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'Gardening' : first, get comfortable..........

(repost)

When presented with a house and property and turning it into a home and garden,  the practice that has proved beneficial and worthwhile over the years has been to live with both structure and land across all four seasons before making any major changes or decisions.  To observe how the light changes  over twelve months,  where the  wind does and doesn't  go,  which parts capture the sun and  the moon.  To watch what is already there and how it is added to and subtracted from by nature.  To see how my input is received and welcomed or not.

The next step - and this is most important - once the spot is chosen as most suitable for contented living (in both the home and the garden) - plop down in  it!  Add the details around it. 

"Plopping down" means providing comfortable seating.  Truly comfortable seating: it is quite amazing and alarming how many most is not!  When you find a chair in which you can really relax in - clone it.  Or something. 

In one garden,  stumps rounded by the ocean were ideal:  they were a happenstance find on a beach;  once sat upon and then sat into (there is a difference) and sat into for a contemplative  period of time - they were carted home.  Thank goodness for a strong friend with a truck. 

In another garden two tub chairs did not look comfy but they were.  In that same garden so was a wide wooden swing.  Some deck chairs are great; some not: test drive! 

Which brings me to the present garden; a year of unusually windy conditions had me looking for a sheltered spot in the garden.  The front stairs provide a sunny nook but the steps are too narrow to sit upon for any period of time.  (We did once turn conventional porch stairs into wide steps and that is where people tended to sit although there were seats on the veranda - I think it had something to do with how you could sprawl and rest on an elbow. )

So when I noticed that there was a space behind the holly tree that was tucked out of the way of the wind - I checked it out.  The picture above/left is what you see from the front.  The space  is small and cosy and fits one chair.
It is a work in progress, this pocket. (photo mid left)   I cut a hollow out of the holly.  I'll add some garden art to the wall of the stairs.  I disturbed the ground with my 'moving in' so now it is a wait and see ; there is a fern plant that I could not re-locate but I expect it will perk up.  There look to be some violet leaves.  I may stick some sweet woodruff along the side. 

This is what it looks like when seated in the chair; there is a two-tiered rock foot rest;  the cats have come to visit;  the front garden is visible through the holly branches but in a private sort of way.

Since making the spot two days ago it has been sunny and warm and a bit breezy - the kind of weather for sitting in the open air places in the garden. 

This new nook is ready for when needed.

Posted on May 19, 2012 at 02:22 AM | Permalink

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Good morning Karen, haven't visited for awhile, so I've been catching up on your posts. It is glorious weather here in Ontario, mid 20's with some humidex thrown in. I've been looking after the grandchildren and working in the garden and most importantly relaxing in the garden.

Posted by: Crafty Gardener | May 20, 2012 at 05:59 AM

Hello Linda
Spring and grandkids in the garden .... perfect!

Posted by: karen | May 23, 2012 at 07:51 AM

The comments to this entry are closed.

(repost)

When presented with a house and property and turning it into a home and garden,  the practice that has proved beneficial and worthwhile over the years has been to live with both structure and land across all four seasons before making any major changes or decisions.  To observe how the light changes  over twelve months,  where the  wind does and doesn't  go,  which parts capture the sun and  the moon.  To watch what is already there and how it is added to and subtracted from by nature.  To see how my input is received and welcomed or not.

The next step - and this is most important - once the spot is chosen as most suitable for contented living (in both the home and the garden) - plop down in  it!  Add the details around it. 

"Plopping down" means providing comfortable seating.  Truly comfortable seating: it is quite amazing and alarming how many most is not!  When you find a chair in which you can really relax in - clone it.  Or something. 

In one garden,  stumps rounded by the ocean were ideal:  they were a happenstance find on a beach;  once sat upon and then sat into (there is a difference) and sat into for a contemplative  period of time - they were carted home.  Thank goodness for a strong friend with a truck. 

In another garden two tub chairs did not look comfy but they were.  In that same garden so was a wide wooden swing.  Some deck chairs are great; some not: test drive! 

Which brings me to the present garden; a year of unusually windy conditions had me looking for a sheltered spot in the garden.  The front stairs provide a sunny nook but the steps are too narrow to sit upon for any period of time.  (We did once turn conventional porch stairs into wide steps and that is where people tended to sit although there were seats on the veranda - I think it had something to do with how you could sprawl and rest on an elbow. )

So when I noticed that there was a space behind the holly tree that was tucked out of the way of the wind - I checked it out.  The picture above/left is what you see from the front.  The space  is small and cosy and fits one chair.
It is a work in progress, this pocket. (photo mid left)   I cut a hollow out of the holly.  I'll add some garden art to the wall of the stairs.  I disturbed the ground with my 'moving in' so now it is a wait and see ; there is a fern plant that I could not re-locate but I expect it will perk up.  There look to be some violet leaves.  I may stick some sweet woodruff along the side. 

