Merry, Merry Christmas!

Day 74: He gave me a hug, arms around my neck and face pressed to mine (for the first time of his own accord). That was for Christmas Eve. This morning, he laid on my chest before we got out of bed, content and purring like a donkey engine to wish me a merry Merry Christmas. This, my friends, is what Christmas is about: love in its many forms. It cannot exist without being shared, so get out there. Stimulate some oxytocin in your family and friends! And don't forget the little people: the companions in our lives, and the ones outside our doors. As it is sung in "The Muppet Christmas Carol," "It is the season of the heart / a special time of caring / the ways of love made clear. / And it is the season of the spirit / the lesson if we hear it / is make it last all year."

Christmas 2023

Day 73: I think I have perfected the lyrics after several years of trying to get the last line of the chorus to scan properly.

The Holly and the Ivy,
Both as invasives curs'd,
Of all the shrubbery in our woods,
These two are just the worst.

Oh, the rising of the sap and
The spreading of the seeds!
A little bit of herbicide
Is all a person needs.

And a Merry Christmas to you and yours from your friendly neighbourhood naturalist and her small Tippy-child!

And A Bird Flock In A Fir Tree

Day 72: It's not a pear tree, and there isn't a single partridge in it. It is a fir tree (artificial), and it has at least a hundred and fifty birds in its branches. I haven't counted, but I can confirm that three dozen of them were originally toppers for swizzle sticks, scored at Pier One Imports and repurposed by means of glue and paint to become ornaments some forty years ago. Most of them are wooden, although the census includes ceramic, resin, feathers, metal, glass, shell and felt. Many have particular personal significance, such as Cocoa's ornament (center) which represents my Cockatoo, the love of my life, gone now over twenty years. His avatar is always the first to go on the tree...always. Carlo, my husband's parrot, is also represented, as is Friend, a special Evening Grosbeak who shared my home for a little over a month as he healed a broken wing. There are a few other creatures among the flock of birds: sheep, a caterpillar, cats, a beehive, but anyone who comes to my home knows immediately that birds have a special place in my heart.

Fontanini Nativity Scene

Day 56: It pains me to admit it, but I am guilty of counting my chickens before they were hatched. I was so convinced that something specifically bloggable was going to happen yesterday that I neglected to make my daily post. I'm backdating this one for consistency's sake, and I do hope the Post Office follows through with its portion today.

You might think it's unusual that I, non-Christian and firm unbeliever, would erect a nativity scene. However, like the Bubble Tree, the practice is a holdover from my childhood, and in a way, it honours my father, who was a faithful Catholic. That said, the nativity scene of my childhood disappeared at some point after I left home at age 12 and, unlike the Bubble Tree, was never seen again. It was my husband's choice to gather the figures for a new one when the Fontanini line was introduced. I insisted on sheep, and I wanted Gloria (my favourite when I was a kid), but we couldn't find a satisfactory manger. I built this one, a from-memory clone of the one from my youth. It's been refurbished a few times to add new moss and wood shavings. I wish I could find a few more fat-tailed sheep to add to the herd!

Ready To Be Festive

Day 49: I don't know about you, dear readers, but I am ready to be festive. 2023 has been a tough year. Normally, I'd wait until St. Nicholas' Day (December 6) to start decorating, and although I did move the quilt frame out of the living room preparatory to putting up the tree between the 6th and 10th, today seemed like as good a time as any to pull a few things out of storage. As you could probably have guessed, most of my accessories are bird-themed, and even though Washington doesn't have native Cardinals, a large flock appears here every December, released from 11 months' captivity within the linen cupboard. I've been given to understand that their favourite food is cookies, so I guess that's the next thing on my agenda.

Ewe-wooltide Joy!

Day 73: Seriously, what else would you expect from a fiber artist/weaver/spinner than my best wishes for Ewe-wooltide joy? The ornament was a gift from one of my sisters-of-the-heart, and the word-play sprang into my head as soon as I lifted it out of the wrappings. I knew I had to convert it to a Christmas "card" right then and there. And as a sidebar to that, I'll be hanging a new warp on the "bonker" loom today, picking away at some cross-stitch, finishing up a crocheted motif, weaving on the floor loom, in between spending quality time with Tippy and cooking a ham. Happy Christmas, everyone!

