Hello everyone; once again it is I, Chess the purebred border collie, here to bring you the latest news. You may remember me from such posts as “It’s Raining Flowers” and “The Mysteries Of Life”, among other delights.
It’s been drizzling and raining and misting, with, believe it or not, very little thunder. I don’t really trust this weather. The guy I live with says I’m being silly because border collies come from the border between England and Scotland and I should like this weather, but I only like the part where it doesn’t thunder. Here I am not trusting the weather.
We got so wet on our morning walk that the guy I live with had to change into a new pair of pants. I don’t wear pants.
You can see how damp it’s been just by looking at the wood on the patio cover.
The moss in the troughs has been turning green, after being brown and dry all summer. The guy I live with thinks this is very exciting.
Some Orostachys spinosa, too, along with some still-brown moss.
By the way, the little pieces of granite you see between the clumps of moss in the lower right, below, are pieces of rotten granite, called grus, if you need another word for Scrabble.
So that’s the moss. I’m also supposed to show this picture of the seed head of Clematis hirsutissima.
Kind of creepy, huh.
Anyway, now to our top story. The invasion of the pods. Namely, the pods falling from the honey locust (Gleditsia triacanthos). The guy I live with finds this constant rain of pods to be quite annoying. In fact he even said that. “You know”, he said, staring at the ground, “I find the constant rain of pods to be quite annoying.”
These are green ones, of course. The squirrels are eating the seeds and dropping the pods all day long. When I was little, my buddy Slipper showed me that the brown, ripe pods were quite tasty, and we spent many a happy hour lying on the lawn chewing locust pods. The guy I live with said it was undignified for purebred border collies, cousins in fact, to be lolling on the ground gnawing away at brown, dried pods like a couple of yokels.
The guy I live with says, without intending a pun, for me to quote Bean (Trees and Shrubs Hardy in the British Isles): “a tree well laden with dry pods, rattling with every fitful movement of the air, makes a rather weird sound in the dusk.” The tree rarely has enough pods left by the time they’re completely dry.
The invasion has just begun. The guy I live with says the pods are increased by raking. Like, if five hundred fall tomorrow, and he rakes them up, this will make a thousand more appear in the tree. I’m not so sure I believe this.
I don’t chew pods any more. After my buddy Slipper died, I stopped chewing pods. Maybe it was more fun chewing them together, and making the guy I live with look at us with disapproval. He was especially irked when we brought them inside, though there was a rule about pod chewing in bed. Since my buddy Slipper slept at the foot of the bed, on the floor, he would sometimes chew a pod or two in the middle of the night, having snuck them in earlier. The guy I live with would wake up to the crunching noise, and say “No pod chewing in the middle of the night”, and Slipper would stop, at least until he thought the guy I live with had fallen asleep, and then he’d start chewing them again. He could be really naughty sometimes.
So, I won’t be helping to clean them up.
That’s all for tonight. I guess you know what the guy I live with will be doing for a while. Or just sitting inside complaining about what he has to do.
Until next time, then.