Lichenomphalia Umbellifera

Day 169: Lichenomphalia umbellifera fruits largely on decaying wood, inclining the casual lichenophile to dismiss it as an LBM ("little brown mushroom"), and although its finely grained, thin thallus is frequently concealed beneath mosses or other lichens as in the photo on the left, its dark pea-green colour is a clue to this species' true identity (immediately behind the fungus in the righthand image). It is one of very few lichens which exhibits a "mushroom" when it is in fruit, i.e., it is a basidiomycete as opposed to an ascomycete.

"There she goes again," you say, "using those big words. They scare me." Okay, let's break this down. Both fungi and lichens produce spores in specialized structures. Fungal spores are contained in basidia (singular, basidium). On the other hand, most lichen spores come from a similar structure known as an ascus (plural, asci). In the case of Lichenomphalia umbellifera, it reproduces like a fungus, but in its greater aspect, it has all the earmarks of being a lichen.

The fungal body emerges as a warm tan umbrella-shaped cap on a slender stipe. These age to white quite quickly, and turn up at the edges, the better to disperse the spores. They are fairly common in the Pacific Northwest.

Pacific Wren, Troglodytes Pacificus

Day 168: These dear little birds are difficult to spot, elusive and extraordinarily hard to photograph and, arguably, are one of the most vociferous species to be found in our local forests. Pacific Wren has only recently been given status as separate from Winter Wren (Troglodytes pacificus and T. troglodytes respectively). Smaller than a sparrow or junco, they have a rounder outline (a "birb," if you will). They love to hide in brush piles and thickets and, as this individual will attest, they often nest behind a curtain of moss overhanging a shady rock face. It is their vocalization which gives their presence away, or as I often say, "How can that little tiny bird hold so much song?" It goes on forever, rising and falling like the final grand aria in an opera. The singer's secret is held in its breathing apparatus, the syrinx. This double-chambered organ allows birds to sound notes while inhaling or exhaling, similar to the circular breathing practiced by players of the didgeridoo. While this isn't a particularly good photo of Wrenny, it is one of very few I have been allowed to take of a species which holds a very special place in my heart.

Spring Bouquet

Day 167: For someone with quite a bit of shelf space devoted to vase storage, I seldom cut flowers to bring in the house. There are some regular exceptions to that rule: a single sprig of pussywillows to acknowledge the changing of the seasons, and one or two cuttings of daffodils, which I have in abundance. Flowers last so much longer when they're alive, and if I want to see them, I have only to step outside for a dose of colour or, if it's raining, look out over their heads from my windows. Spring has indeed arrived in my garden, and almost daily, something new is opening up. The lilac is in bud, the heather is in bloom, the Red-flowering currant's pink tips are swelling and almost ready to burst into panicles of Nature's own miniature hummingbird feeders. Grape hyacinths dot the flower beds, always popping up in unexpected locations, and in the shade beneath Big Doug, the incongruously-named native yellow violets show like tiny sparks of sunlight. Meanwhile, my calendar reminds me that it is time to sow gazanias indoors if I am to enjoy their blooms in August, and a rank of other seed packets stands behind them, awaiting their respective turns. Winter, I say with great joy, is done.

Primrose Path

Day 166: Semantics is the science of verbal communication, more specifically of the exactness of any particular meaning when a certain word or words are used. Recent events have set me to thinking about semantics, because no matter how carefully we choose our words, someone is bound to misinterpret. I'm sure you've all read in the news about President Biden's unfortunate ad-lib remark where he said that Putin cannot remain in power, which many people viewed as a veiled threat against Russia. It could also be read as, "He can't keep doing this. It's unsustainable," in the same manner that one might say, "We can't keep doing this forever." A second circumstance is more personal. Only a few days ago, a neighbour misinterpreted an unguarded remark by a sheriff's deputy to mean that a violent crime had been committed in our neighbourhood. If you recall the children's game variously called "Washtub" or "Telephone," you probably remember how radically a simple statement can be distorted after it is repeated several times down the line. In fact, in repeating what I had been told by the neighbour, I perpetrated another semantic error, and only when friends seized on it did I realize that I had used a word with a different implication than what I had intended (and, be it noted, I fancy myself something of a semanticist!) People hear what they want to hear, and often if an interpretation furthers their own ends, that is the interpretation they will apply.

