Nature Ramblings in December

It’s a frosty morning although they (that would be David Spence of 66CFR fame) have promised sunny and -1, me thinks David will be paying out again (or does that happen on the weekends?). Ahh, that explains it, he can go out on a ledge during weekend promises because there is no payout!

This is going to be a short but sweet ramble and it is simply about the joys of nature. Appropriate that I should be writing this or perhaps I am being inspired because I am reading Gene Stratton Porter’s “Freckles”. I was talking about the book this morning to my sister Jeanette (regular Saturday morning chats) and we were admitting that while we are a word for word reader we have got to that stage of our reading lives where we will skim over the raptures of the author’s descriptions on the smell of the roses on a dewy front lawn. But I made the proviso that when one is reading a book by a naturalist the subject is all very much descriptive and then I gobble up the words and feel as though I am right there in the Limberlost with Mrs. Porter – or in this case, Freckles, who I am already in love with despite only having one hand, poor boy.

As I have written before (though I may not have posted this thought yet), when one is young we don’t appreciate the beauties of nature the same way as we mature. At least I know I was a reckless tomboy as a kid and though I adored being down on the creek madly plunging for frogs and was the best darn tree climber in our neighbourhood I was definitely not stopping to smell the roses. On the contrary, I adored sticking my fingers into the mouth of the snapdragons and then whacking off the heads to take along with me much to the distress of Mrs. Harris. Oh dear, sometimes I was a very naughty girl. I loved pussywillows and it is a great disappointment to me now that I live in an area where pussywillows do not thrive. I loved the feel of them even when I was a kid and now I love the silvery look of them, the contrast with the dark wood, and of course there is the nostalgia of remembering all the pussywillows along the Rolstons driveway.

Today I am conscious every day of my natural surroundings. I read some 15 years ago about the baby boomers hobbies as they were approaching their golden years. Golf was first, Gardening second, forget the third thing and Bird Watching was fourth. I have to tell a little joke on myself because I thought bird watching was a very peculiar hobby to score so high. As I mentioned before, I am terribly nearsighted. One morning I was washing my dishes and admiring my shrubs and flowers down by the shed. Then I looked harder and detected a bird sitting very still on a shovel. I was amazed at how still the bird was and I wondered if it was watching for a worm. I stood there and watched for a good five minutes before I realized that it was the handle on the shovel. I howled with laughter and thought what a fine bird watcher I was going to make when I reached the retirement stage. However I have become quite a bird watcher and since my evergreen trees are maturing nicely I have had some charming visitors around my acres.

This morning though all is quiet on Sanne's front, with that wintry stillness detected in this picture. But what a beautiful day in the countryside!