Posts Tagged ‘pencil drawing’
snippets of landscape – vernal pools and the spring migration
At the edges of our Grey Woods are several places where ‘vernal pools’ form. As a result, these spring evenings are alive with the peeping and croaking of various frogs and toads.
‘Vernal pools’ are temporary accumulations of water in depressions. This water may originate from snow accumulations or from rising water tables. The word ‘vernal’ comes from the Latin ver meaning spring.
Although vernal pools are ephemeral, they create habitat for many animals, including insects and amphibians, often at critical life stages. Amphibians such as Wood Frogs (Rana sylvatica), Spotted Salamanders (Ambystoma maculatum), and Blue Spotted Salamanders (Ambystoma laterale) depend on vernal pools for laying their eggs and development of tadpoles. Other amphibians you may encounter in a vernal pool include Spring Peepers, Grey Tree Frogs and Bull Frogs.
During a rainy night in late April or early May, you may be fortunate enough to observe the early spring migration of Wood Frogs and other species as they make their way to breeding locations. These frogs have remained all winter in hibernation and have unthawed in the early spring rains. Unfortunately, many must cross roads to get to the ponds and vernal pools where they will lay their eggs, and many become casualties of their attempts to cross the road.
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an uncertain spring migration
~
if it rains
the night road
leads home
to lowlands
and hollows
vernal pools
north of the highway
swollen with rain
~
mists crawl
towards me
vignettes
sweep the windshield
frogs cross the roadway
follow ancestral memory
blurred by rain
~
some nights
the tail-lights ahead
are my only family
red streamers on wet pavement
tadpoles from the eggmass
grow legs
absorb their tails
follow the road
~
I watch
the phone poles
the potholes
the hidden driveways
the headlight echo on trees
frog legs
crushed on the pavement
mailboxes with uncertain names
~
the centre line is a zipper
seals the left side
to the right
the coming home
with the leaving
frogs plead
from the wetlands
never saying goodbye
~
Published as: ‘an uncertain spring migration’, Spring 1997, Green’s Magazine XXV (3).
revised
© Jane Tims 2011
~
from the pages of an old diary – blueberries and other local foods
My new writing project, ‘growing and gathering’, focuses on local foods and finding food close to home.
A source of information and inspiration for me is the set of my great-aunt’s diaries, written from 1943 to 1972. From her diaries, I have a very good idea of how they obtained their food, and how they used local foods to supplement their needs.
Most of their food was obtained from the grocery store – in 1957, there was at least one grocery store in the community, and by 1967, they had an IGA. There is no doubt some goods came from ‘away’. For example, my great-aunt wrote about making coconut and pineapple squares for a Women’s Missionary Society meeting (Sept. 30, 1957).
Local goods, however. were used whenever possible. For example, my great-aunt bought eggs from her sister, and chickens from her brother. She also obtained vegetables and raspberries from her brother’s farm, apples from friends and relatives, deer meat from friends and relatives, and lobsters from Wallace, a near-by community. By 1967, my great-aunt and great-uncle also kept a garden at her brother’s farm, a few miles away.
Obtaining local foods included picking local berries. In July and August of 1957, my great-aunt went four times for wild blueberries. Her gratitude and pleasure at getting these berries comes through in her words: ‘ got quite a few’ (July 31, 1957) and ‘got a nice lot.’ (Aug. 21, 1957). She also wrote about picking grapes and currants.
Some of the berries were eaten right away – for example, my great-aunt made a blueberry pie on August 1, 1957. The rest was preserved for the winter. On August 16, 1957 my great-aunt put up 5 quarts of blueberries, to supplement the applesauce, pears, peaches, sweet cucumber pickles, and tomato chow she mentions preparing on other days. Others in the family also made preserves and shared them with her – in 1967, her nephew (my uncle) brought her three bottles of peach, apple and choke cherry jelly he had made.
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an offering of berries
~
she stands on the stoop
offers a box
a brimming pint
of berries
~
I take her hand, we ripple
through the pasture, strew
blue ribbons over bushes, stir
a blueberry jelly sky, dance
with dragonflies
~
she waits on the stoop
her brow a riddle, please
take this gift, blueberries
in a simple
wooden
basket
~
~
Warning: 1. never eat any plant if you are not absolutely certain of the identification; 2. never eat any plant if you have personal sensitivities, including allergies, to certain plants or their derivatives; 3. never eat any plant unless you have checked several sources to verify the edibility of the plant.
© Jane Tims 2012
playing the parlour organ
Within my grandfather’s house were rooms we were not allowed to enter, except under very special circumstances. One of these was the parlour.
My ‘need’ to practice the piano allowed me access to this sanctum. For each day of our vacation, I was allowed to practice on the old pump organ. The organ belonged to my grandmother and my Dad could remember sitting on her lap while she played.