Merry Christmas From The Gang

Day 72: The Gang has emerged to help celebrate Christmas. Once a year, they leave the sanctity of the Bird Can to spend an hour or so with me, and then having spread their cheer, they go back into hiding until next year. There are a lot of special people here, and you might notice two non-avian members in the gathering if you look closely. Don't worry, they're not gate-crashers. They (Tippy and Mouse) were invited along with everyone else. There are some stories here too: Mascot, who was found trampled into the mud on an obscure trail. I couldn't leave him there, forgotten and unloved. After a bath and a good warm-up, he made a full recovery to join the group. The Three Sisters are present: Crow, Mouse and Goldfinch, as a set I crocheted for myself and my two sisters-of-the-heart, joined by a Blue Jay and a Cardinal. And there is Cocky, in the place of honour, carrying memories of someone more dear to my heart than any other. Next to Bomb from "Angry Birds," a preponderance of crows flocks together in the lower left, gifts from various friends who were unaware that a murder was going on ("murder" being a convocation of crows, of course). They have asked me in a chorus of chirps, caws, squawks, screeches and tweets to convey their best wishes to you for a happy holiday!

Merry Siskinmas!

Day 73: It's Siskinmas at my house! Six inches of snow have fallen since I took this photo yesterday, and the number of Pine Siskins has increased proportionately. They knock on the window when the feeders go empty, and when I open the back door to go feed them, the ones sitting on the step try to get between my feet to go in the house. "Hey! You don't want to do that! There's a CAT in there!"

While I am enjoying this white Christmas, it has its down side. At some point between 4:13 AM when I looked at the clock to see if it was time to get up and 4:45 when I got out of bed, we'd had a brief power failure. I'd been up about 45 minutes when a second one left me in the dark. The crews were already in the area repairing some other "small outages" (per the Dispatch recording), and my service was restored an hour later. My custom is to sit in the living room on Christmas morning with only the tree, candles and other decorative lights lit until the sun comes up, enjoying the silence. Then I open my gifts, and the other preparations for the day begin. If power permits, this afternoon, Tippy and I will be enjoying a figgy-glazed ham and Brussels sprouts, and the Siskins will be indulging in a continuous supply of black-oil sunflower seed.

Merry Christmas!

Day 73: Merry Christmas, dear readers! I know that many of you (more likely, most of you) are finding it difficult to celebrate anything about the last year, so take this moment as I did earlier this morning to reflect on the things which have brought light and love into your lives in years past. As I sat in the sparkle of the lights on my tree, I looked at my ornaments: Tippy and Skunk's kitties; two Fimo sheep represening Cindy and Ivy, first of my former flock; a poorly-carved Carlo, my husband's overly territorial parrot; my mother's Balinese frog; and of course Cocoa, love of my life, represented three times in places of honour among the boughs. Newest to the tree, a slice from a branch with a photo of a certain Crow holding a dear little Pine Siskin on her hand, the ornament a gift from Kevin who, I suspect, will always remember me as a person who lived her motto: "The goal of life is living in agreement with Nature." At least I hope that is how I will be remembered. In this time of reflection, quietly meditating on the significance of many of my ornaments, I found the 2020 frown fading from my forehead, felt a calmness in my spirit which has been absent far too long. I felt a wash of love, years in the gathering of its tide, flow over me in that first hour before dawn. Then, with first light on the horizon (albeit dim and grey), I opened the gifts sent by friends, knowing as I undid each ribbon that they had made the effort to keep Christmas alive despite the weight of the times oppressing them. It gave me hope for better days. My wishes for you are that you find such peace in your own hearts on this day, and may Nature gift you with such beauty as she has placed along my path for lo, these many years.

