Isabella Bird Miscellany

After taking a writing hiatus this summer, it's time to be back. Just like I'm ready for a change of seasons, I'm also ready for a change in mindset and habits. Summer brings camping and picnicking, farming and kayaking. I want to be outside every possible waking moment. My journals collected a lot of dust. And my thoughts drifted over how to combat aphids with ladybugs instead of putting ink to paper. Now that I'm sitting with a long-sleeved t-shirt on, but still a pair of cut-offs, I'm ready to tap out some observations, introspections, quips, quirks and everyday stories. Thanks for reading. Thanks for listening to part of my life. Around the corner, and a few houses down, live two little boys. They like playing barefoot, no matter the weather. Curiosity is ingrained in them, and Bella always gets lots of love when we walk by. One recent morning I was told they were going to the river to climb over big gray rocks and look for crayfish and snakes. The yo...

I woke to the sun streaming in through the over-sized window in the living room. Cupping my coffee, I closed my eyes and soaked it in. It was such a welcome relief to the previous day's fog that kept everything cold and frozen; huddled in against the grey. Stepping outside I could feel the slight warmth of the sun; my shadow elongated due to it's southerly slant in winter.  Even the birds were more chipper, singing vibrant melodies and flitting about. A few squirrels ran up and down bare trees. Isabella was playful with her nose to the ground and butt up, only to flop down and slide and roll in the remaining snow. I don't mind a little hibernating in the winter. It's a great time to catch up on some reading or to enjoy a hot drink of sorts with a friend. However, I do love the sun shining bright, making me squint. It enlivens the spirit when everything is monochromatic and dormant. The Danish have a cool word - hygge - pronounced hue-guh. Hygge acknowledg...

brooding My heart is quiet and dark; brooding like the clouds hanging in this morning’s sky. Just when I think I’ll start to write happy thoughts, which seem trite given happenings in my world and in the very lives of my friends and family, I’m reminded of what my voice has to say. Injustice and sadness exist. That is a fact.  But, you know what? It takes really dark skies to see the stars. Darkness will never overwhelm light. Light, however, always lights up the dark. That is also a fact; one that I cling to desperately. There was a drought of beauty ; all was devoid, stark and barren Horizons held nothing to be desired, stripped and robbed of blossoms ripped and banned from the earth Photos, prints piled and discarded The only flowers remaining housed in vague memories How had the town reached this conclusion? Fragrance was absent No sound of buzzing bees or gossamer dragons darting in the sky Senses dulled and snuffed out to the miracles of existence Hearts...

i’m not much of a morning person.    Not one to lounge around all day, I usually wake up by 7:00 or 7:30, but I want it to be quiet, coffee-filled and without conversation.   For a person of words, this seems wacky, nonetheless it’s my preference.   Birds and butterflies get it, starting the day with gentleness… morning creeps beautifully over the horizon, a graceful beginning to the ballet lusty red-breasted robins bob about pecking for a morsel a chorus of mourning doves coo the gentle background notes pale sherbet hues nonchalantly embrace dusky skies casting appropriate light on the dawning dancers beads of dew on outstretched fields reflect the emerging colors whispering cues to prima ballerina gossamer winged she pirouettes, kissing wildflowers with each turn lithe, agile on pointe movements across a stage of meadow grass day’s sweet-tempered choreography shatters as sun breaks the skyline gilding the tiptoe perf...

"the best tree ever" he exclaimed! It’s the same story every year.  I look, I search, I contemplate.  Trees have to be pirouetted around so I can see all the angles.  That’s the Christmas-tree-lot-version.  This year, my fam is going out to cut a tree; very Griswald like.  In years past, this was our tradition, complete with a bonfire, thermoses filled with hot chocolate and mulled wine; hot dogs to roast on fresh cut sticks. Mostly, we’d tromp around in the woods, giving each potential tree a once over, until that “Hallelujah Chorus” moment arrived.   The only problem it was on the other side of an icy cold creek, with banks and drifts of equally cold and deep snow.  Well, hubby being the really swell guy that he is managed to cross the water without drenching himself.  He cut the tree, floated it downstream to a more appropriate place to bring it up the bank, to present me with my prized Noble Fir.  That was the sto...