Articles by Shannon Bardwell
Possumhaw: The day begins
Some people have that innate ability to tell themselves what time they would like to rise the next morning.
Possumhaw: A Sibley Christmas
Once I heard or read about Atlanta Journal-Constitution columnist, reporter, and novelist Celestine Sibley who wrote news stories and columns for over 60 years, published 25 books and died at the age of 85, I wanted to know this woman. I searched archives but could find nothing of Sibley’s work. Off and on I would think about her, eventually accepting that her writings were no longer available.
Possumhaw: For the love of ladybugs
As the freezing temperatures rolled in, the little tree frogs still in their milk jugs were moved to the greenhouse.
Possumhaw: All about owls
Dark was the night and darker were the trees. Only the moon and the stars let me see, when suddenly something flew from the trees and landed in the middle of the blacktop road. I stopped and turned the headlights toward the bird. It was an owl.
Possumhaw: Power of plants
The oak tree is hanging on to maybe a third of its summer leaves while the rest cover the ground with leaves up to your ankles. Normally we manage leaf drop by raking and mowing but this year it’s been overwhelming.
Possumhaw: It ain’t good
While it was still dark Sam left to go fishing. A few hours later I was up and making my way to the coffee pot when I noticed five deer foraging under the oak tree outside the sunroom windows. Acorns were falling like crazy and often pinging off the metal roof.
Possumhaw: Wild goose chase
It was an early morning when Sam went fishing, and I chose to sit and gaze out the window from the sunroom. With coffee in hand, my day started by watching 40 Canada geese march like soldiers across the field and slowly toward the yard.
Possumhaw: Tree frog whisperer
The wind kicked up and the temperatures plummeted, and I wondered how my tree frogs would survive. A cool thing happened, no pun intended, but suddenly I became like a tree frog whisperer. They showed up everywhere.
Possumhaw: Monster machines
At long last the monster tractors showed up. They were incredibly bigger than I had envisioned. It was clear there was no way they’d be able to enter through the front gate to the lake.
Possumhaw: Morning has broken
It was 5 o’clock in the morning when Sam was up preparing for a day of fishing. Sunrise wouldn’t come until 6:50. I suspect it’s calm and peaceful to watch the sun rise over the water and to be the first one to arrive at the fishing hole.
Possumhaw: Love and loss
Just as I sat down and logged on to my laptop, Wilhelmina jumped to the arm of the chair and climbed over onto my lap. She made a few turns then settled in.
Possumhaw: For the love of fall
So now it is officially fall. A little cooler air shows up now and then along with a few other signs of fall. Football is in full swing, bringing us closer to the couch, the television, and a bowl of popcorn.
Possumhaw: Oh, the places I have lived
While walking around the yard my mind wandered to the three-part memoir of a couple, Mary-Jane and Michael Houlton. The Houltons lived in Wales where they sold their home and everything in it in order to buy a boat. For six months out of the year they would cruise the waters of Europe with their two dogs while wandering through canals and mooring wherever they chose. It wasn’t always smooth sailing but their ingenuity was intriguing.
Possumhaw: Breakfast with lily
One of the first harbingers of autumn raised her pretty red head last week. Just beside the rabbit hutch there was a single flaming red spider lily. She stood tall and strong like a flagpole. Even with a bit of wind she didn’t bend.
Possumhaw: Land of the living
It was a peaceful morning sitting on the front porch watching a flock of bluebirds flit from ground to tree and then settling on a high wire. I can only imagine this to be at least two generations of bluebirds. In the Spring Sam attached the birdhouses high on the side of the garage.
Possumhaw: One COVID journey
The Coronavirus came on the scene locally 880 days ago, give or take a day. We learned to adapt and find new ways of living and surviving.
Possumhaw: The mysterious walking stick
There on the cedar lapboard siding a walking stick insect ambled slowly on its way. It was a wonder I could see him at all as he blended in perfectly with the wall of the house. This insect has no wings so his only means of location was to take his time crossing the wall.
Possumhaw: The pleasure of pace
There will be no Oriental persimmons this year. The crop started off fairly well. The leaves were green and full and the fruit was about the size of a golf ball.
Possumhaw: Of birds and butterflies
From the kitchen window I could see past the back porch and down to the floating dock on the little pond. The wild cherry trees were heavy with limbs and leaves even though we’ve been in a serious drought for some time.
Possumhaw: There’s a will and a way
About this time last year lightning took out our stove and a few other things. Appliances aren’t easy to find in this day and time, but we were able to find one.
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