Season's Greetings

Day 73: Regardless of what "season" you celebrate, the residents of Lichenopolis (Crow, Skunk and Tippy) wish you all the best. We are enjoying snow on the ground and not-too-cold temps this Christmas morning, and will be joined by a friend for dinner this evening. Happy Christmas, all!

Cocoabean

Day 58: "When Memory lives, Spirit endures." It is a phrase I often include in notes of sympathy when a friend has lost a loved one, and although I am not religious and do not believe in a soul as such, "spirit" is another concept entirely. "Spirit" is how we are perceived and remembered by others, whether we are alive or dead. It is the essence of who we are and how we relate to the rest of the world. It is more apparent to us in other humans and in our pets, but all things have "spirit," right down to the rocks and soil beneath our feet; it is our mental record of them.

One dear spirit passed through my life all too briefly, and although his memory is still strong in my mind more than a decade after his passing, I strengthen it each Christmas when I place his ornament on the tree: first, and in a place of prominence. I miss you, Cocoabean, love of my life.

Bird Wreath

Day 56: It's official! The season has begun at the Crow's Nest. I made spritz on St. Nicholas Day, and yesterday I put up the Bird Wreath and the other assorted house decorations. The tree will go up this weekend if I can figure out where to put it. That said, I observe Christmas as a tradition of a festive nature, not a religious one. There are vestiges of my father's Catholic upbringing in it, e.g., the observance of St. Nicholas Day, but mostly it is to me a time to be closer to friends (human and otherwise) and to recognize them with a few special kindnesses above those of the rest of the year. Birds, boughs and lights are the symbols of my Yuletide, a season which begins on December 6 (St. Nicholas Day) and ends on Hogmanay (January 1). The core of the period is shared by the twin stars of Solstice and Christmas, each with its own set of traditions unique to me personally. Perforce, some have had to be revised over the years, so if anyone knows where I can get some real mistletoe to go with the Solstice holly, please let me know!

Merry Christmas!

Day 73: Merry Christmas and Season's Greetings from the residents of Lichenopolis! However you celebrate the holidays, our best wishes will follow you into the coming year.

Doctor Who

Day 70: To me, Christmas has always been a time of anticipation. That's half the fun, right? I've never been one for poking into packages or trying to read through the wrapping paper. In fact, I generally avoid handling Christmas gifts lest I guess what's inside them and spoil the surprise. That said, although I do participate in a rather elaborate gift exchange with two friends, living alone places me under the scope of Santa's radar and to offset that, I always buy myself a present for under the tree and then make myself wait until Christmas Day to open it.

Okay, yes, I admit I bought myself a microscope several weeks ago, but I had an immediate need for it, so it couldn't very well go under the tree unopened. However, when Lego released their Doctor Who set, I found myself considering purchasing a toy for myself. I was doing a good job of resisting temptation until I visited an astronomer friend who showed me hers, fresh off the shelf. Sigh. What could I do? I ordered it.

Here you see the unopened package. It will remain unopened until Christmas morning. It's only a few more days. I think I can muster that much resolve. (Be it noted that this will be my first experience with Legos. They've become much more complex than they were when I was a teen.)

And The Stockings Were Hung

Day 68: Since November 30, I have turned out ten pair of socks in women's sizes 6-9. I don't recall an occasion when I have worked as steadfastly at the needles over such a prolonged period. Even though both friends who placed their orders told me that I didn't need to rush, I felt compelled to get the job done quickly so that they would have them in time for Christmas gift-giving. There were a couple of days when I turned out less than a whole sock, but others when by bedtime, I had completed a sock and a half.

I credit my swiftness to knitting in the European style ("picking" as opposed to "throwing"). In picking, the yarn is held in the left hand. The right hand stays almost stationary and the yarn is brought forward to purl by a simple movement of the left index finger. It makes ribbing a breeze! Interestingly enough, I was taught by my paternal grandmother to pick, although I learned most of my other needle skills from my mother's mother. She insisted that I throw, so until I was on my own in the world, I abandoned picking and struggled with the tedium of throwing the yarn with each stitch. Once I reverted to the European style, knitting became a much more enjoyable task. Socks remain one of my favourite projects, but maybe I'll take my time with the next pair.

