Black and Blue Jam

I got this bug about two months ago, that my grandchildren and friends enjoy the bounty of wild blueberry jam. So every couple of days, on my daily walk (now accompanied by Slaty dragonflies), I bring a container with me, so I can bring them home. My friend, Jean, who has lived in the area all her life said that once this was a thriving blueberry and citrus district. I can understand the blueberries, but not the citrus. There are some beautiful blueberry bushes in the area I walk, which surely are remnants of the farms long gone. The fruits are large and sweet. Funny thing about the wild ones. The blueberries are tiny, or maybe through cross pollination have become other varieties, because even the leaves are different. And they ripen at different times, too. I have blueberries springing up all over my yard, and because the birds love them, I'm leaving them, or moving them around. They're good for the birds. (And grandchildren.)

I interviewed a man for a magazine article who was the head of the US Bird Banding Laboratory in MD. He lives up the highway. George. He is the consummate birder, and that was his recommendation to me. Let them grow where they are or plant more; the birds will come.

So as I'm plucking from a 10-foot blueberry in Jean's yard, I am serenaded by a mockingbird each time, who no doubt has a nest among the trees and shrubs that grow down one side of her yard and is the boundary between her property and the road. Everytime I go to pick berries, I am treated to a burst of song. Talk about guilt! So I leave behind plenty for the birds and pick only as far as I can reach. The rest is for them.

Last night at about 6:30, the long eared owl started calling. There is a pair that lives around here. I thought it was early, but it had rained, and maybe it was hungry. They wake me at night with their conversations. I wrote a poem about them once, when my little Baggy still had her hearing. I'll stick it here at the end.

Walking up the circle to home with my blueberries and blackberries tucked into the bottom of my shirt, the frogs started singing. It was 6:37 p.m. That's when they tune up - at approximately the same time every night, in every season. After about five minutes the swamp gets silent again. At dark, they begin their nightly chorus for real.

So, since there are buckets of blue- and blackberries to pick as they ripen, I will continue to fill up my plastic freezer bags. I'm working on the fourth quart. I thought it would be fun to combine both blueberries and blackberries - for the medicinal oral treatment of bruised knees and toe bunkers. It's summertime after all, and time for rowdy play for my two year-old Ryan and Alexis who is four.

Here's how: http://www.pickyourown.org/blueberryjam.htm

Laughing at the Moon

by

May Lattanzio

Twelve years passing.

Baggy asleep on my pillow wakes me growlng.

As blindness crept across her eyes, her hearing

took over.

She detests that insolent owl; yodeling, barking, tittering

owl-howling, doing stand-up comedy, practicing

in the dark,

All alone, sitting on a branch somewhere in the

yard.

Master of disguise. A secret belied by owl-joking, having

a hoot at Baggy’s expense.

Out there in the night, waiting for rats and flying squirrels

To capture on silent wings.

Steaming dinners, fresh caught, fuel the comic,

fuel the hunter.

I saw it once, statue still in a dead tree high over the corral.

Got the flashlight.

Long-eared owl, there you are,

staring back at me in the ink of a new moon.

Summer passed, so did autumn.

Now it is January. Cold. Where are your rats?

The dogs think they are

in the shed, eating grain. Silent flyer -

What do your great golden eyes see?

Full moon glowing through leafless trees.

I hear you telling jokes.

They’re wasted on the dogs, except for Baggy sniffing air.

But not on me.

Break a leg. You’ve practiced long enough,

You’ve got the routine down. It’s showtime!

I hear something different tonight in the fog.

Someone’s answering you close by.

A lady owl’s laughter right on cue.

You’ve got her attention. Now you’re both owl-laughing.

Lucky you.

Now there are two.

(my apologies for the loss in formatting)