Magic Garden Boots

By Special Request . . .

These striped beauties were a gift from my sister. Last spring my nephew and I were tending to the secret garden behind the house. He was such a good sport in helping me out, especially since his boots belonged to his mother. It’s hard not to have fun when you wear footwear like this – even the garden smiles.

The Miracle of Returns

I am not a great gardener. I’d like to think I am, but my skills and attention span are limited. Luckily, I have girlfriends who absolutely love to dig in the dirt, and each year they inspire me to add at least one new plant to my gardens. I always try to add a perennial, something that should come back each year. And therein lies the joy of gardening for me. I love to see what returns.

As soon as the first warm breeze begins to stir in early spring I start walking the grounds, studying each area of potential growth. I stoop and crawl on my hands and knees, brushing leaves aside looking for signs of life. I find myself wondering how it must feel to be swallowed up in the earth for months, waiting for just the right time to start that journey upward. The patience I’d have to have as I worked my way to the surface. The struggle of pushing and shoving through the dirt. And then, how delightful it must be to finally feel the warmth of the sun. What a process! I think that this is truly one of God’s greatest miracles.

Images from top to bottom:
1. Bluebells from Pattie

2. Yellow Wood Poppies from Pattie

3. Astilbe from Mom

4. Favorite Wood Fern

5. Variegated Irises for Oma

6. My First Sign of Spring – Lenton Roses

Lospers and Roast Beast

When I first moved in with my sister, her youngest child was only four years old. He had a quirky language all his own, and it didn't take me long to realize that I needed a translator. With the help of his parents, his brother and his sister, I slowly I began to make sense of his vocabulary. Eventually I could converse with the best of them. During that time I kept a list of some of the more memorable words and their definitions. I recently ran across the list the other day. I thought you might enjoy reading them.

Certicketit

A certificate of some sort.

Fosseling

Flossing one’s teeth to remove food debris; often accomplished while face to face with an inquisitive four-year-old as if giving a demonstration.

Grape-acle

A frozen dessert; a grape skewered by a toothpick and placed in the freezer on a Tupperware lid; much like a Grape Popsicle but not really.

Hand-Ankle

Part of the human anatomy; the wrist .

Kissy Girls

Silly, giggling girls, 4-5 years in age, who blow kisses at mortified little boys, also 4-5 years in age; can often be found chasing the boys.

Losper

A yellow and black striped flying bug that stings, much like a sweat bee or wasp.

Nakes & Yizards

Snakes and lizards.

Roast Beast

Thinly sliced roast beef often used to make delicious sandwiches.

Rock Potatoes

Au gratin potato casserole; more delicious than the term sounds.

Sucker Bank

A bank or financial establishment in which candy lollipops are handed out at the drive-through upon completion of a transaction.

Thumb-Toes

Part of the human anatomy; the big toe of each foot.

Toasted Sticks

Matches that have already been lit and burned, hence the description “toasted.”

Tongue Spit

Saliva; aids in spitting, disgestion and swallowing.

Zap

Sap that drops from pine trees onto parked cars making them messy and extremely sticky.

The Sport of Tree Fishing

A few weeks ago H and I went for a hike in one of the area parks. It was a beautiful sunny day, cool and breezy, just the thing to clear our heads and get a little exercise. The trails wind through densely wooded areas over hilly terrain and past quiet streams. Somewhere in the center of the park is a pond and a path splits off from the main trail and circles around it. The pond is not huge and, in total, the extra walk is only about a quarter of a mile.

On that particular day, as we were wandering around the pond, a flash of red caught my eye. I had to really stare at it for a few seconds before I realized what it was – a small, round plastic bobber in a tree. Someone had been tree fishing. If you’re not familiar with this sport, it is the art of casting a fishing line into the tree branches rather than into the water where it belongs. I was introduced to it many years ago when I was a youngster. Fishing was not one of my father’s specialties but he was always willing to try a sport at least once, especially for his three daughters. So one summer, at our urging, Mom filled a picnic basket with sandwiches; Dad packed the car with shiny new fishing rods, and off we all went to the mountains. None of us knew what we were doing and it didn’t take long for our lines to get tangled in the trees. Eventually we cut our losses, literally, by trimming the hanging rods from the lines and simply played in the water. I’m sure the fish were rolling their eyes. I can’t remember what happened to those new poles once we got home, but I know we left quite a few bobbers in the trees. I don’t believe we ever went fishing as a family again.

I wish I had pictures of that event, but I don’t. Instead, I’ll leave you with a favorite picture of my father to whom my sisters and I owe many great adventures.

Wild Kingdom

I am an avid birdwatcher – not to be confused with an expert birdwatcher; I simply have fun. I am able to recognize common birds and I can identify a few by their vocals. I have numerous bird books to guide me but I still get pretty confused. Mostly, though, I just enjoy watching them because they fascinate me. I love the subtleties in their markings and colors and voices. I wonder what’s going on in their teeny, tiny bird brains. I’m amazed that so many species can get along together at the feeders. I think about what a struggle it must be to migrate. This is the stuff that clutters my mind.

My favorite time to commune with the birds is while sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee in one hand and binoculars in the other. Across from me sits H, my sweetheart of a husband, who listens to me chatter nonstop about the latest birds to stop by the feeders, land in the yard or bathe in the birdbaths – I can tell that he’s hanging on to my every word. If the truth be known, he probably finds more interest in my enthusiasm than he does in what he refers to as the “wild kingdom” that resides outside our window – until yesterday!

H was halfway through his breakfast when I got to the kitchen. Without looking up from the paper, he spoke:

“There sure are a lot of crows out there.”

“Really? What are you talking about? Where are my binoculars? Hey, those aren’t crows! Those birds are too small for our crows.”

“They’re black and there are a lot of them. It looks like Hitchcock out there.”

“Wow! They’re everywhere! Look at them in the trees and on my feeders. I sure hope they don’t tear up the feeders! Where are my bird books?”

Of course, by now I’m running from window to window with binoculars in hand.

“They’re noisy too.”

By the time I left for work thirty minutes later the birds were gone, as if they had never stopped by. However, as I pulled out of the driveway I was startled by another bird sighting – this time a hawk sitting on a tree branch so close that I could have touched him. He eyeballed me as I snapped a few photos. I’m sure that H was also eyeballing me from the window, no doubt waiting for me to come home and tell the tale.

So Close . . .

Somewhere, just around the corner is spring. Waiting for the right moment. I know it’s coming. There are little signs everywhere. Patience.