A Little Rhubarb…..

We have this lovely rhubarb plant that we have been housing for my husband’s oldest friend, in years of friendship, not years of age. It was moved from his childhood home, and has traveled with them as they moved from home, to home, to home. It is, at the moment, rooted beside our backyard shed. Awaiting transplant, once again to the latest destination in their journey.

We have never really been overly fond of this bright pinkish red stemmed, sourly crisp, topped with a gigantic poisonous leaf, plant. I have, though, used this leaf to form a beautiful bird bath, and a couple of stepping stones.

We have decided to give this, what I previously believed to be a fruit, and have since discovered is a vegetable, another try.

This rhubarb crisp, baked in a cast iron skillet, is helping us ease into experimenting with this nutritious plant. A good portion of the rhubarb was replaced with apple and blueberry. This should have led to a reduction in the sugar called for, but it didn’t.

It will be a spring of discovery as we play with different recipes, and projects for the gardens.

Maybe, just maybe, we will keep a portion of this plant

A Portrait Lens through the Eye Of A Tree

Two little birds
Sit on a twig.
One sits still
The other, dances a jig.

Like teardrops;
The old tree cried.
So much more
Was hidden inside.

If you place a sundial
The wrong way;
It will be midnight,
In the middle of the day.

So often people grow old
With their stories left untold.
It is sad,
When all is lost
Not understanding 
What their lives have cost.
It is important 
For our mental health,
To know the cards
Those before us were dealt.
Sometimes, through the story of a tree,
You could learn a lot
About someone like me.

Sniff, sniff
Said the owl.
Sniff, sniff
Said the rat.
Then they both sat down.
Now, what do you think about that!

Little forget-me-not
Getting ready to bloom,
You have a story to tell,
Write it soon.

And the music still plays,
In the forest grand.
As a story unfolds
In a far-off land.

The Beautiful Daffodil

Daffodils, by William Wordsworth, from the album Favourite Poetry.

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves of glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

Pussy willows, cat-tails, soft winds and roses
Rainbow in the woodlands, water to my knees
Shivering, quivering, the warm breath of spring
Pussy willows, cat-tails, soft winds and roses.
by Gordon Lightfoot

All around the daffodils
One, Two, Three.
If you want to find a friend,
Just choose me!
by Sara Mullett

Chocolate Bunnies, Paastoks, and the real reason for Easter

‘The funny thing was, as the old poet spoke Clara could actually imagine chocolate chickens running around desperate to find their eggs. Eggs stolen by the Easter Bunny.’ Louise Penny – from her book The Cruelest Month

My earliest Easter memories include that of a candy store. My oldest sister was the proprietor. Using money given to us by our parents, we would spend all afternoon deliberating over the brightly colored, sweet treats.

Another memory includes weaving and decorating paper Easter baskets. Baskets then used for our afternoon Easter egg hunt.

My favourite, though, was the wearing of our new Easter hats, to church on Easter morning. Pretty hats, with flowers and ribbons.

A new tradition, a first for me this year, was the building of a Paastok – a branch of a shrub decorated with Easter related ornaments. Another wonderful Dutch tradition.