Yew Berry

Day 353: They say we have to unlearn almost as much as we have learned by the time we reach adulthood, and in my case, that included the myth regarding how frequently yews (Taxus) form arils. Arils, yes. That's what those berries are called. I grew up believing that yews only fruited every seventh year, and I hate to tell you how long I held onto that misapprehension. Yews were not particularly abundant in my area, and it was only after I moved here to a property fronted by a hedge of English Yew (Taxus baccata) that I began to suspect that my mother had lied to me about the plant. I had already confirmed her deviation from the truth with respect to Salal berries (NOT the plant in the above photo!). That came about when I was roughly nine years old after watching my playmate Sydie eat them by the handful. For weeks, I kept expecting her to fall over, but she never did. Even so, I avoided eating Salal until I confirmed its edibility as an adult. That said, the berries of the yew (one type shown above) are poisonous. That, at least, was a truth taught to me at an early age.

Red Gold

Day 352: Every year, I have the same argument with myself as to whether or not to take out the raspberry patch. It tends to look rather unkempt where it hangs over its fence and the sidewalk, pruned by deer to be nothing more than wiry stems. I keep most of it tied up, but there are always a few vines which dangle right where I have to detour around them when I go out to get the mail, and when they're in bloom, they're usually loaded with bees (and I'm allergic). These inconveniences persist throughout much of the summer, and the annoyance (minor though it is) raises that question time and again: should I pull them? And then...and then the payoff comes. Heritage is best grown as a single-season crop although it is described as "everbearing." The overall yield will be better if it is restricted to being solely fall-bearing. As September approaches its terminal days and October waits anxiously in the wings, the fruits begin to ripen and those trips to the mailbox with side trips to the bee-laden vines become something to anticipate. The branch arching over the sidewalk above my head droops a little lower, putting its red treasure within easy reach. Who can resist a sun-warm raspberry? And my mental machinations do an about-face: yeah, I think I'll leave 'em another year.

Veins

Day 351: A second foray into my favourite spot yielded up enough Chanterelles for a good fry-up and a large bowl of soup, the amount I usually take when I am foraging. People often tell me that they don't trust themselves to harvest wild mushrooms, and indeed, that caution has its merits. However, there are "beginner" species which are quite delicious, and Chanterelles happen to be among them. So how do you distinguish a Chanterelle from other orange mushrooms, some of which are dangerous? Look at the underside. Where other mushrooms have gills, Chanterelles have raised veins. Sometimes they can look almost like gills, but after a few gathering trips with an experienced mushroomer, you will learn to tell the difference even on narrow-veined young specimens. Or at least most people will. Somehow, my fishing buddy never got the hang of it. When he, his brother-in-law and I used to go 'shrooming, we'd have to check his basket closely, and nine times out of ten, we'd be forced to make him throw away his collection because of some toxic gilled species he'd added in. He was the poster child for the phrase, "All mushrooms are edible...once."

Sparassis Crispa, Cauliflower Fungus

Day 350: Before you get the words out of your mouth, I'll answer that question. Yes, it is. And no, I didn't. As I once told Arnie, it's against my religion to take specimens (with rare exceptions) or to collect the only one of something just so I can eat it. Sparassis crispa is not all that common, and according to the field guides, it is one of the most coveted of edible fungi to occur in the Pacific Northwest. Okay. Fine. It can stay right on that stump where I found it (I was hunting Chanterelles), and it can continue to live the rest of its natural lifespan in fungal happiness because it is beautiful and unique. No one else is likely to encounter this particular example because it was in deep, trailless woods, and I might not have seen it myself but for the direction from which I approached its stump. I do not understand the urge people seem to have to put everything in their mouths, but every time I post a photo of a mushroom on the Park's page, the first question I get is, "Is it edible?" Just leave it alone, can't you? Go eat blueberries or something.

