November 26, 2014

“Is it slaining or sneeting?” our daughter called to ask this morning. While we’re miles apart and the weather can be surprisingly different up here in the hills, compared to her area, I knew just what she meant. It’s both pinging on the roof and windows, yet there are definite flakes coating the surfaces here. Whatever you call it, I’m grateful to not be on-the-road-to-somewhere in it, and my prayers go out to those of you who are.

Meanwhile, I’ve been polishing tables and chasing dust-bunnies out of corners I’d forgotten since last year (or it sure looked that way!) and soon the bake-a-thon will begin. Amazing how much time and preparation is involved in such an occasion, isn’t it? And it always amazes me that, after all that work, and we’re finally gathered around the table, it takes such a short time to put-it-all-away. The food, that is. The platters and stock-pots are another matter—who keeps them in the kitchen cabinets anyway! Seldom-used serve-ware is typically tucked away in storage, under the seldom-used tablecloths or deep in a box in the basement. And in this house anyway, it seems to take weeks to get everything put back to normal.

Do you have little annoyance piles in your house too? Things that need to go upstairs, or downstairs, or in a bottom drawer somewhere out of the way, but you set them aside for the-next-trip. Only the next-trip happens over and over, the pile of put-aways is long forgotten. It becomes part of the real-estate after awhile, until weeks (maybe months) later you ask yourself, why are those trays still sitting there—they belong in the storage closet!

Ah well. Back to the kitchen!

Have a wonderful, safe Thanksgiving everyone… and give each of your loved ones a special, meaningful hug. We never know if we’ll get to hug them again.

November 24, 2014

A Nor’easter for Thanksgiving—now there’s something to be thankful for! Might take some effort, but surely there are reasons.

Let’s see… poultry-for-a-crowd thawing in the fridge, enough vegetables-pies-and-condiments in-house to last for weeks, and all our no-show guests snowbound? I’m working on it—ummm, let’s see, lots of food to add to the pantry and freezer?

Oh, and if the power goes out, turkey cooked on a woodstove by candlelight? Hmmm. Not on ours anyway. But assuming the power stays on long enough to cook it, at least we could freeze the leftovers in the snow on BackPorch!

Well then, let's just say over-the-river and through-the-woods… our guests can find their way to Hare Hollow, maneuver Goose Lane Hill, and keep from sliding into Lemek Pond on the downside, where will they park when they get here? Gram and Gramps are in no shape to shovel a foot of snow, let me tell you! We can hope our plowman doesn’t mind spending the holiday plowing, but can we count on him even being home and not miles away at Gramma’s house too?

I can see it now… cars tucked here and there along the roadside drifts, our loved ones trekking across the expanse with hip-boots and mittens, hats and parkas buttoned tight, loaded down with sleeping bags and gear—you just never know, they might have to stay once they got here! Yes-yes! Now that would be something to be thankful for! What fun we’d have!

I know-I-know, I’m getting carried away. Must be recent memories of seven feet of snow in Buffalo. That couldn’t happen here though, right? Nah! [gulp]
You see though, these storm events are meaningless in MouseHouse Village. Impending snowstorms simply mean that underground tunnels are opened and readied. We plow roads, they open tunnels. Now who’s the smarter on that one, I ask?

So the Village festivities will go on no matter what, at least for all who can get as far as BigRock and the tunnels there. The Fivel Family and many others must travel through the weather to that point, but they too are well-versed in making do. Sir Fivel with the help of his boys—son-in-law Brett and nephew Olaf, will simply push a tunnel under the snow, direct to BigRock. Fivelina and the girls, bearing covered pans and casseroles will follow behind. Oh the gleeful carousing and joyful camaraderie that will be going on in Underground Hall!

Meanwhile, my getting-ready must-do’s have been pushed up a day or two, including getting to the grocery store. And seeing there’s a storm forecast, added to my list will be the seven-loaves-and-gallons we all pursue en masse before a storm. Ever notice that? Enough bottled water, bread-milk-and-snacks to last a winter, for a mere two-inch snow prediction? Well, maybe they’ve got something there. I’ll bet the Buffalo residents were mighty thankful last week that there were still six loaves in the pantry when they opened the front door to a wall of snow.

Oh.. that’s right! This was about being thankful for a Nor’easter. I am thankful for safe shelter, warmth and ample provisions. I’m thankful for health and wellness, for dear friends and family like you who read-and-like my silly ramblings. And I will be especially thankful if by some miracle we can all still gather to our various destinations on Thanksgiving Day to celebrate one another and our time together. But if the Nor’easter prevents that, I will be thankful that we are all home safe.

Be safe dear friends. And don’t forget your seven-loaves-and-gallons! [wink]

November 22, 2014

Relatives—persons connected by blood or marriage. Most of us are born into a family and later realize we also have relatives—distantly connected family. Holidays, birthdays and other mile-stone life-events reinforce this until we realize we have a whole gaggle of them—relatives that is!

While there are innumerable jokes and proverbial groans about relatives at holidays, I have to say I am deeply grateful for each of mine.

Thanksgiving was—and continues to be a milestone event in my life. My third one found me in the family car en route to visit grandparents in Houlton, Maine—a four hundred mile trip from home. A mile from Gramma’s house life changed in a flash—a collision of milk-tanker and car claimed my father and sister’s lives, and injured the rest of us severely.

While my mother and sisters recovered in hospitals and the homes of relatives, I stayed with various friends-of-family. For nine months. Nine months to a three-year-old is forever. One week is at least a year. And tomorrow is as elusive as the twinkling stars. Fear, bewilderment and a growing determination to be ‘gooder’ were my haunting inner voices—ones that have taken a life-time to silence.

But this is about relatives, and being grateful for them. I am. Some of my caretakers weren’t blood-relatives, in fact, most weren’t, but they mothered, and comforted, nurtured and cared when a tiny orphaned girl was most needy.

In later years, others taught me by example that there were other ways of doing-and-being than what I was seeing in my fractured home-life. They taught me joy and exuberance, gratitude and acceptance, and in some subtle inexpressible manner, I know they also taught me the deeper meaning of love. Not only for my fellowman walking beside me on this varied path of life, but more importantly for God.

