"Poinsettia" 2 watercolour 8 x 10 They’re back! The snowfall turned out to be deeper and heavier than expected, and we turned on the roofing cables this morning just after we noticed that our garden had returned to its winter state as an Eden for the local deer. Hoof prints everywhere, and a suspiciously empty bird-feeder. SOMEBODY figured out how to empty it onto the snow. Doesn’t that just prove my mother’s point that one must never brag about anything or God will consider you ungrateful and revoke the privilege. To add insult to injury the blasted feeder is so high-end that I couldn’t figure out how to disassemble it in order to refill it with sunflower seeds. Again, something I should have foreseen: when we will all learn to avoid owning something (a computer) or a someone (the dog) smarter than we are? I'm not as worried about the dog part: Skyes show up near the bottom of lists which compare canine IQ's; Jewell's EQ, however, was through the roof and we expect that Theodore's will too. They are not called "the heavenly breed" for nothing.
Segue aside, the poor euonymus foundation plantings have returned to their winter state: pathetic bald sticks. It takes them until June every year to fill out again! The poor things must dread the first real snow. On the plus side, it’s dead easy to see who dropped by the night before. Squirrel tracks are my favourite - so dainty - but the raccoons’ dexterous feet are also fun to find. The chippies are sawing logs underground but occasionally we see the trail of a glamour puss like a pheasant, the tail drag and long toes giving him away. For some reason the red-bellied woodpeckers have vacated the property. I am miffed because we did, you remember, provide free room and board this year. (Note: between the time I wrote this and now, the mister showed up at the feeder. Just proves that the jungle telegraph is alive and well.) And it would be lovely to run into Mouse (the House Grouse).
Indoors, the fireplace is on, wreaths and mercury glass ornaments have been hung, and gleaming bowls have been filled with pinecones. I'm even toying with the notion of baking something delectable - scones come to mind. But the snow outside muffles all city sounds and I am determined to finish my chores quickly, so as to grab an hour or two with a good book. Barkskins (the new Annie Proulx) and Do Not Say We Have Nothing (the 2016 Giller Prize winner - thanks, Carol) beckon.
Welcome back, Winter!
Segue aside, the poor euonymus foundation plantings have returned to their winter state: pathetic bald sticks. It takes them until June every year to fill out again! The poor things must dread the first real snow. On the plus side, it’s dead easy to see who dropped by the night before. Squirrel tracks are my favourite - so dainty - but the raccoons’ dexterous feet are also fun to find. The chippies are sawing logs underground but occasionally we see the trail of a glamour puss like a pheasant, the tail drag and long toes giving him away. For some reason the red-bellied woodpeckers have vacated the property. I am miffed because we did, you remember, provide free room and board this year. (Note: between the time I wrote this and now, the mister showed up at the feeder. Just proves that the jungle telegraph is alive and well.) And it would be lovely to run into Mouse (the House Grouse).
Indoors, the fireplace is on, wreaths and mercury glass ornaments have been hung, and gleaming bowls have been filled with pinecones. I'm even toying with the notion of baking something delectable - scones come to mind. But the snow outside muffles all city sounds and I am determined to finish my chores quickly, so as to grab an hour or two with a good book. Barkskins (the new Annie Proulx) and Do Not Say We Have Nothing (the 2016 Giller Prize winner - thanks, Carol) beckon.
Welcome back, Winter!
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