A Ten Day in September...

      A Ten Day. Surely you’ve heard of them. Not just a mediocre kind of day, or the same-ole-same-ole, not even just an okay day. Nope. It’s for sure a Ten Day.  Blue sky, bright sunshine, a little breeze now and then, with comfortable levels of humidity—now I’d say that’s pretty near perfect.

     Took a walk in the garden last night to pick some potatoes and greens for dinner. I have to say it’s looking pretty grim. The tomato vines are hanging like discarded dish-rags, brown and limp, and there are more green tomatoes (red ones too!) still clinging to them than I will ever be able to process this year!

     The potato vines are hanging over the wash tubs where they’re planted, the spuds pushing up from under their roots. The chard and beets are sprouting greens faster than I can pick them, and the freezer is chock-full already! And besides what has been preserved, let me tell you we are sufficiently beeted and charded ourselves! Cleansed livers and kidneys abound! Now didn’t you just want to know that?

     I’m not complaining mind you, except maybe for my inability to be the master-picker, slicer-dicer, blancher-stewer, canner-freezer that this end of the season requires. Nope. The garden is winding down and so is my energy!

     Then there are the flower gardens. Now that’s just sad. Despite the long stretches of no rain, the waning daylight and some crisp nights, there are a few blossoms peeking out here and there on tired plants. I can almost hear them groaning a little with the effort.  At first frost, I will cut them all back, tidy up their beds and tuck them in for the long winter ahead, but for now, on this perfect-ten day, I simply smile at their valiant efforts and appreciate their persistence. What wonderful lessons there are in the garden.

     MouseHouse Village is positively bustling these days. At any given moment, a person can stand still and gaze at the comings-and-goings from bush to briar. They never stop! You have to pay attention of course, but soon you’ll see a darting blur of tawny fur, cheeks full of bounty, flag-staff tails standing straight up, or maybe you don’t see even that much, but rather disturbance in the leaves under a bush, the ferns waving when there wasn’t a breeze. Like I said, you have to pay attention, but you can be sure great things are happening in the underbrush, and underground. More than we can imagine.  Pantries are being filled, new cubbies made for snoozing, tunneling and insulating continue and the purveyors of walnut-woodstoves are extremely busy these days!

     We commented—Papa Hare and I—at how still it was this morning on BackPorch as we sipped our morning cuppas. Then we listened a little harder. For sure, there’s not much singing going on right now, but lots of scurrying and bustling, scratching and rattling, collecting and stashing. Can’t afford to laze away even an afternoon, rather they keep focused on what must be done, and their purpose is firm.

     Good lessons for me at MouseHouse Village, even on Ten Days. Good to be focused, purposed and eagerly preparing for the winter ahead, and yes… beyond.

Even the Creatures Remember...

     Even the creatures remember. Although none of The Village members were there, many friends and distant relatives were, and the stories have passed through the miles, over and over, these many years.

     You see, along with the many human lives lost that horrible day, hundreds of birds, pets, and MouseHouse friends and relatives were as well.

    There is nothing more to add this morning other than a humble and heartfelt tribute to the many who suffered and died, and prayers of comfort for the many who continue to suffer and grieve the loss of loved ones.

     Miss Winklesnout ordered all the children outside the classroom this morning where they are lined up somberly, gazing at the tiny, tattered, reclaimed American flag that she raises and lowers each day.

     “We will all be silent in a moment of remembrance…” she spoke quietly.   And silent they are.

     Yes. We all remember.

Home is Where We're Loved...

     Sultry weather continues, records matched and broken, schools closing early to prevent children’s illnesses from the heat, and then there’s the dryness. The lawns are brown, the gardens gasping and as if the rag-weed wasn’t sneezle-happy on its own, add to it clouds of dust every time a car goes by! Whew!

     Whatever did we do before air-conditioning? It was not a pleasant experience, as I recall, but we did survive. Beyond that, I’ve chosen to delete those memory-cells. Subject closed.

     In not too many weeks though, we’ll be digging out the woolies and restocking the woodpile, and yes, commenting on record-breaking cold. Oh, perish the thought! Ah well! Gotta love New England! And if you don’t like it now, just wait a minute.

     In case you were wondering, little Tina did find her way back to The Village. And just as she’d followed someone into Big Woods, it was, yet again, a fellow-traveler that helped her get back. This time though, there was no hiding. She asked for help.

     In her rush to follow the sounds of the bell that she heard tolling on Sunday, she wasn’t taking the usual care to stay undercover. After discovering a well-worn path, she scurried along at top speed when all of a sudden she heard something behind her. Rustling leaves and crackling of underbrush had her stopping to listen, ducking out of the path momentarily. As soon as she went on her way again, she’d hear a twig crackle or some dry leaves crinkle—she was certain she was being stalked.

     Quickly, she darted under a large thorn-bush and waited, and just as quickly the rustling and crackling stopped. So there she was, afraid to proceed, and paralyzed with fear.

     “You alright there, Missy?”  A voice spoke from behind her. She startled, just about fainting from fright, and spun around to look. There sat a portly chipmunk gentleman, smiling at her just inches away. She nearly sobbed with relief.

     “Oh sir! No. No, I’m not alright at all! I’ve lost my way and can’t get home, and something is following me!” she squeaked nervously, “...and I’ve been lost for days... and I just want to get back home.”

