Letters...

Sorting boxes of Christmas decorations to store til next year I opened an unmarked one, forgotten in the stack. It was filled with letters and cards received from dear, very dear, beloved friends. They weren’t printed e-mails, nor typed letters but personally penned in their beautiful cursive script. Most are 20, 30, 40 years old replying to my letters and updating me on their lives. Having read and thought about each one I sadly realized the every sender has left this world. O my heart.

I laughed, sighed, reminisced and cried with our lives documented now lost but not forgotten. In time a particular set will be given to the senders daughter so she will see her mother’s very quirky side. There are so many letters describing her daughters birth and growth that I wish to hold them tight for just a while longer. The daughter will read them and pass them onto her daughter so she will appreciate the grandma she never had a chance to know. Others will be sorted, tied in ribbon and set aside for another day.

Besides the stories, I adore the script. Every one was hand written on un-lined paper with care. Fluid as skate trails on ice. S’s formed as a swans neck; M’s with continuous arch’s; T’s were twisting tree branches. I could easily identify the sender by my address on the envelope as each friends script was unique and I still remember theirs after all these years. I believe their handwriting is a piece of their being. Something to remember them by, and I do, and will as long as life permits.

Hawk-eye

Living near a river surrounded with wilderness there are visitors to the neighbourhood we don’t see very often. This year has been an exception. Well, almost as the years of coyote sightings have ceased.

As sun fades and night rises there is an increase in birds to the garden. Mr. Cardinal always flies in seeking dinner. That makes me wonder if the Mrs. is a good cook; he’s bored with the same meal; or he’s just out for a different take-out dinner.

Mr. Cardinal is also joined with a few doves. Those doves are rather plump after feeding all year. I’m not the only one who has noticed. A hawk has decided to fly in for take-out. At first I wasn’t sure if it did the deed then after walking my garden and finding a pile of feathers I was sure it had ordered out.

So far I’ve identified it as a Coopers Hawk. Unfortunately my bird book, the 1980 edition of Roger Tory Peterson’s, A Field Guide to the Birds East of The Rockies, is a tad out of date. But! I’m sure Hawk-eye is he who perches on a tree stump staring at me at twilight.

While he watches me, I watch him, both of us beady eyed wondering just who each of us are.

cold full moon - haiku

 

the final Full Moon

found me snuggled and sleeping

through the night, til dawn

Summer home in ice

 

My summer home, two centuries old,

where the gardens were encased

in ice after the storm.

It was magical...

Season of kindness

I read, I read a lot, usually one to two books a week depending on the page count and my interest.

Recently I finished “Mr. Dickens and His Carol” wonderfully written by Samantha Silva. It is her version of a Christmas Carol and a charming version it tis.

There is one particular paragraph that remains with me and I believe always will...

“As did he. As does anyone, he knew, who has moment of true feeling without encumbrances, that cannot be got another way. That has no history, no list of injuries and faults. Someone to see only the best in us. For the worst parts are written on our shin in iron gall ink, indelible, and recited on a regular basis, by whoever knows us best. But a few simple, kind words, even from a near-stranger, can say everything else. And that in itself must be a prize.”

I struggle to explain what this means to me. I feel we all need someone who understands us, as we are, without question. Someone to encourage, accept and love us for who we are, no matter how quirky. No matter how people are that we meet in our journey the end all is to be kind. Everyone has a story we are unaware of and Ms. Silva delicately captures this.

This book will remain on my Christmas shelf to reread every December as a reminder of the season of kindness.

await - haiku

 

there are flakes falling

this eve, December the first,

Christmas trees await

Beaver Full Moon - haiku

I knew it was due

moonshine lighting the garden

the Beaver Full Moon

It still hurts...

 

It still hurts

to see the remains of the old sugar maple

laying in piles where she once grew.

August past she was cut down

without mercy or respect

and has lain where she grew

for near 150 years.

Where she grew giving life

to creatures nesting in her limbs,

providing life to my shade garden,

sweet sap to maple sugar gathering.

It still hurts

to see her rotting and ignored

by the town whose land she grew on.

frost bitten - haiku

frost bitten water

lotus and lettuce submerge

into ponds cold depths

Jacks Christmas Tree

 

Amongst gifted Christmas trees

there is one that stands out

because of its memories.

A cohort at our mutual employer

whose creativity knew no bounds

created this for me.

He cut layers of scrap metal,

laying them in a fitting style

finishing it with a bell and a red bow.

It sat on my desk for years,

and I always smiled recollecting

our friendship after he left.