A mere teenager, I would choose to marry my childhood sweetheart and thus be immersed in yet another family—these being marriage-relatives. They were noisy, boisterous, joyful and wonderfully verbal—all very new and somewhat overwhelming traits for me—but more amazingly, they welcomed me with unconditional, heart-on-the-sleeve love.

Many years have passed and equally as many life-events—joy and sorrow interwoven in the truest sense. God has blessed us with three daughters, sons-in-law and grandchildren--all of whom I love and cherish.

Still I am grateful for relatives. We gather today again for our annual Hare Thanksgiving, needing a hall now since the clan has grown to such numbers that no private home can contain us. Each of us has our idiosyncrasies and foibles, and yes—opinions too, but I am grateful for each these family-relatives.

Let’s face it, we’re all relatives—every one of us traceable thru thousands of generations, to the beginning. So to all of you… my dear family-by-blood-or-otherwise, I’m thankful for you.

Wishing you all a wonderful pre-holiday weekend!

November 21, 2014

Looked out on BackPorch at first light this morning—eighteen degrees on the thermometer. As always the cardinals were first at the feeders, their bright red feather-coats fluffed in the cold. Perky head-crests held high, black beady eyes sparkling in the beams of the porch light, they flitted from branch to feeder, chipping to one another in that unmistakable cardinal-call. Other birds, still sleeping, must be tucked in their cozy tree-bark crevices, grass-stuffed homes, or stone-wall hideaways.

At one time there were 80 birdhouses around Hare Hollow—many have since disintegrated or come down with branches, but there are still many available for winter shelter. We’re not the kind to faithfully cleanout last season’s nests, or bring them in when the nesting is over. No, we leave them, having learned by now that the birds and other wee creatures are quite remarkably capable of using them as needed—nesting boxes sometimes, winter shelter at others.

As I lingered by the window, I noted stark trees silhouetted against the brightening sky, quiet and stately this early morn after such a windy day yesterday—and oh praise be, no snow!

Can you imagine those folks in Buffalo looking out their upstairs windows this morning (the downstairs ones are already snow-covered!) down onto seven-plus-feet of snow nearly to the upstairs sills? Have you seen the pictures of doorways opening to a wall of snow, a perfect imprint of the door on its surface? Oh, perish the thought! And yet I wonder if a winter weather-pattern is forming, like previous years, and is it just a matter of time before these monster-storms reach further east. Can you say hibernation? Every winter I’m more convinced that those bears have the right idea!

It’s no laughing matter though—the deaths and near-death incidents we’re hearing in the news. My heart goes out to those people, and I find myself double-checking the pantry, the emergency supplies and the wood-pile on our front porch. What if it were us? Are we prepared? How DO you prepare for seven feet of snow on a only-slighted tapered roof? [shudder]

Sir Fivel just headed down the DownSpout Stairway, warmly dressed in his dapper wool coat and matching cap, a long fringed scarf wrapped about his neck. He saw me standing at the window and in his usual gentlemanly way, bowed slightly, tilting his cap in acknowledgement. I smiled and waved, watching as he made his way carefully through the back yard, past Big Rock Schoolhouse, and beneath it, into the tunnel where his shop is located along with many others. I’ve noted that he carries a knobby walking stick sometimes. Mostly, he uses it to pave the way through leaves and brush, but I have to wonder if our Sir Fivel is feeling his years and knows the wisdom of having help now and then, a little something to lean on.

He looked back, but not at me, causing me to look up, following his gaze. Sure enough, there in MouseHouse doorway stood Fivelina, wrapped in her fleece robe, waving merrily to her beloved. Then she closed the door snuggly against the cold. Only a tiny wisp of white smoke coming from their chimney would attest to that cozy mouse-sized bungalow under the eaves. I smiled to myself thinking of her settling in her rocker with a second cup of her aromatic, brewed roast-chicory, taking a minute to regroup before the children arose.

The kettle moans softly on our back burner, a hungry gray kitty nudges against my calves, and the furnace hums reassuringly below. We are safe, warm and well-provided for. Blessings abound.

November 19, 2014

Four feet of November snow in parts of NY—and still snowing! People are urged not to leave their homes, and if they must, to equip themselves with blankets, water and warm clothing since there’s a good chance of being stranded in their cars. Now granted, these folks are well-seasoned in snow-survival skills. Still my heart goes out to them! And there’s not an iota of envy in it, I can assure you!

Here in Southern New England, we are still enjoying beautiful sunny days, albeit a few dark-dismal rainy ones in between, but its cold—unseasonably so, according to our local weathermen, even record-breaking. Records schmeckords! All I know is the furnace is chugging, the woodstove’s cracklin’ and it’s still so cold the midnight trip to the ice-ringed throne is enough to send my teeth into a chatter! And once I’ve dived back under warm covers, I want to stay burrowed long after the clock says its time to get up.

Yes, I’m grateful today—grateful that I don’t live in Buffalo, thankful that I do have a warm place to huddle and nurse my cuppa, and most appreciative of the blessing of a wood-fire and a place to toast my tootsies, which by-the-way are clad snuggly in two pair of warm socks and fleece-lined slippers--I'm pretty thankful for them too! Ah winter-in-New-England—gotta love it. Only thing is, it’s not winter yet! [sigh]

MouseHouse Village is bustling these days, preparing for their Harvest Festival next week. All the ladies-of-the-Village are busily preparing their finest dishes—casseroles and stews, platters of tarts and pastries. Fivelina has several choke-cherry pies ready, well preserved in the attic ice-box, and let me tell you that’s one cold place up there! She plans a delectable sunflower compote for the salad table, served in carefully cleaned acorn shells of course.

The Village gentlemen are busy getting The Hall ready—normally a sorting room in Underground Warehouse. All of the as-yet-unprocessed products are carefully moved and stored in other areas, the sorting tables then carefully scrubbed and arranged in rows. The ladies will cover them with colorful tablecloths the night before the festival. Long benches are brought in from Miss Winklesnout’s school auditorium, and placed around the tables, so all is ready when the day comes.

The school children have been collecting and drying miniature autumn leaves to decorate tables and wallsl and Miss Chipalina—recently relocated from up-north, plans to donate several dried arrangements from her flower shop as centerpieces to grace the long tables.

