Tea with the Emperor

So now I’m off to China,
Where the tea comes from.
I’m dining with the Emperor
I hope he’s glad I’ve come.
I’ll try to eat with chopsticks
Tho I’m clumsy as can be
And try not to slurp my soup
Or leave crumbs in my tea.

Perhaps he’ll love me dearly
And beg for me to stay
To stroll his perfumed gardens,
See his warriors made of clay.
Or promise robes of emerald silk
And wonton’s every day.
I'll say I must tend my blog
Farewell, I must away.

Update from the Field

The critter disdained the filtered water. Apparently REAL raccoons take their water straight--like right out of the watering can or the mud puddle. Just like my cat who prefers stagnant water from a flower pot to the fresh cool water I put in his bowl. Go figure???!!!!

Stranger in the Night

I knew from the sound the “what” and the “where”. It was my metal watering can being knocked over on the porch. I just didn’t know the “who”. Where I live it could be a black bear so I am cautious. I turned on the porch lights--which come up slowly since they are energy saving fluorescents—and looked in the direction of the can. The glass door lets me see almost everything except around corners so while I am peering right, trying to see around the corner of a 5 gallon bucket, the biggest, fattest raccoon walks in from the left, past my feet, totally unaware of my presence behind the glass. I know those calories came from my compost heap because no matter how much I try to hide the scraps in the leaves and wood chips, the next day there is a hole in the pile where I buried them. I ran for my camera but as you can see, there is only a tail left to complete this tale.

That was two days ago. Last night I was in bed when my stranger returned. I heard the loud clunk as the can fell—this time partly filled with water. In the morning I could see little paw prints and claw prints in the film of dirt at the bottom of the bucket. So the little guy is thirsty. Tonight I put water out in a plastic ice cream bucket. At first I started to fill it from the rain barrel; then went inside and filled it with my purified filtered water instead.

So now my “stranger” gets gourmet water to wash down the potato peels and onion tops. Am I nuts or what?

Fading of the Light

Now the day is over,
Night is drawing nigh
Shadows of the evening
Steal across the sky.


I recently heard a reference on Jean Feraca’s popular radio show “Here on Earth”, to an old Scandinavian habit of sitting silently outside until dusk turned to night. Usually the whole family sat together for a half hour or so—although now only practiced by older people. It intrigued me and I have been doing it myself for the past three weeks as my schedule permits.

I get into my perch i.e. a comfortable lounge chair on the deck, wrapped in an afghan and jacket and if it is cold, a cap. From here I can look thru the canopy of tree crowns to the road and meadow at the foot of my long driveway and then over the tops of the next woods to sparkling Lake Superior. My cue to “assume the position” is when the solar lights come on along the driveway. How long I stay out depends on wind and weather but I need at least a half hour to truly relax body, mind and spirit.

And lately I have remembered long summer evenings in my childhood—playing games with the other kids on the block—hopscotch, hide-and-seek, Red Rover, Captain may I, until the light got too dark for us to play. Meanwhile—in those years before folk became chained to the television—the elders—parents and grandparents often sat out on porches—sometimes talking but often sitting in silence until the mosquitoes or dampness drove them in. I recalled my aunt and uncle who lived in the lower flat sitting on the porch thus. If the Milwaukee Braves were playing my Uncle Ed would put the radio in front of the open window, then sit outside listening to the game.

And now I sit watching the light fade into night, drinking in the change with all my senses, watching the first star play peek-a-boo with the young aspen leaves and regaining something very precious that had been lost.

In the Beginning......

Why a Blog???? And why Oak Leaves????

First the Blog: For some time I have been wanting to have a place to share the everyday miracles I see and photograph here in the beautiful Apostle Island Country on Lake Superior. My camera is my third eye. Each day (and night) offers new wonders. And equally (perhaps as age dictates) I want to record some of the memories and bits of trivia as well as wisdom from my life and the lives of my family and friends. If these spark some memories for you , please feel free to share them.

Oak Leaves? I live in a canopy of oak and maple and aspen crowns but it is the oak that draws me. A sacred tree, beloved of the gods. The Green Man grins at me from under his wreath of leaves and acorns. And so I put them in my hair to journey thru the magic of the present and the drift of memories past.