Happy to see American Pokeweed poking up in the yard today.
Most years, it’s too much work to process for safe eating, so I let the pokeweed grow.
This time—this particular spring—the thought of boiling *toxic* yard greens three successive times in clean water is no big whoop.
I mean, just this morning I ground my own flour to make pancakes; I made broth from scraps; I planted butts of celery, cabbage, and carrots; I made new pickles with old pickle juice, and I made a mask out of a yarmulke (because the mask-from-a-bra idea didn’t work). Continue reading “Stay at Home Nature: Pokeweed”→
A “House Centipede” was in the house this morning. He was trapped in my kitchen sink—my uncharacteristically clean sink—which proved so slick even 15 pairs of centipede legs could not scrabble a foothold.
Centipedes aren’t new to me, but a clean sink is, as is an organized kitchen. My threshold for dirt and chaos has always been high. But looming pandemics change people. I changed when I realized my family would be hunkered down for an undetermined length of time, and that we’d need to feed ourselves,
and that I was the only one who knew where the food was.
I specialize in sidewalk nature—because it’s the nature most of us have—so woodland spring ephemerals do not usually qualify. But this trout lily does. It was blooming next to the road, one short leap over the drainage gully.
And not just one trout lily, but a whole school of them, dappled and nodding alongside a steep stream that empties into a parking lot.Continue reading “Sidewalk Nature: Trout Lily”→
Happy First Day of Spring!
It’s raining elm seeds right now. This one fell in my tea, so I ate it, then ate a few more.
They are delicious.
They taste like the First Day of Spring. Continue reading “First Day of Spring”→
I walked out into the usual construction noise, but threading through Next Door’s pneumatic nailers and skilsaws came a new sound: softer, sorta familiar, and somehow very, very important. A rolling, repetitive, ratcheting trill . . . a cross between a toad and a fanbelt? Continue reading “City of [Sandhill] Cranes”→