- 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. After twenty years of travel, I returned to the abondoned homestead. Now I live and work in the Ozarks and visit the mountain often. These are stories about the Ozark Wilderness written from a women deeply influenced by this special place.
Monday, July 22, 2013
It was not a perfect day for an outing, but we woke yesterday itching for open skies, clear waters, and fresh air. The lake became our destination. We would work on teaching our older son to swim and the water wouldn't be too cold for the baby.
The weather was indecisive. In the morning, while making plans, it was sunny and hot. But by the time we had packed up the car with kids, swimming accessories, and lunch, it was rainy and cool. When we stopped for gas, I checked the radar. It looked like the lake to the north of us was getting pounded by thunderstorms while the rivers to the south was missing the showers. As we took off again, we changed our direction and headed south, to the river.
We stopped in the little town of West Fork where the city park that borders the river was usually hopping, especially on a Sunday afternoon in July! But the rain had chased everyone away. The park was deserted and the serene river was all ours.
We ate lunch and walked to the water's edge in the rain. He rain ranged between a sprinkle and a light shower but it never reached a storm. The summer showers defused the heat of the day. I can not imagine a more perfect drizzly afternoon. And in all its perfection, it had kept the crowds at bay. So many people were looking out their windows and canceling plans. Perhaps they had not even left thier air conditioned homes to feel the warm water and cool breeze against their skin. Many of them would not give a day such as this a chance.
We swam but the water was fairly cold. So we changed our main focus to fishing. John rigged Zane up with a perfect beginner fishing bait and hook. He put a bass crank bait fishing lure on his child sized pole. The bait had two three pronged hooks on each end of a small plastic fish. Though is was designed to snag a big bass, the individual tiny hooks were the perfect size to catch the small perch that filled the pool. With a worm on the end of the line, John taught Zane to fish.
It only took a few castes before Zane caught his first fish. John beamed with pride as Zane held up the tiny perch. Or course we let the fish go and continued fishing. Pulling the perch out of the water was easy and fun. Zane learned how to fish and got a thrill each time they were able to real in a floppy fish. The perch did not seem small to my son.
As the day warmed and the sky cleared, people joins us at the park. A group of brothers playing along the river bed witnessed Zane catch a fish. Their eyes begged for a turn. So John taught them all how to fish. They boys were thrilled to give fishing a try.
As the sun sunk low, thunderheads returned and the people emptied out of the park again. But we stayed until our growling stomachs told us to go home. I grilled up some salmon for dinner. Even though we had let every catch go free, fish seemed like the most appropriate meal.
No. It was not a perfect day for an outing. But sometimes those are the best days!
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
|Squash Bug Nymphs|
In the garden (unlike the jungle) the herbivores are your enemies and the carnivores are your friends.
The cute little inch worm caterpillar, inching along the leaf , will devastate your garden but the wasp, who you so desperately wanted to die, is actually in the garden to eat that inch worm. The wasp is a friend to the garden. Spiders building webs among the rows of peas are welcome. While the lovely white butterfly frolicking from cabbage plant to broccoli plant is laying eggs which will hatch into hungry caterpillars.
This year I tended the garden with vigor. I spent evenings picking caterpillars and eggs off cabbage and broccoli leaves. The red wasps and I learned to avoid each other directly. We were after the same insect and there were plenty for both of us. But alas, I hardly got a single cabbage from the patch.
Now I am checking the under side of zucchini leaves for squash bug eggs and squishing every squash bug I see. It is brutal. My hands are stained green and brown with insect blood. The stench of dead and crushed exoskeletons haunts me. I do not enjoy it. But it must be done if I want to feed my family. Distance helps the process. I have begun using an organic spray. I mix three tablespoons of dish soap into a gallon of water. I put the water in a spray bottle and attack the plants. The dish soap and water solution kills aphids and squash bugs. But what else does it kill? The spray is to be used sparingly, with caution. (To learn more about this natural insecticide visit my blog A Simply Natural Home.)
I picked the first tomato of the season a few days ago. I pick tomatoes as they begin to turn yellow and pink. I find that if I wait until they are red, something will have already taken the first bite. I let the tomato ripen in the fruit basket on the kitchen table. Today I picked it up to find a small hole in the top of the tomato. I looked down inside and saw a green caterpillar, eating away. I showed my son the tomato and my husband took some pictures (I will add them later). We passed the tomato back and forth as the caterpillar poked his head out and then retreated back inside to eat some more. My three year old was delighted by this game of peek-a-boo. I opened the tomato carefully and examined the home that caterpillar had made inside the fruit I had grown.
My husband took the caterpillar out of the tomato and laid it on the table. The tiny creature looked afraid, alone, and helpless, stranded on a vast empty table.
Somehow, in this context, I could not kill him. I claimed the good parts of the tomato. I cut off the spots that were half eaten and threw the pieces as well as the caterpillar into the compost. I dumped the compost in the pile. The caterpillar might survive, he might not. My husband exclaimed, "Kill the thief!" And I had to agree, he was a thief, but just a hungry one trying to eat what he believe were simply the free fruits of the earth. He did not know it was MY garden. So I could not bring myself to kill him. Not after seeing him so helpless on my table. Not after he played peek-a-boo with my son. I just kept thinking of the lovely butterfly the caterpillar would become if I let him live.
|Young Praying Mantis|