Weird Fruits

Day 349: It's weird fruit season again! I have been so preoccupied with Merry's recovery that I neglected to check on the Akebia pods to see if they were ripening. A couple of them had gone a bit too far already, and some critter had been at them, but I salvaged more than half a dozen for my personal enjoyment. There are a few more yet to come. Now when I say "personal enjoyment," I have to qualify it by explaining that Akebias are a difficult taste to acquire. For one thing, the edible portion is only a thin layer of...for want of a better word...sliminess which adheres closely to hundreds of fat, hard seeds. To eat an Akebia, you put a spoonful in your mouth, roll it around on your tongue for a bit, then spit the seeds out before swallowing. At first, I found them tasteless. Now that my palate is more educated, the slight sweetness is more apparent. The closest thing I can compare it to is unflavoured rice candy. I actually look forward to the Akebia harvest now, but I have learned not to go overboard when hand-pollinating the vines. A dozen or a dozen and a half is plenty for a season. Forty is definitely overkill.

Best Year Yet

Day 348: Forgive me for a moment of vanity, but I think I've earned some bragging rights. The Washington State Fair (also known as the Puyallup Fair) is one of the ten largest fairs in the world. "World," I said, and this year, each of my three entries (two in weaving and one in spinning) took first place. The judges' comments included "Excellent seam join" (that on the overshot which required joining three panels invisibly), "nice even beat" (same piece), "lovely work" (the bamboo fingering weight yarn) and "beautiful selvedges" (for a distance of five yards, I might add!). Each piece scored 97 points out of a possible 100. This has been my best performance in the six years I have been entering the competitions, the first time I have taken first place for every category in which I submitted my work. I have received one or more blue ribbons in weaving, spinning, tatting, hardanger, bobbin lace, knitting and crocheting, as well as several second-place awards. I generally submit two or three pieces each year, and have earned ribbons for every one. I've never entered a quilt!

Before There Was Bubble Wrap

Day 347: Before there was bubble wrap, there were Snowberries (Symphoricarpos albus). They grew in profusion in the area where I spent my early childhood, so I was taught that they were poisonous as one of my first lessons in botany. I was also shown that despite their negative, they made one of the world's most gratifying sounds when pinched firmly, and I took great joy in popping as many of them as I could find. What is it about that sound which attracts people (the ones without ready access to Snowberries) to pop the bubbles in bubble wrap? Scientific studies tell us the action releases dopamine (a "feel-good" chemical) in the brain. Others simply claim it releases tension and anxiety. I'm inclined to go with the first option since, as a three- or four-year old child, I didn't have a lot of anxieties. The next time your job stresses you out or you feel oppressed by the general state of things, go pop some Snowberries. Or, failing that, try a sheet of bubble wrap.

The Cone Of Shame

Day 346: I warned them. "He's got a real temper," I said. When the vet tech returned him to me, carrier in one hand and Elizabethan collar in the other, she told me, "He was really mad when he woke up, so we didn't get the cone on him." I wasn't surprised in the least. Yes, today was the necessary pre-puberty surgery, and I have been fretting about it for weeks. Everything went smoothly (well, except for getting the collar on him) and we are now home. It has taken several adjustments, but the Cone of Shame has been securely in place for a little over half an hour now. I won't claim victory just yet, but at least we're close. The surgical procedure has changed a lot since I last had a kitty neutered. They simply make a small incision, remove the important bits and that's it. No sutures. No glue. Just a tiny wound which they leave open to heal over the next 7-10 days while I try to keep the Cone of Shame in place. In a month, he won't even remember what happened to him on this visit.

