Pine Tree

I heard the most unusual sound while out in the backyard the other day.  It was comparable to popping corn on the kitchen stove.  The kids and I looked all around only to discover it originated from our wonderful Pine Tree at the back fence.  The temperature had soared to near thirty degrees outside and its seed cones were popping open and little seeds were gently coasting to the grass on the wind.  A little miracle.

A gem on a sheet of wrinkled paper – author unknown

                                                               Snake

A snake came to my water-trough

On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,

To drink there,

 

In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree,

I came down the steps with my pitcher,

And must wait, must stand and wait; for there he was at the trough before me,

 

He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom,

and trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough,

And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,

And where the water had dripped from the tap , in a small clearness,

He sipped with his straight mouth.

 

Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,

silently,

 

Someone was before me at my water-trough

and I, the second-comer, waiting.

 

He liftd his head from his drinking, as cattle do,

and looked at me vaguely, as drinking catle do,

and flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips and mused a moment,

and stooped and drank a little more,

Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth,

On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.

 

The voice of my education said to me

He must be killed,

For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous,

And voices in me said, if you were a man

You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.

 

but must I confess how I liked him,

How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water trough

And depart peaceful, pacified and thankless,

Into the burning bowels of this earth?

 

Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?

Was it perversity that I longed to talk to him?

Was it humility, to feel so honoured?

I felt so honoured.

 

And yet those voices:

If you were not afraid you would kill him.

 

And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,

But even so, honoured still more,

That he should seek my hospitality,

From the dark door of the secret earth.

 

He drank enough

And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,

And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,

Seeming to lick his lips,

And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,

And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,

Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round,

And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.

 

 

And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,

And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and enterd further,

A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,

Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,

Overcame me now his back was turned.

 

I looked round, I put down my pitcher,

I picked up a clumsy log

And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.

 

I think I did not hit him,

But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste,

Writhed like lightning, ans was gone

Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,

At which, in the intense still moon, I stared with fascination.

 

And immediately regretted it.

I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!

I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.

And I thought of the alabatross,

And I wished he would come back, my snake,

For he seemed to me again like a king,

Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,

Now due to be crowned again.

 

And I have missed my chance with one of the lords

Of life. and I have something to expiate.

A pettiness.

 

 

 

 anonymous

 

 

 

The Florist Shop by Rachel Field

Florist shops are beautiful,

All damply green and dimly cool,

And the men who keep them are sure to be

A little baggy about the knee,

With voices pleasant and rather low

From living along with things that grow;

For you can`t stay noisy and hurried where

Petal on petal fills the air

With spiciness, and every tree

Is hung with gayest greenery.

Grocers bustle and butchers shout,

Tradesmen tramp noisily in and out,

But florists are quiet men and kind,

With a sort of fragrance of the mind.

Important Differences

                                                      As my curious little lupine seeds sprout into the warm indoor air of my townhouse apartment I recall an unfortunate  incident  last year involving these plants.  You see, in Cape Breton, lupine flowers grow wild just about everywhere.  We call  them“lupin flowers or lupine plants“.  I had heard of a grass plant used to feed livestock, especially popular in Britain for cattle by the same name and since I knew that lupine flowers contained a toxin assumed that the feed was of a different plant base.  Lupin plants are nourishing to eat, I was told many times and used in ancient European and Meditteranean countries for added protein.  The fact is that Lupine flowers and plantstocks can be deadly poisonous to animals who ingest them.  And thus the events of late involved a well intentioned owners of a little black bunny who decided to pick fresh rabbit food for their pet rather than buy from the department store and accidently harvested a plant too toxic for a small mammal such as a bunny.  It is sadly ironic that the French word for bunny – lapin – closely resembles these plants` names as well.  When their little bunny died no one realized why and it was assumed they (our neighbours) had purchased a sick animal.  Because my son had a hampster they gave me all their left over bunny food so as not to waste it – not realizing their gift would kill our pet too.

See the Canadian Governments guide to poisonous plants at:

Système canadien d` information sur les plantes toxiques. (www.cbif.gc.ca/pls/pp/ppack.info?p_psn=32&p_type=all&p_sci=comm&p_x=pp&p_lang=fr)

A World of Green

    I am staring at a beautiful vase that my daughter gave me bathsalts and such in last Christmas; I have turned it into a planter of course for some tulips.  Being November many people are planting tulips in their gardens outside.  The bulbs are supposed to sprout when the weather warms up in the spring.  There are a few pittfalls to such an approach to having a spring garden, particularly if you live in the eastern North American  region.  Squirrels like to steal bulbs; I have found bright yellow daffodils growing in the middle of four wheeler trails, under highway shrubbery.  I came across a lemon scented  golden iris in a wild field  where normally only purple irises grow.  My cousin Bonnie…quite the green thumb herself…has witnessed the little busy animals scampering away with her mother`s bulbs.  If squirrels do not raid your patch be careful to keep dogs away.  They are drawn to the scent of the bulb, though dislike the taste of it.  But, after digging it out of the ground, clawing and chomping on it and tossing it aside somewhere on the driveway you are unlikely to get it to grow .  Then, there is the rain.  We are blessed with rain here.  I will not complain for having too much water.  Tulip bulbs, however, do get water-logged and rot.  So if you get loads of snow and rain and bogging…it is best to wait until spring to plant your bulbs, or grow them inside in pots.  Just remember not to put potted plants outside too quickly in the spring because they are used to being pampered with even temperatures, lack of wind, and consistent water.  While mold spores thrive inside, insects hold the territory outside.  It`s a catch 22. Inside limit the amount of water your potted babies receive and make sure the sunlight has a chance to kill mold spores by subjecting not just the leaves but also the stems and soil to sun on a daily basis.  What grows inside cannot compare with what grows outside, as far as size….once it gets going. But you can always encourage natural insect predators to your garden with toad homes, snake tunnels and stacks of rocks, and small ponds with freshwater fish.  After all nature is something we share with every living creature upon this beautiful earth.  Peace.  And may your seeds sprout magnificently – in all your endeavours!

 

 

love me,

 

Tanya Lee