Oh what a glorious day they’ll have, feasting and chattering, catching up with each other’s news, but not before they all join hands before the meal, and bow their heads in gratitude for their Creator who provides all. There are no doubters in The Village—they all know that every day is a gift, every provision a blessing, and that sharing-and-caring for one another is what it’s all about.

Wonderful inspiration for all of us.

November 5, 2014

The day-after. Ever notice that the day-after anything—a holiday, a much-awaited vacation trip, or any long-anticipated celebration—has us feeling rather wiped-out and slumpish when it’s over? I speak for myself of course, but I suspect I’m not the only one.

Then there are events that, after they are over, have us feeling positively exuberant, or at least remarkably relieved. That would be my sentiment on this post-election day—no more mailboxes filled with glossy mug-shots of toothy-grinned, stuffed-shirt politicians begging for my vote, no more ugly political signs marring the landscape, no more negative ads, no more street-corner buffoons waving at traffic as though their gushing friendliness will alter my decision to vote for them instead. O happy day—it’s over!

Now onto the next big thing—the holidays. And mind you, I do love the celebrations, the family days, the feasting, the laughter and joy, but here’s the thing: how do we get it across to the merchants that we don’t need 50 of their catalogs—one or two a week. Same contents, different covers. If we didn’t want what’s in it last week, what makes you think we’ll like it with a different cover this time? Talk about overstuffed mailboxes!

And going into a store during this season is an experience to reckon with. Ever notice how much narrower the aisles are when the Christmas merchandise is stocked? Doesn’t matter if it’s a box-store, a grocery store or--my favorite, the craft-store, it’s risky just pushing a cart around when there’s hardly room for two to pass! Manners disappear. Christmas spirit! What’s that? Rudeness and grouchapensity abound! (Spell-check is convulsing on that one—just a second while my computer recovers…)

Oh… and by-the-way… what happened to Thanksgiving? Somehow, back in August, we skipped from post-Independence Day fireworks and flags to… Christmas?! Yup. Probably in your town too.

Must be all this aggravation has given me a case of grouchapensity as well, so I better step back-a-pace and focus on today, post-election day. (happy sigh)

It’s balmy at Hare Hollow this morning, almost warm enough to sit out on BackPorch with my cuppa. Y’know, that’s a good idea! Maybe I’ll go chat with Sir Fivel awhile, assuming he hasn’t left for the carpenter shop yet.

The rocker squeaks it's friendly rhythm, a swallow of fresh tea warms my tummy, and as I pull my robe tighter around me in the cool November air, I have to admit: Day-afters can be a good thing.

November 3, 2014

Negative political ads. Just one more political call at dinner-hour on top of the dozen more through-out the day (for the last several weeks!) and I may just sit on the floor, kick my feet, pound my fists, and scream unladylike epithets! Not that it will change anything, but I might feel a little better. Then too, maybe not.

We’ve been inundated with inquiries about who we plan to vote for, do we plan to vote at all, and—the past couple of days—reminders that it is our duty to vote! Excuse me?! Duty? I thought it was a privilege--although even that feels like a stretch right about now!

I feel annoyed-beyond-measure, disillusioned and yes, quite frankly bullied! And they want me to go out and vote for one of these buffoons tomorrow?

Yes, bullies—all of them! Didn’t we just hear about some kids being suspended from school for bullying fellow-classmates? And several high schools have cancelled games as punishment for misbehavior by team members?

Hello! Doesn’t anybody see the irony in this? How can we teach our children to accept differences in others and show respect for one another when the examples they see and hear, day-after-day, month-after-month, exhibit the behavior we've endured with these so-called politicians? Name-calling, back-stabbing, truth-bending, over-grown kindergarteners! There’s not one of them worthy of my vote! And to be quite honest, I’m horrified to think of any of them in office, running the state government.

Okay. Rant over.

Gratitude runs soul-deep that God IS in control—of everything. I trust Him completely. None of this will matter one bit down-the-road-a-piece. And no matter how old or young we are, bad behavior has consequences. Of that I am very certain. So I'll be nice, start dinner, be courteous and ladylike should the phone ring again. Or not. Maybe I'll just disconnect it until after tomorrow.

Happy Election Day tomorrow folks!

October 31, 2014

Happy Spooks Day! I suspect there are lots of excited children donning their costumes for school parties this morning. Ben and Bic are dressing up as ghoulish gourds. Papa found some mini-gourds in an abandoned garden last week, brought them home with the thought of repurposing them—perhaps large bowls for mixing or bathing wee mouselings?

Well, the boys found them and begged Papa to let them hollow out the interiors, poke some holes for their arms and legs and, with a little help crawling inside, voila— they'll be walking ghoulish gourds! Mama finished the look with hollowed-acorn shell caps. They might win the costume prize, who knows! One thing is for sure though—they’ll need help getting to school and back. There’s real concern that if they fell they might just keep rolling!

Bitsy, typical of her diminutive delicate self, is dressing up as a woodland fairy. Mama helped her sew a pretty lilac dress with a gossamer overlay that dips and drapes in fairy-like style. With a toothpick wrapped in more fabric and topped with a shiny sequin, she has a magic-wand-of-sorts, and let me tell you, she is one happy girl-mouseling!

Tatiana and Trieste are the berry-twins this morning. Each has a bright red tunic over their warm leggings. Mama sewed quilt batting—milk-thistle fluff — inside the tunics to round out bellies and backs. She sewed tiny millet seeds here and there, puckering the batting a bit to mimic strawberry seeds. She dried two strawberry stems and leaves, attached them to a wee red berets. They are adorable little berries at that—and let’s hope no big jay mistakes them for real ones!

We haven’t had trick-or-treaters at Hare Hollow for a number of years—the road is too dark and lonely where we are for wee ghosts-and-goblins. That doesn’t prevent ghostly thoughts—or maybe ghastly is a better word—of what is to come on November 1st: Daylight Savings Time ends and we turn the clocks back an hour—the official start of the dark winter season for this ole’ girl. Don’t like it a bit!
It’s a feat just to find all the clocks in the house and get them reset in sync, if you know what I mean. By the time I get to the kitchen, after setting the bedroom and office clocks, minutes have passed and I no longer know the correct time. So I rush back to the computer in the office to get the real-time again, and on the way to the kitchen, I see a pile of folded towels I forgot to put away earlier. I grab them on the way and drop them off in the bathroom, but then on the way back to the kitchen, I see the microwave blinking and realize I left my tea there to warm awhile ago. I reset it another minute, then proceed to the clock—but wait, the dryer just buzzed. I pull the iron-ables out and hang them quickly on hangers before turning back to the clock. Now what time was it in the office? Oh dear.