So what does this have to do with primroses? Aha! Let me ask you a question (and it is by no means a simple one): What colour is "primrose?" Originally, the term meant only a light, clear yellow, but later, it was applied to any yellow of the same hue, regardless of value. Subsequent developments suggest that we can lay some of the blame at the feet of horticulturalists who, not content with a limited palette of blossoms, hybridized a wider range of colours. Our language evolved accordingly, adding "primrose pink," "primrose purple" and "primrose green" to the lexicon. Nowadays, if you tell someone you'd like to use "primrose" as the theme for your wedding party, it is most likely to be interpreted as a fuchsia shade.

Mind what you say. Don't let your words carry you down the primrose path of misinterpretation.

Should Be A No-Brainer

Day 165: Believe it or not, the majority of people I meet on the trail cannot tell these two plants apart. It should be a no-brainer. One has four petals, the other five. One has shamrock-shaped leaves, the other a small compound leaf with three parts. Yes, they both are whitish (in some cases verging on pink or lavender), the petals of both exhibit darker purple lines, and they emerge at roughly the same time in the spring and enjoy the same types of habitat. The three ladies I met on the South Swofford Trail a few days ago asked me,"What are the little pink flowers?" When I replied, "Which ones?" they could only say, "The ones we've seen growing beside the trail today." Since we were standing in an area where Cardamine substantially outnumbered specimens of Oxalis, it took a little backtracking before I could point out the differences. While some people have a natural gift for observation, it can be learned by almost anyone and honed like any other skill. It just takes practice. Counting petals is a good place to start.

Five-Nut Mooncakes

Day 164: "We interrupt our regularly scheduled 'Walk With the Naturalist' programming to bring you this feature on Five-Nut Mooncakes." As opposed to snowskin mooncakes which are a relatively recent development in Asian cuisine, baked mooncakes are the more traditional expression of the pastry. Often filled with sweetened red-bean paste or salted duck egg, there are other fillings which might have greater appeal to the uneducated Western palate. For my first experiment in making them, I have used a "five-nut" or "five-kernel" mix of walnuts, cashews, sunflower seeds, pumpkin seeds, and a combination of black and white sesame seeds in equal proportions. The filling is sweet and slightly salty, and can be altered to a savoury version with the addition of Sichuan or white pepper as desired. I used honey to sweeten the skins (some recipes call for invert sugar). Other than sneaking pinches of raw filling and raw dough, I have not done a taste-test because the cakes must age for several days in the refrigerator to soften the skins, but these promise to be utterly scrumptious and because they are long on high-protein nuts, could be almost a meal in themselves.

Allogona Townsendiana

Day 163: You really have to be careful where you step when you're walking the South Swofford Trail. It is home to a large population of Allogona townsendiana, aka the Oregon Forest Snail. Measuring roughly an inch across, these helpful little critters are serious players in the decomposition cycle of the Pacific Northwest's moist woodlands, gobbling up leaf litter and other forest debris, breaking it down in their digestive systems and releasing it again in a form which adds essential nutrients to the soil. It may not be Nature's most prestigious job opportunity, but somebody's got to do it. Thanks, Allogona!

End Of The Trail

Day 162: At last I can say that I have been to the very end of the South Swofford Trail, to the point where Cowlitz Wildlife management ends and private property begins. As many times as I've hiked this little-known path, I hadn't been willing to sacrifice skin to salmonberries and other brush in order to gain the last tenth of a mile or so. As with most trails which see limited maintenance, spring is the best time to attempt thicket penetration, and as it turned out, it was more open than I'd expected. I passed through without even realizing I'd done so, and when the trail debouched into open grassland, it took me entirely by surprise. I did attempt to go a bit further on a couple of game trails, but since I did not want to trespass on private land, I turned around after a hundred feet or so. The "meadow" was quite soggy despite its angle, so I did not go all the way out to the lake, but I did visit a second lovely Skunk Cabbage bog at great risk of filling my boots with water. Combustion boat motors are not allowed on Swofford Pond, so the quietness of this location was restorative. I heard to flocks of ducks lifting from the water, the occasional distant bark of a dog or fisherman's voice carrying from the far shore, and was not troubled by human contact until halfway back to the car when I met a group of three women hikers. Once they determined the purpose of my presence, they held me captive for ten minutes, asking me to identify this plant and that, and then graciously thanked me for sharing my knowledge before they went on. Although I'd have preferred to have the trail to myself, I came away feeling that this one brief encounter was a fair price to pay for the time I'd had in much-needed solitude.