     He pursed his mouth thoughtfully, one pudgy hand twirling his whiskers as he perused. “And where’s home, might I ask? And what is a youngun like yourself doing out here in Big Woods alone?”

     “Oh sir! It’s too long a story to tell you. Please just help me find my way home. Oh, home is in The Village at Hare Hollow…” she added, realizing as she spoke that yes, it truly was her home now.  “Please, can you help me?”

     His black eyes sparkled in the sun, and after he straightened his dapper bow-tie and adjusted his overalls, he held out a helping hand. “Come then… let’s be on our way!  And by-the-way, I'm Mr. Chipson... and your name is...?”

     “My name is Tina, But sir, what about whoever is chasing me?!” she held back in concern.

     “Worry not, little one. I know lots of tunnel entrances between here and The Village. You just trust me. If I see or hear anything, I’m going to pick you right up and dart into one of those tunnels. So don’t be scared.”

     She took his hand.

     True to his word, he led her right to Big Rock Schoolhouse. Nothing bothered them as they walked on together, and it wasn’t far at all. Who knew home was just that close, and she’d been just that little distance all along.

     She thanked him graciously, then fairly flew to Miss Winklesnout’s humble cottage nearby. Standing at the door she paused, considering—would Miss Winklesnout welcome her back? Or would she be so hurt and angry she’d turn her away? And whatever would she do if that was the case. Where would she go? With sinking heart she raised her hand to knock when suddenly the door opened and there stood the lady herself, her eyes wide with disbelief.

     “Tina! Oh Tina! Is it really you, my precious girl?!” The schoolmarm, holding out her arms, dissolved into grateful tears. Tina melted into the offered embrace, overcome with thankfulness and relief.

     “Oh Miss Winklesnout, I’m so sorry for running away. I was selfish and ungrateful, and I’m so sorry. I thought if I could just get back to my old home, where I came from, that some of my relatives would be there and I could be with them. I thought it would make me happier, but I was so wrong. There’s no one and nothing there for me. If you don’t want me to live here anymore, I’ll understand completely, but please tell me where I should go.”

     The schoolmarm listened quietly. Tears still glistened in her own eyes as she gently brushed Tina’s away. Searching for how best to deal with this, she pulled Tina back into a warm embrace.

     “My dear girl… you will always be welcome here. This is your home. I am your guardian, but more than that, I have come to love you like my own daughter…” she began. “You must tell me though, when things like this bother you. We can talk it over and find a solution together. Please don’t ever go off on your own like that again. You could’ve been…” the worried schoolmarm couldn’t finish for the tears that threatened again.

     She shut the cottage door and beckoned toward the kitchen.

     “Come, my sweet girl. Let’s go make some chamomile tea… you must be hungry. How about a fat slice of teaberry  bread slathered with acorn butter to start…?”

Tina slid into her chair at the table and watched as Miss Winklesnout poured the tea. “Thank you…” she spoke softly and the simple expression had never meant so much to her before.

     “How can I ever make it up to you… what I’ve done…?”

     “Hush now, little one. You are weary, in need of a warm bath and lots of good food. Best of all you are home. Let’s put the past in the past and just move forward from here, shall we?”

     That late-afternoon, Tina bathed in the pretty pink tub—formerly a Rubbermaid mini-bowl—repurposed of course! Miss Winklesnout poured pitcher after pitcher of warmed-on-the-stove water until it was up to Tina’s chin. She soaked in the lavender scented water and then scrubbed until she squeaked—her skin that is—then after a vigorous rubdown with a terry-towel, she put on her ruffled blue nightgown. Oh it felt wonderful to be clean and have clean clothes to put on!

     Miss Winklesnout made sunflower seed pancakes with gooseberry syrup for supper, but before Tina could finish, her head drooped onto her arm on the table. Even the clatter of her fork falling to the floor didn’t wake her.

     The schoolmarm watched her sleep for a little while, marveling at the miracle of her safe return. Then ever so gently, she gathered the little girl into her arms and carried her off to bed. Tucking her in snuggly, she uttered a prayer of thankfulness to the One who saw them through all these days of upset.

      Life’s lessons are often painful, the journey rift with bumps and bruises, tears and misunderstandings often in the search for what we think is something better, but when we can come through with humility and  recognition of a Greater Plan than ours, then go forward with gratitude—well, it’s a happy day for sure.

The Bell Tolls in the Sunday Silence...

     September-Sunday silence… sunshine peeks thru the trees bathing Hare Hollow Woods with a golden wash… tints of reds and oranges even brighter this early morning in the first kiss of sunshine.

     It’s a bit chilly this morning, but refreshingly so. Wrapped snuggly in my long fluffy robe, I nurse the second cuppa with gratitude for so many things… solitude, security and comfort to name a few, but more importantly, sweet anticipation of a quiet hour of worship on this precious day—God’s day—a day of rest and restoration.

     Little Tina however is still missing. Miss Winklesnout is positively bereft! She even had to leave the classroom on Friday because she was weeping so hard as she considered Tina’s empty desk. Betina had to be called in to substitute for the day. Her mom, Fivelina is always at-the-ready to babysit the babies—all four of them—whenever Betina needs to help at the school.