Garden News Hardy Fuchsia

Day 345: How  a propos that my garden news would be that Hardy Fuchsia "Garden News" appears to have survived into the current season after all! I was sure that all my large-flowered varieties had succumbed to the wildly fluctuating, freeze-today-roast-tomorrow weather we experienced over the last winter and spring. Fortunately, it came into bloom before I set to clearing out the woody remains. I plan to re-work the front flower bed before winter. The lily-of-the-valley has dwindled almost into nothingness, the crocuses and hyacinths have been consumed by deer and elk, and not much remains except volunteer ferns and a vigorous assortment of weeds. It will take a bit of work to clear the fuchsia stems and roots of the pesky grasses which have grown up through them, the same issue which caused me to abandon all hope of growing irises along the fence line. Some plants seem to invite weeds to share their space.

Joyful

Day 344: Given that most of the year is spent nursing along what appears to be 12-18" long sticks with a few leaves at the top, spraying them daily and watering the soil only when the pots become quite light, I have reason to be joyful when my Adeniums come into bloom. Indeed, "Joyful" is this one's varietal name, and it should be noted that all or nearly all of the large-flowered types of Desert Rose are grafted plants or reproduced with cuttings, although the question of "chicken or egg" sticks in my mind because somewhere there surely was a seed which produced the first plant with 3" flowers. In any event, I have not seen non-grafted plants with supersized blossoms for sale, although I have seen the small-flowered African native species offered. That said, anyone walking past my sunny, south-side kitchen window would probably wonder why I have sticks in flower pots occupying the ledge. Well, this is why.

Chlorociboria Aeruginascens

Day 343: In light of yesterday's post which was also about something suffixed with "chloro-," I should probably explain that it means green or greenish yellow, and although that doesn't accurately reflect the colour of Chlorociboria aeruginascens, it was (as they say), "Close enough for gov'mint work" as far as the taxonomists were concerned when they named this tiny fungus. My botany partner Joe posted a photo of it years ago, and when I said that I would "give my eye teeth to see it in real life," he collected a stick on which it was growing and delivered it to me some time later after the fungus had dried up and showed only as a faint blue discoloration. He described the conditions where it had been growing, and I did my best to provide them. That was in 2019. One winter passed with no sign of the fungus returning to life, but the following autumn, blue disks erupted on the underside of the stick where it was resting on the ground. I was careful to replace it exactly as before, and every year since then, the "Joe Stick" has reliably produced a crop of Chlorociboria after the first few soaking rains of the autumn season. I keep wondering when it will exhaust the supply of nutrients in its substrate, but for now, it's still going strong.

Chlorochroa Ligata, Conchuela Bug

Day 342: If I was relying entirely on my field guides, I might have misidentified this critter. However, I have BugGuide's assurance that it is a Conchuela Bug, Chlorochroa ligata, aka a whoppingly large member of the stinkbug clan. By midafternoon, the Woolly Bear of my Sept. 16 post had given over possession of this milkweed leaf to Conchuela. Was it the odor which drove the Woolly Bear away? Phermones work both ways. And surprisingly, Conchuela is still on the leaf this morning, three days later. I don't see any signs that it's been chewing, though. I'll admit I didn't check to see if it was dead or alive. If it's still out there tonight, I'll investigate more closely. Conchuelas are often found on blackberry vines at this time of year and are one of our more common stinkbugs.

Golden Hoard

Day 341: Ever since we got a good rain, I've been waiting for my instincts to suggest that it was a good day to go mushrooming. Yesterday felt "shroomy," so I headed off for a favourite spot, and within an hour, I'd filled my one-gallon "perhaps bag" (avoska) with more than enough for soup and a fry-up. I had decided that this year was the year I was actually going to dry some for use later in the winter, rather than saying with regret at the end of the season that I should have done so. Three-quarters of my harvest filled four trays with slices which dried to crispiness in eight hours at 130 degrees. After cooling overnight, the bulk of my Golden Hoard filled a quart jar. I will have to experiment with rehydrating them. If they are reluctant to take up sufficient moisture to become tender, I can always resort to putting them in a spice grinder to make chanterelle powder.

