pinecones and sweet peas

Winter, Andes New York

Last night a raccoon joined the rabbits at the flower pot--it's a peaceable kingdom around here. Despite the fact that a pinecone was the symbol on business cards, etc. for Country Weekend the store (and is now a convenient avatar) I didn't realize that they are a regular source of food for birds and squirrels until I read Bernd Heinrich's Winter World.

"...while spruce cones stay long on the trees, the seeds fall out of them as the cones dry and the bracts curl out." He describes chickadees hopping about fresh snow eating spruce seeds, nuthatches picking them out of the cones on the trees, and squirrel chewed cones under the trees. He does this in great detail, counting how many seeds per cone (80) and when and how a squirrel decides to attack or discard one. (Far too long for a blog post, it involves how full of seeds a cone must be to make prying apart the bracts worthwhile.) He then investigates the seeds of balsam firs. I do love a passionate naturalist.

Winter, Naples Florida

A year ago, I was in Florida. Now I'm in snow-covered Massachusetts, but yesterday it was 40 degrees, almost balmy--I drove with the window open. The little girls who live across the street are riding their scooters in the driveway. With the time change this weekend we get an extra hour of light, and that will make all the difference.

If you are more interested in fashion than pinecones you will enjoy this short Bill Cunningham video where he describes a trend of dusky pastels in winter wear--he calls them sweet pea colors. More about Bill Cunningham here.

Enjoy your weekend!

Jen

small things

I've been savoring my beautiful arrangement of roses, ranunculus and sweet peas, but it's this little one on my bedside table that my sons noticed.

This winter's been so cold, icy and snowy that I've been scattering bird seed in more places than usual, including a big terra cotta pot I forgot to bring in. The pot is tall enough that the top peeks out from the snow still on the ground.

Every night two rabbits sit in it and pick through the seeds to see what the birds (and squirrels) have left. We put out celery too, but they seem very happy with sunflower seeds. It's a nightly ritual, people and cats looking out the window watching the rabbits in the flower pot.

If you could travel anywhere, where would you go?

winter reading

Looking for answers I am reading Winter World, by Bernard Heinrich. I've not discovered the secret of deer winter watering holes, but I did find out why ice doesn't sink:

There is something quite remarkable, simple, and yet profoundly important that happens when water turns to ice in a pond. Compare this with what happens when water turns to ice in a cloud. In a cloud, the ice crystals fall because water and ice are heavier than air and the gas phase of water. However water becomes lighter when it transforms from a liquid to a solid state.

Is that something I should have known?

 I just finished rereading The English Patient, by Michael Ondaatje. Oh, that man can write.

Sometimes when she is able to spend the night with him they are wakened by the three minarets of the city beginning their prayers before dawn. He walks with her through the indigo markets that lie between South Cairo and her home. The beautiful songs of faith enter the air like arrows, one minaret answering another, as if passing on a rumor of the two of them as they walk through the cold morning air, the smell of charcoal and hemp already making the air profound. 

###

Read him slowly, dear girl, you must read Kipling slowly. Watch carefully where the commas fall so you can discover the natural pauses. He is a writer who used pen and ink. He looked up from the page a lot, I believe, stared through his window and listened to birds, as most writers who are alone do. Some do not know the names of birds, though he did. Your eye is too quick and North American. Think about the speed of his pen. What an appalling, barnacled old first paragraph it is otherwise.

I keep thinking about the phrase "appalling, barnacled old first paragraph". The brilliant use of the word barnacled. I've read most of Ondaatje's books, but not In the Skin of a Lion. That's next.

a winter country weekend

The snow on the ground was three feet deep, the waterfall thick with ice.

There was a hole in the frozen creek.

and a deer trail leading to it.

How did the hole get there?

(she pictures deer stomping on the ice)

There's so much I don't know.

we prize any tenderness

Cats are skilled at finding warm places. Here Aji nests on moth-eaten sweaters tossed aside temporarily, (they now serve as yet another cat bed).

It's been bitter cold and icy for so long that I can't remember the last time I took a walk for pleasure. But there is bright sun today and so I will venture out, "go forth in winter" for a stroll before tomorrow's storm.

"If you are sick and despairing, go forth in winter and see the red alder catkins dangling at the extremity of the twigs all in the wintry air, like long, hard mulberries, promising a new spring and the fulfillment of all our hopes. We prize any tenderness, any softening in the winter, catkins, birds nests, insect life, etc."

 --Thoreau

I especially love the last sentence.

If you're wondering (like I was) what a red alder catkin is, see here.

Beatrix Potter winter

I don't get to the Catskills much in the winter.  I miss it. I long for the rolling hills, 

red barns, tiny villages, the slow way of life, my eclectic group of friends, 

our house in the woods, strange and interesting snippets of nature...

However we do have our own little suburban wildlife dramas. This red squirrel (just like Squirrel Nutkin), not much bigger than a chipmunk, is a regular, and he chases off the big grey squirrels. I now have several feeding stations, so you might see chickadees and nuthatches at one feeder, bluebirds at another, woodpeckers and cardinals at the suet feeders, doves competing with the squirrels for what's scattered on the deck. It's like a school cafeteria, where every table has a different group. The drama kids, the jocks, the band kids...

Rabbits come at dusk and hang out close to the house. Aji watches them for hours. It is all very Peter Rabbit. They are almost tame.

I hope the fox doesn't come back.

small things

I counted six different types of tracks in the snow. Birds and squirrels are regular visitors, occasionally I see rabbits, and a possum and fox have put in an appearance this winter. I keep putting out food, and am rewarded by sweet sights every time I look outside.

I painted all day, and tonight's dinner was red pepper hummus, feta cheese, pita bread, carrot sticks and strawberries. Dessert: Cranberry orange ricotta cake from Trader Joes--it's delicious.

Emails have been flying back and forth as decisions are made for the wedding flowers. We all like blues and deep purples for the bride and boutonnières with things like pine needles and rosemary. I've gone down the Pinterest rabbit hole with bouquets.

I finished Body & Soul by Frank Conroy, and give it a near universal recommendation--it's smart, deep, and heartwarming.

I hope you are having a pleasant weekend (and staying warm).

Jen

we are the night ocean

 So many birds stop by before it snows. I fill the feeders and scatter seed on top of the old snow, watch them swoop in, cluster, chatter. It's bitter cold again and I'm reading a wonderful book, Body & Soul by Frank Conroy. New York in the 1940's, a lonely, neglected young child prodigy taken under the wing of a neighborhood music store owner. A book filled with heart and soul.

I'm going to have tomato soup with grated cheddar cheese in it for dinner, while the rest of the family eats Cuban pork sandwiches from leftover pork Bob made last night. (I have never acquired a taste for pork.) I have some good clementines too.

Whenever I post something personal (like family pictures) I have to overcome the urge to remove them, and then I usually put up another post the next day, a more impersonal one---birds, books, mugs of tea...

We are the night ocean filled
with glints of light. We are the space
between the fish and the moon,
while we sit here together.
                            
                                   -Rumi