Menegazzia On Alnus

Day 161: The Menegazzia species are some of my favourite lichens, partly because they are relatively rare, but largely just because they're cute. Variously known as "tree-flute" or "porthole lichens," they are characterized by round perforations in the lobes as shown in this photograph. There are two species which occur here in the Pacific Northwest, M. terebrata and M. subsimilis. The medulla of subsimilis (above) shows a pink/orange/red reaction when dabbed with Clorox, and indeed the specimen I took from this rosette did react accordingly. Now I did say Menegazzias were "relatively rare." Not so on the South Swofford Trail where, in certain spots, they appear on almost every Alnus trunk in sight. They are particularly attractive (and more noticeable) at this time of year when the centers of its rosettes glow yellowish-green and are bounded by fresher blue-green growth. The lobes are quite small for a foliose lichen, usually under 2 mm in width. Those of M. terebrata are somewhat wider, and of course M. terebrata does not show a C+ reaction.

First Day Of Skunk Cabbage Hike

Day 160: I was very concerned that the First Day of Skunk Cabbage was going to slip by without formal observation, but I managed to get out on the South Swofford Trail today to visit my favourite bog. It was wetter than it's been in the last several years, so I kept to dry ground rather than changing into muck boots, and then I continued on to the very end of the trail where I found another Skunk Cabbage bog almost equally as nice. However, once again, the ground was very soupy and I didn't quite reach the bog before deciding I'd better quit while I was ahead. I managed to stay upright for the entire hike which, if memory serves, is something of a record for my early-spring forays into the bogs. Happy First Day of Skunk Cabbage!

Return Of The Elk

Day 159: As far as I know, there has been no decision as yet in regard to the appeal filed by the developer to reverse the county's decision to revoke their permit to build a mega-resort on this property based on the fact that they (the developers) have made no progress toward meeting construction deadlines in twenty years' time. That, however, is another page in history, and one best laid aside for the moment. Today, we can rejoice in the sight of at least fifty Roosevelt elk pasturing on new grass, an increase in their numbers over the last decade (at least in my observations). Once numbering at least 108 (by actual count), members of three different herds once came here to dine, but they were discouraged from gathering by having shots fired over their heads and being pursued by tractors and other vehicles until only a brave 30 or so remained. The population had stagnated at that level over the last decade, but this year, the census has swelled by at least fifty percent. Whether this is due to reproductive success or the merger of one herd with another, I do not know. I'm just glad to see them out there, keeping the thistles cropped.

Kaleidoscopic Dandelion

Day 158: Spring is here! With it, the first of the dandelions has opened in my yard and, while not a particularly interesting subject photographically speaking in the natural view, they do lend themselves nicely to special treatment with software. In this instance, I used the "kaleidoscope" feature on a square-cropped image with the flower centrally located. My initial reaction upon seeing the result was, "Quilt!" although it would be horribly tedious to piece as shown. That said, it could be simplified fairly easily to use as a block pattern or, with a bit more modification, as the layout for an entire quilt top. Fiber artists often draw their designs from nature. Photo software gives us yet another tool, sometimes shortcutting a few steps in the inspirational process. No, I'm not likely to be making this one myself, but perhaps my dandelion will seed itself in the back of another quilter's mind.

Success Story

Day 157: All things considered (most notably the 100-degree temps we experienced last June), this counts as a rather remarkable success in my horticultural career. Last spring, I relocated two corms of Erythronium oregonum (Giant White Fawn-lily) to my yard from an area where there are no prohibitions on taking plants. They were plentiful at the site, but even so, I prudently limited myself to two. I chose a spot in the yard as close to their original habitat as possible and they seemed to be doing well until the hot spell hit. The timing could hardly have been worse, and I was fairly certain that neither of them had survived. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I stepped around the corner of the house this morning and spotted this mottled leaf poking up from the moss!