It now has a place of honour with

other hand crafted trees

from friends that I cherish.

Thank you master Jack :)

Snowberry

 

Sadly tis the season when shrubs loose their growth and fade into the undergrowth. During the replanting of the woodland garden I discovered a native shrub. This is Snowberry, a native in my country and now cloaked in snow from this weeks snowfall. Tis a pretty shrub though I wonder how this particular plant will do as I believe it is an older plant with berries already in bloom. As long as it continues to bloom in the snow I will be a happy.gardener.  

Squirrels !

It has been an interesting week watching the resident squirrels deal with the snowfall. There are three greys, four blacks, one red and one chipmunk currently enjoying the seed at the BIRD feeder. The blue jays, junco’s, cardinals, and doves do appear but they tend to be pushed away by the furry creatures wondering why the ground is white.

Now that the time has changed the furry ones appear around at 7 instead of 6 am. Whew. That’s quite fine by me as I’m sleeping in as well. The blacks scramble through the trees as if they are Cirque Du Soliel acrobats wanting to be first. Those that don’t make the feeder are busy at the crab apple in the front garden.

The chipmunk also scurries about at first light scrambling for seed. Its cheeks are filled and off it runs to its burrows near the shed. All the while the blacks and greys are feasting with such poofy tails. The greys enjoy chasing the blacks around and around the tree’s until someone tires and scurries off to the neighbours.

The red appears at noonish while the others are at neighbours. It’s a cute one and not so pleased when the others finally appear. Let the squabbling begin! Fur and bodies fly out of the feeder. I haven’t seen any fatalities...yet for they are a strong creature. And they have fed well over the months so are plump.

Late afternoon the mix appears. Its body is black while the back, paws are grey. An interesting mix and is now known as Skeletor. It’s a strong one and puts all others away from the feeder. Its name scares the rest of them.

Come nightfall the greys return to the feeder and a few blacks pick up the leavings from the patio. It is such a cycle of who feeds and when. They have the timeline down pat.

Bye Bye my Beautiful Begonia's

 

A task I always detest is to clean out the pots overflowing with bounteous, beautiful begonia’s before the first hard frost. It is heart breaking as they had weeks of blooming left though the forecast is a sad one. ~sigh~

Pots were emptied and scrubbed to spend the winter in the basement. Blooms were cut and arranged in a final bouquet; a homage to their beauty that always brought a smile to my face when I stepped onto the veranda. Sweet yellow, fuchsia, red and orange blooms may have lasted a few days, the longer the better but gardeners know better.

Au revoir my sweet flowers. Thank you for your colourful blooms this summer. They were very much appreciated in such a hellish year.

Night Walk

 October evening, day light has bid adieu,

dampness permeates night air

while stars begin to twinkle in the sky.

This is no night for sitting on the patio

when one is ill due to a nasty bacteria,

bundling in warmth she walks along rivers path.

Inhale, exhale, pure and refreshing air

while stepping slowly and carefully

in darkness guided only by stars.

Never minding the rustle of night creatures

amongst reeds, the walker continues

her trek of healing, to reach homes warmth.

sunflowers - haiku

through the broken fence

there are sunflowers blooming,

life isn’t that bad

sunflowers peek through

broken fence smiling at me,

the smile is returned

sunflowers escape

over the fence showing off

their happy faces 

Sundown Squirrels

Sundown and they appear,

the siblings, unsure of this human,

one lands in the BIRD feeder

the other seeks seeds laid on stones.

Both wary of my presence,

I do not look their way and keep writing.

Tis odd for me, the one who fills the feeder

and spreads seed while they watch from above.

Yet they scatter at every move I make.

I whisper to them yet still they balk and run.

~sigh~

Perhaps one of these days they will

“get it” and appreciate my offerings

as the chipmunks do rushing

to greet me as I open the door.

 

Planting a Painting

A wise woman once told me when you plant a garden, plant a painting. With this always in mind I created a small but effective painting with the latest find.

Replacing burnt hostas and ferns I was thrilled to find Prairie Winds. A native Canadian grass and is absolutely beautiful.

Its been planted along the fence and in evening sun has an ethereal bloom to it. Behind are mosaic orbs that provide a punch.

The hunt continues for native grasses and so far I’m doing very well :)

 

seasonal rose - haiku

 

summers last rose bud

opens first day of autumn,

gardener is pleased

Stifling September

 

O this heat stifles sanity;

one has become a mushroom

only leaving the house

to water tender plants

after placing umbrellas

over them to provide shade

from the wickedly hot sun.