This is what it looks like when seated in the chair; there is a two-tiered rock foot rest;  the cats have come to visit;  the front garden is visible through the holly branches but in a private sort of way.

Since making the spot two days ago it has been sunny and warm and a bit breezy - the kind of weather for sitting in the open air places in the garden. 

This new nook is ready for when needed.

'Gardening' : first, get comfortable..........

(repost)

When presented with a house and property and turning it into a home and garden,  the practice that has proved beneficial and worthwhile over the years has been to live with both structure and land across all four seasons before making any major changes or decisions.  To observe how the light changes  over twelve months,  where the  wind does and doesn't  go,  which parts capture the sun and  the moon.  To watch what is already there and how it is added to and subtracted from by nature.  To see how my input is received and welcomed or not.

The next step - and this is most important - once the spot is chosen as most suitable for contented living (in both the home and the garden) - plop down in  it!  Add the details around it. 

"Plopping down" means providing comfortable seating.  Truly comfortable seating: it is quite amazing and alarming how many most is not!  When you find a chair in which you can really relax in - clone it.  Or something. 

In one garden,  stumps rounded by the ocean were ideal:  they were a happenstance find on a beach;  once sat upon and then sat into (there is a difference) and sat into for a contemplative  period of time - they were carted home.  Thank goodness for a strong friend with a truck. 

In another garden two tub chairs did not look comfy but they were.  In that same garden so was a wide wooden swing.  Some deck chairs are great; some not: test drive! 

Which brings me to the present garden; a year of unusually windy conditions had me looking for a sheltered spot in the garden.  The front stairs provide a sunny nook but the steps are too narrow to sit upon for any period of time.  (We did once turn conventional porch stairs into wide steps and that is where people tended to sit although there were seats on the veranda - I think it had something to do with how you could sprawl and rest on an elbow. )

So when I noticed that there was a space behind the holly tree that was tucked out of the way of the wind - I checked it out.  The picture above/left is what you see from the front.  The space  is small and cosy and fits one chair.
It is a work in progress, this pocket. (photo mid left)   I cut a hollow out of the holly.  I'll add some garden art to the wall of the stairs.  I disturbed the ground with my 'moving in' so now it is a wait and see ; there is a fern plant that I could not re-locate but I expect it will perk up.  There look to be some violet leaves.  I may stick some sweet woodruff along the side. 

This is what it looks like when seated in the chair; there is a two-tiered rock foot rest;  the cats have come to visit;  the front garden is visible through the holly branches but in a private sort of way.

Since making the spot two days ago it has been sunny and warm and a bit breezy - the kind of weather for sitting in the open air places in the garden. 

This new nook is ready for when needed.

Painting......Finished......on Wall

Painting...Unfinished....On Wall....

repost

I've never done this before so it is an interesting experiment: I've neither left a painting unfinished nor hung it on the wall unfinished.  Unlike the fibre art or photography or homemaking, which can be done in stages, when I paint - I paint.  This painting was started many months ago and life suddenly needed full attention (the house sold!) so the easel  and the board and the paints got packed and moved;  Walking Vacuum Home went with them.

Yesterday I was rummaging and came across the painting neatly stacked in the storage area.  This morning I got it out and attached hooks to the back of it and hung it up. It's in the hallway where I pass it - and look at it - many times a day.  I know where the easel is.  I know where the paints are.  Maybe I'll paint.  The house is not for sale. 

Posted on February 04, 2008 at 05:48 AM | Permalink

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I love your unfinished painting! It reminds me of a neighborhood yard sale that we had in the Triangle over 25 years ago. At the end of the sale, one of Miriam's friends was given an old free-standing hair dryer that hadn't sold, and which the owner didn't want to bring back inside. I still have that picture of her in my mind's eye,(much like your unfinished painting, dragging that hair dryer home behind her like an unwilling dog. I like to imagine her mother's face when she arrived home.

Posted by: Anne | February 11, 2008 at 01:24 AM

I've never done this before so it is an interesting experiment: I've neither left a painting unfinished nor hung it on the wall unfinished.  Unlike the fibre art or photography or homemaking, which can be done in stages, when I paint - I paint.  This painting was started many months ago and life suddenly needed full attention (the house sold!) so the easel  and the board and the paints got packed and moved;  Walking Vacuum Home went with them.

