- Roslyn Imrie
- I am a mother, a teacher, and a nature lover. I grew up on a mountain we called Owls' Knob in the Ozarks of Arkansas. The first seven years of my life were spent living in a log cabin, far from a store or streetlight, without electricity or running water and after twenty years of travel, I returned to the abondoned homestead. Now I live on a hill by a small lake and work at a public garden. These are stories about nature written from a women deeply influenced by place.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Today I watched the rain and listened to the radio while sipping coffee. I looked out at the water coming off the mountain, how it could not be absorbed by the dusty soil, how it pool and made mud. I watched chirping birds fluff their feathers and sing to the clouds. The surviving patches of greenery—the ivy, lambs ear, and iris leaves—glowed with joy. The forest, rivers, and fields welcome the rain.
The weather man announced that there was a chance of rain in the morning, but not to worry, it would soon stop. The DJ commented on the precipitation as well, calling the much needed water “dreary weather.” He too wished the rain would go away.
All I could think about was the disconnection. People, like the DJ or even the weather man, who lived in the city saw precipitation as nothing more than an inconvenience. Hadn’t they heard about failing crops? Had they not seen the arid soil in the medium of the highway? Did they ever look over a bridge into the dry riverbed and wonder what filled it with water each spring?
No. They were oblivious to the drought. The fact that it had not rained more than an tenth of an inch in the past three months did not bother them. The dry weather was nice weather. Rain, by definition, is always bad weather.
I love the rain, the mist lying low over the hills, and the sounds of the forest when the drought is finally broken. I pray that when you stop to smell the roses, you will appreciate the rain that makes it all possible.
Posted by Roslyn Imrie at 8:58 AM
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Today long awaited water fell from the sky. It formed ice on the pale leaves still clinging to the beech and maple trees. While walking along the road, I saw the ice forming before my eyes. It reminded me of the ice storm of 2009; when frozen shields cocooned every twig on every tree until they bent and broke. It had looked like God came out of the sky with a whim-wham and mowed the forest.
But as the icicles dripped, I signed. Darkness brought more rain but there is talk of snow.
Still, I am dreaming of a white Christmas.
Posted by Roslyn Imrie at 9:56 PM
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
It is the solstice, the shortest day of the year, in which darkness rules. I stayed up until four in the morning to watch the total lunar eclipse. I wanted a glimpse of light emerging and retreating in a tangible moment, during these dark times. But the sky was blacked out with think clouds and fog. Staring up into the murky darkness, I was reminded how nature only reveals what it wishes, everything else if left a mystery.
|Taken as the moon emerged...|
Posted by Roslyn Imrie at 1:44 AM
Friday, December 17, 2010
|The Arkansas River outside Little Rock|
Posted by Roslyn Imrie at 8:00 PM
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
For the past year I have been writing a book called Owls' Knob. It consists of stories from my childhood growing up in a log cabin on an Ozark Mountain and recent experiences as an adult returning to my childhood home. While writing this book I took care of a baby, trained a puppy, fixed up an abandoned home, traveled, attended college, and still lived my life. All of this in the past year no less! Yesterday I did the final edits. The book is complete; perhaps not done, but it is all there, rewritten and edited. As I finished editing the final chapters, I dreamed of doing anything but writing. So I am proud to announce the finalization of my book, while excusing myself for not writing on this blog more in the past two weeks. Right now I just want to soak up the silence of a wet winter night.
Posted by Roslyn Imrie at 7:54 PM
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
The last few nights have been cold enough to freeze the pond solid.
Ice started collecting around the reeds and rushes along the shore. Every night frost encircled the dull greenery. But as the sheet grew, the same plants that attracted the ice also conducted the daytime sun, melting only circles along the shore. The orbs and crescents froze hard each night and melted each day while a thin layer covered the entire body. The fluctuation surrounding the vegetation created frosty patterns that adorned the perimeter.
Posted by Roslyn Imrie at 10:17 PM
Friday, December 3, 2010
For days, robins frantically flocked through the yard just after dawn. They fought over the crimson dogwood clusters and bright red honeysuckle berries. From tree tops they chirped like arguing in-laws. With their red breast proudly held high, they hopped through the yard. But the smallest noise startled them into the sky, flapping their wings laboriously. They fly with little grace, too heavy for buoyancy. In the afternoon, once they had calmed and found places to perch, the yard felt empty. I walked to my car to find that they had been sitting in the oak tree above it for hours. Red juices dotted with hard seeds poke-a-dotted my Honda's white paint. A simple rinse would not remove the bird droppings, so for many more days that shit reminded me of the robins.
Posted by Roslyn Imrie at 8:51 PM