Watering begonias is constant

those under the pergola

are in suns way and fade fast

so the removal to shade begins

every morning, no matter the forecast

as for the forecast, there hasn’t been

one spot on in weeks.

Where is the coolness and moisture

of September...

600

My my my,

Blogger tells me I’ve created 600 posts since 2007.

I has a sad as they didn’t even send me a celebration cake :(

When I think about my blog, I’m happy I’ve remained sharing my life at the Pond on the world wide webz. Most of the ones who began when I did have moved on. I do miss the interaction with fellow Bloggers. We shared thoughts and comments; we motivated each other, laughed with each other, and more importantly enjoyed reading each others life stories. To those who have passed, in one way or another, I thank you for your interactions.

Here’s to another 600 posts. :)

Cheryl 

Beware of Potted Creatures

As I was harvesting basil for thee BEST pesto, this wee creature decided to pop off a leaf. I had the same type of creature last year in the herb pot and was identified by a national recognized Biologist as a Spring Peeper. It was such a fun conversation with him. Who knew Spring Peepers were oot and aboot in September. Not I.

The photo doesn't do it justice as it would have fitted on a twonie. It was that cute.

When you are harvesting please double check your pots for tiny creatures. This one almost made the pesto and I wouldn't have been too happy when realizing why the strange taste to the recipe. 

flying - tanka

twilights’ rippled clouds

wave to high flying pilot

as darkness descends,

how I wish to be with you

flying amongst waking stars

one last search for you

and there you are floating over

the super full moon,

clouds dissipate as you pass

while wolves howl your existence

hummer - haibun

hosta blossoms sway

as hummer sips sweet nectar,

twilight bids adieu

After spending the day making winters sauce, I relaxed on the patio.  It wasn't long before I noticed the purple hosta blossoms swaying when there was no breeze.  Looking closer for the creator of such sway I spied the resident Hummingbird flitting from frond to frond drinking all it could.  Its long journey southward nears so the bulking begins.  To aid in this journey, its feeder is now refreshed. 

Mulching

 Do you know how much a wheel barrow of rain soaked mulch weighs?

No?  Well I do, way too much!  Three of my Heritage Community Gardeners spent 20 hours over two days this week spreading stinky, water logged, shredded bark over bare beds to cut down on weed growth and it wasn't a pleasant task.

Shoes were soaked, socks were soaked, T-shirts were soaked and pants were soaked to the knees.  Mostly from water and a few from sweat in 35C temp's.

It was exhausting but gardeners are a stubborn breed and we don't quit until the job is done, especially when there's a Hard Chard chilling in the Pond.  ;)

sun garden - tanka

 

pots of grasses, shrubs

await for placement amongst

woodland greenery

in the sunlite areas

seeking life in the garden 

ditch flowers - haiku

 

summer ditch flowers,

Chicory and Queen Anne’s Lace

natures’ wild bouquet

Full Sturgeon Moon

 

It has been two days with clear air and skies,

and such a wonderful feeling to awake with

coolness in the home provided with draperies

of tea-dyed linens and silken sari’s capturing

refreshing air and blowing it through rooms,

with windows wide open. Tis such welcoming air.

With this cool air work in the garden has

begun again. I’ve missed my garden and

felt I was neglecting it. In a way I was but

myself was priority. If I couldn’t, then who would?

Weeding is almost done, which reminds me

the only plants to grow in high heat and humidity

are the feckin’ weeds that seem to thrive in it.

Bags and bags are off to the local compost depot.

Good riddance and begone for I don’t want them

in my own garden after sprouting seeds next spring.

There is always a change in elements on the full moon

and tonight is one of two this month. O joy.

Tonight it rises in a clear sky and watchers such as I

will be eyeing the beauty of the Full Sturgeon Moon.

.

Where are you ?

Where are you this night?

I’ve been waiting in anticipation

for your flight through the garden

yet you fail to appear.

Is it the coolness of this evening,

when you prefer warmer nights

in your seek of partners,

that keeps you tucked in leaves.

I’m disappointed, even heartbroken

that this one night in months

when the temperature is inviting

to us both, you shrug me off.

Perhaps today’s rain has dampened

your wings, and without heat

they remain soaked, bound

together, locked without flightness.

So be it, I will find my solace

remembering the warmer nights

when I watched in delight as your

beacons fluttered in the garden.

ancient yellows - haiku

heritage garden

still grows old yellow roses

I tended years past

Cardinals dine out

Early evening as the sun made its way to bed, I heard a familiar song from the garden. Not wanting to frighten them I remained inside. Behind the patio door I watched in wonderment of a family out for a feast.