Yesterday I was rummaging and came across the painting neatly stacked in the storage area.  This morning I got it out and attached hooks to the back of it and hung it up. It's in the hallway where I pass it - and look at it - many times a day.  I know where the easel is.  I know where the paints are.  Maybe I'll paint.  The house is not for sale. 

I've never done this before so it is an interesting experiment: I've neither left a painting unfinished nor hung it on the wall unfinished.  Unlike the fibre art or photography or homemaking, which can be done in stages, when I paint - I paint.  This painting was started many months ago and life suddenly needed full attention (the house sold!) so the easel  and the board and the paints got packed and moved;  Walking Vacuum Home went with them.

Yesterday I was rummaging and came across the painting neatly stacked in the storage area.  This morning I got it out and attached hooks to the back of it and hung it up. It's in the hallway where I pass it - and look at it - many times a day.  I know where the easel is.  I know where the paints are.  Maybe I'll paint.  The house is not for sale. 

Giraffe in Residence

repost August 28 2007

"His ears are missing and he's in a sad state so I don't know if anyone will buy him."

The garage sale where I overheard this conversation had some interesting items already - a washtub stand, a take-apart-in-two-minutes folding picnic table, an electric grill in what looked like a small refrigerator - so I had to inquire.

Well, he was a yellow giraffe "lying over there dead on the lawn."

I trotted over.  He wasn't dead.  He was just waiting on someone - like me - to revive him.  Made of papier mache (by someone who knew what they were doing) he stands four feet tall and is indeed earless.  And hornless - at least he has holes between the ears on top of head so I imagine he had little horns as well.  Apparently the dog chewed these appendages off when he (I assume the dog but it was such an interesting family they might have meant the giraffe) was young. 

"I had thoughts of turning him into a piñata," the lady told me and I turned my hold on the giraffe into a hug.

"Does he have a name?"  I inquired.

"No, we just call him Giraffe," she replied.  But I could hear the capital G so I knew he had been loved.

"The grandkids used to love getting up on the couch and then climbing on his back," she went on, giving me added information, which adds so much.  "But they're too big now."  She patted the scratches on Giraffe's nose; made me envision some delightful tumbles.

I paid her.  I am not going to say how much. 

A fair bit of conversation went into what kind of hat Giraffe needed to cover his affliction.  A straw hat seemed the majority suggestion.  But what kind.  Mexican?  A garden variety?  I tend to think of donkeys perhaps carrying off a straw hat but a giraffe, particularly Giraffe, seemed to want something more dashing.  I said I could knit something but everyone looked doubtful: I think they were imagining a floppy bonnet.

A lady who was holding a garage sale next door but who had wandered over and gotten involved in all this went back to her house and came over with a tiny straw hat and sold it to me for a dime.  It covered three of the holes.  She continued to worry about my having said that I might put him in the garden, had commented that he was "made of paper, isn't he?"  and as I left she advised me to "put his feet on tiles or something to keep them above the ground."

Giraffe got the whole back seat to himself and looked quite perky. I didn't see anyone noticing my interesting passenger -darn.  It would have been fun to share the fun.

I set him down in the living room and he looked right at home. The question of his obvious need of cosmetic, if not medical, attention brought about consideration of knitting ears and horns, or forming some out of paper, or just letting him be.  After a considerable time just sitting and staring at him I remembered the hat I had made for Grandbaby which was too small for him even in his newborn state.  The fact that it is black with a lining that is spotted may have been a factor in his NOT wearing it even if it had fit - but - it was obviously intended for a four foot Giraffe.   

   

Posted on August 28, 2007 at 06:42 AM | Permalink

GIRAFFE PHOTO

Here is a photo of the giraffe who joined the household a few weeks back.

He  is  in  the living room and continues to delight me whenever I see him. 

I think , too, of who made him and  hope he or she  feels my appreciative grin. 

 

Here is a photo of the giraffe who joined the household a few weeks back.

He  is  in  the living room and continues to delight me whenever I see him. 

I think , too, of who made him and  hope he or she  feels my appreciative grin. 

Flowers in the House

repost March 3 2009

I used to think it was perhaps laziness or imperfect housekeeping that was the reason I left flowers in their vase long after they would be considered proper or pretty.

But then I saw the work of an artist who only painted flowers in their 'past their prime' state and I realized she was seeing much beauty in them and that I was too. 

So now I let them paperize,  relax,  assume a form beholden unto itself.   And  I watch this transformation with curiosity and respect.