Ah well, it’s only 133 days until Daylight Savings Time starts up again, maybe I’ll just leave the clocks. Oh, right! It’s Happy Spooks Day not April Fool’s Day. Okay clocks. I’ll get right on that--tomorrow.

October 28, 2014

Word has it there’s that frosty white-stuff in the forecast. All the little critters of MouseHouse Village are feeding voraciously today; we can’t keep the feeders full, and here’s the tell-tale—the chippies and sparrows are dining peacefully side-by-side instead of vying for the choicest morsel as they usually do. Not unlike the rest of us, sometimes it takes a little storminess in life to inspire us to share and be kind.

Miss Winklesnout has prepared extra take-home papers for the end of the week. The students aren’t particularly happy about it, but they know well that extra homework often means a snow-day or two, and that means fun: Sliding, building snow-creatures, and of course enjoying hot apple-chip-rosehip cider with popped millet while they toast their chilled selves around Walnut Woodstove.

There’s always tickled anticipation with the season’s first snow, and this is Trieste and Tatiana’s first experience. They’ve never seen snow before, and you can be sure that big brothers, Bic and Ben have told them all about it! Exaggeration? Maybe a little, but that’s what brothers do, you know.

Mama Fivelina smiles tolerantly and shakes her head. “Now boys, let’s not frighten your sisters, huh? They won’t be sinking in over their heads on their way to school. When the snow gets that deep, we will all stay home—even Papa.”

The twins’ wide-eyed glances darted from Mama to brothers, taking it all in while Bitsy tried to distract them. “Come on girls, let’s string some rosehip berries for Mama. We need to start getting our garlands ready for winter decorating. Don’t worry about the snow. It’ll only be a few flurries, you’ll see…”

Lacking their formerly rapt audience, Ben and Bic took their tall-tales outside to tease some of the neighbor children.

“You be in before dark, boys!” Mama reminded as they shut the door.
She lifted the lid of the stew pot to give supper a stir before setting the bowls and cups around the table, then scurried outside to bring in the last of the day’s laundry.
“Bitsy dear…” she said as she came in with her arms full, “would you please toast some pumpkin seeds to go with our stew?”

“Yes Mama…” Bitsy shifted the portion of garland she’d been holding to Tatiana’s lap. “Be careful not to pick yourself with the needle now..” she warned. “Just go slow and do one berry at a time.”

The twins bent to their task with great concentration, whiskers twitching, tiny pink tongues slightly protruding with the effort, and all fears of the impending storm forgotten.

Sir Fivel arrived home from work, wearily climbing up DownSpout stairway with the boys clambering close behind.

“Mmmm! Something smells delicious. Is that acorn stew and toasted pumpkin seeds?”

Mama walked into his outstretched arms for a quick hug. “It is… now everyone get washed for supper!”

Soon they were all gathered around the table, enjoying Mama’s good cooking along with the usual animated end-of-day conversation.

There’s comfort in the rituals of evening… settling in, enjoying a hot meal, conversing with loved ones when we can. As for the forecast and all it’s ominousity—yep, I made that one up too—I say let it snow!

October 24, 2014

Nor’easter—apparently a three-dayer, at least in this neck-of-the-woods, and yes, as many have commented, thankfully it’s in the wet form as opposed to the white.

The last leaf-hangeroners are hanging-on no longer; they are now part of the gold-orange carpet obliterating our driveway, the lawn and most of the our neighbors properties as well. And right in time for the season, the woods is positively spooktacular! Bare branches claw at the sodden sky, their trunks swaying ominously in the whining-wind, black and skeletal.

We’ve enjoyed a most colorful autumn. Mounds of brilliant reds, fiery oranges and sunny yellows decorated the hills and townships. Carpets of gold stretched along lazy sun-dappled roadways, azure-blue skies and cool crisp breezes kissed our faces and tousled our hair through open-car-windows—enough to induce tummy-tickling awe in each of us!

This morning though, the mounds are gone. The dying was a truly a Monet, but the view of the woods this morning is right out of an Alfred Hitchcock.

It’s wonderful closet cleaning weather! Yesterday, I climbed up on the step-stool and cleaned the tops of my kitchen cabinets. Oh my! The things I found! Still, there’s satisfaction in a job well-done, and something settling about getting the nest cleaned and orderly before the winter cold is upon us.

MouseHouse and their Village neighbors inspire this thought as well—both prepared and accepting, they ease into the coming season with joyfulness and confidence.

Every inch of Fivelina’s pantry is well-stocked and sparkling clean. The children’s closets are well-supplied with winter-woolies and carefully sewn apparel. Bunks are made up with freshened and fluffed quilts and pillows. Warm throws and tiny hand-knit slippers sit by sofa and chairs. Handwork sits piled in a grass-woven basket near her rocker, filled with winter projects for long winter evenings—or, well, Alfred Hitchcock spells such as this 3-day Nor’easter has been.

Sir Fivel, as well, keeps small items to be carved or whittled in another basket by his evening chair. All the bureau pulls and the turned-spool backs of chairs are painstakingly worked during inclement days when getting to the shop is out-of-the-question. No hour is wasted, even as the children chatter about their homework, or ask pertinent questions around the fire, hands are never idle—Mama knits or sews, Papa whittles or carves. Yes, industriousness is surely an antidote to seclusion, and these little creatures do inspire.

Let’s see! Maybe the coat closet today?

October 20, 2014

BackPorch was a bone-chilling 29 degrees at sunrise. A fine wisp of wood-smoke spiraled from MouseHouse chimney and the aroma of ground-acorn flap-jacks wafted invitingly in the air. Mama Fivelina was up early as usual, preparing a warm meal for her mouselings before bundling them up for school, and sending her hubby off to his shop.

I’m sure her laundry pile is even more daunting then mine this early Monday morning. She has many more members than I to keep in clean clothes. The little bloomers and shirts, pinafores and pants will soon be flapping on Bittersweet Vine-line. She wastes no time after the family is gone for the day.