Mr. Cardinal brought his two young ones to the bird feeder. The three landed in a pot of abused begonia’s left as a landing place next to the feeder. He coaxed the male into the feeder where he slowly fed him seed. Meanwhile the female flew to an overhanging branch. Dad, being a dad, then flew to the branch and fed her while her brother was left to fend for himself with the little training he had. Atta girl! I know who the favourite sib is.

I enjoyed their interaction; father and children vying for top choice of seed. All were fed with little pecking of each other. Their visit was short but very memorable for myself as I watched the feeding ritual. I have no doubt Mrs. Cardinal told the Mr. to please take the kids out to dinner as I’m just too tired and need "me time". She certainly had her space this evening.

It's so hot...

 

It's so hot candles have melted

creating an interesting conversation piece.

Fire Flies

Another hot and humid night suffocates this area.  Windows are closed and C/A blasts cooling the house and myself.  Just once, one night, do I wish for a pleasant evening to sit out and enjoy my surroundings.

At last it is time, 9 p.m., and I open the patio door seeking the light show.  I am soon not disappointed.  From the garden blinking lights begin to ascend.  Slowly they move through the plantings, back and forth.  Not attracting attention from the fairer sex they float upwards, along shrub tops, back and forth. 

With a sigh I watch these magical creatures gain height, upwards into tree branches.  Sadly they are soon out of sight while seeking their love of the night.

I wish them well, those wonderous creatures of the night, and silently thank them for the reminder that nature is dazzling even in darkness.  

motherhood - haiku

proud mother Robin

spends her days pulling fat worms

to feed her baby 

Firey Rant

The air reeks of burning wood, in fact that’s exactly what it is. Forest fires still ravage the great northern forests and there is no end in site. There won’t be anytime soon as most provincial governments slashed funding for men and women who dedicate their lives to fighting those fires. We now depend on countries circling the globe to come to our aid. Bless their souls.

Tonight’s moon is orange when it should be bright white. Our air has been overcast for days, again, with an air quality alert. Walkers, runners and even the multitude of dog walkers in the park have become non-existent this week. Most have sought the safety of their homes becoming mushrooms. Songbirds have left seeking refuge in the country with its abundance of tree’s and lakes. It’s unreal to me having to mask up when I go outside to tend the garden. Water, weed and feed, and then I return to the safety of my home.

When will the powers to be realize our planet is burning. I don’t see it in the near future and feel for next generations when they are left to fight this destruction due to mans insensitivity, greed, and disrespect for the now. Heaven help them.

beacons - haiku

 

Golden Columbine

take flight from amongst hostas

their blooms are beacons

breakfast - haiku

sun has yet to rise

when creatures begin making

their way to breakfast 

Be still mah heart

Prowling wayward garden centres in early morning rain is when I’m in my element. Fragrances are drawn out with the moisture creating a dreamy atmosphere; and along with the quietness, one makes time to enjoy the experience.

Towards the rear was a pallet covered in roses nicely potted. Just not any roses but David Austin roses! My heart leapt as I gasped. Are my eyes deceiving me? Glasses were donned and I began to read labels. Oooooooo dear where do I begin.

I spent so long there circling each plant, checking bud count and health of stems and leaf colour that the Manager sauntered over and asked “are you in your element?” with a huge smile. I could have hugged him.

An hour later I left with four beautiful roses. Two DA’s; Teasing George and Tranquility; and two Yukon Sunrise grown in Ontario by a relatively new nursery. Teasing George is a climber with those cabbage rose blooms in pale peach; Tranquility is more a shrub rose with soft white blooms; and the Yukon Sunrises are shrub with brilliant yellow blooms.

All four were sited and safely planted in the Burnt Land and are still blooming to this day.   

Teasing George

air - haiku

clean air and coolness

settles in my safe domain,

yet fires still rage

yellow - haiku

the garden becomes

saturated in yellow,

much like margarine

loss - haiku chain

 

my woodland garden

of calming greens, creams, and white

has become burnt lands

burnt lands, prized hosta’s

are fading in noon day sun,

turtle heads struggle

struggle to maintain

their young stalks reaching upwards

when the shade is lost

is lost with absence

of decades old trees shelter

allowing their growth

their growth protected,

loved and nurtured over years

my heart aches with loss

The Beeeee Whisperer

Who is tired of tucking plants and pots in the shed, under trees, anywhere there is shelter from these frosty nights? Me Me ME !!!