The simplicity of a single stem of forsythia catches and holds attention as a bunch might not do.  Mostly the lone stem has more to do with my reluctance to pick and bring indoors something that, if left alone, would bloom in sun and wind and starlight. (I have no problem with purchasing flowers already picked.)  But I took this stem from the bush in the front garden during a cold spell when some reassurance was needed that a bare branch would and could burst out brilliance if given house space.  And if admired many times a day.  It worked! 

Some fleece got felted around a balloon partially filled with sand to make this soft vase.  A narrow plastic tube holds water and fit perfectly.  Some snowdrops came indoors.

The annual city pick-up of branches has resulted in piles of garden trimmings along the streets.

I rescued a few budding fruit tree twigs and expect they will continue to flower and leaf.  That's a fingerless glove wrapped around a glass of water giving a cozy place to blossom.

Some more of the 'treasures' from the street branch piles.  Lucky I got them when I did:  the city collection happened yesterday on our block.

Posted on March 03, 2009 at 12:01 AM | Permalink

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How nice to rescue some branches trimmed from shrubs and let them come to life inside. It will still be a long time before anything bursts into buds here in Ontario.

Posted by: Crafty Gardener | March 03, 2009 at 03:08 AM

Morning Linda How early in Ontario can you bring a branch indoors and have it bloom? November? I know I brought forsythia in a week or so before Christmas when I lived there. And a friend in Georgetown tells me chestnut and magnolia can be wonderfully 'forced'. I like the term 'encouraged' better! (-:

I used to think it was perhaps laziness or imperfect housekeeping that was the reason I left flowers in their vase long after they would be considered proper or pretty.

But then I saw the work of an artist who only painted flowers in their 'past their prime' state and I realized she was seeing much beauty in them and that I was too. 

So now I let them paperize,  relax,  assume a form beholden unto itself.   And  I watch this transformation with curiosity and respect.

The simplicity of a single stem of forsythia catches and holds attention as a bunch might not do.  Mostly the lone stem has more to do with my reluctance to pick and bring indoors something that, if left alone, would bloom in sun and wind and starlight. (I have no problem with purchasing flowers already picked.)  But I took this stem from the bush in the front garden during a cold spell when some reassurance was needed that a bare branch would and could burst out brilliance if given house space.  And if admired many times a day.  It worked! 

Some fleece got felted around a balloon partially filled with sand to make this soft vase.  A narrow plastic tube holds water and fit perfectly.  Some snowdrops came indoors.

The annual city pick-up of branches has resulted in piles of garden trimmings along the streets.

I rescued a few budding fruit tree twigs and expect they will continue to flower and leaf.  That's a fingerless glove wrapped around a glass of water giving a cozy place to blossom.

Some more of the 'treasures' from the street branch piles.  Lucky I got them when I did:  the city collection happened yesterday on our block.

I used to think it was perhaps laziness or imperfect housekeeping that was the reason I left flowers in their vase long after they would be considered proper or pretty.

But then I saw the work of an artist who only painted flowers in their 'past their prime' state and I realized she was seeing much beauty in them and that I was too. 

So now I let them paperize,  relax,  assume a form beholden unto itself.   And  I watch this transformation with curiosity and respect.

The simplicity of a single stem of forsythia catches and holds attention as a bunch might not do.  Mostly the lone stem has more to do with my reluctance to pick and bring indoors something that, if left alone, would bloom in sun and wind and starlight. (I have no problem with purchasing flowers already picked.)  But I took this stem from the bush in the front garden during a cold spell when some reassurance was needed that a bare branch would and could burst out brilliance if given house space.  And if admired many times a day.  It worked! 

Some fleece got felted around a balloon partially filled with sand to make this soft vase.  A narrow plastic tube holds water and fit perfectly.  Some snowdrops came indoors.

The annual city pick-up of branches has resulted in piles of garden trimmings along the streets.

I rescued a few budding fruit tree twigs and expect they will continue to flower and leaf.  That's a fingerless glove wrapped around a glass of water giving a cozy place to blossom.

Some more of the 'treasures' from the street branch piles.  Lucky I got them when I did:  the city collection happened yesterday on our block.

Whistlers

repost September 4 2008

A few years ago I used to enjoy the chance meeting - actually a passing by: he was on a bike - of a man who whistled as he rode along the city streets.  Then I encountered a woman whistling at the Polish Deli so I  stopped her  and we had a lovely chat about why she whistled and when she had started and who had taught her to the extent that I turned it into an interview, tracked down the man on the bike who whistled, and it became an article in the local newspaper. 

