Janustory Day 5 and 6

Janustory Day 5: What is this sticky stuff?

Janustory Day 6: I catch a glimpse of sky.

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Yesterday was a day of errands and appointments, so I didn't get the daily writing in. It highlights that I need to make a greater effort to carve out space for creativity, even in unemployment. The job hunt goes apace, but I am enjoying the time to write. 

Today's picture speaks to Day 6 and that longed for glimpse of sky. This is a photo of a pioneer cemetery that has been preserved as remnant prairie. It is incredibly rich in species and packed full of flowers. That immense span of sky, though, is something most of us in the Midwest are familiar with, especially if you get out to the natural areas. How intimidating would the flat open prairie be to Europeans accustomed to mountains and hills? I love big skies. I love being able to see three counties. It's at odds with my love affair with woods, but I think it's an overarching passion for the piece of land on which I dwell. My roots are here where the forest meets the sky.

 

Janustory Day 4

Janustory Day 4: Weird room all yellow.

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I have a direction for this little short story, but I'll let you see how it unfolds. Today, I've chosen the heart of an ornamental cabbage as illustration. My husband and I have a long-standing disagreement over ornamental cabbages. He thinks cabbage = food. I ask why food can't be also pretty? I love the lacy fronds of the decorative Brassicas because they can be beautiful and not much holds up to a Chicago winter. What do you think?

Janustory Day 3

Janustory Day 3: Pillow catches me.

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In digging through my photos of yellow flowers over the years, I came across the one below. It's a walking iris with a baby preying mantis guarding it fiercely. I took this on my perennial trip to the conservatories in January a few years ago. Where better to beat the winter blues than surrounded by palm trees? I'm not sure if it is a Trimezia martinicensis or a Neomarica longifolia as I only have a photo of the flower, not the whole plant. Either way, it's in the iris family and grows in the tropics. And it makes a beautiful retreat for our mantis friend.

Walking iris with mantis

Janustory Day 2

Janustory Day 2: Sliding down

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I'm not sure exactly where this is going, but it's going somewhere. To brighten this gloomy day, I invite you to slide down into this yellow Brugmansia.

New Year, New Janustory

Last year, I began 2016 with a fun little writing challenge I called Janustory. The rules are simple: Each day write a chapter made up with the number of words of that day. January 1 - one word; January 31 - 31 words. Bonus points if it all makes sense at the end of the month and you keep to one sentence per chapter.

So to launch 2017's Janustory - chapter one:

January 1: Falling.

#janustory #wordcount1

Small adventures

The Path Taken: Tracking Signs in Snow

Hello, housecat!

December descended and brought with it frigid temperatures and a thick blanket of snow. It covered my gardening lapses nicely, even if I wasn't quite ready to call it quits. I still maintain I could have planted the tulip bulbs. Instead, they are potted up for spring forcing.

I adore snow. I love the serene whiteness that brings calm to the landscape. I love the way it moves and forms patterns when windblown. The husband and I went for a nice neighborhood stroll, fluffy snow falling down around us. It brings a sense of peace and reminds me that winter can be a time of contemplation.

Snow also provides a canvas for the critters, especially the nocturnal ones. The backyard is a zigzag pattern of rabbit and squirrel tracks stitched back and forth between trees and brush. When it thaws, I'll find deposits of rabbit scat, fertilizing the beds.

A mouse going for a stroll.

We'll also see tracks of less obvious visitors. A mouse hopped his way across the driveway before I shoveled. Someone's house cat has also been out for a prowl. The voles have been active too. As winter progresses, I hold out hope for fox and coyote tracks. I'd rather the predators restore the balance of rodents than me.

Each snowfall I scan for evidence of the small dramas in the predator/prey opera, the daily tasks of survival. What do you find in the snow?

Texture:The Autumn Prairie

The first flakes of snow blew through this morning. It's been a couple of days of high winds heralding the end of autumn and the arrival of winter. I've been soaking in the textures of the prairie this November. The dried leaves, flowers, and seedheads have left a ghost of the plant, often to stunning results.

Silphium terebinthinaceum, prairie dock

 

Prairie dock has dried into huge deep brown handkerchiefs curled into fantastic shapes. Their sandpapery leaves now showcase their large pores and elegant veins. They rattle in the wind like a clutch of gossiping ladies.

 

Silphium perfoliatium, cup plant

 

Cup plant's daisy flowers have dried into pale ghosts of their golden glory. It's sturdy leaves still wrap around the beefy stems, only more fragile and melancholy.

 

Silphium laciniatum, compass plant

Like frozen dancers, the leaves of compass plant twist in impossible contortions. They are woven through the grasses, stealthy in their pavanes. These stiff leaves and sturdy stems are unbending in the relentless winds. They clatter and cackle with abandon, not caring who hears them.

Goldenrod in full fluff

 

In contrast, goldenrod's fluffy poofs of faded flowers and fuzzy seedheads dot the ocean of grass and dip with the breeze. They are holding their seeds tight, still, unwilling to release them to the chances of weather and storm. Tawny cotton candy, their bounce adds buoyancy to the prairie.

 

 

Asclepias syriaca, common milkweed

The monarchs have fled to the balmy air of Mexico and the milkweed releases its bounty to the breeze. I have always been fascinated by the many textures of milkweed pods. The silky hairs of the seeds call out to be stroked. Ice and snow cling dramatically to the nubby pods. This milkweed feels abandoned to its fate now that the seeds have dispersed.

Like this bit of seed and down, I am caught. Captured by the textured of the prairie, I am drawn to reflect on how these living breathing plants have become elegant skeletons. The birds still descend upon their seeds. The rabbits hide in their fronds and muskrats harvest them for homes. But for now, they are arrested, halted, frozen. Their small sculptures give a subtle punctuation to the landscape. Their bare leaves and branches await the lacy limn of frost and snow.