Little Tatiana and Trieste are growing fast, as mouselings do. Already out of nappies, saving Mama considerable laundry, they are busily learning at her side the homemaking arts of cooking and sewing—the more basic principles of course, but nonetheless important skills. Soon they too will be scampering off to The Village school with their brothers and sister.

There was tragedy in The Village this weekend: a young mouseling found dead, near the schoolhouse, apparently the victim of either Spook Owl or Cat. It appeared he was trying to reach the shelter of Big Rock, but died either of his injuries or exposure.

There was considerable upset, especially among the school children, as they watched the poor young fellow being carried off by some of the VCC’s (Village Care Corps). Miss Winklesnout opened the school for any who wished to gather there to share their feelings. While it gave her good opportunity to reinstate the importance of following safety rules: don’t be out alone at night, be especially vigilant of the whereabouts of Cat and other enemies, among other things, she was equally concerned with helping them cope with the upsetting situation. Hugs were offered freely and tears were amply shed, but in her kind and gentle way, she brought great comfort to them all.

Since no one knew the young chap, they arranged a quiet burial in Hare Hollow Woods. Miss Winklesnout, along with some other members of the school board, arranged a memorial service in the hapless fellow’s honor. The attendees sang somber songs of praise for their Maker, and had a moment of silence in memory of the deceased. Of course, there will be an attempt to discover the young mouse’s identity through the Underground News in hopes of notifying his family.

A somber air pervaded at MouseHouse all weekend; the children were noticeably more clingy and concerned, but again, Mama and Papa Fivel used the opportunity to reinforce teachings that, sadly, often need frequent reminders.

Well… back to Monday morning, the first load of tiny, colorful pinafores has suddenly appeared on Bittersweet Vine-line. How’d that industrious Fivelina get ahead of me!

I must be wasting time here, thinking too much about MouseHouse! Time to hang the sheets!

October 14, 2014

Seasonal alterations. My feeble attempt at describing what I hope is a more positive attitude on this cloudy autumnal morning. Despite the falling leaves, bare treetops, dying perennials and crispy-frost-fried annuals—oh, and way too much darkness already, I need to think of it as just seasonal alterations. My hubby reminds me that the trees and plants are going into another phase of development—resting on the outside, rooting beneath the surface. Good spiritual inspiration for sure.

Still I rebel. That age-old poem about the little boy tying the leaves so they won’t fall down—I can identify with him. And the darkness, it haunts me. Before the last rays of setting sun tickle the treetops of Hare Hollow woodlands, I am pulling drapes, lighting lamps and candles, making soups and stews to fill the house (and our tummies) with comfort.
Yes, it’s time for heavy drapes, for quilts and cozies on every chair, aromatic, cracklin’ fires in the wood-stove and the resulting amber-glow that brings instant repose to a room.

BackPorch feels and looks bereft these days, no longer chock full of hanging plants and pedestal-pots of lushness. They are all snuggly tucked into their winter places indoors.

The beautiful shade trees that make our porch seem more like a tree-house than an outdoor room, are now stripped and skeletal. We do have a good view of the woods now, but the woods and all its creatures now have a good view of us too!

Speaking of creatures, we’ve had near-nightly escapades of late with MouseHouse relatives—a chilling omen to the winter ahead. We rarely have this many, this early, even in our country setting.
Turns out though, that Our Maisy-Mae is a champion mouser, and she finds it necessary to bring the nightly catch upstairs (from the basement) for evening sport. When we are done praising her for the wonderful protection she provides us, and being the no-kill-if-possible kind of folks that we are, we proceed to fetch-and-rescue mode. And let me tell you, we could write a book on that one! Suffice it to say that we entertain hope that after the third or fourth rotation from cellar to woods, back to cellar and woods again, these little creatures will learn to make their dwelling elsewhere. We’re still waiting.

Meanwhile, all is well with the more orderly and respectful MouseHouse clan. Most of the woodland residents have finished their hunting and gathering, and like us, have settled into their cozy dwellings, gathered around their Walnut Woodstoves, toasting acorns and catching up with the latest news. Little Tina and Miss Winklesnout are getting along just fine, the spinster lady more than delighted to have a little girl of her own!
There is a Harvest Dinner, a community celebration planned for later next month—a kind of Woodland Thanksgiving if you will, so the ladies are all pouring over their recipes looking for just the right casserole or pie to prepare. The children are looking forward to sock-races and acorn-toss games, along with nut-bobbing and a treasure-hunt.

Their enthusiasm is enviable. For sure I need to make some seasonal alterations to mine!

October 7, 2014

Colorful vistas abound these early October days in New England—how blessed we are to see such Heavenly Artistry before the dark, grey-brown winter follows.

We took a trip north this past weekend, on a beautiful crisp, sunny autumn morning. As we rounded one bend in the road, a particularly stunning view opened. High mounds of tree-studded terrain, multi-colored and still lush, rose up before us, kissed by the morning sun.

While the bright colors have yet to reach their peak, there were eye-catching swatches of reds and oranges in among thick clumps of deep forest-green pine. The sun was of the angle that it made, in between those trees, deep dark shadows—a stunning picture of life! The shadows and valleys--darkness between the highlights are the things that define the more glorious, colorful places, outlining them in mystery. Those shadows shroud the experiences, the pain, even sorrow that leads, ultimately, to greater growth, color and beauty.

Hare Hollow is carpeted with yet-bright and colorful leaves: yellow-gold, crimson and rust. And yet the woods is still richly green. Tiny creatures scurry about in that carpet, scrunching in the fallen leaves, chipping and chattering happily as they continue to prepare for the stark reality of winter just ahead. Their industrious zest for the now, and the joy they find in today is testimony for what I’d like to achieve as well. Do they know what’s coming? Why else would they prepare so heartily if they didn’t? The remarkable thing to me though, is their joyfulness in the doing.

Autumn brings a deeper battle for this struggling soul. Each year I battle the dread: cold, dreariness and confinement… and the depression that follows. Then ultimately a sense of guilt because of my inability to be grateful for every day granted… not just the summer ones. Sigh.

I think I know why I love quilts—and Lady Fivelina does too. What better way to cheer one’s self than to start piecing colorful fabric into warm, comforting puff-stitched hugs! Watch out sewing machine--here I come!

