MOTHER NATURE: Grass? But, it’s so boring. It’s not colorful. It doesn’t attract butterflies, birds and bees; only grubs and sod worms. It’s sensitive to temperatures. Do these Suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?
FRANK: Apparently so. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn.
MOTHER NATURE: The spring rains and warm weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy.
FRANK: Apparently not. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it-sometimes twice a week.
“After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.”
PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID ~BUT~ THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.
The kindness of strangers…and the Value of Trust. I recently had problems with my blog. I couldn’t get access to the admin page, which meant I couldn’t add posts or do anything else. I asked for help on the WordPress forum, but the advice given didn’t help until one fellow offered his help if I gave him my password. Would you do it?
When invited to my first pot luck after moving from the city, I asked, “What should I bring?” “Whatever,” was the answer. “No,” I said, “I mean appetizer, main course, salad, dessert?” I really didn’t understand. And there’s another pot luck in the Gore’s Landing Hall tonight — everybody’s invited — really! Just show up with your contribution, dig in and enjoy!
A man with a violin playing Bach on a cold January morning. Thousands of people hurrying past, most on their way to work. Children hang back, trying to see and hear. In total, six people stopped and listened to the musician for a short while. About 20 gave money but continued to walk at their normal pace. The man collected a total of $32. When he finished playing, silence took over. No one noticed and no one applauded. There was no recognition at all.
What does it mean?
I’ve had an ongoing challenge with myself to see how low my electric bill can go and how long I can make a tank of heating oil last and how long I can go without filling the car’s gas tank.
We don’t all need to own every tool for a small job, we aren’t all experts or experienced at everything, and a barter/borrow group would be another great way to bring community together. It should be simple, money-saving and time-saving. I tried a few years ago. With great excitement, I got as far as listing all the tools/equipment/talents I could offer. I showed my list and explained the idea to one neighbour, who said “Great idea, but I doubt if anybody would sign on.”
I was asked today to write a 200-word definition of eco-artisan. This is what I came up with. Do you agree or can you add something? If you delve a couple of hundred years into human history to see how people lived, you’ll find that almost everybody was an eco-artisan. It was natural to grow and make the things that you used every day.
When I bought this 155-year-old house in 1998 there was a wood stove in the back corner of the keeping room (old time all-purpose room). I was thrilled just imagining the cozy warmth during our long, cold winters. The biggest concern of somebody like me who lives very frugally, is feeding the stove. My house is on a village lot (only 1/4 acre), so no woodlot. Over the years, I’ve purchased many cords of cut and split wood from different people. The best source of firewood, and it’s free, is to find it throughout the year — fallen trees or branches, prunings, etc.
Fast forward eight years and a move from Toronto to the tiny hamlet of Gore’s Landing…I was working at Hospice Northumberland and the day of Hospice’s 2005 AGM was Maggie’s last day in this realm. I won’t go into details. I was devastated. I would never become attached to another dog — never, ever! …As I was opening the door to leave the pound, there was a blood-curdling howl. Naturally, I turned around and headed straight back for the cage that housed the hound.
