Don's Blog November Ploughing 11-27-24

This is what can happen if you are ploughing in November. Enjoy reading it through and you will find an old friend.

To a Mouse

By Robert Burns

On Turning her up in her Nest, with the Plough, November 1785.

Wee, sleeket, cowran, tim'rous beastie,

O, what a panic's in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

          Wi' bickerin brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee

          Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry Man's dominion

Has broken Nature's social union,

An' justifies that ill opinion,

          Which makes thee startle,

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion,

          An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;

What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!

A daimen-icker in a thrave

          'S a sma' request:

I'll get a blessin wi' the lave,

          An' never miss 't!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!

It's silly wa's the win's are strewin!

An' naething, now, to big a new ane,

          O' foggage green!

An' bleak December's winds ensuin,

          Baith snell an' keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,

An' weary Winter comin fast,

An' cozie here, beneath the blast,

          Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

          Out thro' thy cell.

That wee-bit heap o' leaves an' stibble

Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!

Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble,

          But house or hald,

To thole the Winter's sleety dribble,

          An' cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy-lane,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men

          Gang aft agley,

An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,

          For promis'd joy!

Still, thou art blest, compar'd wi' me!

The present only toucheth thee:

But Och! I backward cast my e'e,

          On prospects drear!

An' forward tho' I canna see,

          I guess an' fear!

Last Flowers for the Year III 11-22-24

Here are the last of the flowers that were blooming in my garden in late November.

More flowers next year but Don's Blog with editorials from the past and occasional poetry will continue.

This leather leaf viburnum tree is just beginning to bloom.

The Celosia spicata is dwindling.

The black-eyed susan is quite plentiful.

There are a few Taterian asters.

And finally there are still many Indian blanket flowers.

Its been quite a year.

Don's Blog A Magical Place 11-21-24

A truly magical place.....

Our dream in the mid seventies fit the dream of Innsbrook's Founders - a place of quiet and peace in harmony with nature away from urban chaos. A place of trail rides and family fun. Much has transpired in the meantime but our community still thrives with magic. There are few places where you can take your morning walk and count on seeing our neighbors horse.

Though it is no longer a surprise, the wonder envelops us and we smile.

Don's Blog A Magical Place 11-21-24

A truly magical place.....

Our dream in the mid seventies fit the dream of Innsbrook's Founders - a place of quiet and peace in harmony with nature away from urban chaos. A place of trail rides and family fun. Much has transpired in the meantime but our community still thrives with magic. There are few places where you can take your morning walk and count on seeing our neighbors horse.

Though it is no longer a surprise, the wonder envelops us and we smile.

Last Flowers for the Day II 11-20-24

These were more of the flowers that were blooming on the day of the last post (I). Yes, in November.

There are still a few cone flowers which always please me. 

And this dahlia is extraordinary.

Here are some late zinnias.

My periwinkle is blooming sparsely.

And in a few days, one more set.

Don's Blog Playing Possum 11-20-24

We have been feeding a feral cat for many years (name:Your Cat). 

We have found that if the bowl is not empty in the evening (cats are picky)

then we have a quiet visitor to  clean the dish. It is an opossum.

Being an aging PIP (previously important person) I have time to look up UBI's (useless bits of information)

which are sometimes of interest. 

The Opossum

According to Virginia historian John Smith, the opossum "hath a head like a Swine, a tail like a Rat, and is of the bigness of a Cat". Had he looked closer he would have found that it also has opposing thumbs, fifty teeth( more than any other land mammal except for the giant armadillo) and if female, thirteen nipples which are arranged like a clock face with 12 in a circle and one in the middle. The nipples are hidden inside a pouch since the opossum is the only marsupial native to North America.

But most of all the possum is famous for 'playing possum'. A possum that is playing possum keels over to one side, its tongue hanging out, its eyes open and unblinking. Saliva drips from its mouth while its other end drips urine and feces, together with a putrescent green goop. Its body temperature and heart rate drop, its breathing becomes almost imperceptible, and its tongue turns blue. If you nudge it or step on its tail it does not respond.

Our possum does not play dead but on the first sign from us turns and waddles away, only to return later to clean the cat food out of the bowl.

Final Flowers for the Day I 11-14-24

These are the final flowers for this year - all blooming today. We have had several nights of frost but

not a freeze yet.

Of course the dahlias continue to bloom.

And there are some real surprises.The azalea in the side yard has bloomed.

Never before in the fall. They usually bloom in April.

And another surprise out of season - the phlox in the gnome garden.

Many more to come.

Here is a poem from my friend Katie.

To Live in the Mercy of God

To lie back under the tallest

oldest trees. How far the stems

rise, rise

               before ribs of shelter

                                           open!

To live in the mercy of God. The complete

sentence too adequate, has no give.

Awe, not comfort. Stone, elbows of

stony wood beneath lenient

moss bed.

And awe suddenly

passing beyond itself. Becomes

a form of comfort.

                      Becomes the steady

air you glide on, arms

stretched like the wings of flying foxes.

To hear the multiple silence

of trees, the rainy

forest depths of their listening.

To float, upheld,

                as salt water

                would hold you,

                                        once you dared.

         

                  .

To live in the mercy of God.

To feel vibrate the enraptured

waterfall flinging itself

unabating down and down

                              to clenched fists of rock.

Swiftness of plunge,

hour after year after century,

                                                   O or Ah

uninterrupted, voice

many-stranded.

                              To breathe

spray. The smoke of it.

                              Arcs

of steelwhite foam, glissades

of fugitive jade barely perceptible. Such passion—

rage or joy?

                              Thus, not mild, not temperate,

God's love for the world. Vast

flood of mercy

                      flung on resistance.

 Denise Levertov, "To Live in the Mercy of God" from Sands from the Well. 1996 

Don's Blog Moon Vine 11-4-24

Although it is November the moon vine has increased its number of nightly blooms.

 

The flowers are huge and gorgeous.

And they last well into the morning light.