     The Village folk have been all astir too over the strange disappearance. Mr. Mosley attested that indeed she’d been at Underground Warehouse that morning, and had bartered for the bag of thistledown.

     “She did leave in a hurry…” he remarked when one of the investigators questioned him.

     “Did you see which direction she went?” they asked.

     “Well, no sir. You see there were many customers here that day and well… once folks leave that doorway there, I couldn’t possibly see where they go.”

     Tina, meanwhile, has been traveling for a couple of days, trying to find her way back to the Village. She spent a day taking shelter from the stormy weather, but as soon as it cleared the next day, she started out. After she saw the same landmarks the third time, she realized she was merely traveling in a big circle and getting nowhere nearer to Miss Winklesnout’s cottage.

     “Oh if only I could be back with Miss Winklesnout…” she lamented. “She was so good to me. I was always warm and well-fed, taken care of in every way…and I was safe there. I didn’t have to worry about the enemy grabbing me in the dark.  I had a nice soft bed to sleep in and I was loved; why, oh why did I leave?!”

     Tears spilled over again.

     “I don’t deserve such kindness," she berated. "She probably won’t want me back again. I’ve hurt her so badly… and oh dear… what will I do now?”

     She sat under a large fern clump, her back against a stem, hugging her knees and sobbing into the dirty, now-torn sleeves of her dress. Weary beyond telling, and hungry for something more substantial than berries, she wept uncontrollably. Lonely desperation and deep regret weighed heavy on her wee heart.

     After a time, it came to her that perhaps she could leave a trail as she walked, and that way she’d see as she looked back now and then, if she was walking in a straight line, or in circles again. So she gathered some pine cones, pulling their woody pieces from the cone, gathering as many of the little pieces as she could carry in the fold of her pinafore. And she began walking again in the direction she hoped was towards The Village.  Even if Miss Winklesnout turned her away, she knew there was hope and protection there, and it was her only hope.

     It was the sound of the school-bell tolling for folks to gather on this Sunday morning, faint, but delightedly familiar, that filled her heart with gladness. You see, the school house is used both for educating the children, as well as for the Villagers to gather for Sunday morning worship. Sir Fivel and several other elderly gentlemen take turns ringing the bell on Sundays. Of course Miss Winklesnout rings it on school days.

    “The bell!” Tina whispered excitedly. “That's the school bell! I heard the bell! I’m going in the right direction.”

     Hope is a wonderful thing. I’m grateful for it too—today and every day.

     More later…

Berries in the Dug-Out...

     Autumn tickled our senses several days ago and then the tug-o-war with Lady Summer began again—typical for the season. So we’ve been sweltering with 90-degree soggies ever since. I can’t help but notice though, the ever-increasing tinges of color—reds and yellows—peeking out from the green of Hare Hollow Woods, all along the roadways too, from hither to yon. No doubt about it! The trees know it’s time to prepare for the Winter Sleep despite how staunchly Lady Summer insists otherwise.

     Tina peeked out from the rusty piece of metal she’d been taking shelter under the past several days. And mind you, it’s been several days of misery and regret. She was dirty, hungry and bereft of heart.

     At Underground Warehouse you may recall, where she’d been sent by Miss Winklesnout to get some thread and a bag of thistledown, she’d overheard a conversation between Mr. Mosley, the barter-clerk, and a stranger, an older gentleman-mouse. He spoke of some of her former neighbors from her very-own home-area. She could hardly believe her ears! 

     Maybe some of my family is still alive, she reasoned. Maybe I could follow him back home and find out. I might be able to live with them and be h-o-m-e!

     So without further thought, she placed the box of buttons she’d brought to barter with, on Mr. Mosley’s counter, then scurried off, bag of thistledown bumping along behind her, to catch up with said gentleman-mouse. Fortunately he wasn’t too speedy on his feet, and it didn’t take her long to find him.

     The plan was to maintain secrecy since she didn’t know this gentleman, so she stayed a fair distance behind, darting in behind a fern, or slipping in at the back a tree whenever he looked over his shoulder. 

     Remarkably, he was heading in the same direction as Miss Winklesnout’s cottage, so Tina was able to ditch the bag of thistledown near the schoolmarm’s front path. For just an instant, Tina felt bad. Yes, Miss Winklesnout was waiting anxiously for the thistledown, but she would also be worried about Tina’s whereabouts. And truly, she’d been nothing but kind and loving, and Tina knew this was not a kind thing to do in return—just walk off and not tell anyone where she was going, but it had all happened so fast, the opportunity to find home again and all.

     She quickly tucked the bag under a broadleaf so the breeze wouldn’t send it tumbling off into the woods, but let the edge peek out a bit in the hopes Miss Winklesnout would find it. Then quickly she scampered off to find the gentleman-mouse again. 

     They traveled into Big Woods, and it wasn’t long before there were familiar signs of home. Who knew she’d been so close all along! As soon as she had her bearings, she abandoned the chase, and turned in the direction of home. H-O-M-E! She could hardly contain herself! I’m almost home!

     What a shock to see what had once been the front door now just a pile of debris, the area once so carefully swept and cleared, now overgrown with weeds. She pulled and tugged at shards of wood, thick stems and stones until she was able to step into a more open area—their former front room. There was evidence of Mama’s stove, some overturned cooking pots, a shredded piece of fabric that had once covered their sofa, but no sign of life. 

     She called, first in a tentative, quiet voice, “Mama?  Papa? Where are you-u-u?”

     Silence.

     Then she wailed. “Ma-a-a-m-a-a-a!  Please come back…”

    

     Silence.

     She sank to the ground, sobs ripped through her, her little body convulsed. She cried out the months of bewilderment and unrelenting loss. Weeping herself into exhaustion, she finally fell asleep there in the debris of what had once been home and loving family.

     

     In the darkness, she awoke to the sound of scratching, the all-too-familiar sound of enemy-searching-for-prey. Confused at her whereabouts, she froze, listening, then remembered. Terror gripped. Whatever had taken her family must've come back to get her now… and she’d foolishly put herself right into harm’s way. 

     Tucking herself further back into the destroyed room, she took refuge under a pile of rubble. Sure enough, a large paw reached in through the opening, claws extended, ominously scratching about for anything edible. It was pitch black and Tina could only hear and imagine the worst, but she huddled deeper behind the rubble and waited. 

     After a time, the scratching ceased. And still she waited. She remembered Papa’s warnings, when she’d been very small, about the enemy waiting silently for the prey to make a move. Then he’d pounce and it would be all over.

     She didn’t move. Not until daylight. A ray of sun peeked through the open doorway, and little by little she crept through the remains of home, finding her way out into the fresh air again. She kept hidden, darting from leaf to shrub, driven now to find her way back to The Village and safety. 

     She walked and walked; her tummy grumbled with hunger, so she stopped and found a berry to eat. She hadn’t eaten since the previous day at Miss Winklesnout’s!  It was the best tasting berry she’d had in a long time, but she ate in trepidation knowing that whatever lurked in the area last night, was likely lurking still.

     And then it began to rain. Just like that! The sun had been shining so beautifully, but storm clouds came up and now it was pouring. She knew there were underground tunnels here too, near home, but she was too far from there now. So she’d sheltered under this rusty old piece of metal, made a small dug-out beneath it, and waited. 

     When the rain abated slightly, she’d scampered out and picked two more berries, bringing them back into her little dug-out as the torrent began again in earnest.

     I’ll just wait out the storm here, she reasoned, and then I’ll find my way back to The Village. She couldn’t yet call it home…

     But the rain continued... and this will too.

Tina Goes Missing...

August 31, 2015

     It’s a steamy ninety degrees out on BackPorch today and oh, did I mention humidity? A quick trek out to water the greenery and hangers left me red-cheeked and puffing—me and steamy don’t mix well you see. Yup, I’d say Sultry Summer is hanging on tight despite a taste of autumn just a couple days ago.

     School has started in The Village. On the first day, Miss Winklesnout stood at the entrance of Big Rock Schoolhouse welcoming the children one-by-one as they skipped and scampered in from the woods and meadow grasses, everyone dressed in their finest—new knickers and freshly pressed shirts for the boys, colorful dresses and pinafores for the girls.

     Tina stood beside Auntie Win—her name for her new adoptive mom—and smiled her greetings to the arrivals too, but not all was well.

     You may recall that Tina’s family was tragically lost last autumn, she being the only survival of a terrible attack of some wild cats. After considerable investigation into the matter, and the conclusion that dear little Tina was indeed an orphan, the members of the School Board and some of the locals decided she would live with Miss Winklesnout permanently.

At first, the shock and upset of her situation left Tina merely grateful to be safe and well-taken care of. Miss Winklesnout was, after all, a gentle caring soul, but she was not Mama. Tina missed her home, her family—Mama, Papa, her sisters and baby brother too, but she kept the missing deep in her heart, afraid to express such thoughts for fear they’d be mistaken for unthankfulness.

     She flowed through the days and weeks, intent on being helpful, willing for whatever was asked of her. Many of the towns-people commented on her politeness, and what a wonderful boon it was to Miss Winklesnout to have such a good little girl of her own now. Some even said such things directly to Tina. She just smiled and nodded assent.

     In the wee hours of the days though, when she lay in her lovely new bunk, in her beautiful new room, with all the pretty hand-me-down dresses and things in her very own closet, she wept. Tears of anguish slipped out the sides of her eyes as she lay looking up at the ceiling, or over at the window where the pretty ruffled curtains wafted gently in the night breeze.

     “I’m a NOT a good girl…!” she berated herself. “I’m a horrible little girl. I think about awful things even when I’m being obedient. And I want to say nasty things even as I smile and go about my chores. This is NOT my home! And Miss Winklesnout is NOT my mama… she’s not even my aunt!”

     She sobbed into the pillow. “Oh Mama, Papa! Why did this have to happen to us? Why did you have to go away? Truly, will I never ever see you again?”

     When morning came, she washed the tears away, got dressed and made her bed as usual. She helped Auntie Win with the breakfast dishes, did all her chores willingly and cheerfully, and as usual, never said a word about what was in her heart.

     So it came as a complete surprise last week when she went missing.

     Miss Winklesnout sent her on an errand to Underground Warehouse for a spool of web-thread and a bag of thistle-down for the quilt she was finishing for Tina’s bed.

     “Don’t be long now, dear…” Auntie Win admonished gently. “I’ll be waiting for the thread as I’ve run out… so I can’t work on this…” she indicated the pretty pink cloud of fabric across the sofa, “…until you get back.”

    “Yes, Auntie Win… I won’t be long.”

     But noon-time came, no Tina. She’s probably met some school friends in the tunnel and the time has gotten away with her, the school marm reasoned.

     The sun rose higher in the sky, still no Tina. Suppertime came, no Tina, and Miss Winklesnout was duly concerned.

     She set out to trace the path Tina would’ve taken to get to Underground Warehouse, asking several along the way if they’d seen her. No one had.

     At Sir Fivel’s shop, Miss Winklesnout poked her head in to inquire there. “No Ma’am…” he shook his head worriedly. “I haven’t seen Tina at all today and she would’ve had to pass right by here…” He rose to step outside the shop. “Perhaps we should ask some of the other shop owners if anyone has seen her. Maybe she’s visiting with some of the children at one of them.”

     “That’s not like her though…” Miss Winklesnout commented. “She’s always so prompt and reliable… this is just not her way. She’s such a good little thing…”

     Darkness fell. No sign of Tina. The  Critter Crime Investigators were notified. Everyone knew it was possible that she’d been snatched by one of the enemies—goodness  knows, there was always some lurking about.

     “Go home, Miss Winklesnout, and leave the searching to us now…” Officer Daly urged. “You’re upset and weary now, but really there’s nothing more you can do out here. Leave the searching to us. For all you know, she may’ve come home already and she’s wondering where you are!”

     Miss Winklesnout turned to leave, though her steps were heavy with sorrow. Sir Fivel saw her and hurried to catch up.

     “Miss Winklesnout…” he called rather sharply. “Wait!”  She waited.

     “Let me escort you home, Ma’am. You shouldn’t be out after dark alone, and you don’t live far from me, so I’ll walk you to your door.”

     “Thank you, Sir…” she accepted gratefully.

     They were just about to the Milk Thistle Patch, just a scamper from Miss Winklesnout’s humble cottage, when they both noticed a lump of something light-colored just at the edge of the path.

     “What’s that!?”  the anxious lady exclaimed.

     Sir Fivel bent to investigate. “It appears to be a bag of thistle-down…” he poked at it with his cane. “Yes, Ma’am! That’s what it is. How do you suppose it got there? Someone must’ve dropped it.”

     “Ohhhhh no-o-o!” The school marm wailed.

     “What Ma’am! What’s wrong!” He rushed back to her side.

     “I sent Tina to Underground Warehouse for a bag of thistledown and some thread this morning! She’s has been there! And she came back. Something must’ve snatched her on the way home. Ohhhh! What will I do without my dear Tina!”

…To be continued.

Throwbacks and Lolling...

     Throwback Thursday, also known as ‘tbt.’  Do you know how long it took me to figure that one out? Not sure when it finally hit me, but I have to say that for a long time I wondered why so many were prefacing their comments by blowing raspberries—thbttttt! True, there’s an extra ‘h’ in there, but for want of a better explanation… well, you get the point. I imagined there might be a lot spittle on monitors and SmartPhones!

     And while we’re on the matter of euphemisms, there’s the ‘lmao’—laughing-my-oops-off and ‘roflmao’—rolling on the floor laughing my oops off.

     Hmm.  Well, being the lady that I am, I have to say that both caused a blush of embarrassment, but I have to admit it’s been awhile since I laughed so hard that I rolled onto the floor! And for sure I wouldn't tell you if I did! The mental picture alone is enough to, well almost have me rolling on the floor, but really, it’s too much work to get back up again.

     Then there’s ‘lol.’  I went around thinking, for quite awhile, that a lot of folks were lol-ing around after  finishing their FB comments, and simply didn’t know how to spell the word—loll. You know, loll, as in slouching about in lazy ease. Goodness! Did they really need to tell us about it?

     Well, I’m a better educated Gramma now and, if I'm to believe FaceBook, I guess there’s a whole lot of laughing-out-loud going on in living rooms and offices around the nation, in cars too. And, if I’m to take the other abbreviations seriously, it seems there’s a whole lot of people falling off their chairs and rolling around the floor as well!  Who knew?

     Me, I try to keep my guffawing to myself for the most part, at least when I’m reading. It’s a form of laziness really; I don’t like to have to explain my chuckles to someone passing by.

     Now what was it I was going to say about Throwback Thursday? Hmm. Beats me. lol

Tomatoes and Cedar Berries!

Tomatoes! Big ones, little ones, fully ripe and not-quite-there yet—my kitchen looked like a small market this morning with gazoodles of them lined up from window sill to counter back. So today was stewed tomato day. Blanching, peeling, slicing and simmering, yup, the house smelled like a pizzeria! And after all of that pot-clanking, juice-squirting steaminess, there are now 6 pretty red and green pints of stewed tomatoes cooling by the stove. Whew! Just six?! Felt like a much bigger production than that!

Fivelina was busy at Walnut Woodstove today too. Her big stew pot was bubbling away and the aroma of cedar berry jam wafted down from her tiny kitchen, right into BackPorch. She was out at the clothesline pulling in the days’ laundry from Bittersweet Line when she saw me nibbling my sandwich at lunch.

“Lovely day for drying clothes, Ma’am…” she commented pleasantly.

“Yes it is, Fivelina. I’m glad some of that humidity is fading.” I agreed.  “I smell something wonderful coming from your kitchen today, what are you making?”  And that’s when she told me about Cedar Berry Jam.

“It’s wonderful on corn-cakes in the winter, Ma’am…” she touted, “…and the children are particularly fond of it.”

“How do you preserve it?” I asked.

“Oh, in my acorn shell canisters of course. The boys have been collecting beeswax for me all summer, from some of the old hives that are no longer active. I melt it down and pour a layer over the top of the finished jam and it preserves it beautifully all season. Of course it’s so cold in the winter pantry, nothing could spoil in there then, but I do like to have the jars well sealed just the same.”

Who would guess? Cedar Berry Jam. And we had a bumper crop of them this year in FrontYard at Hare Hollow. And here I was waiting for the cedar wax wings to come and clear them out, but MouseHouse members have been making good use of them too.

Smart lady, that Fivelina and industrious too!

The mouselings start school next week, so they’ve been busy straightening their rooms and getting things ready for the new season.

Miss Winklesnout has the school room scrubbed and polished, every desk and bench, and the piece of slate she uses as a blackboard—clean as a whistle!

Tina, the little village orphan, (see Sept.23, 2014 entry) is doing well and Miss Winklesnout loves having a little girl of her own. She is a wonderful helper to the school marm, and seems to be getting along quite well overall… or so it would seem.

I wonder…

August 22, 2015

There was such a commotion in the attic at Hare Hollow Thursday night. It had me quite concerned. Had something serious happened up there? I could hardly wait till daylight to inquire at Sir Fivel’s front door.

Little Bitsy answered when I tapped lightly.

“Good morning, Mama Hare…” she squeaked in her sweet little mouse-voice.

“Good morning, Bitsy. Is everything okay with you all? I heard a lot of noise over-head during the night.”

Her eyes twinkled and she wasn’t quite able to hide a mischievous smile. 

“Let me get Mama for you… please wait a minute.”  She dashed away leaving the door ajar.

Fivelina appeared, already dressed, looking ready-for-the-day despite the early hour.

“Good morning, Ma’am… Bitsy said we disturbed you last night. Please accept our apologies. I can’t explain just now, but would you kindly settle yourself in your usual BackPorch chair?” she implored with a respectful but unmistakable twinkle in her own eyes.

“We have a little surprise for you but we’re not all quite  put together here.”

“A surprise?” I echoed. “Well, I guess so… sure. I’ll just go make my tea and then sit awhile.” As I thought it over, my emotions shifted from concern to puzzlement.

It’s quiet at this early hour on BackPorch as is always the case by late August. The Village creatures are still tucked in. No more early morning songs of courtship and query. Now they work hard each day, gathering-and-storing, padding winter homes with extra insulation for the winter ahead, and adding rooms for new family members. They tuck into bed at sunset, weary from their pursuits, and when a new day begins, the process repeats.

So I sit quietly too, sipping from my cuppa, and admiring the hazy green mist on Hare Hollow woods this sultry morning. I hear some titters and giggles from Gutter Veranda, but from where I sit, I can’t see the source. Still, I smile in anticipation.

I also notice the grass moving near Big Rock School area, and can just barely see through the haze a little group of excited mouselings bouncing about while someone—I assume it must be Miss Winklesnout—attempts to quiet them. I grab the binoculars. Sure enough, it is the kindly school-marm herself and by now she has them all lined up and marching proudly up to Downspout Staircase. My curiosity piques. School isn’t in session yet, I wonder what is going on!

Just then Sir Fivel appeared on BackPorch Railing, jumping up on the post finial right outside the screen door. He was dressed in his usual finery: blue knickers, a finely pressed white shirt, and his favorite plaid vest along with his ever-present cap which, at this moment, he doffed at me.

“Good morning, Ma’am. Thank you for taking the time to listen to our production this morning. Please let me present the MouseHouse Village Singers. We have a very special tribute for you.”

I stood then to open the door so I could see them better, smiling in wonderment as a line of little mouselings proceeded, in perfection formation, along the railing to the post where Sir Fivel stood, now facing them. Miss Winklesnout brought up the rear, gently helping the littlest ones maneuver the tricky descent from Downspout Stairway onto the porch.

They too were dressed in their finest… the wee girls in tiny dresses with ribbon bows tied so demurely and fluffy bloomers beneath, and the boys with their knickers and shirts tucked in neatly complete with bow-ties. And each carried a carefully handcrafted, brightly colored letter above their heads. I could see as they all lined up carefully that these letters, combined, spelled out ‘Happy Birthday Mama Hare.’

There was some shuffling and giggling as the last ones assembled, but with a few stern looks from the teacher and Sir Fivel, order was soon restored.

He held up his hands as though to conduct an orchestra, and then gave them the 1-2-3 to start their song. In the sweetest, highest pitch you can imagine, those many little voices were raised in harmony with the most adorable rendition of Happy Birthday I ever did hear!

Touched to the core, I listened, teary-eyed and smiling till it was over. I clapped merrily and thanked them all, but before I could finish, Sir Fivel held up a wait-a-minute hand.

“There’s more, Ma’am…” he assured.

Sure enough, along came Fivelina and Betina, their grown daughter, carrying a carefully wrapped package between them. It was swathed in pale pink silk, tied beautifully with a satin ribbon that held the froth in place.  I knew they’d taken great pains, not only to find the wrappings, but to assemble it so tastefully.

The children on the railing each stepped back to let them pass, and soon they were just in front of me. Fivelina, also dressed in her prettiest frock, spoke:

“Mama Hare, we want to wish you a very happy birthday. We also want to thank you for your kindness and patience with us. We appreciate all that you do for us and especially for allowing us to share your home. Please accept this little gift as a token of our love for you.”

She held out the package and I accepted it with gratitude.

Carefully I untied the bow, gently laid the pink silk aside, and there in the center was a tiny cameo brooch, repurposed of course, but meticulously cleaned, shined and polished.

“Thank you. Thank you all for this lovely surprise! I am delighted. And thank you all for your kindness. We—Papa Hare and I—appreciate your respectfulness and politeness as our woodland guests. May we have another good year together.”

With that, all the little mouselings clapped and cheered. Then they turned and filed away in orderly manner albeit punctuated with more giggles and titters. Sir Fivel and Fivelina stayed.

“We’re sorry to have disturbed you last evening,” the mouse gentleman said quietly. “The children were finishing up their letters and well… you know how it goes when you get a whole bunch of them together.”

I smiled knowingly. “No harm done, Fivel. It was well worth the little disturbance to see this marvelous production this morning. Thank you again for your thoughtfulness. You have indeed made my birthday very special.

He bowed low, again doffing his cap. “Our pleasure, Ma’am…” and with that he took his lady’s hand and they proceeded up the Downspout Staircase, waving as they stepped onto Gutter Veranda and into their front door in the eave.

Yes, it was indeed a Happy Birthday.

August 21, 2015

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥
♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

Love, 
Charlie 
xoxo

And Mattie and MaisieMae too!

August 20, 2015

August 20, 2015

Turning the corner from the main road to our long, winding lane, the now-eager mouse-gentleman stood tall at the side of my head rest, holding on tight against the car's motion.

"The air smells familiar, Ma'am... are we almost home?" he asked politely.

“Yes, Fivel. We’re nearly home. Are you anxious?”

“Oh Ma’am… you have no idea! I don’t know what poor Fivelina will say… and the children, they must all be worried to pieces after all this time.”

We eased into the driveway and as soon as the engine stopped, I turned face to him. “Would you like me to bring you through the house to BackPorch so there’ll be no more delay getting to your family?” From driveway to BackPorch is a fair distance when you're three inches high, and weary from traveling.

“Much obliged, Ma’am…” he accepted gratefully as he hopped onto my shoulder.

Out on BackPorch, I opened the screened door and lifted him gently up to Gutter Veranda, and then watched him tap gently on MouseHouse door. Fivelina answered and the look on her face when she saw her beloved was well worth the wait.

No words, just joyful tears and an embrace that was soon joined by five jubilant mouselings. He pulled away long enough to gaze into his lady’s eyes, and gently brushed the tears from her cheeks.

I backed away, wanting to give them their privacy, but not before I saw him step back thru the doorway, look down at me and tip his cap. “Thank you, Ma’am. Thank you ever so much. Family is everything.”

Yes Sir Fivel, it is. It surely is.

August 19, 2015

Sir Fivel tucked himself away soon after we arrived at the motel that afternoon, curling up inside one of my fluffy black slippers. I was relieved to know he was safe now and that we’d get him back home to his family on the morrow.

So leaving him to rest and recuperate from his adventures, we made ourselves a quick supper and then headed back for the night service.

Later, we sat snug in our jammies, there in our little suite, sipping bedtime tea. I’d left my slippers where they sat earlier, assuming the weary mouse-gentleman was still asleep.

While my daughter and I discussed the highlights of the day, I noticed a dark-something inching its way through the bedroom door—one black slipper propelling itself across the floor! Further investigation revealed two little mouse feet trudging along—step-tug-step, the slipper held high above his head, the rest of him hidden beneath it.

“Sir Fivel!” I exclaimed, more shrilly than I meant to.

The slipper tipped over on its side and a woeful whiskered face appeared... “Sorry Ma’am… I didn’t mean to sleep so long and take your slipper from you. I meant to get it back to you…” He tugged on his vest to straighten it, then folding his hands across his rotund little belly he continued.

“Guess you want the story now, huh? Well, you see, Ma’am… I was collecting spider webs for Fivelina the other afternoon, she uses them to baste her Oak Leaf quilts, you know, and I saw these fluffy black slippers hanging on your clothesline. I was so tired, I thought I’d just slip into one for a short nap. I had no idea you were planning to pack them for your trip! You don’t usually wear these, do you?”

I shook my head. “No, you’re right, Fivel… I only wear them when I’m traveling.”

He scratched his head in confusion. “Ohhhh…”

“Go on…” I encouraged.

“Well, next thing I knew I was stuck inside this dark, stuffy place and couldn’t get out. It was so black in there, and for such a long time. I tried and tried to get out, but couldn’t find a way. Soon the whole place began moving, I tumbled around and bumped into things, and still it was so dark! I heard engine sounds and felt that we were moving for hours. Oh Ma’am, I was dreadful scared!”

Yep. I surely had left those slippers on the line overnight. Who would’ve thought!

“You were in the slipper when I packed them into the suitcase. Oh dear. I’m so sorry, Fivel. I never would’ve thought to check. And yes, it would’ve been mighty dark in that suitcase, and you’d surely get an awful jouncing when Papa Hare loaded the luggage in the trunk. Yes, it must’ve been a terribly long hard trip stuck in there in the dark. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that!”

He jumped up on the arm of the chair, patting my hand soothingly. “Oh no, Ma’am. It’s entirely my fault. I should never have snuck into that slipper in the first place.”

He searched my face for understanding, then kindly added, “Would you like your slippers now, Ma’am?”

“Thank you, no…” I assured him. I’ve nice warm socks on and I don’t need them right now.  Do you feel like telling me how you got over to the convention today?”

He blushed slightly. “Well, that’s even more embarrassing, Ma’am. Are you sure you want to know?”

I nodded encouragingly.

“Well, I stayed here in your motel the first day, and it was so lonely and I was feeling so worried for Fivelina—what she must be thinking when I didn’t come home that night! I thought if I just stayed quiet and didn’t bother anyone, I could hop into your purse and ride home unnoticed, and no one would ever know of my foolishness. But when I saw you were staying for Friday too, I couldn’t bear staying here alone all day. So I crept into the pocket of your tote-bag so I could go with you to wherever you were going.  If I’d just stayed near you, it would’ve been fine, but I wandered around a bit, you see…” He wrung his hands anxiously with the memory.

“And then I couldn’t find you or the tote-bag anywhere. I looked and looked, but there were just so many strange feet and noisy people. Then everyone left, and it was so dark in there when they shut off all the lights that night. I spent the night under some stranger’s chair-pad…”

I murmured in sympathy. “Well, I’m glad you finally found me, and hey, that was pretty slick finding your way to the tote-bag through all the feet while everyone was praying!”

He grinned slightly and then chortled. Now have you ever heard a mouse chortle? It’s a most delightful little sound actually, and it was a relief to see him more light-hearted now.

“Well, here’s the plan. We have one more service tomorrow morning, and then we leave for Hare Hollow. Don't be getting into my suitcase, okay? You can find a much more comfortable place for the ride home."

He rode home with us, snugly tucked into a fluffy black slipper that surely didn’t get put in the suitcase that time.

And oh the reunion at MouseHouse! You can only imagine!

August 18, 2015

We enjoyed good weather on our 4-day trip. All but Saturday afternoon that is. Mid-afternoon brought menacing dark skies and flashes of lightening punctuated by deep grumbles of thunder. It didn’t hinder the afternoon service, mind you, but there was a noticeable stir—especially among those sitting near the big open doors, as the lightening bolts danced nearby.

At one resounding clap of thunder a worried, whiskered face appeared, wide-eyed and anxious, at the corner of my tote bag. I smiled reassuringly, but shook my head, silently conveying that he should remain calm and not bolt from his safe-at-last spot.

Just as the service ended, the rain began to roar, pelting everything in sight. Some folks braved the trip from meeting room to dining areas by doubling up under umbrellas. We, however, left our three—yes, three umbrellas in the car. Wonderful help they were there! So we waited.

After a time, the storm abated and we twinkle-toed our way through the wet grass en route to the car. “Hang on tight, Sir Fivel”… I called quietly as I sprinted, knowing I was jouncing the jollies right out of the poor little guy.

In the car, I set the tote bag on the floor by my feet as my daughter proceded to drive us back to the motel. Expecting our little friend to climb out quickly once we were alone, I was troubled when he didn’t.

“Sir Fivel…?” What if he’d fallen out of the tote-bag during our daring dash! I began gingerly removing things one-by-one.

“You in there, my hapless friend?” I cajoled worriedly. No answer. “Ohhh no!” I whined quietly. “What’ll we do if he fell out and he’s back there in that field somewhere…”

Just then a rumpled, frazzled, whiskered mouse-gentleman, climbed out from the pocket of my sweater buried deep in bottom of the bag.

“Ma’am?” he rasped “…is it safe to come out now?”

“Yes, Sir Fivel… you’re safe now. “We’re in the car riding back to the motel. You can stay there with us for the night and we’ll take you home tomorrow.”
Relief washed over him. He climbed the rest of the way out, limping slightly as he settled himself there in the cup-holder. He adjusted his twisted knickers, straightened his vest with purpose, then carefully spit-groomed his bedraggled whiskers and then, as though he’d suddenly remembered his manners, he turned to me.

“Thank you, Ma’am. Thank you for saving my life. I have a family, you know… well, of course you know, but oh dear…” he couldn’t continue. After rubbing his eyes furiously, he went back to grooming his whiskers before adding, “Fivelina and the children must be so worried…” Tears sparkled in his eyes.

Now, mind you, even respectable mouse-gentlemen don’t have cell phones or any phones for that matter. We take a lot for granted, don’t we?

“Try not to fret now…” I reassured. “Fivelina has been through hard times before, she’ll get past this one too… and after all, you are safe now, and you’ll be going home tomorrow. By the way, do you want to tell me how you got into this predicament?” I queried.
“Ohhh Ma’am… it’s very complicated. I’m so embarrassed. I’m not sure how to say it…”
More tomorrow…