Not the same old feelings…

Hosta
Hosta (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Funny how our minds work. Just a photo of a hosta plant in another blog got me thinking. Yikes!

Here goes:

When I was a kid, we were very fortunate to have a family cottage on a lake. Along the side of the cottage was a patch of hosta plants. They grew every year even when mowed down to make a better path. I thought that they were homely, good for nothing, weeds. I’d trip over them while playing twilight games of hide-n-seek. But…there they grew with a tenacity that I could not appreciate in childhood.

I now have my own piece of outdoor heaven in a wooded area. There were barren, shady spots where nothing would grow. I discovered hostas in a new light. Their name even “put me off”. I had already decided, years ago, that I did not like hostas. At the local greenhouse, there was a larger variety of them than I had ever realized.

The happy ending is a lovely, much appreciated shady garden. Hosta does not mean the same to me now, although I can “drum up” a shudder, still, when reminiscing.

If I were to return to life as a plant, I think I would like to be a hosta. Rather plain…shade loving… and tenacious.

You Never Know…

First, the saying “Truth is stranger than fiction.” , is absolutely the truth.

Second,” if you hear the beating of hooves on the American prairie you can count on them NOT being zebras.”, is absolutely not always the case.

This is a second-hand true story told by my mother.

Our family had a cottage on a lake in New York state. We spent summers there but sometimes, as we kids grew older, we elected not to go. My mother was alone one evening. Well, she had our black Labrador Retriever Lucky with her,but no one else. I’m not sure if she was reading quietly or was awakened by our trash cans rattling and Lucky barking like crazy. Either way, she was alarmed. Of course, the culprit was a raccoon, she thought. Then the banging kept up. Raccoons make a racket when they tip the cans over but they don’t make a battle out of it.

The dog was going nuts! She dared not to let him out because,by this time, she had concluded it was a bear. She listened to the activity through an open window in the dark bathroom.

By this time, the aloneness and the dogs frantic barking were really alarming her!

She heard the crunching of chicken bones and the intermittent slinging of the trash can lid against the cottage!

Deciding not to let Lucky out under any circumstances, she had to concluded that the BEAST was a bear. Better off to just be quiet and he’d go away. The ferocity of the feeding frenzy outside still gave her the creeps because something just did not seem normal.

“Of course,when it’s nighttime and you’re alone everything seems scarier.”, she thought.

The next morning she got the news that a wayward baboon had been shot one mile from the cottage. Apparently, it had escaped from one of those traveling carnival shows. Maybe, they were afraid to report it? Who knows?

The baboon had been spotted and cornered by police and was shot as it attacked them. (Poor thing.)

Ah ha! That must have been the BEAST at the garbage. Whoa…glad that Lucky did not tangle with a baboon!

Now, mom really had the creeps!

The morals of this story are: YOU NEVER KNOW and Truth is always stranger than fiction.