Friday, January 30, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
I'd dislike January if I didn't get divine gifts for my birthday, like this one: A frosty morning. I got a morning, imagine that. That's more than some have. One birthday I got a yellow-bellied sapsucker. Sometimes it IS all good.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Usually hidden from view by greenery, this double waterfall on the property can be photographed only in winter. The water here has turned to ice.
Longing for the sight and taste of greenery this time of year, I am always delighted by the chive patches appearing in the lower, wetter parts of the woods during January thaw. Go find some. Use scissors to clip 'em and scissor them over your squash soup, potato soup, or carrots; sprinkle 'em over your omelets; chew on 'em and blow onion breath to gross-out your best friend, dig up a clump to plant in the herb garden. Keep clipping and using your chives or the plant overgrows and gets grassy.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Don’t pee facing uphill.
After a summer day outdoors, a long hot shower will only drive the ticks deeper into your groin.
Don’t park the car beneath a female Osage-Orange tree when it's dropping 7-ounce hard-shelled fruits.
If you sneak outside wearing only flip-flops, do it after delivery people are done for the day.
Never say, “Aw, it’s too warm for black ice. . .”
Don’t poke at a wasp’s nest with a broom handle.
Anyone moving to the country in mid-life has to take the motto "Live and learn." You're going to get cut, scraped, sweaty, bitten. Ants will float in your coffee. I found a wasp drowned and ambered in my jar of honey. You'll slip and fall and be stupid. Live and learn.
A couple days after a flood I stepped up on what seemed like solid-packed creekside debris and fell through it up to my hips.
Stepped in quicksand (silica makes top-notch quicksand). It was like cookie dough and I couldn’t fix it to get one leg out so I could pull out the other one.
On a slick riverbank, fell backward into a bed of stinging nettle. Didn’t know what it was. Eight seconds later I figured it out.
Make sure guests don't park beneath the tree when the hickory nuts are dropping.
Clapped a fat huge four-inch tomato hornworm between two bricks. Thought I was being clever. It squirted 360 degrees all over creation including onto my glasses and mouth.
Oh, it don’t matter if that machete is a little too weighty for me and has a dull blade. . . .
Live here and learn.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Haven’t yet found a old-fashioned zinc bathtub like in the picture, nor a modern galvanized washtub big enough to hold me. I’d heat the water on the stove. I'll do a lot for a bath, it does so much for me. It's a time-out. Softens the skin and hair. Softens up the spirit, too. And in winter it's one of two or three things that can get the chill out of your bones.
It’s only a very very close friend you can ask, “Uh – can I take a bath in your bathtub?” Two people I call for their bathtubs every couple of months are Demetrius and Hawkeye. They say they don't mind. I bring my own towels and stuff, and if I clean up my bathtub ring I am more than welcome.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
Lately I've been thinkin that I'm not all I should be, that I lack that last ounce of creative power that would put my work over the top. Well, that can't be. Because there's infinite creative power. If it's infinite, I can take some, or channel some, or ask or pray, or somehow get at it. More and more (I'm gettin' philosophical because another birthday is coming up) I see that I set and can break my own limitations.