they are counting the identical stripe on the other side of his body. Any ideas for an accurate I.D.?
I recommend “The Phlox” for lunch,
With seating for a crowd,
Delicious food on offer here,
So far, it’s not too loud.
I’ve stuffed my face with flowers white,
They’re delicate to chew,
If you don’t join me soon, I say,
That’s just too bad for you.
I thought she grew these plants for us,
Perennials you know,
And yet she shoos us all away,
“Get out! It’s time to go!”
Temptation
When apples ripen in the yard
And fall down from the tree,
If no one’s looking very hard,
I’ll steal one just for me.
But now they’re picked and in the house,
I wonder if I dare,
If I am quiet as a mouse,
You think they’ll let me share?
I’ve tasted these and even though
They’re ripe as they will get,
The taste is sour, I should know,
My cheeks are puckered yet.
I know it sounds like sour grapes,
Because they’re out of reach,
But see my tongue hang, face that gapes,
I’m very hard to teach.
Poppy Time
No, I’m not into the drugs made from the seed pods of these poppies. I just think they’re beautiful flowers.
There are many types of poppies, but I didn’t know, even after years of growing them, that these pretty flowers belong to the poppy family that heroin and opium are made from.
They’re just tall and beautiful flowers.
I come from Turkey, don’t you know,
My seeds are not too hard to sow,
And once I’ve bloomed, again I’ll grow,
Reseeding when the wind does blow.
Mum’s the Word
Imagine these flowers as the size of a potted chrysanthemum that a friend brought me as a hostess gift about a year ago; maybe a five-inch potted plant.
The potted plant looked so pretty and I thought what a shame that the flowers would soon die and that would be the end of it. But later when the blooms wilted, I put the pot outside and cut back the dead flowers. Out on the deck, I kept the worst of the frost off the plant all winter.
In the spring it got new green growth and wanted to be a tall plant. I should have cut it back, but didn’t, so it got a bit leggy.
But look how it bloomed in spite of me! Next spring I’ll try to keep it pruned better and who knows, I might get even more flowers – if that is even possible.
Anyway, it’s a beautiful way to remember a friend. I smile whenever I look at this mum.
If you should want to please a chum,
Just give them a chrysanthemum,
These yellow blooms are like the sun,
They tend to cheer up everyone.
A hostess gift that stayed alive
And has a strong will to survive,
It blooms for such a long, long while,
Eliciting a frequent smile.
The Calm
… before the storm.
The ducks all facing outward
Are waiting for their snack,
They find it in the shallows,
It makes their lips go smack.
The heron facing inward,
Has patience yet to spare,
He hopes to spear a morsel,
With no intent to share.
All take advantage of the last,
Relaxing stretch of peace,
They feel the system moving fast,
Soon comes the ugly beast.
Photo by Pat G.
The licorice scent of fennel wafts,
Along the last warm breeze,
A thousand seeds fly in the drafts,
To inundate with ease.
Ms. Barbara Beacham’s hollyhock,
Has found a home with me,
Although Ms. Beacham’s sent a shock,
And could no longer be.
Her lovely flowers bloom each year,
She sends her love that way,
I cherish her with thoughts so dear,
Much more than I can say.
A last sweet effort quickly made,
The berry patch is done,
No strawberries are left to raid,
Except for just this one.
And here it comes, the mighty beast,
So dark, this sunshine thief,
It brings much-needed rain at least,
To every plant’s relief.
It slaps the trees ferociously,
It whips the leaves around,
But they hang on tenaciously,
On hearing such a sound.
