The Daily: 28 February 2024

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Sophie Blackall has very interesting hobbies… This isn’t anything so banal as dyeing eggs in spring pastels. Nor is it as extravagant as a Faberge confection. Nope, Sophie literally draws on eggs. Faces. Animals. Flowers. Abstract patterns. Mostly in monochrome charcoal or soy ink. The effect is charming! I confess that I’ve become addicted to this little joy. I dig out my pencils and doodle large-nosed imps on my breakfast. Makes cracking them open all the more fun!

It is getting close to time for fresh eggs. The birds in my backyard are certainly becoming more noisy, typical of breeding season. And there are no female cardinals at the feeders. So there are eggs coming.

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Wednesday Word

for 28 February 2024

hunger

The Hunger Moon is past full this week. This means that we’re sliding down to the first of the spring moons, the Sap Moon. We know that hunger will not persist much longer. Soon there will be sugar.

Here in Vermont, the weather is so odd that several farms already started boiling in February, many weeks before the usual season. The sugar from these boils will probably be more of the light and sweet syrups that come from a cold spring. Last year, it was cold for months, and this was about all that we got. Sap doesn’t flow as freely when it is close to freezing all day and bitterly cold at night, and so the syrup that comes from this weak flow is not voluminous — but it is very tasty. In fact, I’ve heard that producers can charge so much more for this pale golden nectar that there is little loss in income even though there is much less sold. Makes sense that those who could fill their evaporators this early would want to do just that.

I haven’t tapped my trees yet. I want to wait until I have an evaporator — which might have to wait until after I fix some more pressing things (like the damp basement and the ice rink garage, among other fun issues). So I am hungering in other ways. I even sat down with a loan calculator to see if I could afford to move up these projects. (Probably… but I need to finish paying off the two credit cards that got full-ish when I moved up here on my own.) It is hard to wait when you have to live with serious dysfunction in the last third of your lifespan. There are more considerations than just cost in those equations. (Such as “how long can I expect to enjoy these changes” or “if put off, what is the likelihood that I won’t get there before this body gives out”…)

But I have to wait. I suppose I’ll work up enough of an appetite to make the end all the more satisfying. Much like spring. The longer you endure the ice and slush, the more likely that a single flower will send you into ecstasy when it comes.

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If you choose to wax rhapsodic about hunger and any of its implications or associations, you can respond in the comments below or go visit the All Poetry contest for February. Your response can be anything made from words. I love poetry, but anything can be poetic and you needn’t even be limited to poetics. An observation, a story, a thought. Might even be an image — however, I am not a visual person, so it has to work harder to convey meaning. In the spirit of word prompts, it’s best if you use the word; but I’m not even a stickler about that. Especially if you can convey the meaning without ever touching the word.

If you have nothing to say, that’s fine. But if you’ve read this far, then I’ve made you think about… hunger.

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©Elizabeth Anker 2024