Bioluminescent Species

Day 340: When I first encountered Xylaria hypoxylon (Carbon Antlers) in a wildlife conservation area a few years ago and was looking for information about the species, I discovered that it was bioluminescent. The conservation area was not one I cared to go traipsing about in the dark of night, I figured I'd never get to see the phenomenon for myself. However, last year, I found the same fungus growing on a hawthorn stump in my back yard and was overjoyed when I was able to stimulate a few tiny points of blue-white light by touching the tips with a twig. Once one of the "fairy lights" had been activated and had faded after a few seconds, it could not be induced to glow again. Only a few members of the colony were at the correct stage to produce bioluminescence, and my experiment concluded when they were exhausted. Then summer came and the Xylaria withered and disappeared. Now they are beginning to sprout on the stump again, and if conditions permit (temperature plays a role), I hope to be able to tease them into lighting up again.

Bearing Good News

Day 339: Woolly Bears (the caterpillar of the Isabella Tiger Moth) used to be very common here, so much so that I might have to stop every ten feet or so to carry one to safety if I was out walking along the road. I won't blame cars entirely, but these endearing little creatures have become increasingly hard to find over the last two decades or so, and now I seldom see them even when I'm looking for them. Today, I was delightfully surprised to see one investigating my milkweed plants. The milkweed bloomed but did not set seed. I had been hoping for pods, but if the plants serve instead as a snack for Woolly Bears, that's even better. It did my heart good to see this little fellow. I hope he enjoys his meal and gives a good review to all his friends.

Full-blown Strawflower

Day 338: In prior years, I have grown Helichrysum (Strawflower) for drying, a process which requires picking them while they are still in the early phase of bud development. While hanging upside-down in a dry area away from bright light, the flowers continue to mature but stop before they are fully developed. The petals become crisp and papery, and can retain their colour for years. I had intended to grow enough for a dried arrangement this year, but very few of the seeds germinated, and of those, most of the seedlings died off during a spell of hot weather. This one survived, but without others to dry, I decided to let it come to maturity in the garden. I don't recall having ever seen a full-blown Helichrysum before. The disk flowers have become quite prominent as a golden-yellow mound.

Scrubby Puts In An Appearance

Day 337: Scrubby (California Scrub-jay, Aphelocoma californica) put in an appearance a few days ago. Some birds are notoriously difficult to photograph, and while Scrubby can't compete with warblers with respect to declining to pose for a portrait, he is sufficiently shy that I can only capture him through double-pane glass (and that only if he doesn't see me pick up the camera). Although this is far from a field-guide image, it shows his markings clearly enough to document his presence in the yard. Some time back (a few years ago, I believe), "Western Scrub-jay" was divided into two separate species, California Scrub-jay and Woodhouse's Scrub-jay. Ironically, Woodhouse's is known to occur only from southeastern Oregon south and only marginally into eastern central California, and California is the one we have here in Washington. (It must have been one hell of a party that night in Taxonomy Central!) Curiously, a few days prior to my sighting, my botany partner saw a solitary Scrub-jay in his yard, some 50 air-miles north of me. Could it possibly be the same bird? I rather doubt it, but it was an amusing thought since the species is not common in my immediate area. I used to see them frequently along the southern stretch of the Chehalis-Western bike trail, though, and they were no easier to photograph there than here. Scrubby (mine, anyway) prefers to dine at the suet feeder, and his visits are always something I enjoy.

Scleroderma Areolatum, Earthball

Day 336: It has been quite a while since I had a botanical puzzle which required breaking out the microscope, but with several look-alike Scleroderma species, the determining factor for an identification rested upon the spores. I've been watching the growth of some odd "puffballs" (clarification will come later in this post) under the contorted filbert for over a week now. They were much larger than any I'd ever seen, three inches or so in diameter. One finally developed a single apical pore (also diagnostic in making a correct ID), venting its spores through the opening. I settled in with my references, but found myself frustrated by the similarity of several species. One book specific to the Pacific Northwest suggested Scleroderma verrucosum, but checking for possible synonyms in a more reliable source told me that species does not occur here. I got out a bigger metaphorical "shovel," knowing that I'd have to do deeper digging if I was to solve this mycological mystery. In the end, I learned that the spores were key. If they were spiky like the covid virus, the "puffball" was Scleroderma areolatum. If they were smooth, I might as well give up. Fortunately, at 1000x magnification, the spikes were visible, and what I had was not a puffball, but an Earthball, somewhat unusual and not previously recorded in Pierce County. I love it when I find botanical mysteries in my own back yard!

