It’s time to wish Forrest Fenn Happy Birthday again. He turns 87 in a few days. Just Wow!
A couple ways to thank him for the Thrill of the Chase? Go here.
Forrest Fenn wants to get kids off the couch and out of doors. What does this news say about our culture when “selfie stick” & “hashtag” replace words like “acorn” and “otter”? : (
Sharing this post from Lady Muir:
I was shocked to read the list of nature words removed from the Jr. Oxford Dictionary in the last decade. What follows are excerpts from an essay that explores the intersection between language and life.
A week and a half late but a perfect day for it.
(Inre: Warm waters/Putting In— I made a less than graceful re-entry after the picnic lunch. I need more practice.)
Monarch Butterfly Danaus plexippus Purple Coneflower 3008 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Monarchs everywhere lately!
(Okay. This is not about Forrest Fenn‘s book tour, but certain things just remind me of his backyard “pets”!)
Artist, photographer, poet, naturalist Susan Van Wassenhove illustrated her book of poetry by making 19 finely-detailed quilts. The book The Seldom-Ever-Shady Glades was inspired by her sojourn in Florida and is published by Boyds Mills Press.
Her next collection, poems and photos of butterflies….
The traveling quilts can be seen here:
Alma mater of—
Yes. Another frog. This little guy posed for me this morning while I was gathering wild blackberries.
(Courtesy note: no new Forrest Fenn/Thrill of the Chase Treasure Hunt clues in here. Just frogs and flutterbys….)
By the time I put the last batch through the juicer to take out the seeds on Tuesday, I ended up with only 9 half-pints of jam. Not enough for Christmas gifting and a year’s supply for us. Not a problem. There are plenty more out there.
Blackberry thorns are meaner than the wild raspberry’s, which ripen in June. So, I armored up, grabbed water, my phone, and my camera. Ready or not, I still missed a shot of the deer and fawn getting a drink. And darn it—the butterflies just won’t sit still for me.
I’ve seen several black and blue swallowtails, very large yellow butterflys, small ones, a tiny blue one, but only 3 monarchs fluttered by this year.
The monarchs are in some distress.
I’ve got plenty of milkweed plants for them (want some seeds?), but I heard they’re not making it past the Texas drought area. There are several generations per summer. The final generation flies all the way back to Mexico to winter in a particular area.
The bigger disaster for their population was 2 winters ago. I remember hearing that a hailstorm hit their winter haven and decimated the flock.
Another issue is the ubiquitous use of pesticides which don’t discriminate between life forms based on desirability. Don’t you wonder what they’re spraying up there? Fungicides, pesticides, herbicides, peoplecides. And why, if the biotech transgenetics are so wonderful?
About the berries. I don’t pick along the fencelines where the neighbors are raising corn and soybeans. So, yes. There are occasional bugs in the bucket. But, I’d rather remove them myself than pollute my food.
Still. I’m really not happy with the voracious Japanese beetles who moved into the neighborhood 3 summers ago. First it was the grapevines. Then the rosebush. This year the orchard. The bright side? The chickens come running when I shake them out of the trees.
Okay. I have mixed feelings about crossing Idaho off my top three TTOTC list, but that’s okay.
There’s so much to be done.
Count all the bees in the hive.
Pick another batch of berries.
The most beautiful birdsong is that of the meadowlark. I miss them. I’m a hundred plus miles distant from where I grew up. Even twenty-five miles away from the farm, and twenty years later, the song was not the same. It was truncated, not as sweet somehow.
I can’t imagine they’d make very good eating, but I won’t judge what hunger necessitates. (See the TTOTC book and One of These Things is Not Like the Other.)
Lewis and Clark, other early explorers, traders, and the emigrants that followed, even contemporary travelers, have found themselves in dire straights in cold mountains and hot deserts.
I know a woman who didn’t learn until she was nearing fifty that her father had spent a year in Stateville for stealing a chicken. Four kids to feed. Had lost a farm and home due to fire before the Depression hit. Even so.
She remembers at four or five overhearing adults discussing an eviction. One of them saying, “Well, I can’t kick them out in the cold.”
Summer always returns. Here we have Indigo buntings, hummingbirds, cardinals and vultures. Prairie flowers and butterflies galore. (At least, until the chemicals and transgenics get them.)
I’ve never known hunger. Not like that. And I hope our children never do. It’s so much nicer when they can enjoy and observe the “flutterbys”.
A Forrest Fenn treasure quest
The Thrill of the Chase
Searching For Forrest Fenn's Treasure
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Journeys Inspired by The Thrill of the Chase
The hunt for Forrest Fenn's hidden treasure.
"Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges." - Rudyard Kipling
The more we know the more we notice.
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