A Goldfinch robbing the sunflowers.
Damn, there seems to be a lot of shit in the world trying to keep us quiet. Take the news for instance. Everything is grave. The President of the United States is a threat to world peace, he could fly off the handle at any time and push the button. Our own Justin Trudeau growing a beard to look more serious, perhaps to even the playing field. I remember when his father was the smartest guy in the room. That’s tough to live up to. The Corona-virus coming to get us. The world warming or cooling, one or the other, it can’t be good, fires, glaciers calving, storms bringing cold, snow, bush hot as asphalt.
It makes you care less about the thieves around you when everything is going to hell in a hand basket.
Remember when New Orleans flooded due to Katrina? All the people looting? Mostly poor people, trying to get a new TV. The whole country looked down on them.
Here we are with nothing but bad news on the horizon and every small town politician, government worker, school superintendent and business leader are doing everything in their power to feather their nest, expecting us to be caught up in the news and turn a blind eye not only to their incompetence but their greed.
That’s taking advantage of the situation, that’s the real looting.
The pussywillows showed up on time. . . early. This has been more of a traditional winter. Snow and low cloud obscuring the stars.
A few peaks are shedding the clouds.
One eye on the predator and one on the prey.
Roads closed. Ice, snow all the rest. Avalanches. Spring is coming early. You wan’ed to write before the booze and weed kicked in. To all those youngsters looking ate he moon.
The cedar rushing by. My nose in the air, figuring a challenge.
My land is nor much. It melts, sun dries, the land turns dry to shit. So they said it was coming.
Other than that it’s all good.
It’s easy to forget where you came from. The trees, mountains and tracks right out the door. Everyone saying to get away. My heart was too stubborn to leave. I try my best to show it to my children and grandchildren, but I hope they don’t feel it like I do. I just want them to know.
Of course, all of it is beyond my control. My new mantra, just like the downtown doctor: do no harm.
Then again that may run contrary to the truth.
It’s compassion, I want to pass on, towards the bush and other living souls. That doesn’t mean not cutting down trees or eating meat. We are animals after all.
The world didn’t get fucked up recently, it’s been that way for awhile.
My bet is still on good sense.
A Pileated Woodpecker on the good neighbours feeder.
Early potato thinking it’s spring.
The Norlands have begun to sprout in the gunny sack. They were harvested at the end of September with the help of Cooper and Scarlett.
Known as an early potato. The first to be eaten, small, but a root will make up a supper at the start of July if the weather cooperates.
My Father used to say about the first root of Norlands, “There were some as big as dimes and some as big as quarters and a whole lot of small ones.”
The cold room is too warm. The Yukon Gold are solid as rocks. The Norlands have grown soft.
They want to be planted, but the ground is covered in snow with five feet of frost below, so they’re gonna get cooked. Ahead of their time some would say.
Not much for blue sky even through the -20°c stretch. Hopefully February will clear for the Milky Way to rise sideways adjacent to the mountain tops and church steeples.
Spring, just before it leaves winter, is aways away yet.