Knapweed, A Growing Issue

Day 335: Invasives are a growing issue in our area, and even when they are recognized, no one seeems to be doing anything about them. Yes, I'm pointing a finger straight at you, Town of Eatonville. I've reported Knapweed along the Bud Blancher Trail multiple times, and it's spreading. In fact, there's some on the highway verge not far from my house now, and I have to consider the possibility that a seed was carried there on some vehicle's undercarriage or tires, maybe even my own. Knapweed is not the only unwelcome visitor. I've watched Lactuca (Bitter Lettuce) advance uphill from town to here in the space of only a few years. It and the Knapweed are two of the worst, although there are plenty of other weeds (I use the term in its ultimate form to indicate a non-native plant with the potential to set up a monoculture at the expense of natives) which have only recently begun showing up locally. The spread alarms me. It is occurring at a breakneck pace, boosted by negligence and the changing climate.

Madia Gracilis, Slender Tarweed

Day 334: Every year after you reach a certain age, you will be required to have an "annual wellness check" in order to satisfy Medicare. The whole process is demeaning and ridiculous. It is meant to test your cognitive functions, although if you told them you were Napoleon Bonaparte and the year was 1066 AD and you were living in Australia, I'm not exactly sure what they could do about it except inform your family that you might not be too firmly attached. In my case, I have no family, so unless I was to go streaking starkers down the centerline of the highway yelling "I am a rutabaga," they'd have no recourse.

I pride myself on my memory. After all, I have to remember complex weaving patterns which are sometimes long strings of numbers. While not as essential in the short term, remembering plant names is also important, and for me, that means the Latin. I may not always get the species correct (and certainly not if it's something I'll need to research to distinguish it), but I'm good with genera, even though it sometimes takes me a while to filter through the cotton wool to get down to the data levels in my head. I had a quarter mile to go to get back to my car after photographing this weed, but by the time I reached the parking area, I was saying, "Madia. Not exigua, something else." All things considered, that wasn't bad. I don't think I'd ever noticed this species before even though it's a fairly common weed. A quick check of the books at home told me it was Madia gracilis, Slender Tarweed.

If that's not proof of a good memory, I challenge you to find a better. It's certainly more of a mental exercise than this year's entree at the doctor's office when I was asked to remember "dog, cat, mouse" for ten minutes.

Woolly Mullein, Verbascum Thapsus

Day 333: I tend to think of Mullein (Woolly, Common or Great all being synonyms for Verbascum thapsus) as a plant of the southwest Washington prairies where it is commonly seen along roadsides. I also tend to think of it as being my height or taller, so when I spotted this foot-tall, compact specimen adjacent to the Bud Blancher Trail in Eatonville, I had reason to look more closely. Yeah, it was a Mullein. Seriously, not much else resembles Mullein, so I really didn't doubt my identification, but it was in an odd spot and it was certainly runty compared to its relatives down in Flatland. Although I have never made tea from the leaves or flowers, Mullein is a time-honoured medicinal for ailments of the respiratory tract. Nevertheless, it should be used with caution since it can affect the kidneys. Seeds should never be used. Of more pertinent interest to weavers and spinners, the flowers can be used to produce yellow, brown or green dyes, depending on which mordanting agent is used. Now that's something I might just have to try!