Tracking down that man was an adventure - the only lead I had was that he lived somewhere near a large grocery store so I started there and customer service asked around the employees and one thought he lived a few streets away so I wandered that neighbourhood asking anyone in sight and eventually a woman walking her dog directed me to a house and I found him.  This was not in one single attempt but several and it was satisfying to finally locate him and have him agree to be interviewed.

Two different whistlers in two different locations in the past week brought those previous ones to mind.  Both these were men and both were whistling so merrily away.  Neither would catch my eye and accept my appreciative smile which seems to be the 'alone in a crowd' aspect of whistling that came up in those interviews previously; it's as if whistling is socially unacceptable and those doing it are fearful to acknowledge what they are doing.

I don't intend to do another article.  What interests me this time is the choice of song being whistled and made me wonder what I would whistle in public.  I also wonder if I can carry a tune when I whistle; when I sing I cannot; in fact one of my sons claims that I am the only person he knows who can sing consistently out of tune;  I actually think that must be some sort of accomplishment. 

Anyway,  one  gent was whistling  Winchester Cathedral ,  the other  Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.  I would whistle  Summertime.  What would you?  Would you?  Maybe we should declare a Whistling Day and see what happens.  Hmmmm.

Posted on September 04, 2008 at 03:26 AM | Permalink

A few years ago I used to enjoy the chance meeting - actually a passing by: he was on a bike - of a man who whistled as he rode along the city streets.  Then I encountered a woman whistling at the Polish Deli so I  stopped her  and we had a lovely chat about why she whistled and when she had started and who had taught her to the extent that I turned it into an interview, tracked down the man on the bike who whistled, and it became an article in the local newspaper. 

Tracking down that man was an adventure - the only lead I had was that he lived somewhere near a large grocery store so I started there and customer service asked around the employees and one thought he lived a few streets away so I wandered that neighbourhood asking anyone in sight and eventually a woman walking her dog directed me to a house and I found him.  This was not in one single attempt but several and it was satisfying to finally locate him and have him agree to be interviewed.

Two different whistlers in two different locations in the past week brought those previous ones to mind.  Both these were men and both were whistling so merrily away.  Neither would catch my eye and accept my appreciative smile which seems to be the 'alone in a crowd' aspect of whistling that came up in those interviews previously; it's as if whistling is socially unacceptable and those doing it are fearful to acknowledge what they are doing.

I don't intend to do another article.  What interests me this time is the choice of song being whistled and made me wonder what I would whistle in public.  I also wonder if I can carry a tune when I whistle; when I sing I cannot; in fact one of my sons claims that I am the only person he knows who can sing consistently out of tune;  I actually think that must be some sort of accomplishment. 

Anyway,  one  gent was whistling  Winchester Cathedral ,  the other  Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head.  I would whistle  Summertime.  What would you?  Would you?  Maybe we should declare a Whistling Day and see what happens.  Hmmmm.

Earth and Sky

repost August 30 2014

Four a.m. and the horizon has cracked enough for the first light of a new day to seep through. In another hour it will be broad. Dawnings satisfy something deep within me and I may fall back to sleep for an hour or so but if I miss the first hint of a breaking day I feel a loss. In the summer, with windows wide, - smell of dewy earth, sound of nudging leaves, feel of breeze - it is magic. And there are the birds.

At this time of year a robin trills, and it is a true trill, that expression between song and chatter. Is it encouraging the dawn or is the dawn encouraging it? I wonder.

Then a sparrow starts to chirrup. The solitary aubade may continue for quite some time before others join in. But when the voices are many, boy, do they carry on. This morning it lasted across two hours with few breaks. Then silence. Then a continuation again. Why are they speaking? What are they saying? It got a bit monotonous after awhile and I was tempted to order a 'Hush, won't you!' out the window. This will silence them for a moment but then they would start up again with rather demanding chirpings as they know my voice and associate it with the scattering of seeds. So I did not raise their expectations at four thirty in the morning. I didn't want to feel I must go out and feed them in night attire.

While the sparrows were conversing (and it is not singing but talking)the local crows burst into speech in the distance and the juxtaposition of sound was intriguing. It wasn't the 'Caw, caw, the wind is raw' of a November statement. No, it was simply 'caw! caw!caw!', a vocal delight in what was promising to be a warm and sunny day. 

The common sparrow perches frequently on my attention throughout the day. Common? Hah. Observe one closely. I would imagine the design and colour of their feathers is similar to a fingerprint, to a snowflake. Try to capture it on paper with paints. Or simply to describe it. Whenever I have had a sparrow in hand the awe takes on the added dimension of texture. Downy yet firm. Exquisite.

