Last night we had ten or twelve deer in the backyard. I believe that’s a record although I admit not staying awake nights to observe. We may be finished with below freezing temperatures until next autumn, but in the North Country, that’s not a safe bet even though an 80℉ high, or thereabouts, daytime temperature has crept into next week’s forecast. (If you can’t see all the deer, try clicking on the picture to enlarge it. ymmv)
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| 7 of last night's visitors
Photo by J. Harrington
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We hope that, as the snow melts and things warm, and green, up, the deer will return to their usual browsing and leave our lilac and forsythia bushes alone. The Better Half believes that some of the horde are grazing on our feral oregano. Based on where they’ve been feeding the past few days, she’s probably correct.
Sunday marks a return of life and that’s about how I’m feeling at the moment. It’ll take a few days to shake of the rest of winter’s dreary, dead dregs, but we’re feeling more optimistic than we did at the beginning of the week, although for the time being that’s not really saying much.
In honor of Easter weekend, we want to share a couple of interesting online resources we found this morning:
- 45 Degrees North: Local Wool (learn about fibersheds and rambunctious sheep)
- The American Communities Project (an unprecedented growing attempt to understand the subtleties and complexities of the United States as the country reimagines its future and its place in the world)
- Restoring Aquatic Ecosystems in Northwest Lower Michigan (provides a potential model for parts of Minnesota’s rivers that need restoration)
Those three discoveries, along with some other happenings this week, are helping me to again believe that there may well be hope for US and the rest of the Earth’s inhabitants. That assessment seems timely.
Easter
Emily Pauline Johnson
Lent gathers up her cloak of sombre shading
In her reluctant hands.
Her beauty heightens, fairest in its fading,
As pensively she stands
Awaiting Easter’s benediction falling,
Like silver stars at night,
Before she can obey the summons calling
Her to her upward flight,
Awaiting Easter’s wings that she must borrow
Ere she can hope to fly—
Those glorious wings that we shall see to-morrow
Against the far, blue sky.
Has not the purple of her vesture’s lining
Brought calm and rest to all?
Has her dark robe had naught of golden shining
Been naught but pleasure’s pall?
Who knows? Perhaps when to the world returning
In youth’s light joyousness,
We’ll wear some rarer jewels we found burning
In Lent’s black-bordered dress.
So hand in hand with fitful March she lingers
To beg the crowning grace
Of lifting with her pure and holy fingers
The veil from April’s face.
Sweet, rosy April—laughing, sighing, waiting
Until the gateway swings,
And she and Lent can kiss between the grating
Of Easter’s tissue wings.
Too brief the bliss—the parting comes with sorrow.
Good-bye dear Lent, good-bye!
We’ll watch your fading wings outlined to-morrow
Against the far blue sky.
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Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.
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