The Missing Milkweeds

 So how's this for a bit of irony.

In trying out a camera I figured I'd attempt to get some closeups of the milkweeds at the end of my driveway. I love that plant. It's so full of textures: the plump velvety leaves, the sticky milky sap, the rubbery pink flower clusters of spring; the knobbly green pods, the black-and-orange beetles and monarch caterpillars that snack on it in summer; the soft downy fluff that flies from the dried papery pods in fall. So anyway, I got some okay shots, which you can see here. I figured I could see how they turned out and if they were dreck I could go back later to take some more. So here's where the irony comes in.

It's a good thing I took a picture of those milkweed pods because now they're missing! The photos are all I've got left.

On (Canadian) Thanksgiving Sunday I drove out my driveway only to find a car parked crosswise at the end blocking my exit. Some guy was fingering a small pine tree growing at the side of my driveway and his apparent wife or female companion was bagging up the milkweed pods!

I rolled down my window and asked them what they were doing. Alright it was obvious but I had to ask.

The woman laughed sheepishly and said she was just gathering the milkweeds. Yeah, like I said, that was obvious. I could see she'd gathered quite a few in her bag. I asked her to leave some for us thank you. Meanwhile, the man had gone to his car and moved it so I could get out of my own driveway. I wasn't moving. Not till they left. Nope. Not budging.

The woman continued to gather for a few more moments. I really was astounded. Then she got into their car and drove off. So now I hardly have any milkweeds left AT ALL! Like, maybe two or three pods (not plants) at the most. These ones in the photos? GONE!

I wouldn't have minded so much if she'd only taken a few and then driven on down the road and taken a few from another patch and so on and so on leaving no patch destitute. But she pretty much cleaned me out. So now while we wait for the school bus we have no ghostly patches of down to filter the rising morning sun, no fluffy parachutes to launch into the sky. Milkweeds were kind of a fall ritual for me and my kids.

Okay, rant over and now I feel better. It's a minor thing, I know. But sometimes it's the little things in life that get to you, you know? Little things—at once both little and hugely important. And it's the little things a writer adds to a character or to a setting that make for the best stories, I think. So go, and may you sow the seeds of your own milkweeds in your manuscripts.

The Poor Pine

Fall is such a spectacular time of year around here. You can't ignore the colour of the deciduous trees, and every warm day is like a gift as we count down to the coming constant cold of winter. I climbed the Dorset fire tower with my family this past Thanksgiving weekend. How can you not love a view like this?

(Dorset, Ontario at the Fire Tower)

The colour is past its peak but it's still a spectacular view. I usually focus on the colourful trees, but consider the plight of the pine. The poor pine gets overlooked this time of year. But what would the view be without the deep pine green to punctuate the colour? Maybe you've heard that pine trees don't lose their leaves? It's one of those "facts" that gets tossed around, but don't you believe it. It's not true.


Pine trees do lose their leaves, or rather their needles. It's just that most types don't lose them all at the same time so it's not as noticeable (but take the tamarack--it does lose its needles all at once). No spectacular reds or oranges on a pine to make for great pictures. Pine needles turn yellowish and then brown. You might not even really notice those needles.

Then the needles fall off the tree and collect on the ground. They don't make a satisfying crunch when you walk on them, but they do form a cushy carpet.

And if you want a lawn anywhere near a pine, you know the needles make as much of a mess when you rake them. So here's to the poor maligned pine, holding out for its moment to shine--the Holidays.

In the meantime, happy Fall to all!

The Carnival is Coming!

I'm happy to say I'll be hosting the Carnival of Children's Literature for October. Yes, a roundup of a month's worth of children's literature links from around the blogosphere--here! You don't want to miss it. Judging by the links to blog posts that are already starting to trickle in, this is going to be a lot of fun to put together and even more fun for you to read.

So be sure to stop in around October 30 or 31st for some spooktacular reading!

A Stormy Interlude

There was quite a bit of drama in the sky hereabouts last evening.

I tried to beat the storm home, but I lost. Ah well.