October 4, 2014

Schlumpadoozlin’ Saturday. You know the kind. A drizzly-dreary day that, even after opening the blinds, you still need the lights on. A day for catching up. Notice I didn’t say on what—it can be anything from sleep to Gotta-do’s, but it’s sure nice to have one of them now and then.

Home from our trip, we are unpacked, laundered, and yes, even settled back into the day-to-day. There’s nothing like packing for a cabin-stay to teach a person what’s really important, and my guess is the list differs for each individual. For me, if I have a good bed to sleep in, a comfy place to sit—indoors or out, with a good light for reading or doing needlework, a way to brew my tea and prepare a meal, then I’m a happy girl. Of course little comforts to make things homey are nice too—soft pillows, cozy couch throws, quilts, and yes, even a few doilies to pretty things up a bit. Hey, they don’t take up much room and really add to camp-décor!
It was a wonderfully restful get-away and I loved being with my family, seeing their sweet faces each morning, chatting and laughing together around the fire. How blessed we are to know that kind of contentment!

Guess there were no stowaways this year, at least none that I know of. Likely MouseHouse Village is too taken up with the tragic loss of little Tina’s family and helping her readjust to life without them. The school board took offers from several families in The Hollow, and decided that the best place for little Tina is right where she’s been staying—with Miss Winklesnout.
A single lady with no family of her own, Miss Winklesnout had already formed an attachment to the little girl, and expressed great interest in raising her. After considering all the other options—families already too large to take in another mouseling despite their big-hearted willingness—the board granted Miss Winklesnout adoption rights to wee Tina.

“We will all need to come together and help make our teacher’s accommodations more suitable for this little child, and perhaps we can all find it in our hearts to help with food and clothing donations as well…”
No need to ask twice. As soon as the Village got word of the tragedy, clothing, bedding and food poured into the school house and at Miss Winklesnout’s residence.

Sir Fivel and Olaf are over-seeing a renovation at the teacher’s home as we speak, tunneling out a larger area so the little girl can have a bedroom of her own. The carpenter gentleman has already begun building a bunk for her, with drawers beneath to store her clothes. By the time the boys have the walls framed in and sealed, the bed will be ready. And yes, he is carving his signature hearts-and-flourishes on the headboard.

Some of the ladies have donated quilts and tiny pillows for her, and Fivelina is working on a warm winter coat from a small piece of wool found at Underground Warehouse, a former pocket to some larger outer garment it came with lining intact! She cut it to fit the little girl perfectly, complete with a hood and a bit of room for growing. She, like her carpenter husband, embellishes her work with hearts—this time, tiny ones on the coat collar.

For sure, there’s no lack of love and concern for the little orphan, but still her little heart grieves for all that was familiar and dear—her family and her home.
On the bright side though, everyone is wrapping up winter preps. Pantries are full. Homes are well-stocked, padded and cozy. Life is good because their Creator provides well, they are grateful and content.

So now… back to my schlumpadoozlin’ Saturday. Yup. Life is good.

September 28, 2014

Sunday stillness. We are here at Pine Acres overlooking the beautiful--and this morning, serene Lake Dean. Wrapped in my cozy robe, perched in my rocker on the back screened porch here, I am entranced with the beauty and quiet. Just as is so often the case on BackPorch in CT, even the wildlife seems reverent this Sunday morn.

Tucked in our 4 cozy cabins, we've already spent a couple of restful nights and happy days enjoying camp-fires, s'mores, miniature golf, chats and laughter, and lazy strolls through the campgrounds, and yes, after a couple of days, we are beginning to realize how weary we were, how much we needed this respite, and how difficult it is to let go of the gotta-do's for a few days.

Speaking of gotta-do's, I must tell you about CheekyChips, a tawny little white bellied fella with beady brown eyes and a personality to match his name.
He, along with many relatives--too many to count--are busy with their gotta-do's, here at Pine Acres, from dawn to dusk, chipping and bustling through the woods, cheeks full of nuts and other treasures.

Then there was Miss Chipalina, svelte and dainty as-you-please, darting through the underbrush, chipping in her high-pitched feminine voice. She stopped just feet away from me, mouth full of brightly colored leaves, cheeks bulged out to here! "Hello there, Miss Chipalina!..." I offered quietly. Her brown eyes snapped and sparkled in the sunlight before she darted away and zipped down a hole, leaves and all. I'll bet she's working on a maple-leaf quilt for winter will all those pretty leaves.

Just like our wildlife at Hare Hollow, I'm sure the Gotta-do list is monumental for the critters here at Pine Acres as well. Winter looms just around the corner. There are pantries to fill with berries and nuts, nests to line with warm padding, and well--
maple leaf quilts to sew and line with milkweed thistle down.

And now back to the stillness of this Sunday morning, and rest.

September 24, 2014

Gratitude—a grateful attitude in my book, but according to more scholarly sources, it is “the quality of being thankful; a readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness.” Its origin, from the Latin gratis, means pleasing and thankful. A Google word-usage chart shows a high, in the 1800’s, and steadily declining use of this word, to nearly nada prior to 2010. Seems though, that the word is making a steady comeback in our collective vocabulary, now if we could only spread the attitude along with it!

At MouseHouse Village, there is one little mouseling who is feeling extremely grateful this morning. Little Tina spent the night at Miss Winklesnout’s home, curled up snugly on the maiden-lady’s couch, wrapped in a cozy quilt, her tiny head resting on a balsam-stuffed pillow.

The kindly teacher offered to keep her until the Big Rock School Board made a decision as to where she should stay pending investigation into the whereabouts of her family. So after school, Tina and Miss Winklesnout went home together. Tina enjoyed a warm bath, donning dry clothes donated by some of the children’s mothers, and then ate a delectable dinner at the teacher’s table.

After a quiet evening of reading and resting while Miss Winklesnout corrected papers, she nodded off to sleep. Nestled into the softness of the cushy sofa padding, she was warm, safe-at-last and unspeakably grateful.

Miss Winklesnout arose, tucked a warm quilt around the tiny lump in the corner of her couch, then blew out the lantern, and went off to bed herself.

