Possumhaw: Beauty or beast
“The extensive planting of just one exotic species removes thousands of native species.” — “The Trees in My Forest” by Bernd Heinrich-Biologist and Author
Possumhaw: Stop and smell the coffee
Every morning a cup of coffee is delivered to my bedside table.
Possumhaw: Something to sing about
As I glanced out the window birds were gathering around the cracked corn, I had tossed out earlier in the day. Amid the freezing ice and snow and scarcity of food I heard a bird singing.
Possumhaw: There’s always something to celebrate…
Well, if you enjoy winter it’s expected to continue six more weeks according to Punxsutawney Phil.
Possumhaw: Pure domestic bliss
Last week and the week before I stayed in most of the week and the weekend. There was the snow and the cold breezy winds the week before and the holiday the week after.
Possumhaw: Hindsight is 20/20
Perhaps we can take a moment to “look into the rearview mirror” as they say. It’s certainly been a strange year.
Possumhaw: As Christmases come and go
It wasn’t until the middle of the 1800s that Christmas was celebrated by most of the people living in America with typical Dutch, English and German traditions of yule logs, caroling, evergreen decorations, church services and a feast on Christmas day.
Possumhaw: What’s your hobby?
This would seem to be a good time to discuss hobbies, perhaps even start a new hobby.
Possumhaw: Lazy days of carp
Life’s activities have slowed down and fall has come in all its glory. The weather is mild and the colors are vivid. Late evenings often warrant sitting on the dock of the lake and watching as the day fades away.
Possumhaw: One mistake can be fatal
It was a cool morning, perfect for sipping coffee and watching the world awaken from the front porch. Bluebirds flitted from phone wire to electric pole and back. Woodpeckers hammered a-rat-a-tat-tat.
Possumhaw: Goldenrod gets a bad rap
I was pleased to see three tall stems of goldenrod full of their golden flowers swaying in the wind behind the fence of the perennial garden. Prairie fields that remain wild are full of wildflowers — blue, white and gold.
Possumhaw: Nightfall in the Prairie
Two weeks into fall and the weather changed. After a long drought with cracks in the ground looking like a road map and the grass crunching like potato chips, the rains came on three occasions. It was more than welcomed.
Possumhaw: Well, well, all is well
The well ran dry. Actually, the 40-year-old pump just quit. Sam called the well man and asked if it might be still under warranty. Of course, Sam was joking.
Possumhaw: Just being neighborly
Years ago, a neighbor fashioned a loop and hook from a metal coat hanger and affixed it to our gate. The coat hanger has long since rusted. Routinely over the summer, a bag appeared attached to the hanger filled with the best tomatoes you have ever put in your mouth.
Possumhaw: Six Saturdays and a Sunday
Things have settled into some kind of normal around here. Sheltering has been going on six months now, allowing us to develop new routines. Routines that put some framework into our days but are also extremely flexible.
Possumhaw: The eastern horse lubber
It seemed a long time since we’d seen rain falling across the fields or raindrops dimpling the surface of the lakes. Watching the hurricanes and tropical storms develop we were hoping we might get a slow gentle rain while not causing harm anywhere else. The misting started last Tuesday.
Possumhaw: A light bulb moment
It was daunting standing inside one of the yellow box stores and looking for a light bulb. It used to be so easy — choose a 40, 60 or 100-watt bulb that looked like a light bulb and not like a curlicue. Not so anymore.
Possumhaw: Make yourself at home
The porch had been pressure washed, furniture cleaned and plants arranged. I invited a friend over for coffee. In advance I directed her to proceed to the back porch when she arrived. There she would find two Adirondack chairs facing each other from a good 8 feet apart.
Possumhaw: It takes a village
Searching for quotes on bravery, self-sacrifice, maybe courage, I stumbled into the Derbyshire village of Eyam, England, in the year 1665. English villages fascinate me as I now have a friend living in one and follow a blogger living in another — quaint cobblestone streets, outdoor markets, small brick homes with flowering window boxes and bucolic pastures, home to grazing sheep.
Possumhaw: Old man in the ER
Why I didn’t think of it before, I don’t know. Actually, I thought Philip would be retired by now.