A second brood of babies are increasing the character of bird gazing. If human babies seem neckless then baby sparrows appear legless. They crouch on the ground with mouth open, wings vibrating, squawking. The food is right there in front of them but they want to be fed. I used to think it was because the parent bird sort of chewed the food first. But there doesn't seem to be a time lapse. Crumbs of corn chips got picked up by Dad and stuffed immediately into Junior. He (the youngster) would sit patiently and silently in the midst of other babies being fed but as soon as his own parent(s) showed up he went again into the squat and holler. 

A starling on the cherry tree yesterday had its back to me and caught my attention with its head nodding sideways. Back and forth. Back and forth. I wondered what it was doing until I realized it had a cherry in its beak and was trying strenuously to pluck it from the tree. Finally it did. I cheered.

I was too surprised to think about applauding as I watched a crow take an empty pop can to the top of my neighbour's driveway, release it, and follow its progress in a run and hop as it rolled down the hill, pecking at it to move it faster, redirecting it when it got stuck. Birds do play! 

Ten p.m. and not completely dark until a single robin trills down the night and I sigh myself indoors.

Posted on August 30, 2004 at 07:22 AM | Permalink

Four a.m. and the horizon has cracked enough for the first light of a new day to seep through. In another hour it will be broad. Dawnings satisfy something deep within me and I may fall back to sleep for an hour or so but if I miss the first hint of a breaking day I feel a loss. In the summer, with windows wide, - smell of dewy earth, sound of nudging leaves, feel of breeze - it is magic. And there are the birds.

At this time of year a robin trills, and it is a true trill, that expression between song and chatter. Is it encouraging the dawn or is the dawn encouraging it? I wonder.

Then a sparrow starts to chirrup. The solitary aubade may continue for quite some time before others join in. But when the voices are many, boy, do they carry on. This morning it lasted across two hours with few breaks. Then silence. Then a continuation again. Why are they speaking? What are they saying? It got a bit monotonous after awhile and I was tempted to order a 'Hush, won't you!' out the window. This will silence them for a moment but then they would start up again with rather demanding chirpings as they know my voice and associate it with the scattering of seeds. So I did not raise their expectations at four thirty in the morning. I didn't want to feel I must go out and feed them in night attire.

While the sparrows were conversing (and it is not singing but talking)the local crows burst into speech in the distance and the juxtaposition of sound was intriguing. It wasn't the 'Caw, caw, the wind is raw' of a November statement. No, it was simply 'caw! caw!caw!', a vocal delight in what was promising to be a warm and sunny day. 

The common sparrow perches frequently on my attention throughout the day. Common? Hah. Observe one closely. I would imagine the design and colour of their feathers is similar to a fingerprint, to a snowflake. Try to capture it on paper with paints. Or simply to describe it. Whenever I have had a sparrow in hand the awe takes on the added dimension of texture. Downy yet firm. Exquisite.

A second brood of babies are increasing the character of bird gazing. If human babies seem neckless then baby sparrows appear legless. They crouch on the ground with mouth open, wings vibrating, squawking. The food is right there in front of them but they want to be fed. I used to think it was because the parent bird sort of chewed the food first. But there doesn't seem to be a time lapse. Crumbs of corn chips got picked up by Dad and stuffed immediately into Junior. He (the youngster) would sit patiently and silently in the midst of other babies being fed but as soon as his own parent(s) showed up he went again into the squat and holler. 

A starling on the cherry tree yesterday had its back to me and caught my attention with its head nodding sideways. Back and forth. Back and forth. I wondered what it was doing until I realized it had a cherry in its beak and was trying strenuously to pluck it from the tree. Finally it did. I cheered.

I was too surprised to think about applauding as I watched a crow take an empty pop can to the top of my neighbour's driveway, release it, and follow its progress in a run and hop as it rolled down the hill, pecking at it to move it faster, redirecting it when it got stuck. Birds do play! 

Ten p.m. and not completely dark until a single robin trills down the night and I sigh myself indoors.

Bob Dylan Song

repost Dec 8 2006

Bob Dylan's "Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts" from his 1975 Blood on the Tracks album is a song I discovered comparatively recently.  I find the shoulder-bouncing music appealing and the poem lyrics intriguing: I'd like to know the whole story.  The one line that thoroughly evokes eye-widening and applause is "The only person on the scene missing was the Jack of Hearts."  Apart from visceral appreciation comes the cerebral wonder if the perfect sequence of words came firstly or were the result of several rearrangements.  Move "missing" around and see what I mean.

