wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.

Category Archives: Seasons


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The Escape Plan

Mandarin #1:    Hey, buddy! You can lower that periscope. I can tell you where we are.

Mandarin #2:   I know where we are. I’m just watching for the predators. You think you’re too sweet to be eaten, but I know different. I see them getting settled in their recliners, looking like they need something sweet and juicy.

Mandarin #1:   What? You don’t think I’m sweet?

Mandarin #2:   No, dummy. It’s because you ARE sweet that you’ll get eaten.

Mandarin #1:   Well, if you think that silly periscope is going to save you, you’d better close the hatch now and “DIVE! DIVE! DIVE!” because here they come – that old couple that’s sick of winter and wants a taste of summertime – that’s US, by the way – the reminder of summertime.

Mandarin #2: So, what should we do?

Mandarin #1:  I don’t know…. Maybe you can scare them off by looking weird when you wiggle your periscope. Maybe they’ll think you have some disease.

Mandarin #2: And what about you?

Mandarin #1:  No diseases here, but I’ve got a plan. When they try to skin me alive, I’ll hold on tight to my skin, naturally, and make it harder for them to do a clean job. Their hands will get sticky, and they’ll get up to get a tissue. While they’re gone I’ll just roll away. Maybe hide under the table.

Mandarin#2:  That won’t work. Haven’t you seen their dog? She’s always hanging around begging for food.

Mandarin #1:  Oh, that. I’ve got that covered. I’ll squeeze a bit of OJ in her eye. She doesn’t like that. Ha ha. I’m looking forward to that.

Mandarin #2:   What about me?

Mandarin #1:  Oh, I think I can spare some juice and squirt you too.

Mandarin #2:   No! Don’t be a smartypants. I mean how will I escape?

Mandarin #1:  Well, like I said, you have that periscope. You can DIVE, DIVE, DIVE.  Then we can roll away into the sunset…well, under the couch, anyway.


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Vanity and Innocence

Eight proud blossoms, heads held high,

Eager to embrace the sky,

Hoping to be seen. 

 

Five young weaklings bending down,

Study moss upon the ground,

Think, “What can it mean?”

 

Pride will wilt with warming sun,

Blooming faces will be done,

Turning paper thin.

 

Innocents will rest in moss,

Stunned to realize their loss,

How short life has been.


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The Root Cellar

Perhaps it’s not quite like a fridge, but it was a cool place to store the potatoes, turnips, carrots,  beets, and squash.

*Disclaimer – This is not my root cellar but it was on land where I was visiting. The poem is purely fictional (although probably possible).

“Go

Bring back

Potatoes,

Carrots, and squash.

The wicker basket

Is handy to carry

Everything.” — “But, Mom,” I whined,

“It’s so dark in there, and there’s bugs!”

“Nonsense! The bugs are more scared of you.”

Off I went … and of course, I proved her wrong.


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Run, Miss Muffet!

Seasonal changes are happening in full force now that summer has said goodbye, and autumn is settling in with the morning dew. The colour of the leaves changes, the fruit is ripe and dropping on the ground, the geese are moving from one location to another, trying to settle into new patterns to accommodate the need for shelter and food as the days and nights are cooler.

Have you noticed the fruit flies and yellow jackets? Who better to take advantage of this new availability of food than the spiders? It’s the time when the tiny spiders try to come into the house and hang unnoticed in a ceiling corner.

The giant house spider also senses that it’s time to find more warmth and tries to come inside. While these black monsters are horrifying to me, it’s the fat beige ones that make me shudder most.  They hang in the fruit trees and coat my hands with their sticky webs as I try to pick fruit. They build webs, across the corners of the door to my deck and between the hanging baskets and the wall – right in my face as I walk by.

But this one! This one gets the prize.  The Captain was about to get into his old beater truck to move it. He opened the driver’s side door to get in, and stopped just in time before he might have ended up wearing this spider on his nose. The spider had caught something, but it was so wrapped up that it was hard to tell what poor insect was the victim. Yes, it’s spider time!

 

Intricate and complicated,

That’s how spider webs are rated,

Works of wowing wonder.

 

Delicate yet super strong,

Well-placed webs do not belong

Where the bee is busy.

 

Here she comes, the busy bee,

Much too late, she doesn’t see,

That this trap is fatal.

 

Spider leaps as insect weeps,

This is no game, this is for keeps,

Life so short, now shorter.

 

Sucked quite dry, the bee can’t fly,

And one more victim had to die,

Spider just gets fatter.


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More Nuts Than Ever

I’m tired of washing, pitting, and freezing plums. The pears and apples are finished except for one winter apple tree that will be ready in about three weeks. So now it’s time to have a look at the walnut tree.

A closer look will show a few walnuts still hanging on. Some look dark and some quite green, but that is only the outer husk you are looking at. As the nut grows and the husk dries out, the nut and what’s left of its husk fall to the ground.

This one shouldn’t be too hard to pop out of its husk, but beware, the inside of that green coating stains like crazy. It would make a perfect “walnut” furniture stain. My hands always seem to end up looking like part of a walnut end table.

Once the husk is off the walnut, you can see the walnut that we are more familiar with, but it still needs some drying time. A burlap bag hung on the wall beside the woodstove is the perfect place to dry the walnuts.

Every couple of days I sneak some and take them to the woodshed as an offering to my squirrels.

“Thank you, Anneli,” Crispin chatters.

 

I love to have a change of food,

A different kind of nut,

The walnuts put me in a mood,

That makes me pat my gut.

 

The hazelnuts are such a treat,

I’ve packed a lot away,

But walnuts have delicious meat,

They’re best of all, I’d say.

 

I bite a hazelnut and run,

To hide it in a cache,

But walnuts are too big, no fun,

To lug them to my stash.

 

And this is why it’s oh, so fine,

To have them brought to me,

I know that all of them are mine,

To be devoured with glee.

 

 


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Flowers at the Beach

Today we spent a few hours on a nearby island beach that sees little use because it is only accessible by boat.

I was surprised to see the sandy fields blooming with tiny wildflowers.

I don’t know the names of all these flowers but the blue ones (below) look like tiny violas. I’m sure they have a proper name but I don’t know what it is. The little white flowers on the reddish stems might be saxifraga.

 

But this one I know. It is Oregon grape (berberis aquifolium, or holly-leaved barberry). Those yellow flowers turn into blue berries that look like a cluster of tiny grapes. I’ve read that the berries also have many health benefits, but they should be washed before eating. I’ve never enjoyed eating them raw. They are very tarty, but they make an excellent Oregon grape jelly.

Notice the dry moss all around the flowers. Even the moss has tiny blooms. The island has a rather dry climate so it makes its own unique, messy, but very pretty, flower garden.

More flowers will bloom here in the next weeks. I recognized leaves of lupins, and many other new shoots from various plants coming up from last year’s stock that has gone to seed.

Tiny but precious and ever so frail,

Bravely we bloom though the chill may prevail,

Few eyes will see us, and fewer admire,

We’ll  stand courageously ’til we expire.

 


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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