When you place everything back into the sun for the day, please check all blooms. I found this wee Bumble tucked into a Begonia. I was certain he had frozen over night but thought maybe he just needs thawing, and it wouldn’t hurt him if he was deceased. I placed the pot in full sun with his wee Bumble butt facing outward where the sun doth shine.  

Five minutes later, he shook himself, spread his widdle wings and he flew away. YAY!

They call me the Beeeee Whisperer       Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz

first frog - haiku

the Ponds warm water

entices amphibians

to surface smiling

welcome back - haiku

 returning to my

old haunt, I hear whispers of

welcome back dear Lass

O dear Mama

O dear,

mama seems to have gained a bit of weight,

could she be, is she, ooooo nooooo,

her babes, four at last count, from last year

are still visiting the bird now squirrel feeder

and if she is I will go bankrupt

providing seed to song birds

only to be eaten by the resident squirrels.

Spring forth

Rains have come, not torrential,

just gentle drops saturating the soil

encouraging spring plants

to turn a verdant green

bringing life to the garden.

Buds on trees and shrubs that

will soon unfurl when sun arrives

and waves Hello! I am here

to welcome you once more.

Scillia’s have faded now to feed

its bulbs for next years carpet of blue,

as have Blood Root petals,

its leaves expanding for the summer.

Yellow Trout Lily’s are slowly blooming,

their delicate blossoms holding steady

despite the chill, allowing them to last longer.

Daffy’s already in bloom in my garden,

as well in drifts planted by the County

along well travelled roads, make me smile.

Twolips are up, stalks leaf wrapped

and buds ready to release their

petals of brilliant pinks and saffron colours,

gifting such needed highlights to the garden.

In less trodden areas, Forget-Me-Nots,

and Trillium have appeared, slowly,

holding their own in the slow release

and I appreciate their lengthening the season.

When I look skyward to tree tops

there is such a sign of hope,

a fuzzy green against a blue sky,

leaves soon to appear in full splendour

and this makes me very happy.

 

waiting for sunrays - haiku

 

before the blooming,

blood root petals wrapped in warmth

waiting for sunrays

reflecting sunshine - haiku

 sweetness of the earth

Yellow Trout Lily appears

reflecting sunshine

Being politically correct

 

I was not, or am, nor ever will be politically correct,

it is not my nature to bobby-head in agreement

when my mind and heart disagrees, it is not me

and never will be when I know better.

My experience, knowledge and dedication

to whichever volunteer organization I join

is with out question until the nattering begins,

that’s when I know it is time to bid adieu.

Why is it so difficult to volunteer in this town?

I chose three organizations, all I’m experienced with,

unfortunately two didn’t appreciate the “new kid”

as their minds and ways were decided 30 years ago.

The third, I was well received and truly enjoyed

participating as we were working for a common cause.

Until today, and now I am upset, struggling, pizzed off, 

and ready to say goodbye to all...

bouquet - haiku

 

to my friends I give

a bouquet from my garden

to replace lost blooms

NO EXIT

 

And through the storm of

ice, snow, rain, lightning and thunder,

it was not such a typical April day...

When the elements subsided

I ventured into my garden,

not prepared for the devastation

that laid before me, and I gasped.

Emotions ran high and low as I tiptoed

over branches and rising bulbs,

knowing my Eden that I had created

over decades no longer existed.

50 – 100 year old trees laid twisted,

shredded, crushing the border fence

that protected the garden, keeping it safe

or so I believed when building it just so.

I cried to the trees why?

Why have you given up on yourself

when I have cared for you all these years

pruned you, fed you, and loved you?

They did not answer as their

heart woods were laying in piles

of to be shredded wood,

their life ended in mulch and then forgotten.

In the week since I still wake in tears,

not wanting to open my eyes to reality;

my heart is broken as never before

and I struggle to repair the damage.

The trees gave shade from sun up til down,

cloaking the garden in coolness and soft breezes

providing a home just not for woodland plants

but birds and creatures to nest and rest.

Already I’m seeing the absence of song birds

making nests up on high, and squirrels

have shortened their stay to early morn

then they scoot to a neighbours feeder.

The Pond itself was created for shade,

its water remained clear all summer long,

but not this summer as my favourite

pond plants will not thrive in sun.

I believe I will replant, just not this year,

perhaps with more native trees and shrubs

including Acacia, I will always have Acacia,

strong, beautiful and the untouched trees.

For now there is NO EXIT,

I will continue repairing and cleaning up,

and only when tears are dried

and I regain strength, will I recreate

my Eden, never forgetting my original Eden.