It was a challenging drive home. But once home

The girls and I raced
to cross the space
from door to door
Drenched
by downpour
laughing
enjoying ourselves
thoroughly

Or something like that anyway.

Still Slacking into September

I've been AWOL! How did that happen?

A story to illustrate the state of the union chez moi. The kids came home from one of the first few days of school last week with this story. Paraphrasing:

"Mommy, the exhaust pipe fell off the bus this morning so we had to get on the high school bus and she turned the wrong way on the highway and then we had to do the last part of our route backwards."

Disclaimer: wrong way means not the way the route should go, not as in going south in the northbound lane, which sadly happens a few times a year around here.

What does that illustrate? It's like a metaphor for my writing life the last couple months!

Yep, my exhaust pipe fell off somewhere. What writing have I done recently? Ahem, nothing. Between volunteer jobs taking over my life, going to work very part time (more on that in another post), dealing with regular family maintenance, and stupid allergies that make me look and feel like I've had about 2 hours sleep--oh wait a second, sometimes that might be true--I haven't had an inch of head space for writing projects.

And now I feel guilty about that. 

You know all that writing advice that says stuff like just write? make it a priority? you've got to treat it like a job? do it everyday? writers write? just plant your heiney in a chair and get writing? Yeah, I hear it and it makes sense but when I just can't manage it I feel like a bit of a failure.

Sometimes your family has to come first. Sometimes they need to be fed. Sometimes they need you to help them put Barbie's hair in a ponytail. Sometimes you have to work to make money to pay the bills. Sometimes you have to step up to help with extra curricular activities your kids love or they won't be available. Sometimes you just have to catch a few moments enjoying the sunshine and your flowers and watch the vibrant green of summer turn to the mellow gold of fall or you'll go insane. 

But I'm trying to claw my way back to writing. Maybe now that the kids are back into a school routine I might have a bit more time to write some days. Maybe the volunteer duties will settle down for a bit. Maybe the first frost will come soon and kill all the nasal and sinus irritating pollen producing plants. 

My return to writing feels awkward and sporadic and like I'm coming at it all backwards right now. But maybe one day I'll find all this supposed distraction sowed some good seeds, gave me some fantastic fodder, for future writing. Or am I just kidding myself? 

Time will tell. But in the meantime, if you're a writer who sometimes feel like this, let's not beat ourselves up too much. Okay?

Anthology Appearance!

I have some book news! It's not a book written by me, but I do have a poem (my "Bedtime Teeth") appearing in a new poetry anthology. Yay!

Switching on the Moon is compiled by Jane Yolen and Andrew Fusek Peters, illustrated by G. Brian Karas. It's published by Candlewick Press and is out September 14th. And it just got a starred review in Publisher's Weekly.

I originally sold this poem to Babybug magazine. They published it in 2000, reprinted it in 2008, and now here it is in a book in 2010. It's definitely been to my advantage to sell only first North American publication rights and non exclusive reprint rights. It might seem like you'll never be able to resell a piece, but you never know.

And because you never know, it kinda keeps you going as a writer, don't you think?

Me and Iced Tea from Nancy D.

Every summer I keep a steady supply of iced tea in my fridge. I make it from a recipe I've had since I was, oh, 10 or something. It's straight from my copy of The Nancy Drew Cookbook: Clues to Good Cooking, copyright 1973, my edition printed in 1975.

I keep making this recipe because it's the best iced tea I've ever had. There's a secret ingredient in the tea: real mint leaves added while the tea is hot and steeping. The practical side of me likes the added benefit of making use of the mint that threatens to overrun a corner of my backyard.

The nostalgic side of me likes to pull out this recipe book because I get to remember what it was like to make this tea when I was young.

When making any recipe was a real accomplishment.
When I spent my summers reading in the shade on the patio swing.
When I built forts in the treeline with my best friend.
When my best friend and I climbed the old cherry trees in her yard and ate all the cherries we could reach.
When evenings were full of games of kick the can or ghost in the graveyard.
When summer stretched out in front of me like an endless expanse of possibility.

So I'm off now to make another batch of tea. You're welcome to join me.