Saturday, August 19, 2006
Imagine a loon calling
...as you're sitting with a poet on the deck at a cabin, chatting about a new poem, your belly full after overindulging on the fantastic feast that poet had whipped up, which included that poet's own poet-grown zucchini and poet-grown tomatoes and for dessert, a fabulous chocolate cake. Needless to say, it was heavenly. Not only that, imagine a poet who proves to be an enthusiastic blueberry picker just like yourself. Yes, I'm happy to say this week marks the first time I've picked blueberries with a poet. We talked poetry. We covered a lot of ground as we picked.
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18 comments:
I have a loon in my pantalones... HELLOOOOOOO!
ha! But there's also an ant...
I missed the field trip! Sounds like you guys had a fab time. Poetry in the northern pine. I can almost hear the echo. No, sorry...that's just my teenage daughter and her gaggle of teenage friends, and it's not poetry, it's giggling. Lots and lots of giggling.
Turns out that "gaggle" is not a very poetic word, or at least not when they were squabbling down my throat...
Sorry, that was completely random. I was basically talking to myself. Tracy might remember that poem, but probably not.
Haha, no worries Rhett. The gaggle was even less poetic when it woke me up after 4 am! I was a bit looney to say yes to a sleepover...
That's funny. A few weeks back I had to close my window at about 1 am because a happy little gaggle had pitched a tent across the street and was keeping me awake. I woke at 4 and opened the window and they were still chatting and giggling. Good grief. When did I get this old?
Was it a birthday or 2 ago?
Ya. More like a few decades.
Getting back to the loon aspect of the post, I think the title is rather apt-- if you would've seen my effort (a lengthy hike up a few dense hills in open-toed sandals) to use the cell phone in the bush.
Not to mention the result of that effort, an entertaining series of calls that cut in and out and off. The few words that got through on this end sounded like they came from a robot.
Or were those the calls made by yonder tree prior to the climb?
From the nature of this conversation, I'm beginning to wonder whether that feast contained other poet-grown stuff... ;^)
Oh you are two wilderness women! That might be hard to read because I mean that seriously for Brenda and sarcastically for Tracy.
Those garbled, or perhaps gaggling, calls were made from the tree by the cabin.
Nope, Pete. This comes naturally. :)
Rhett, Rhett, Rhett. While scheming up a reply to you, I looked up "wild" in the OED and got distracted. I mean, "wildcraft" can be used as a verb, so I tried to figure out how I'd use it and then I came across "wild gardening." And then there's "wildling." Now that's a cool word.
Ah, the tree. The tree among trees.
This crowd might be a bit too... aged... but I wonder if anyone watched Shining Time Station there was a character named "Schemer" and he always had nasty tricks that were (tin-)foiled by the children. Oh good times with Thomas the Engine and Mr. Conductor with his whistle...
Anyways, Brenda = Schemer.
A bit too aged! Good grief. I should check my Best Before date.
The only train I remember from TV was the one that hit Wile E. Coyote.
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