The CCI (Critter Crime Investigators) have begun their search for Tina’s family. They are a stealthy and thorough team, so answers are sure to follow promptly, but for now, little Tina will be well cared for. It appears she may be the littlest victim of what all woodland creatures fear—family obliteration. While it’s all too common to lose a member here and there, it’s beyond thinkable when all but one or two helpless members are taken. More often than not, those too would die of starvation or exposure.

So MouseHouse Village is grateful too this morning that a vigilant, observant Bitsy found a desperate survivor. Yes, she will be well-cared for.

Now back to finding gratitude in my own experience today…

September 23, 2014

Happy first day of Autumn!
Aw-tumm—now there’s a funny word, defined as a “time in the development of something that follows its most vigorous and successful phase, before its decline.” Yup. Guess that about wraps it up. Hence the leaf-showers even when the sun is shining. Past their successful phase, they’re going into decline. Literally. To the ground. Ugh.

So I guess that’s why the other term for this season—Fall, is synonymous and, you have to admit, a lot more descriptive of what really happens—falling leaves, withering grass, dying plants. Everything is falling, and I have to admit, so don’t my spirits! A spring and summer girl, I am—no question about it.
The good thing—and the one I need to hang on to—is the first part of that definition: “A time in the development of…” So it’s not really over. Roots are busy all winter, developing, stretching, reaching out and drinking deeply of the nourishment deep in the ground—all things that will continue growth and development come another Spring.

MouseHouse Village folks, on the other hand, adore Autumn. The abundance of leaves on the ground make for safe passage from place to place. Just grab a stem, tuck yourself under a leaf and zip to wherever you’re going. Perfect camouflage, and hey, on a windy day, if you’re little enough, maybe even a free flight to who-knows-where. Of course, that can be a problem since there’s no telling where you’ll land.
There was a lot of activity around Big Rock School yesterday, and after a little chat with Sir Fivel last evening, I learned the scoop. Seems an orphan mouseling was brought to Miss Winklesnout after being rescued by some observant on-lookers on their way to school. There, hiding under a large maple leaf, was a tiny grey mouseling, shivering and whimpering quietly. It was Bitsy that heard the plaintive sound.

“Sshh! Stop, you guys! Listen…” they all stopped.
“I don’t hear anything,” Ben said. “Come on… we’ll be late.”
Bitsy hung back, sure that she’d heard someone crying quietly. Sure enough. There it was again.

“Where are you…” she called out gently. “Show me where you are. I can help you.”
For a long time there was nothing, and just when she was about to catch up with the others, a wee gray nose and two tear-filled black eyes peered out from under a leaf.

“I don’t know where my mama is…” a small voice squeaked. “I’m so cold and hungry and I don’t know what to do.”
Bitsy bent down, holding out a hand. “Come with me, I’ll take you to Miss Winklesnout, our teacher. She’ll know what to do. Can you get up? Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so… but Cat kept grabbing me around my tummy, its sore. And I’m so hungry and cold…”

“Yes… I know. Come. We’ll get you in where it’s warm, and I’m sure we can find some food too.”
Off they went, hand-in-hand. Bitsy noted that the little gray mouseling’s dress was badly torn, and she had no outer clothing at all. Bitsy slipped out of her warm sweater, wrapped it around the little one’s shoulders.
“Here, this’ll warm you up until we get inside…”

Miss Winklesnout was immediately concerned. “Oh my dear girl, whatever happened to you…”
The little mouse told of a terrible night of terror, running from one hiding place to the next, and being nabbed several times by Cat in the process.
“I couldn’t find my way home…” fresh tears welled up as she recalled. “I don’t know where home is now… and I just want my mama.”

Miss Winklesnout bent down, wrapping the little girl in her arms. “There, there. We’ll try hard to find your mama…”
Sobs began anew. “B-b-b-but… you don’t understand… I’m afraid Cat got her, and my brothers and sisters too. One by one they’ve been disappearing, night after night. That’s why I was out of our nest that night… Mama didn’t come back, and I went looking for her.”

“Oh my dear child… I’m so sorry.”
All the children gathered about, some of them crying now too, horrified by what they’d learned. Some of them gently patted her back, all of them struck silent.
Miss Winklesnout knew it was important to get everyone calmed down and back into routine. “Well for now, let’s find some warm, dry clothes for… what is your name, dear?”

“I’m Tina…” she replied through a small hiccup.
“Class… this is Tina. Now who has an extra sweater hanging in the coat-room?” Several hands went up.
“Now the rest of you, back to your desks and your morning work, please.”

She brought little Tina to the wash-room. Bathed her face and hands in warm water, and checked her over for any wounds. Finding none, she helped her into an oversized, but nonetheless clean-warm-dry paint smock from the art room, then over that a cozy sweater along with some over-large slouchy socks that fell down nearly as soon as they were pulled up, but they too were dry and warm.
“Now let’s see if we can find you something to eat.” Off to the lunchroom they went where Miss Winklesnout made a seed-butter and berry sandwich and brewed a cup of rose-hip tea to ward off a chill and soothe the nerves of this tiny orphan.

“There’s a board meeting called for tonight…” Sir Fivel finished telling me of the situation. “So we’ll see who can take in the poor little child… who knows, we have a houseful already, but if need be…” He scratched the I-don’t-know spot, there, just under his cap.

“Oh my! I’m sorry to hear of this… poor little thing!”
And I should be worried about falling leaves?

September 19, 2014

Scrumptalicious. I’ll bet you know exactly what I mean—autumn smells—apple pies baking, or sweet potatoes, or baked butternut squash drizzled with butter and brown sugar, stuffed pork chops sizzling in the pan. Well, tonight, at Hare Hollow, it’s stuffed red peppers roasting in the oven and oh the aroma! Definitely an autumn scent.

Fivelina is preparing baked, stuffed acorns tonight. She scrapes out the nutmeats, then mixes crushed dried corn, millet and sunflower seed, along with berry juices, filling the acorn shells with the mixture. A spritzing of salt, dried herbs and a dribble of olive oil (Yes… Underground Warehouse even has condiments. You’d be amazed what can be gleaned from cast-off salad containers!) then into Walnut Woodstove oven it goes. And even though it’s MouseHouse Cuisine, I have to admit it smells pretty yummy as a little thread of steam wisps out of their chimney and wafts down to BackPorch.

