wordsfromanneli

Thoughts, ideas, photos, and stories.

Category Archives: Trees


by 37 Comments

Land of Plenty

Guess what I’ve been doing in between trying to get  photos of Crispin helping himself to the nuts on our two trees.

It’s that time of year when everywhere you look there is work to do, but you know you’ll be glad you did it later.

The squirrels have been working hard to clean out the nut trees, and I finally decided I should go out there and seriously pick up the fallen nuts, and shake the trees to get more of them down. The pears, apples, and plums are a bonus (from their own trees, of course). May we never go hungry.

 

Harvest time is very fine,

Though my grapes won’t turn to wine,

Could it be that I’ve been grazing,

Eating all the grapes? Amazing!

 

But the hazelnuts are here,

Glad that they don’t disappear,

Good to know the squirrels will share,

There’s enough and some to spare.


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Chicken Little’s Sky

When Chicken Little saw this sky, she knew there was trouble ahead, so she squawked her famous lines and said, as you know:

Bok-bok-bok!

The SKY is falling,

And WE must tell the KING!

BoddOCK bok!

Well, who would’ve thunk that a chicken could forecast this dramatic weather phenomenon?!

The very next day, the sky actually DID fall. That big dark cloud fell onto the ground and covered the whole valley.

And then, as Carl Sandburg said:

The fog comes in
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

They say that “No man is an island,” but these fir trees aren’t too sure about that.


by 48 Comments

And so it Begins

Robbie Robin thinks of spring,

And the bounty it can bring,

In the lower elevation,

Life was like a long vacation.

 

Summer berries in the hills,

How delicious were these frills,

In the forests by the streams,

Food enough to fill his dreams.

 

 

 

Ah, but what’s that ridge of white?

Yes, it is a pretty sight,

But it means the days are chill, 

And he must come off the hill.

 

Food is scarce, the bugs are gone,

Must be time for moving on,

Back to lower, warmer climes,

And a few more happy times.

 

See my friends around my table,

Eating much as we are able,

Mountain ash is loaded full,

Grab the berries and just pull.

 

Oh, my heavens, see the snow,

I knew I was right to go,

One more feast on berries here,

Then I’ll say, “Goodbye, my dear.”


by 56 Comments

The Lost Dress

My lovely dress of golden leaves 

Is tattered now, and worn,

The wind has warned – no more reprieves,

This time the leaves get shorn.

 

I hold on tight with all my might,

While gusts and gales rip past,

They tear my dress, and though I fight,

 I’m nearly bare at last.

 

I shiver and the last leaves quiver,

Hanging by a thread,

Until they loosen, blowing whither

They know not, and spread.

 

My golden dress is on the ground,

For all to trod upon,

And scuffing feet will swish it ’round,

While gusts blow ’til it’s gone.

 

 

 


by 46 Comments

It’s Dogwood Time

It’s time for the dogwoods to bloom. There are many bigger dogwood trees around, but ours is still quite small.

The robin is enjoying the spring morning sunshine while he wonders about the petal count of these flowers.

Most flowers have a number of petals that fall into the Fibonacci sequence, a mathematical sequence in which each number is the sum of the two preceding ones. So it goes like this: 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144 … and it goes on forever.

Our Pacific dogwood usually has between four and six petals, so it’s different from most flowers which tend to follow the Fibonacci sequence.

Next time you’re in a flower garden, see which flowers you can find that have either  3, 5, 8, 13, or 21 petals. You’ll be surprised at what you find.

*Fibonacci sequence was used and further explored by an Italian mathematician, Leonardo Bonacci, who was called Fibonacci, possibly as a name made up from “filius Bonacci” (son of Bonacci). He was born about 1170. Yes, about 850+ years ago.

I bet he loved doing puzzles or writing code.

So what’s the next number after 144? The first nine commenters got it easily, so how about the next three numbers?

 


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Red-breasted Sapsucker

Air is cold, I’m shivering,

Legs so skinny, quivering,

Ants or beetles, if you’re near,

Eating you would bring me cheer.

 

Not much sap is dripping down,

Though I’ve drilled holes all around,

Maybe though,  an ant will scurry,

Running off in such a hurry.

 

I’ve no chocolate to coat it,

Nature simply won’t promote it,

But the crunchy flavour’s good,

With a hint of fir tree wood.

Watch me skipping round the tree,

Eating ants and bugs with glee,

Little holes, the bark endures,

Graciously, my meal ensures.

 

 

I apologize for the background noise of dogs barking and garbage trucks backing up somewhere in the world outside my own little world.


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The Fate of Trees

Montana is proud of its cottonwood trees,

So tough when the weather is bold,

Steady, prevailing, along comes the breeze,

It brings northern winds and the cold.

 

The trunks with their lumpy bark, stem the wild winds,

The texture adds warmth to the trees,

Though winter has threatened, the sun soon rescinds

The sentence the north wind decrees.

A lonely fatality, victim of spray,

Was covered with poison by chance,

Its skeleton stands, to remind us, each day,

Its beauty was all in our hands.

The dam in its cruelty drowned every tree,

The water rose into their crown,

Decay and slow death in the newly made sea,

Leave once noble sticks breaking down.

The nuthatch is happy to drill a new nest,

Admiring a tree with such soul,

She praises the tree and says, “You are the best, 

Not just a utility pole.” 

 

As evening approaches, the cottonwoods sigh,

And whisper with shivery leaves,

The autumn is golden, but soon by and by,

They’ll run out of short-term reprieves.