Monday, June 27, 2022

Each each other's animal again

Sarah brought me two little baby sweet pea seedlings, which I anxiously nurtured through the end of the winter and into the spring and then planted in a pot outdoors. I keep adding sticks and bamboo poles for them to wrap their tiny tendrils around as they grow taller like Jack's beanstalk. They're sort of humble, and they look like they'd fall over on their fine stems but somehow they don't; they're stronger than they look. Pale cream and pink and violet.

Oh yes, when I see the word "saucepan," it is pronounced in a British accent inside my brain: SUUSpin.

On this day in history: I had to reference NFTs in something for work. Also, "cryptocurrency." 

Make your nails look as smooth as Velveeta feels.

If I'm not worrying about the state of the country/world as I fall asleep, I'm picturing roots, the branching kind and the rhizome ones, the coy rugosa babies popping up here and there, looking so tender and innocent above ground while sneakily connecting to something wide and woody as a tree branch underneath the surface. Also, weevils on the roses and oleander aphids on the milkweed. Daily, I put on one disposable glove and squish the aphids, their tiny yellow bodies staining my gloved fingertips. I wear my reading glasses out in the garden, which means I move drunkenly from plant to plant but can see each little bug vividly and avoid harming the tiny monarch larvae under the leaves. I often startle my neighbors, crouched there in the plants. "Squishing aphids!" I called to one confused neighbor this morning. It's strangely satisfying, like popping caviar between your teeth.

The past few weeks in animals:
  • Yellow oleander aphids
  • Rose weevils, knocked into soapy water
  • A ferret, held like a baby at the Pride festival
  • A baby goat, also held in arms at the Pride festival, looking less happy about it than the ferret
  • Primary-colored birds in my garden: cardinal, goldfinch, blue jay
  • A little dog named Blossom
  • Swallows dancing over the pond in Deering Oaks


Tuesday, May 31, 2022

It is like happiness, when we are happy

Canadian bunchberry.

Notes on things I wanted to remember to write here:

Interstitial vs liminal *

Stopping with Isaac at a historic covered bridge, we saw a mail carrier pull up in her truck, get out and clamber down to the river, take off her shoes, and put her feet in the water. Someone called out to her, asking a question, and she responded, "No, I'm just filling in for her today. No way she's ever giving up this route!"

Mark and I spent one blissful night in Brooklin at the inn of my dreams where you barely have to see another person (room key left inside the front door, friendly list of information and instructions, breakfast and coffee waiting in the morning with a tray to take it wherever you'd like). I didn't want to forget the off-season Christmas tree farm, roadside lilacs, clouds of fog, tiny white forest flowers, farmers market in an empty fairgrounds, friendly plant people, the sound of someone practicing the French horn while we ate fried fish by the Bagaduce River, Matt carrying Clover down his porch steps, miles of blueberry barrens, dreamy Naskeag Point at dusk.

This week+ in animals:

SEALS, four or five of them sunning on a rock (I thought they were rocks themselves as I came up over a rise, low tide on Harriman Point), until they spotted me and slid off into the water, one of them leaping like a freaking dolphin. A couple of them hung around, bobbing around, their heads turning to look at us, for a long time.

That squirrel that Adam and I observed trying to scale the bird feeder, shimmying up the wet pole only to slide back down to the bottom (sound of a sad trombone), over and over again.

A fox I didn't see, reported by Adam and Jeannette ("Portland has such small coyotes!").

Great egrets on the Back Cove, as Melissa and I walked past in pursuit of ice cream.

Turkeys taking their own sweet time to cross the road.

Literal ants in my pants: I moved the compost pile to a new location, pausing to google "ANTS IN COMPOST" because there was some serious tiny ant action going on in there. After a while, I realized they were scaling my shovel and clambering up my pant legs, biting my feet, crawling inside my jeans. I squashed dozens. A treat for my neighbors: me dancing around, smacking myself and yelling, "Fuck you!" 

*No idea.

Thursday, May 12, 2022

Small reprieves of coffee and birdsong

The Last week in animals!

A small dog dozing in a wagon, by the beach, half covered by a blanket, the sun warming its old grazing muzzle.

This little brown bird, landing on the feeder with its mouth full of paper or tissue for a nest, conflicted for a bit before dropping it to gobble up birdseed: we've all been there.

A duck couple in a little mulched area of urban shrubbery, beside one of the busiest Portland streets.* Another duck couple, identical, in a video sent to me from Isaac, who filmed them paddling around a canal in Paris, France. 

THIS week in animals!

So many birds, brown ones and starlings and that one dove and chickadees, robins, possibly a hummingbird, purple finches and a goldfinch and my catbirds and more.

Things I Found Online!

I don't think I want to go to here.

No lie, just look at those two.

Hmm I'll go to Lowe's I guess

He's not wrong


*At least there were no babies, like that time on the highway heading to Ikea.

Monday, May 09, 2022

No other earth to prepare for

Mark and Clover and I walked Adam and Charlie through the park the other night on their way home, and we heard a tiny brass ensemble, three musicians sitting on the sidewalk playing in the dark. Last night I had a dream in which I generously forgave a relative for their wrong opinion on Roe v Wade, grasping their hand with Jesus-like forbearance. The dream does not reflect my actual feelings on the issue.

I'm tired from listening to people talk, and a piece of my tooth broke off so now I definitely have to go to the dentist.* 

I found a plant sale, got up early on Saturday to drive almost an hour to buy three Virginia roses and lowbush blueberry and a hay scented fern and Joe Pye weed. Went by an artisanal Portland popup plant sale that was charging twice the price for teeny plants, so I resisted those. Next year I'm determined to start some from seed.

Hello from a work in progress and a patch of dirt upon which birds love to bathe.

*I have an actual appointment!