Merry Christmas From The Bird House!

Day 73: They're out! And they'd like to wish you all the best for the holiday season. For most of the year, my bird collection resides on shelves and in an enormous tin, safe from the predations of pussycats and protected from dust fallout. For a few days in December, they emerge to occupy furniture and floor space and are generally allowed to remain until Skunk or Tip gets a little too interested and drags somebody off. I hate to admit that only a few of them have names, but each one is loved and petted as they are put in place. So, without further ado, I will speak on their behalf and wish you the merriest of Christmases and a happy New Year!

Noel Of Small Birds

Day 72: Many years have passed since I penned this carol and performed it on the harp. I hope it will inspire my readers to remember our feathered companions this holiday season.

Noel of Small Birds

All the birds of winter gather in to find a shelter,
Begging for a bit of food and warmth in the cold weather.
From their homes in barren trees, sparrows go, and chickadees.
Finches search for bright berries, flying back with treasure.
From a journey returning laden, they sing merrily.
Song fills the sky, and the snow is so white,
And red's the rowan tree.

Gifts of Man shall help in need, crumbs of bread and scattered seed:
Thankful small birds all, indeed! Merry to a feather!
Singing, soaring over the forest, freely they shall fly.
Dance on the wind over moorland and glen
In the sparkling winter sky.

All the birds of winter gather in to find a shelter,
Begging for a bit of food and warmth in the cold weather.
All along the hedgerow gay, bird-song beckons in the day,
From the holly and the bay, and the hoary heather.
Tiny birds take wing to go wassailing. Questing they shall go.
Thicket and bush for a moment are hushed
By the silence of the snow.

Masters of their frosty hall, they announce the minstrel's call,
Pleasure to accord to all, singing all together.
Thus their carol rises unbounded, joyful hearts in flight.
Echoing trills lie like mist on the hills
On a starry winter night.

First, Always

Day 57: The tree goes up, the garland is strung along the branches, and now it's time to decorate. I go through both boxes, looking for one special container and the ornament it contains. Always, this little cockatoo is the first one hung.

Y'see, it goes back to when a real cockatoo was part of my life, and if you've never shared your world with a highly intelligent bird with a very human sense of humour, the significance of this post will probably be lost on you. Cocoa was a very special little fellow, so much so that when he passed away, I could not bear to consider getting another bird. For one thing, my years on this earth are limited, and it would not be proper to a long-lived creature to enter into a contract of care and love, knowing that you would probably predecease your companion. Nor would it be fair to that creature to have expectations which might not be possible for it to fulfill. Cocoa was unique, as all real personalities are, and our time together was far too short.

It's been almost fifteen years since I lost him despite heroic veterinary intervention, but he lives in my heart like no other companion I have ever known. First, always, and in a place of prominence, Cocoa's ornament goes on the tree, and then I settle into the business of hanging other memories on the boughs.

The Spirit Of The Season

Day 56: The tree is up and decorated, the house smells of freshly baked cookies, the wreath is over the mantel and the jingle bells are on the door; I'm over halfway done with a second shawl (a gift), plus I made this lovely card for you, my friends and followers, to wish you all the best for the holiday season, however you elect to observe it. Don't forget our little feathered neighbors while you're thinking about goodies!

Seasonal Greetings

Day 84: Merry Christmas, everyone! This photo was taken on my Christmas Eve Day walk up Mount Rainier National Park's Westside Road and shows snow-covered Mt. Ararat, so named because early explorers purportedly found wooden timbers on its summit. Ararat is to the southwest of Indian Henrys Hunting Ground which in summer is one of the Mountain's most beautiful wildflower meadows. The trail to Indian Henrys from this side was badly damaged during a flood some years ago and was never reconstructed. It is currently listed as an "unmaintained" trail, and the washed-out sections often present navigational challenges, particularly if Tahoma Creek is running high.