As the snows melt into the forest and the grasses grow in the fields, take time to stop and look and listen to the lives unfolding all around you: harried bird parents flying back and forth from the nest to feed their young; hungry chicks begging for food, with mouths agape, as their parents arrive…
Tag Archives: Hearken to Avalon
The Ring-necked Pheasant, Phasianus colchicus, is a handsome-looking chap. This member of the grouse family (Phasianidae) has iridescent copper-gold plumage with a long tail – brown with black markings. He is aptly named due to the white ring around his neck. He also sports teal-colored feathers on his head as well as a red sideways…
Sunday There was a crispness that you could walk right into – and I did. The cold air caught in my throat and I swallowed winter. The ice glistened in a sunny day that couldn’t quite touch the chill. As I walked my ears were met with the tales chickadees tell one another in the…
As we fall into autumn, mesmerized by the colorful leaves spinning in the breeze and sashaying their way to the ground, be watchful of nannies and witches, for this is their season too – trailside surprises that can delight, nourish and heal. There are some fruits and flowers in our New England woods and fields…
Heroes and villains are in the eyes of the beholder and the writer of the story. Guy of Gisbourne, notorious villain – right? Morgaine of Avalon, evil sorceress and half-sister to King Arthur – her legacy was lost in the mists – correct? Whose stories are written down and saved is determined by those in…
Why learn about hunting skills? I did not grow up in a household that hunted wildlife for food. The most I learned about killing an animal for my supper was having to look a lobster in the eyes, stating, “Although you may give your life up unwillingly, I thank you just the same,” and then…
Mmmmm! Wild Concord Grapes! Can you smell them? Their scent on the breeze, so alluring, indicates the shift in season, heralding in fall. I am clambering up an old spruce tree at a neighbor’s house, teetering on a wobbly branch, standing up on my tip toes, my arms reaching up into the vines. Fingertips like…