Loafing

Day 332: I decided to loaf today, and before you accuse me of being lazy, let me assure you that quite the opposite was true. I've gotten a bit spoiled with the Dutch-oven sourdough which takes all of five minutes to put together for the first rise and only requires stirring with a spoon to make the dough. Yes, you have to punch it down and shape it, but neither of those tasks takes more than a few minutes and very little expenditure of energy. No, I wanted to knead. There is something eminently gratifying about feeling bread dough become more elastic under your hands, and my cinnamon-swirl loaf requires a full ten minutes or even twelve before it has that magical texture. Plus, the recipe is for two loaves and takes almost eight cups of flour. That's a pretty hefty mass to manipulate on the bread board, and yes, it's good exercise for arm and back muscles. I definitely "kneaded" that!

Long Dawn

Day 331: Even with the 45,000 acre Retreat Fire just over the Cascade Crest, skies here had been relatively smoke-free until this last week. For the last several days, "dawn" has persisted for hours, the sun glowing red in the haze even after it was well up in the sky. All day long, the light coming in through the window has an orange cast, tinting my needlework and making it hard to distinguish thread colours. The Mountain is obscured by the smoke layer and even the nearby hills are veiled in dingy yellow gauze. The air is still, but even a stiff breeze would only move the smoke around because most of western Washington is experiencing the same conditions, fires burning in a chain along the Cascades from Canada to Oregon. Earlier in the season, I had thought we might escape this new and unhealthy summer standard. I will welcome the rains when they finally come, even though they come with their own set of problems related to our changing climate.

Busy Bee

Day 330: My maternal grandmother was a schoolteacher and a thoroughly Christian woman in the old sense of the word. She doted on didactic poems and other Victorian-era means of illustrating life lessons, and one which she quoted to me often was Isaac Watts' "Against Idleness and Mischief." If you don't recognize the title, it's no wonder, although you undoubtedly will have heard it in some form, opening with "How doth the little busy bee improve each shining hour / And gather honey all the day from every opening flower." It concludes with "For Satan finds some mischief for idle hands to do." She also employed a second take on the ending when she was trying to impart the patience required for needlework to me when I was only three: "Idle hands are the devil's playground." So firmly did she instill the lesson in my youthful psyche that today, I cannot sit down for longer than five minutes without some project in my hands. People wonder how I find time for needlework. I wonder how they can waste it in front of a television set.

Hardy Fuchsia "Genii"

Day 329: As with human beings and other creatures, perennial plants have a lifespan which varies with the individual. Some species are known for being longer lived than others (think of ancient trees), and even within a species, different varieties may live longer than others. Several of my large-flowered hardy fuchsias expired almost simultanously, and although I don't know whether that can be attirbuted to their natural span or whether our peculiar weather conditions caused their demise, I'm sure one or both factors played a part. My only two surviviors are Genii (above) and similar Riccartoni, both of which are the ones most commonly seen in PNW gardens. Even the small-flowered varieties are a guaranteed lure for hummingbirds, and Genii has come into bloom just in time for the returning Anna's who have been nectaring at them for the last week or so.

Screen Change

Day 328: It's time to change screens again, which is to say the embroidery hoop has to be moved to a fresh section of canvas so I can work on the next part of the design. As arthritis makes holding a hoop more painful as I age, I seldom use one larger than seven inches. I've tried various types of stand, but all of them have one major drawback in that it is never easy to change colours. When you're working on something as detailed as this, you have to do that a lot. With a hand-held hoop, it's simply a matter of flipping it over, finishing off the current colour and attaching a new one. With a stand, you have to remove it from whatever type of clamp holds the hoop or alternately, loosen the clamp, reverse the work, add the new colour, turn the work rightside-up again and then retighten the mechanism. Or I suppose you could get out of your chair, get down on your knees and approach the solution from the underside if you were truly a glutton for punishment. None of these methods works for me. With the advent of computer-generated patterns, colour changes after three or four stitches are more common (sometimes they will be the only stitches of that colour in the design), but on several occasions, a kit has shown only one stitch...one lousy stitch!...of a different colour. Yep, it's times like those that I much prefer a hand-held hoop. And no, using an established colour instead is not something I would ever consider. Another thing: I'd like to take a sledgehammer to whatever program tells you to do backstitch in black over black cross-stitches. Technology was supposed to make our lives easier, not give us more nonessential work to do.

