Deadly Nightshade berries are one of the prettiest things about autumn. It’s a shame they’re poisonous – these look so delicious.
Category: flora and fauna
The Greening of Queen Street
The lifespan of the average street tree is a mere 10 years. Those spindly things sticking up out of 3-foot square gaps in the sidewalk never have a chance. They’re not watered regularly, and so much of their root system is covered by sidewalk, it wouldn’t matter if they were. Add to that the indignities of bicycle locks, overzealous posterers and every dog that passes by and it’s no wonder the trees along Toronto’s major arteries look as if Charlie Brown is in charge of their care.
Except that a few folks along a stretch of Queen Street West have taken matters into their own hands. By pulling up the cobblestone or metal grates that usually surround a street tree and planting other greenery, such as herbs, and even rosebushes, then adding a rustic bit of fencing and a big ol’ stump for sitting on, these trees between Euclid and Claremont Street are having a fine summer.
House Mouse
We moved into an apartment building totally paranoid about sharing our space with the usual suspects – that is, roaches and bed bugs. We have neither. What we do have is an ongoing gnawing inside the wall under the windowsill in our office, and the occasional sighting of small grey mice in our kitchen.
Having come from an old turn-of-the-century house, we were accustomed to mice. And roaches and one particularly bad infestation of moths. So Mr. Mouse and his family aren’t finding much to eat in my kitchen where food is always stored in containers and never left out.
Before Spook died of cancer in March, the two cats would do regular kitchen stake-outs, and would catch the occasional mouse. One night Bowie joined in and proved that dogs are actually better mousers than cats. But since then, our remaining cat Mollie hasn’t had much interest.
June Peonies
I had this great plan that I was going to take my camera everywhere this spring and record the progress of winter into summer. The best laid plans and all that, and I seem to have missed lilacs, apple blossoms, tulips, those trees whose name I don’t know but which produce a gazillion tiny little white flowers that smell like yum, and chestnut blossoms. Oh, and the wild roses that always send me hurtling back in time to my grandmother’s house when I was little and the hedge of wild roses that surrounded her front yard.
I did manage to snag a bouquet of peonies though, and kept them on my desk where I could enjoy them all day. They are such a perfect flower for the end of June, all froofy and frothy and pink like prom dresses and wedding gowns.
Despite the only a bit of hot weather so far (a bonus for me – I hate the heat), here it is already, the first day of summer. Longest day of the year. Now we head back in the other direction towards fall. Maybe not just yet -there’s still many more summer flowers to enjoy a while longer.
Last One in is a Rotten Egg
I sort of wish I had used the video function for this. This is a huge puddle created by a blocked storm drain on a side street off Queen Street West. It doesn’t seem warm enough for bathing, but these pigeons didn’t seem to care. The funniest was when they’d all flutter their wings and duck their heads in the water in unison. Unfortunately the water had a greasy mucky crust on the top, so nobody here was actually getting clean. But it sure looks like fun.
Scrambled Eggs
The coo of a mourning dove is very distinctive. Likewise the whistling noise their wings make as they fly. The two sounds alerted me to some mourning dove action in the pine trees outside our apartment window last week and I was delighted when it appeared a pair of them were building a nest.
At first they only worked half days, appearing in the morning, back and forth with twigs and branches. Eventually the hen settled in while the male did the work; she waited patiently for hours at a time for him to return.
Earlier this week she took up full nesting behaviour, and settled into her spot for the long haul. They had chosen a lowish branch about 15 feet outside the kitchen window that seemed to accommodate the nest, and also gave me a good view of the proceedings. I named them Irma and Irving and found myself checking on them regularly.
The Sweet Spot
Unlike most of Toronto, I’ve not been overly bothered by our cold, snowy winter. Also unlike most of Toronto, I’m out in the cold four or five times a day at least, which is what happens when you replace children in your life with two large drooling, fur-covered beasts. The huge gritty snowbanks can sometimes be an obstacle, and I will curse and wave my fist in the air with a zeal unknown to all but the emotionally disturbed upon encountering an uncleared sidewalk (shovel your snow, cocksuckers!), but the fresh cold air is bracing, the exercise imperative (for me and the dogs), and getting out of the house is a nice break in what can sometimes be a monotonous day.
Which is not to say that the experience is pleasant.
I try not to complain too much because I think of the other extreme. When the cold wind whips my cheeks to a scarlet red, and that little area above my eyebrows and just below the edge of my hat starts to go numb, I think of August. I look around me on the streets and remember the parched brown lawns, and the feel of sweat trickling down between my shoulder blades as I gasp for breath in the polluted Toronto air. I replace the shriek of wind in the trees with the eerie drill of cicadas. The energy to push on against the cold takes me back to the days when it felt too hot to put one foot in front of the other.
Whitey McRedeyes
For many years, there were no known photos of the albino squirrel(s) that live in Trinity-Bellwoods Park. At one point (1998-ish) there were at least three, although in recent years, consensus seems to be that there’s only one remaining, and the critter has gained almost mythical status, despite the fact that it’s now much-photographed. Someone even created a Facebook profile for the albino squirrel, dubbing her Whitey McRedeyes (Not sure how they know Whitey is a girl, but we’ll take their word for it.).
Incredibly used to people, the squirrels in the park seem almost bored at having their photos taken, Whitey in particular. Given the delay of the digital camera, I have a few of Whitey’s tail as she grew bored and wandered away before the shot was done, but these two prove that she does indeed exist. The theory that she brings good luck is probably mine alone.
Fir Bombs
It’s a freakish 12′C in Toronto today. Warmer than San Francisco and Las Vegas, the weatherman says. It’s also about 90% humidity.
All over the neighbourhood, people are throwing out their Christmas trees. They’re tossed onto lawns and sidewalks and driveways awaiting pickup later this week where they’ll be ground into mulch.
The warm humid air is filling the streets with little pockets of Christmas tree smell – pungent pine, sweet spruce, the subtle yet almost minty aroma of fir. Every couple of houses, I’ll get another blast of fragrance, usually smelling the discarded trees before I even see them if they blend into the front yard landscaping. It’s an odd experience; usually at this time of year, everything is frozen.
I can’t decide whether it’s energizing or ever so melancholy.
Cat Food Bandits
There is a house that we pass every morning when walking the dogs. It is a lovely Edwardian, just half a block from a park. The windows are stained glass, the garden is expertly arranged with flowers all in shades of blue and purple or white. Along the sidewalk, someone has embedded a mosiac in the concrete, all bits of old plates and cups and fishbowl stones, also in shades of blue and purple.
A house like this wouldn’t be complete without a cat on the front porch and this place normally has at least two or three. That’s because the folks who like here regularly leave a dish of cat food out, either at the top or the bottom of the stairs to the porch.
Of course, cat food isn’t just attractive to cats, and in a city with an extraordinary amount of urban wildlife, other visitors often stop by for a snack. Continue reading “Cat Food Bandits”