I posted an image this summer of queen anne’s lace in all its expansive summer glory.  then i laid the stems on a table in my basement and forgot all about them until this week, when, rummaging for holiday decorations, i discovered a little bit of july preserved on stalks that were still green. green enough, anyway, to remind me that tonight’s -10° F temperatures are only temporary.

dried queen anne’s lace (wild carrot)

saint paul, minnesota

there’s nothing like colorful stones when you’re a ten year old boy. there is a story behind each one of these, and i know because i’ve heard them all several times. some are longer than others. some are more likely to be true than others. if one ever wanted to understand the origins of the tall-tale tradition in american storytelling, one would need only listen to a 10 year old boy with a story to tell, who knows he has the floor.

collection of rocks and semi-precious stones

from beaches and museum gift shops across north america and europe

planted a year ago in a terrarium that has since mostly been neglected, this agave (i think that’s what it is) appears to have spent the year offering a green, placid face to the world, while secretly rooting around with an exploratory finger, trying to find a way to escape.

agave (?)

from a terrarium in my living room, via a greenhouse in saint paul on a winter day when my kids were so bored we needed to find something for them to do, including, if necessary, planting a succulent garden in a terrarium.

we don’t grow holly here in lake wobegon, but if we did, it would look something like this. pretty but not too pretty. no aggressively thorny leaves. no showy red berries. above average, pretty much. ya know?

oak leaves and buckthorn berries from beside my son’s school

saint paul, minnesota

we find ourselves hoping that the former occupants of this nest fled successfully, like good minnesotans, to the gulf of mexico for the winter. we would not like to think that they fled, unsuccessfully, from the barred owl that left behind such an ominous looking feather in the branches above their nest.

on the other hand, we may never see those nestlings again, even if they are still alive and currently making a racket in a mangrove somewhere near fort myers. we will, however, have the comfort of the barred owl’s call in our woods all winter long. so who knows? maybe we won’t take sides in this particular dispute.

snow-filled bird’s nest (robin?)

beside my driveway, saint paul, mn