She was drying berries on a thread the other day. I saw the lovely garland draped on BittersweetVine line and thought, wow, Fivelina’s getting into winter decorating a bit early here. But then, when the long strings disappeared before nightfall, I realized she was sun-drying those tiny rose-hip berries for her winter stash. Silly me.

Mmm. Did I mention roasting stuffed peppers smell delicious, and I’m hopeful they’ll be scrumptious too.
Shall I set out more plates?

September 16, 2014

Fall maintenance. There’s something remarkably comforting about having it nearly done. Furnace and chimney cleaned. Wood ordered. Garden projects wrapped up. And all before the leaves fall and the marathon raking begins—that all-consuming chore that, at least for this ole’ lady is positively overwhelmifying!

I have to say though, I’m thankful to have had the help of a most capable gardener-chap this summer, who happens to also be a good friend. He’s already proven his abilities several times, and he promises to help with the leaf dilemma to come.

Now don’t get me wrong, even with maintenance chores in check, and help on the way for raking, I know there’s a lot of work ahead. When that load of wood gets dumped off the truck and stands mini-mountain-high in our driveway, it won’t be long before the woe-is-me-willies set in. I’ll be stacking wood in my sleep, or else up-at-all-hours wondering how to get it done before the snow flies.

And then there’s the pantry to stock for winter, the freezer to clean and refill, the windows to wash and winter drapes to freshen and hang up, quilts to air and winter beds to make up. Oh me. What was that about woe-is-me-willies?

MouseHouse Village is all abuzz with winter preparations. And they’ve been at it since mid-summer—like I should complain, huh?

Sir Fivel dragged Walnut Woodstove out on the veranda the other day. Scrubbed it out good with his repurposed brush—the end of a discarded nail brush. He smoothed the broken edges smooth-as-you-please, trimmed the bristles to mouse-size usefulness, and voila—just the handiest of tools!

Later he and Olaf were up on the roof cleaning the stovepipe. They bundled up dried grasses, tied tightly in the center of a hefty piece of twine, and with one of them pulling on the string from the top, the other pulling down from inside the house, that wee stovepipe was clean as a whistle in no time!

Fivelina had a terrible mess of dust and soot to clean after though. Poor dear! I saw her out there sweeping and shaking out rugs, her bandana tied tightly under her chin, and that usually-pristine white apron horribly soiled and dusty. Ever her cheerful self though, she waved heartily when she saw me.

She’s been gathering, sorting and storing for weeks now and the pantry is well-stocked. Of course there are daily meals on-going, so she is constantly replenishing.

The nights have already been cold here in the Hollow, so MouseHouse quilts and comforters are already in use, I’m sure. Fivelina made darling new pink and green ones for the twins this summer—I saw them hanging out on BittersweetVine line when she finished the borders. She used the heart-shaped leaves from the red-bud tree, dyed some of them pink with berry juice—left others green. She oiled and pressed each leaf to keep them soft and pliable, then carefully made them into little puff-pockets stuffed with thistle-down, sewing them expertly together. Oh what a cozy quilt those wee girls will enjoy when the cold winds whistle through the rafters!

I wonder when she sleeps. Seems like an awful lot for one little Mouse Lady, but she never complains.

And I should complain about the woe-is-me-willies? Perish the thought!

September 13, 2014

So. Have you noticed lately that everyone starts a conversation with that word? So what have you been doing lately? So I was thinking about... So even though it’s only Friday…

So what is this fascination with so, I ask? So, I turned to Google—where else? Amazed at the amount of hits on the subject, I also noted how miserably few viable answers there are.

One writer posted that the word ‘so’ is “a conjunction that implies a logical connection between what you’ve just said to what you’re about to say.” Okay, I’ll buy that, but how does that compute with how the masses are using the word today? Hmmm.

So you ask the lady next to you, choosing peaches in the produce section, “So, what’s with the price of these peaches today?” How does that connect to a previous thought? [scratching confused-spot on head]

Conclusion? My guess is that we’ve taken on yet another fad, much like that word ‘like.’ It’s rather passé by now, I believe, but there was a time when, like, everything we said was preceded by, instead of an um, or just a pleasantly silent pause, it was ‘like.’

“Like, what is with this? I’ve been, like, trying to figure this confounded thing out for, like, forever!”

So, I’m no closer to the answer why we humans are so prone to, like, taking on these grammar-slaughtering buzz-words, but, like, I guess it’s just the way it is. So…

Ah… give me MouseHouse anyday!

September 8, 2014

Hush. Ever notice that the last two letters are the sound we use to quiet babies, quarreling children, or maybe divert attention from a noisy conversation to something more profound or mysterious in the background? “Shhhhh—listen! Do you hear that?”

And for a moment, there is a hush. What soothing balm to ears and heart in this noisy, bustling world.

Early September mornings, especially chilly ones, tend to dawn with a hush. Even the crickets are too cold to chirp. Traffic hasn’t yet begun, nothing stirs except people like me, up at this hour, stirring honey into my tea. Clink-clink-clink.

It’s a wonderful time of day for quiet time, drawing close to the One who invites me daily to remember Him, praise Him, and ask of Him. What blessing there is in the hush if I avail myself of it.

I suspect Sir Fivel appreciates the hush of early morn as well. Often, in my early morning treks to BackPorch, I see him sitting quietly there on GutterEdge Veranda, under the overhang so he is well-hidden and safe. He sits, clad in his warm plaid robe and ever-present cap, chicory mug in hand, staring off at the faint edges of dawn creeping ever so slowly over the horizon. Not many would notice if they didn’t know where to look, but as I gaze up at him, he tips his cap in acknowledgement. It’s too dark to see much more than that, so in keeping with the morning hush, we simply leave it at that. No conversation. Just the hush.

Soon his lovely wife will join him for a few moments before she murmurs quietly, “Come in for a bite to eat before the children rise…” The tiny lamp-light from their cottage reflects onto BackPorch for a moment as they retreat, shutting the door behind them. And soon I hear the squeak-voices of the mouselings, then thumps and bumps as they bound from bed-to-floor, getting their clothes on for school. Then sure enough, I hear it… a small but familiar voice:

“Children! Hush now! You’ll wake the neighbors. Be quieter now and tend to your morning chores.” Sure enough, there is quiet again.

Oh to be so obedient to that Voice to my own heart. Hush now. “Be still and know that I am God.” (PS 46;10)