Posted on December 08, 2006 at 07:26 AM | Permalink

Grinning Robin: Painting, Stamp.

repost April  7 2014

  Grinning Robin was painted back in 1991.  This Aubade got written a few years later.

At dawn yesterday the quite erratic song of a robin caused me to wonder and wander. There he (or she!) was at the very top of the tallest tree (the one my neighbour told me was a Christmas tree planted many years ago: I very much like knowing this history about that tree) and singing in distracted chunks.  The cause became apparent with a bit of observing on my part.  He was grooming!  A note or two and then raise a wing and pay attention to an armpit.  More song.  Preen breast feathers.  A note or two.  Shoulder got combed. It was an odd concert. Several finches were foraging in the foliage below the robin and maybe this 'audience' made some comment because Robin suddenly stopped, looked straight at the rising sun, gave two quick chirps - and flew away!

 Then, awhile later, I learned that you could have an image put on a stamp.  The Post Office had never been asked to have a personal painting put on a stamp before: I had to sign some extra forms but it happened.   

 

Posted on April 07, 2014 at 09:25 PM | Permalink

 

  Grinning Robin was painted back in 1991.  This Aubade got written a few years later.

At dawn yesterday the quite erratic song of a robin caused me to wonder and wander. There he (or she!) was at the very top of the tallest tree (the one my neighbour told me was a Christmas tree planted many years ago: I very much like knowing this history about that tree) and singing in distracted chunks.  The cause became apparent with a bit of observing on my part.  He was grooming!  A note or two and then raise a wing and pay attention to an armpit.  More song.  Preen breast feathers.  A note or two.  Shoulder got combed. It was an odd concert. Several finches were foraging in the foliage below the robin and maybe this 'audience' made some comment because Robin suddenly stopped, looked straight at the rising sun, gave two quick chirps - and flew away!

 Then, awhile later, I learned that you could have an image put on a stamp.  The Post Office had never been asked to have a personal painting put on a stamp before: I had to sign some extra forms but it happened.   

 

  Grinning Robin was painted back in 1991.  This Aubade got written a few years later.

At dawn yesterday the quite erratic song of a robin caused me to wonder and wander. There he (or she!) was at the very top of the tallest tree (the one my neighbour told me was a Christmas tree planted many years ago: I very much like knowing this history about that tree) and singing in distracted chunks.  The cause became apparent with a bit of observing on my part.  He was grooming!  A note or two and then raise a wing and pay attention to an armpit.  More song.  Preen breast feathers.  A note or two.  Shoulder got combed. It was an odd concert. Several finches were foraging in the foliage below the robin and maybe this 'audience' made some comment because Robin suddenly stopped, looked straight at the rising sun, gave two quick chirps - and flew away!

 Then, awhile later, I learned that you could have an image put on a stamp.  The Post Office had never been asked to have a personal painting put on a stamp before: I had to sign some extra forms but it happened.   

 

Silly Bandz

repost November 7 2010

A friend in Toronto who has grandkids older than mine and who keeps me up to date with kids stuff was telling me about this craze sweeping the schoolyards called Silly Bandz.  Elastic bands in the shapes of animals.  Kids wear them on their wrists and collect and trade them.  

I was then reminded about some elastic bands in the shapes of animals that had been an impulse purchase in a nifty Japanese import store in Baldwin Village on my last visit to Toronto in the spring. It was not mentioned that they were to be worn on the wrist and  that they were sort of the present day version of pet rocks.

When I got them home they had looked ..... interesting (as things you buy on trips can appear once out of the luggage) ..... and then they got put away in a drawer where I forgot about them.  After the silly bandz alert I searched them out and found they would easily slip onto my wrist;   the caution on the package warned against overstretching so I did not think this was possible.

They look .... interesting.  I googled for more information and history.  Fascinating!  No store in Victoria seems to be carrying them so maybe I am,  inadvertently and coincidentally,  the first to  - uh, give them wrist space.  I found out from the Net that they come in Barbie shapes and Justin Bieber and animals etc.

Wonder what shapes would appeal to people my age of the Boomer sort.  Mid century modern furniture?  Vintage cars?  Flowers?  Birds?  Spinning wheels?  Cruise ships?  Comfy shoes?  Healthy vegetables and fruits?  The Beatles?  Bob Dylan? Elizabeth Zimmerman?  My grandkiddies profiles?  

As I was posting this I looked at them on my wrist and wondered if they would survive the journey up and over my fist.

They did!   Well, that is good to know in case they do come up with shapes my knitting friends and I may want to ...... seriously ...... collect and wear and trade.