False Eclipse

Day 156: The not-quite-full Moon underwent a penumbral eclipse night before last, and since seeing the Moon in any phase at this time of year is a relative rarity in the Pacific Northwest, I decided to do a photo shoot. Now I know you're itching to correct me, but yes, I know that eclipses only occur when the Moon is full. However, as in "penultimate," the prefix "pen-" denotes something one step away from completeness, i.e., one short of "ultimate," or "not total/totality." Indeed, the Moon was being eclipsed by cloud (a perfectly legitimate use of the word), but not completely. There was enough moonlight to illuminate puffs of cloud surrounding the lunar disk even as the thicker stuff moved across our celestial night-light's face. This, of course, compels a burning question: do werewolves suffer mood-swings when the full Moon passes in and out of cloud, or do they hover in a mid-state, neither man nor beast? It does not seem an unreasonable thing to ponder, given all else going on in the growing darkness of our world.

Currantly On Display

Day 155: The Red-flowering Currants are springing forth with pink buds now. Not to be confused with Red Currants (the "domestic" type which has greenish-white flowers, and which you'll find in my berry pen ), Ribes sanguineum is native to western Washington. It bears dusty blue fruits, long on seeds and short on flavour, although its hot pink flowers give it the redeeming merit of being a strong hummingbird attractor. In my yard, both Rufous and Anna's Hummingbirds will bypass the feeder, preferring to sip natural nectar from the early-season blossoms. I maintain two Red-flowering Currant bushes primarily for the entertainment of my little avian friends. The fruit is considered edible, but only once have I attempted to add the juice from the berries to a jelly. I found that the faint musty taste of the fresh berries carried over too strongly even when used as a small proportion in the jelly.

Spring Rolls

Day 154: Friends are becoming accustomed to hearing me say, "Smells like a Chinese restaurant in here." Today's project? Spring rolls! What goes in a spring roll? Let's open the fridge and find out!

We'll start with cloud-ears, absolutely. Something cabbage-y...napa, using both the white and green parts of the leaves. Little green onions, because spring isn't complete without little green onions, and carrots for colour. Meat? Ground pork or char siu (barbecue pork)? Ground pork won the toss. And then to fill out the wrappers and bind it all together, softened rice noodles cut into manageable lengths of 1-2".

Heat oil in a frying pan or deep-fryer to 375 degrees. A cooler temp wouldn't make the spring rolls as crisp. Fry the pork and set it aside. Grate the carrots, slice the mushrooms into "fingernail-paring" strips, chop the white part of the napa up in 1/4" cubes or short slices, finely shred the green part and put it in another bowl to be added last in the cooking. Chop up the LGOs (that's how "little green onions" is denoted on my grocery list). Combine the veg except for the napa greens and stir-fry in a little oil until carrots and napa "white bits" are almost tender, then add the greens and continue frying just until they're wilted. Pour all the ingredients in a big bowl with the softened noodles, add a splash of sesame oil, some soy sauce (regular) and an equal amount of oyster sauce. Stir well to combine and your filling is done. Lay out egg roll wrappers three at a time and roll about 1/4 cup of filling inside each one, starting with the bottom point of the diamond shape. Seal the final point with beaten egg. Make no more than six at a time, and fry them until golden brown and crispy. Drain on a wire rack and serve with your favourite dipping sauce. In this case, I used garlic-infused chili oil and dark soy sauce. Leftovers can be frozen, then thawed and reheated under the broiler, but be careful not to let them burn. Dang, it smells good in here!