Diverging From Plan

Day 327: It is impossible to place too much emphasis on the most important thing in the weaver's toolbox: adaptability. Very often, our grand ideas don't take shape precisely as we had envisioned them, and since a lot of work is involved before we can do a trial run, we may be called upon to adapt rather than revise, to work within the established parameters rather than backtracking to set up new ones. I sometimes refer to this process as "having to do some fancy dancin'," and that was certainly the case with "A German Bird's-eye" and my mental picture of the interplay of colours. For my first two towels on this draft, I used a yellow weft and then a light blue one. I was not particularly pleased with either result because the whole scheme seemed muted and drab. For the third towel, I decided to go bold and emphasize the red warp stripe, and although it's still not ideal, it falls within my standard for "acceptable." And it's bright, definitely bright.

Potted Gremlin

Day 325: Harry Potter fans will understand that when I looked up from the kitchen sink and saw this creature staring at me, I felt as if I was in Professor Sprout's greenhouse when the young witches and wizards were studying the section on mandrakes. While Adenium gremlins sit above the soil rather than be buried in it, neither do they scream (or at least not yet, not that I have heard). Still, it is a bit unsettling to find that you are being observed by something which is obviously not in a cheerful mood despite being given the best of care. Have I missed something here? What spells should I be practicing? What potions should I brew? How does one nurture a potted gremlin?

Better Late Than Never

Day 325: I'm certain that anyone entering their autumn years will admit to having at least one thing they wish they'd done, or wished they'd done sooner. I have many things in the first category, but high on the list in the second would be learning to speak Spanish. I made one attempt with Duolingo a few years back, and was put off by what appeared to be a strong emphasis on dating and boozing. I'm sure there were some grammar concepts in there as well, although they were buried too deeply for me to perceive. Either Duo has improved their content or because I specified my age more accurately, when I resumed under a different profile a little over a year ago, I found them to be greatly improved. Going at my own plodding pace, I was satisfied with my progress in Section 1 at the end of a year and moved on to Section 2. Admittedly, much of the vocabulary is useless for my life style (I don't travel, I don't ride horses or go to the beach, and I've never-ever-ever owned a skateboard), but my grasp of the grammatical structure has improved to a point that I can at least comprehend most of the content in the types of books I do enjoy reading. A good example would be yesterday's foray into "En la Selva Lluviosa," i.e, "In the Rain Forest." I went to bed secure in the knowledge that the Atlas Moth has a wingspan up to 30 cm, and that the cuscus has a partially prehensile tail and African monkeys differ from South American monkeys in that their tails are not prehensile. For that, I can live with having to translate sentences about playing baseball and dancing for half an hour every day.

September Morn

Day 324: A glad, good September Morn to you, my readers. As most of you know, this personal holiday is second only to Christmas on my calendar. I would normally celebrate it with a hike and, if possible, a restorative dunk in a chilly, isolated alpine tarn, but neither of these options are possible this year. I've decided instead to indulge in take-out from my favourite Chinese restaurant, something I haven't done since covid appeared on the scene four years ago. This has been a strange year, the "down" of losing Tippy counterbalanced with the "up" of Merry's ebullient introduction into the household, and I am happy to be able to say that this September Morn seems poised to lead into better days, at least in some part, and especially if Merry has any say in the matter. His kitten's enthusiasm for life is a joy, if somewhat exhausting on my side of the coin, and he brings me both love and laughter every day. Those things are the best anyone could hope for, are they not? May you also find them in the coming year.