Yesterday the weather report called for rain today. Since the sun was shining early this morning, I headed out for my walk right after Attila left for work, to beat the rain.
The black flies are beginning to increase in number and to congregate in swarms. There were still only a dozen or so swirling around my head and bare hands, and none of those managed a nourishing bite this morning. The time for wearing nets is soon approaching.
The buds have progressed quite a bit over the last twenty-four hours, making distances in the forest appear hazy and green. The breeze is up today, and the smell of pollen and growth permeates every breath of air.
Kits (Red Fox), three of them, rustled in the leaves as they played near the roadside. They did not hear me coming. I didn’t hear them at first, for the crunching of my own footsteps on the stones. It was my eye that caught a movement under the maple and pine. One of the three was wrestling with something on the ground, something inanimate it seemed. Then I noticed the other two kits, just a few feet away playing around an old and rotted tree stump. I stood and watched for some little time, as they had no awareness of my presence. Their parents must have been away searching for food, as there was no evidence of them. As I took my first step to move on, the kits all stopped dead in their tracks and cast their gaze upon me. They watched me longer than I watched them.
What is it about babies that fascinates and delights? I ask, but it is a rhetorical question, because any answer would have to use words, and there aren’t any that can capture the feeling. You know what I mean.
Further up the trail I came across two trilliums in full bloom, both a dark purple. How beautiful. When we were children we picked wildflowers in the spring, for our mother. Hepaticas and May Flowers abounded in the forest where we lived in isolation. However, we were strictly instructed to NEVER PICK trilliums, as they must be left undisturbed. To this day I have never picked a trillium, and never will. I think that fairies dance under them when no one is looking.
Attila has closed in the hole in the house, where the door once was to the deck, that was sheared off the north side of the house, by the snow, when it came off the roof in March.
As I cleaned my kitchen cupboards over the last week, small quantities of ingredients came to my attention. One small bag contained about three tablespoons of poppy seeds. I threw all three in with the flour when I was making our last loaf of bread. To my surprise the yeast went into overdrive, almost foaming in sections of the dough. Baked, the loaf has an unusual quality in that it is slightly crunchy and soft at the same time. Attila loves it, a happy discovery. I will be on the lookout for an economical source of poppy seeds.
After coming in from my walk, I opened the windows to the sounds of chain saws and a chipper. The neighbour is having trees removed from his property. I have no idea why, there were not that many left to begin with. People seem bent on destroying all traces of the natural environment, as they prepare their property for eventual sale to rich tourists. No doubt they are correct in their assessment, that natural is bad, that faux natural is good for sales.
To make matters even worse the workmen trampled onto our property, breaking the branches on small trees, to secure their line while felling one of the neighbour’s trees. By the time I noticed them trampling over our property the damage had been done. I decided that conflict with the neighbours would only diminish the quality of life here, and it could not undo the damage to our young trees. Nothing will be said, and hopefully the trees will recover.
Enough about that! I can smell something delicious in the kitchen, probably the granola made with fresh maple syrup. Off I go to investigate!
|RECIPES :: Cast
The Old and the New
By the Easy Chair
I need to get to the library!
Rustling leaves, chain saws and a chipper.
On the Screen
Press 101.8 kPa
Visibility 15 km
Humidity 34 %
Wind WSW 11 km/h
Page by Page: A Woman's Journal