Gingery Goodness

Day 153: An old recipe for jugged hare comes to mind: "Fyrst, catch ye an hare..." Get yourself some fresh ginger, enough to make two cups when cut into small chunks. Peel it, ignoring the arthritic objections from your old hands. Cut it up. Freeze it overnight. In the morning, dump it into a pan of water to cover it by about an inch and boil it for half an hour. Drain it. Add fresh boiling water and cook it again for about two hours. Drain it, reserving this second batch of liquid. Combine 2 1/2 cups of the liquid with 3 cups of sugar. Sugar? Oh crap, I'm out of sugar. How did that happen? And I was just at the grocery store yesterday! Okay, combine 2 1/2 cups of the ginger liquid with 2 1/4 cups of granulated sugar and 3/4 cups of brown sugar. Bring it to a boil, and then simmer it for about 40 minutes until it makes a syrupy drizzle on a chilled plate. Add the ginger. Bring it back to the boil and simmer for another 40 minutes. While all this is happening, sterilize four one-cup jars and accordant lids and rings. When the ginger is done cooking, decant it into the jars, seal them and process them in a boiling-water bath for 15 minutes. You'll have syrup left over, but that's good in tea, cookies, cake, Chinese food, or if you have any energy left at all, you could add some apples or pears and turn it into jelly/jam. Have at it. Me, I'm going to go sit down.

Stem Ginger On The Hoof

Day 152: It's arguably cheaper to buy stem ginger at the supermarket than it is to make your own, to say nothing of the labour involved, but the "gingery-ness" of the finished product will prove worth the effort. I'm doing a lot more Chinese cooking these days and am getting a little tired of trying to cut up crystallized ginger without taking off a fingertip in an effort to get the pieces fine enough. I can't really keep fresh roots on hand for grating, so I've decided to put up a few jars in syrup, one to use immediately and the others to be canned like jam or jelly by processing in a water-bath. I suspect there's one flaw in this course of action: it's going to be hard not to eat it for an after-dinner sweet!

The Construct Of Time

Day 151: Every year at this juncture (and again in late autumn), I find myself puzzling over humanity's innate masochistic tendencies. Governing bodies seat themselves to debate whether or not Daylight Time should be made permanent or abandoned altogether, all the while knowing full well that again they will come to no resolution, wasting the very thing under discussion along with another of Mankind's constructs, the taxpayers' money. Time and money have caused more problems than any other matters except perhaps religion, all three being totally artificial constructs of society. I must note here that there are some cultures which do not acknowledge the Western concept of time; enlightened people, these, who spare themselves being regulated by ticks, tocks, and lighted displays. The duration of daylight is not affected by Man's intervention. It is simply reallotted. All our efforts to gain control of the situation are futile, and yet we continue to bang our heads against the wall as if we believe we can manipulate the universe to our will. Life would be so much simpler if people would just get up with the sun and go to bed when it gets dark. They might find they didn't have time to stir up trouble about Time.

Tippy Over Tippy

Day 150: "Over" is an essential part of our morning routine. After he's through with his breakfast, Tippy sits beside my chair and waits for me to ask, "Where's my Over? We gotta have Over. Over is the most important part of the day!" Then he jumps onto my lap and expects to be turned sunny-side up, whereupon he "goes boneless" and rests his head on my chest, purring constantly and occasionally looking up at me so we can touch noses. He'll stay that way for five minutes or so before indicating to me that he wants to roll up, pivoting on the heaviest, bulkiest portion of his anatomy until he can stretch out long with his head on my knees. Over is performed several times throughout the day, but seldom for the length of time devoted to it in the morning.

When Skunk was still with us (today is the third anniversary of her demise), my lap was her domain. She only shared it with him on two historical occasions when he managed to squeeze into the space between my legs and the arm of the chair. But only a few days after she left us, my Child asserted his claim and now spends the better part of his day holding his Mama down.

Tatting In Easter Colours

Day 149: Now while I don't let him completely dictate the pattern of my life, my Boy is getting old and deserves a few accommodations. Finding projects to work while your lap is occupied by fourteen pounds of fur-covered lard immediately excludes weaving on any of my small looms, rules out knitting a sweater or crocheting an afghan, or anything else where I would need to be sitting in a prescribed position or shifting a large piece of work. Admittedly, he's found a way to insinuate himself under my sit-on embroidery frame, but there's always the risk of poking one or the other of us with the needle. Consequently, I've made a lot of socks this winter, and I've done a fair bit of tatting. This is my most recent project, an oval doily. I started it less than a week ago and am done with half the last row of medallions. The center is worked in the same purple-and-green variegated thread as the outer row, and is followed by three rows of plain lavender. I think that lone crocus may have influenced my Easter-y colour choice.