Posted on November 07, 2010 at 10:52 AM | Permalink

 

A friend in Toronto who has grandkids older than mine and who keeps me up to date with kids stuff was telling me about this craze sweeping the schoolyards called Silly Bandz.  Elastic bands in the shapes of animals.  Kids wear them on their wrists and collect and trade them.  

I was then reminded about some elastic bands in the shapes of animals that had been an impulse purchase in a nifty Japanese import store in Baldwin Village on my last visit to Toronto in the spring. It was not mentioned that they were to be worn on the wrist and  that they were sort of the present day version of pet rocks.

When I got them home they had looked ..... interesting (as things you buy on trips can appear once out of the luggage) ..... and then they got put away in a drawer where I forgot about them.  After the silly bandz alert I searched them out and found they would easily slip onto my wrist;   the caution on the package warned against overstretching so I did not think this was possible.

They look .... interesting.  I googled for more information and history.  Fascinating!  No store in Victoria seems to be carrying them so maybe I am,  inadvertently and coincidentally,  the first to  - uh, give them wrist space.  I found out from the Net that they come in Barbie shapes and Justin Bieber and animals etc.

Wonder what shapes would appeal to people my age of the Boomer sort.  Mid century modern furniture?  Vintage cars?  Flowers?  Birds?  Spinning wheels?  Cruise ships?  Comfy shoes?  Healthy vegetables and fruits?  The Beatles?  Bob Dylan? Elizabeth Zimmerman?  My grandkiddies profiles?  

As I was posting this I looked at them on my wrist and wondered if they would survive the journey up and over my fist.

They did!   Well, that is good to know in case they do come up with shapes my knitting friends and I may want to ...... seriously ...... collect and wear and trade.

repost November 7 2010

A friend in Toronto who has grandkids older than mine and who keeps me up to date with kids stuff was telling me about this craze sweeping the schoolyards called Silly Bandz.  Elastic bands in the shapes of animals.  Kids wear them on their wrists and collect and trade them.  

I was then reminded about some elastic bands in the shapes of animals that had been an impulse purchase in a nifty Japanese import store in Baldwin Village on my last visit to Toronto in the spring. It was not mentioned that they were to be worn on the wrist and  that they were sort of the present day version of pet rocks.

When I got them home they had looked ..... interesting (as things you buy on trips can appear once out of the luggage) ..... and then they got put away in a drawer where I forgot about them.  After the silly bandz alert I searched them out and found they would easily slip onto my wrist;   the caution on the package warned against overstretching so I did not think this was possible.

They look .... interesting.  I googled for more information and history.  Fascinating!  No store in Victoria seems to be carrying them so maybe I am,  inadvertently and coincidentally,  the first to  - uh, give them wrist space.  I found out from the Net that they come in Barbie shapes and Justin Bieber and animals etc.

Wonder what shapes would appeal to people my age of the Boomer sort.  Mid century modern furniture?  Vintage cars?  Flowers?  Birds?  Spinning wheels?  Cruise ships?  Comfy shoes?  Healthy vegetables and fruits?  The Beatles?  Bob Dylan? Elizabeth Zimmerman?  My grandkiddies profiles?  

As I was posting this I looked at them on my wrist and wondered if they would survive the journey up and over my fist.

They did!   Well, that is good to know in case they do come up with shapes my knitting friends and I may want to ...... seriously ...... collect and wear and trade.

Comments

[Crafty Gardener]

Good morning Karen, haven't visited for awhile, so I've been catching up on your posts. It is glorious weather here in Ontario, mid 20's with some humidex thrown in. I've been looking after the grandchildren and working in the garden and most importantly relaxing in the garden.

[karen]

Hello Linda
Spring and grandkids in the garden .... perfect!

[Anne]

I love your unfinished painting! It reminds me of a neighborhood yard sale that we had in the Triangle over 25 years ago. At the end of the sale, one of Miriam's friends was given an old free-standing hair dryer that hadn't sold, and which the owner didn't want to bring back inside. I still have that picture of her in my mind's eye,(much like your unfinished painting, dragging that hair dryer home behind her like an unwilling dog. I like to imagine her mother's face when she arrived home.

[Crafty Gardener]

How nice to rescue some branches trimmed from shrubs and let them come to life inside. It will still be a long time before anything bursts into buds here in Ontario.

Morning Linda How early in Ontario can you bring a branch indoors and have it bloom? November? I know I brought forsythia in a week or so before Christmas when I lived there. And a friend in Georgetown tells me chestnut and magnolia can be wonderfully 'forced'. I like the term 'encouraged' better! (-: