Table for One. And another Table for One.
A while back I wrote about Ophelia and Arabeth.
Well, they’re back at it again.
This time Ophelia came to dine first.
Arabeth, you’ll note, is hesitant.
Which is why we set a separate table for her a little further back.
Good host and hostess, we.
Not peace at all costs, more like peace if it’s an obtainable solution.
But truth is, we’ve never had squabbles in our backyard.
Okay, once when some foolish chipmunk decided to have a go at Agnes’s seeds (hence the Chippie War Dance).
But such things are rare.
If only Two-Legs got along as well.
It’s good to go to bed with a happy tummy
Several northeast North American aboriginal myths deal with WinterMan, a hunter who follows the seasonal migrations of game herds.
One myth that I’m particularly fond of deals with the first and last snows of a season; the first snow is WinterMan following the herds south, the last snow is WinterMan following the herds north.
You can tell what kind of weather is coming based on the tracks WinterMan leaves. Heavy first snow indicates a long, wet winter, light snow indicates a cold, dry winter. Heavy last snow indicates good planting and harvests, light last snow indicates a dry, hot summer.
So far WinterMan has been dead on.
WinterMan’s arrows, spears, axe, and what-not are the cold, lack of food, lack of shelter, things like that. Stories tell of WinterMan gathering people in his warm embrace, probably because hypothermia causes delusions and death comes in sleep.
Stories also tell of WinterMan caring for those in The Wild.
Case in point, Opalina. This is her first winter. She came out for dinner shortly after WinterMan passed through.
Okay, we provided the food.
But only because WinterMan suggested it.
Come get your numnums, kids
Ah, the holidays.
A time when families gather.
Or at least Hecate’s family gathers.
It’s been a while since we’ve seen the whole family together.
Cause for celebration, this. There are idiots…I mean, hunters…in the woods. The Old Ones come nightly for shelter. When we don’t see one for a while, we wonder.
The Ways of The Wild are not our ways. If we are to survive, we must adapt, not they. They evolve along ancient patterns and lines.
Not so us. If we still evolve, it is to strengthen our thumbs for TXTing, perhaps.
But here, all are safe.
Would that that be the case for all souls this holiday.
That is our wish.
And even though some are hunted, The Old Ones tell us it is their wish for us, as well.
Hey, buddy! I’m eatin’ here!
A short piece at the end of a long week.
It’s been quite busy here. Coyote are coming by nightly. This upsets some, especially our dog, Boo, as by gosh, don’t they know that’s his backyard they’re in?
Wisely, the coyote are fleet, nimble, and cautious.
Hence this short piece, Mr. Thackbody Dines.
Child-Rearing in The Wild
They grow. They make friends. They borrow the car keys, see you later can I have them, please?
Child-rearing in The Wild is fascinating. Whichever parent takes on the task will defend their children to the death. But once a child is old enough to fend for itself? It’s a competitor for whatever resources are available.
If there’s enough, child and parent tolerate each other. If not, somebody eats, somebody goes hungry.
There are exceptions, of course. Socially gregarious animals – those who live in herds or packs or communities of some kind – care for each other throughout their lives. If you ever want your heart ripped from you, watch a mother elephant stay with her dying calf until it passes.
I’m crying just with the memories.
Here we had siblings gather for dinner. No mom around. Perhaps, raccoons being how they are, she was glad to have the den to herself.