Connections

Day 148: One of the items in this photo is quite different from the others, but even so, there is a very strong connection between them. Can you guess what it is? I made another batch of snowskin mooncakes yesterday (one is shown center right), and this time, I used a double-boiler to cook the custard filling. The process was much easier and trustworthy than using a pan on the stovetop. The custard thickened quickly without any danger of burning. Having made the egg-yolk custard, I was then challenged to use the leftover egg whites, and I remembered having a bag of flaked coconut in the fridge. Call them "macaroons" or call them "meringues," they require only a few ingredients: egg whites, sugar, a pinch of salt and a dash of vanilla, and are a crispy, fragile sweet-treat which can be made in just a few minutes. You might say yesterday's cookery was a win-win situation, if not quite fusion cuisine, definitely drawn from disparate cultures.

Sidebar: my double-boiler is older than I am, its reservoir caked with mineral deposits from the hard water in the area where my mother was a young wife. She used it to make "fisheye pudding," a tapioca made with pea-sized "pearls" of starch rather than the fine-grained "minute" tapioca you see in today's supermarkets.

Spring Thing

Day 147: Once again, the first crocus has taken me be surprise. While I was monitoring the foliage at the west end of the front flower bed, this little feller popped up on the east end, hidden behind the bare twigs of a hardy fucshia. I know it's there, and I know it's always the first one to show colour every year, but because it's an "outlier," I never seem to watch that spot. Today, its petals were backlit by morning sun, burning like a purple candle flame in the shadow. Such cheery things crocuses are! And if gas prices keep me from hunting the first Skunk Cabbage of the season, a crocus will suffice to say that spring has officially arrived in my yard.

Conk!

Day 146: This is a bracket fungus or shelf fungus, otherwise known colloquially as a conk. Mind you don't confuse a conk with a conker which, as you may know, is a horse chestnut and the implement used in a rather hazardous game played by British children and now banned in most schools. The name "conker" becomes obvious to players in a very short time, but that's another subject entirely. I first encountered the term "conk" in reference to a bracket fungus somewhat late in life and was curious with regard to its etymology. The results of my research into the word's origin were inconclusive, although many experts seem to hold that it most likely originated in "conch" (a shell with a somewhat similar shape), and "conk" is an accepted pronunciation for "conch." Trust me, you would not want to play conkers with conks like these!

It's Greek To Me

Day 145: My cupboards are rapidly filling with containers bearing labels I cannot read at first glance. While I'm not likely to mistake lye water for sesame oil, confusing black vinegar with dark soy sauce could be done if the light was too dim to make out the small-print English. Noodles and mushrooms are self-explanatory, even if the primary instructions for their preparation are incomprehensible, written in Chinese, Japanese and Korean. It's all Greek to me! I've gone as "authentic" as it's possible to go for a Westerner, and I have to say my digestion is grateful for the change from the heavy, starchy foods even if I'm not cooking Chinese every day.

Yeti Socks

Day 144: Okay, I admit it: I'm a cheapskate. It's my Scots ancestry coming out. When I knit, I tend to knit serviceable items as opposed to dressy or "fun" ones, and the yarns I use are also of a rather plain and purely functional nature. However, when a skein of novelty yarn comes my way, I like to use it to best advantage. Such was the case here. Kevin's wife purchased the recommended amount of Caron Latte Cakes for her project and wound up with a full skein left over. Since companies like Caron frequently produce unique yarns intending only a short-term run, she couldn't get more because the yarn was no longer being made. She passed it along to me, and after some careful counting, measuring and planning, I determined that I could get a matching pair of fuzzy socks out of a cake which only held two and a half repeats of the colour sequence. I'll use the remainder for cuffs on mittens or a hat. The saddest part of this story is that I really like the yarn! Too bad it's discontinued. I call these my "Yeti socks."