I was not an eager player and spent a lot of time testing the effect of the various ‘stops’ on the organ. These were white knobs with mysterious black words printed on each. When you pulled a stop, various connections were created to make the organ sound a certain way. Now for a memory I am not sure is true or only something I imagined – one of the stops, if pulled, would make the keys play an octave below where I was playing. They moved of their own accord and made me feel I was playing a duet with a ghostly partner!
One of the songs I chose to play on the organ was Evening Chimes. It was an easy song and made a good impression.
'Evening Chimes', Michael Aaron Piano Course - Grade One. Mills Music Inc., New York. 1945.
Since I knew Evening Chimes by heart, my eyes could wander over the embellishments of the Victorian-aged organ as I was playing. Its designs included flowers, leaves, exclamation marks, serpent-like creatures and four stylised figures of an octopus! This last I could ascribe to a childish imagination, but since my sister now has my grandmother’s parlour organ, I can verify the existence of those odd oceanic figures on the front of the organ!
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Vox Angelica 8 Fţ
~
practice required
repeated bars and D.C. al fine
the E flat I could never
remember, stretch that little
finger, make it behave, do
tricky slurs and grace notes
~
to coax these from the organ
was like pounding on felt
and my feet
unused to pumping
supplied inappropriate pace
~
so I played Evening Chimes, folk song
over and over
rang church bells
imitated angels, impressed
my pious grandfather
and demonstrated piano prowess
~
© Jane Tims 2011
Dutchman’s-breeches (Dicentra Cucullaria (L.) Bernh.)
Our first summer home was located in a rich hardwood of Sugar-Maple (Acer saccharum Marsh.), Beech (Fagus grandifolia Ehrh.) and White Ash (Fraxinus Americana L. ). In these woods, in early spring, as the snow melted, wildflowers found ideal habitat. Many plants take advantage of the few days when the leaves of the overstory trees are still developing, and there is bright light in the understory of the woods.
One of these wildflowers is Dutchman’s-breeches (Dicentra Cucullaria (L.) Bernh.). This charming little plant blooms early in spring, in rich, rocky hardwoods. The white flowers are two-spurred, in groups of four to ten along a stem held just above finely divided, feathery leaves.
The plants is also known as breeches-flower, cullottes de Hollandais, and dicentre à capuchon. The generic name is from the Greek di meaning twice and centron meaning a spur. Cucullaria is the old generic name meaning hoodlike. The plant was named by Johann Jacob Bernhardi.
The flowers of Dutchman’s-breeches are an example of plant adaptation for pollination. The flower has a clever mechanism, in the form of fused flower parts, to ensure only certain insects (such as the bumblebee) can access the nectar and pollen.
In my copy of Roland and Smith (The Flora of Nova Scotia), I recorded my first encounter with this little plant – April 28, 1985, during one of our first visits to our property before we purchased it. We called our cabin Whisperwood, in part because of the subtle breezes in those wildflower-dotted spring woods.
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Dutchman’s Breeches
Dicentra Cucullaria (L.) Bernh.
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Dutchman’s breeches
brighten in sun
woodland washdays
have begun
~
spring-clean trousers
hung in rows
inflated with breath
the May wind blows
~
sprites are playing
tossing their hoods
above the damp
in the spring-fed woods
~
little fairy laundry
trembles on the line
before greening trees
block spring sunshine
~
~
© Jane Tims 1993
a moment of beautiful – a swing in the orchard
the space: in the shade of a tree
the beautiful: an old wooden swing
The sight of a swing hanging from the solid limb of an old tree recalls happy hours of swinging when I was a child.
On my grandfather’s farm, the swing was a swing-chair, and I spent hours pushing the old swing to its limits (see ‘in the apple orchard’ the post for August 9, 2011, under the category ‘my grandfather’s farm’). At home in Ralston, Alberta, the community playground had an adult-sized swing set, strong enough to withstand our approach of ‘stand on the seat and pump’. And, when my son was little, we had an old-fashioned board and rope swing – it was a little off-kilter and seemed to go side-to-side rather than forward-and-backward but I remember he and I had lots of fun.
My own childhood story about board and rope swings is bitter-sweet. My Dad built me a swing and hung it from the rafters in the basement of our house in Medicine Hat. I loved it, but … one day I let go of the ropes and fell backwards, hitting my head on the concrete floor. I can still remember the intense pain and the big black star that dominated my vision for a moment. People who know me will say this explains a lot.
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swing sway
~
the old swing
hangs frayed from a limb
of the apple tree
sways
hips as she waits
for the downtown bus
rocking learned
in baby years
when rhythm brought peace
and a quiet evening
~
~
© Jane Tims 2012
keeping watch for dragons #4 – a dragon overhead
Have you ever had a raven fly directly over your head? If so, you have heard the rhythmic compression of air, too intense to have been made by feathers…
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a dragon overhead
~
a raven flies over
thrashes the air
percussion of dragon wing
~
~
© Jane Tims 2012
maple syrup ups and downs
It may be a short maple syrup season this year. The weather has not been cooperative. In order for the sap to run, warm days are great, but the nights need to be cold. When the temperatures fall below zero, the sap in the tree runs from the crown to the roots. When the day is warm and sunny, the sap runs back up to the canopy. If there is no cold night, no sap.
