02 April 2021

B is for Bees

 Bees. I began gardening in 2013.  During the course of researching plants I wanted to grow, I learned about the plight of bees and butterflies.  The Monarch butterflies. This research opened my eyes to a great many things missing or at least not as abundant as I remember from childhood. I haven’t seen as many bumble bees as I used to.  Course, I don’t live at the top of the hill anymore where there are lilac bushes planted way back when I was a child.  Perhaps even before then.  I wasn’t terribly interested in knowing exactly when they were planted.  

And there was more clover and other flowers growing around the village.  There were plum trees, hazelnut bushes, chokecherries. There were one or two gardens with fences around them. Most of these were filled with food plants.  

I came up with a list of plants I wanted in the garden and proceeded to plant them.  And wouldn’t you know it, no Bees.  Least not the kind I was expecting. 

First time I noticed that bees had mutated over the course of 40+ years.  A cousin was walking past and I asked him if that was a bumble bee.  He looked, “yeah” and we stared at each other. Reaffirmed what our eyes were telling us. These bees looked more like wasps than bumble bees.  

So I determined that I’d keep up with my garden just to make sure of the sight I’d seen, that changed bee. 


*edit I'd inadvertently put 1200 noon for publishing. So much for double checking.

01 April 2021

A is for Acceptance

#AtoZChallenge 2021 April Blogging from A to Z Challenge letter A
Acceptance. A word which brings to mind many images. For this writing I will concentrate on what it means to me as a writer, an author. 

When I first learned about authors who write books, I reveled in the world they created for me.  It was a few years before it dawned on me I could be a writer and write books like Charlotte’s Web. I had no idea what that entailed.  Naturally, it wasn’t an occupation that engendered parental approval.  As I grew older and entered the world of higher education where I was encouraged to prepare for the occupation of nursing which garnered the most approval from my parents as well as elders on the reservation, I was actually encouraged to think about writing by my English teachers. 

I struggled to find ways to meld these various occupations.  And failed utterly at accomplishing any of those ideals and dreams, dashed the hopes of my parents and elders and lived life fairly well.  I picked up the urge to write again.  Oh, I’d dabbled in bits and pieces of writing off and on since high school.  Now I write knowing my mother accepted my desire to be a writer and she encouraged me by giving me a few ideas hoping I could write a story with them.  I did write one with her ideas melded with mine.  She didn’t live to see the finished product currently in the final stages of revision.  Her acceptance fueled my belief in myself.