Hellebore

Day 143: Hellebore is one of the most rewarding perennials in my outdoor garden. Throughout the year, it's always doing something whether it's producing blooms or showing off its luxurious deep green foliage. Admittedly, it gets a little worn by late November, but then it can be counted on for the earliest flowers of spring. Its alternate name "Lenten Rose" bespeaks its blossoming period, and its colour palette of purples and pinks echo the candle wreaths associated with the religious season. It spreads, but slowly, and the tough roots can be sectioned with a sharp shovel if you want to propagate it or keep it within bounds. It's tolerant of both heat and cold, produces its best colour in semi-shade or early-day sun, and thrives even in almost any soil as long as it is not clayey. Mine is one of the darker varieties, and although its hue has faded since planting due to poor soil and too much light, it flowers prodigiously for six weeks or so prior to peak foliage production. For the remainder of the summer, its mounds of palmate leaves provide a rich background for the obligatory annuals.

Old Faithful

Day 142: Old Faithful has been hiding in a cool, dark cupboard since early October, having a bit of a winter rest. This particular "Non-Stop Begonia" tuber is one I purchased in 2017, and has only asked for a bit of fresh dirt each growing season in exchange for a lavish display of red-orange blooms held above mahogany-coloured foliage when it's at its peak. It graces my front steps where the plant only receives direct light for a few hours in the morning, a bright spot of colour to welcome me home if I've gone out. As chilly weather approaches in the fall, I break off the stems, wrap the tuber in paper towels, and tuck it away for another snooze. Toward the end of February, my internal calendar reminds me to check on it and invariably, I find that it has already started putting up shoots. Back in the pot it goes, refreshed by its hibernation and some new soil, to be kept indoors until mid-May when I can be fairly certain that a killing frost won't harm it. Now that's what I call good service!

Rent For A Song

Day 141: The House of Chirp and Pussywillow Cottage are on the market again in anticipation of the arrival of potential renters. They should be coming in on flights from the south within the next three weeks. We still have some chilly weather ahead of us, so I'm sure they'll be anxious to settle in as soon as possible. Pussywillow Cottage was unoccupied last year due to a leaky roof, but 2019 saw two clutches in the House of Chirp. I thought they might have been going for a repeat performance last year, but after raising a successful brood, the parents only made nominal attempts to refurbish their nest before deciding it was time to pack up the family and move on. I'm looking forward to seeing those cute little beakies and wide, wondering eyes again because...well, because there's nothing...absolutely nothing!...cuter than baby birds.

Steamed Dumplings

Day 140: Ambitious though I may be in some regards, making my own dumpling/wonton wrappers is a lot of work, so I generally default to commercially-prepared ones. As it happened, I discovered two packages of them under the butter in my freezer, so I thought I'd make wonton soup, not considering that the skins might not be in optimum condition after being frozen for...wait, did that pull-date say "2019?" Oh, dear. I had already made the filling, a delicious combination of ground pork, green onions and napa cabbage flavoured with soy and oyster sauces, and I suppose if I'd thought about it, I could have put it in steamed buns, but I decided to go ahead with Plan A. As I had feared, the wonton wrappers had become rather dry and brittle, and even when left to rest under a damp towel for several minutes, they just became sticky. What to do? What to do? They certainly weren't suitable for soup, not with holes in the sides, so I did the next best thing. I steamed them. I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that this story has a happy ending. They were delicious.

Bath Day

Day 139: Four and a half inches of rain in 24 hours filled the potholes in my driveway, and when a brief sunbreak struck the surface, every junco in the county turned out for a spring bath. There were a few arguments about tub space, but for the most part, the puddles resembled the communal baths of old Rome, the bathers packed shoulder to shoulder in the deeps and soaking cordially while others stood on the sidelines waiting their turns or primping and preening in completion of their ablutions. It always delights me to see these little creatures so fastidious in their personal habits. Scientifically, I understand that clean feathers have more loft, provide better insulation against extremes of both cold and heat, but it seems to me that there is more behind it than that. They are washing away the dross of winter, sprucing themselves up for potential mates, and if anything could be clearer, it is that they are thoroughly enjoying themselves as evidenced by how long some of them stay in the tub. "Hey, have you gone to sleep in there? It's my turn!"