by
Jean Hughes
June 26, 1995
This week I've enjoyed the little things that fill my days. I've walked barefoot in the creek, had honeysuckle perfume sock me in the nose and listened to the cornstalks grow. And I have learned to whistle and hum at the same time, like a yellow-breasted chat.
I think most boys, as they grow up, practice that kind of thing, but growing up as a girl, I had no desire to be a whistle-hummer. Now, I have grown back into the joys of childhood, and I have tried and tried until I learned to whistle and hum at the same time. When I first acquired this skill, I was afraid to stop. I feared I wouldn't be able to start again. I whistle-hummed every old song I knew.
A community howl-in, under a full June moon, would free many a weary heart. Government red tape and waste, kids who slam doors and won't put the cap on the toothpaste -- nothing can stand up against a good howl. I know. Owl and coyote music are my specialties. I love to hoot and howl. I give lessons to kids, and to those who are kids at heart.
My shining hour was when I was walking one evening, in the twilight. I began to hoot like a barred owl. Two owls joined me and then a coyote. I sang in this wild quartet, hooting and howling at will. If you do not think that was fun, consider yourself completely tamed.
I am walking a trail especially to see the wild hyacinths in bloom. I am not disappointed. They sway in the breeze like foam above the denseness of a green-leaf sea. Bumblebees hover near, and gnats bring all their friends to hang around me, but I pay them no mind.
The wild ones come so close to me that I am a constant witness to the precarious life of nature's wild creatures, especially her babies. The babies have such innocent eyes, and for many of them, life is short. They get no more than a peek at the sun and then they are gone. But every speck of life is dear and important. It is all my kin.
I walk on the path behind the barn to the rose bower. I have never seen the full moon and the roses in full bloom at the same time.
It is still; it is so still here in the pasture. The roses along the hillside are a hallowed moon-white. Far back in the hollows, a mist from the heat of the day pales the cascades of bloom. Fireflies glitter and glow over, under and around the bushes.
I have seen snow, and autumn leaves, and summer flowers, moonlit, but never this melange of beauty -- rose blossoms and fireflies, and moonshine wooing a quiet night, a gentle night in June.
Jean's book of ramblings and recipes "A Country Mile of Winter" and her book of poetry "The Earth's My Home" are available for $4.95 each plus $1.30 for postage and handling. Her nature letter "Diary of a Back Yard Naturalist", published 5 times yearly, is available for $12.50 per year. Ten of Jean's favorite recipes will be included free with each book or nature letter ordered. Order from...
Country Mile Publications
This is a family recipe that has been passed down through at least five generations of cooks.
Peel, quarter and place in a skillet: 6 apples.
Add: 1 cup sugar, 2 cups boiling water and 2 T. cinnamon red hots.
Cook, slowly, until apples are tender.
Remove apples to a shallow serving dish.
To the hot syrup, add: 1 t. Knox gelatin dissolved in 1/4 cup water,
1/4 t. salt and 2 T. lemon juice.
Pour syrup over apples, cover and refrigerate.
In my yard, a great-crested flycatcher flies onto a tree limb, and then floats down and lands a few feet from me. He moves slowly, showing me his feather-yellow breast. No picture, no binoculars can catch the softness of this living creature. It is only with the human eye that the full essence of natural beauty can be captured.
Copyright 1995, Jean Hughes.
616 E. Monroe St.
Delphi, Indiana 46923
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