So far we have collected about 40 liters of sap from our 10 trees and I have 3 bottles (each 500 ml or two cups) of lovely dark syrup! This compares to 136 liters of sap last year on the same date, from 12 trees.
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Cold night, warm day
~
Icicles build
from the spile
sweet sickles of sap
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~
© Jane Tims 2012
keeping watch for dragons #3 – beechwood dragon
This time of year, the only leaves still clinging in the forest are the dry, golden leaves of young beech trees. Every drop of moisture has been withdrawn and the leaves rustle and whisper in the woodland. Something about the way the wind moves through the leaves, and catches the sound of their tremble, makes you wonder…
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beechwood dragon
~
scales rattle
as he tiptoes through the thicket
peeks between the trees
wingwebs transparent
armoured in gold
~
~
© Jane Tims 2012
Coltsfoot (Tussilago Farfara L.)
Although it has been snowing sporadically this month, our recent days of very, very warm weather tell me spring has arrived. As a result, I am watching the roadsides for the first flowers of spring. Even before the snow is out of the woods, it begins to melt along the roadsides as they warm in the lengthening hours of sun. And the cycle of bloom begins again.
Coltsfoot (Tussilago Farfara L.) is one of the first plants seen in early spring. It forms large patches in waste areas, beside brooks and roads, and on damp hillsides. People often mistake Tussilago for Dandelion, but it is quite different. Its yellow flowers are borne on scaly, leafless stems. The large, woolly leaves don’t appear until later in the season. In spite of its early appearance in spring, Tussilago actually has late flowers. The flower buds are formed in autumn at the base of the plant, and pass winter underground, flowering in the first spring sunlight.
Other names for the plant are Son-before-the-Father, which refers to the appearance of flowers before the leaves, and pas-d’âne (literally donkey-steps). The scientific names are from the Latin tussis, meaning a cough, referring to the use of the plant as a remedy for such ailments, and the Latin word for coltsfoot, farfarus. The plant was named by Linnaeus, the Swedish botanist who established the present day system of naming plants.
Although the plant was used by pioneers for its medicinal effects, it is now known that Tussilago contains harmful alkaloids. Tea made from Coltsfoot has caused health problems in infants and pregnant women, so its use as a cough remedy is not recommended. In some States, Coltsfoot is considered a noxious weed.
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Coltsfoot
Tussilago Farfara L.
~
Gold-
splashed beside the road
like prints
of a frisky colt’s feet
~
at first glance-
an early dandelion!
but-
too early
stem scaly
no leaves below the bloom
no perfume.
~
Coltsfoot,
Son-before-the-Father
(flowers before the leaves).
Introduced from
far, far away.
Old wives say
boiled greens
will ease
a cough.
~
Long ago
Tussilago
sprang from where
a burro trod
among the palms
(pas-d’ane)
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Published as: ‘Coltsfoot’, Winter 1993, The Antigonish Review 92:76-77.
Revised
© Jane Tims 1993
~
maple syrup time
Well, the time has finally arrived. The nights are cold and the days this week are predicted to be sunny and warm. In our house the combination of cold days and warm nights means the sap is moving in our maple trees.
We tap Red Maple (Acer rubrum L.), although Sugar-maple (Acer saccharum Marsh) is preferred by commercial syrup producers. Last year we tapped 12 trees, about at the edge of our low-tech capability. This year we are tapping 10 trees.
We usually use the ‘old-fashioned’ spile and aluminum bucket method. This year, for the first time, my husband is trying a plastic spile and pipe system for 5 of our taps. It seems a little easier since the sap drips directly into a plastic reservoir and this eliminates one step in the endless pouring process.
For those of you unfamiliar with tapping trees for sap, the basic idea is to collect the sap and boil it down to make maple syrup. We select a tree, bore a hole, insert a spile and hang a bucket on the spile hook. The spile is a cleverly designed spigot which channels the sap from inside the tree into the bucket. The bucket is fitted with a cover to keep out rainwater or snow and reduce insect access.
So far this year, we have collected 25 liters of sap. This will boil down at about 40 to 1 to make a little more than 500 ml of syrup (about 2 cups). Last year, from a season total of 329 liters of sap, we made about 40 pint jars of syrup. If you try to calculate that at 40 to 1, it will never come out correctly since we don’t boil all of the sap to the same concentration and we drink some of the sap as a sweet drink.
Collecting maple sap is so much fun. It is good exercise and a great way to get your dose of warm spring sunshine. And, we have enough maple syrup to last for the year.
I’ll be keeping you up to date on our maple syrup adventures this year. Right now, the pot full of sap is boiling on the deck.
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sugar song
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cold nights
warm days
cold nights
~
sap plucks stainless steel
different rhythm, every tap
quick and dead slow
in sync
with the downy woodpecker
or the bird with the round warble in its throat
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© Jane Tims 2012
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