Autumn 2004: California is burnin’ up, an’ the Catbow’s lookin’ better. I’m gled tae see the back o’ this summer. It wis THAT HET for days on ine. The heat pit me in min’ o’ the verse fae “Scotland the Brave;”
An’ besides that, we hid jist ower mony days fan the level o’ pollution wis gey heich.
Public Transportation wis offering free hurls on fit they ca’d “Spare the Air” days, in an effort tae git fowk tae nae drive their cars. Bit that didna dee muckle gweed, for fowk hid tae drive their cars fae their hooses tae catch the bussies.
Oor arid climate means that there’s nae muckle smell tae California. Gairdens are fu’ o’ bonnie floories, but thir’s nae fragrance. I wis reminded o’ this fin I got a wee present o’ a lavender sachet fae Mrs. Marjorie Green, my former biology teacher at Buckie High School. She’d made it hersel’ wi’ lavender fae her son, Ian’s gairden. The perfume wis that strong an’ bonnie, I cwid smell it fin the postie wis ge’en it till me.
We grow lavender oursels, baith the French an’ English kine, an’ they dinna smell o’ onythin’ at a’.
Probably the only thing that dis smell in the gairden is the perfume o’ the skunks at nicht. Fin they gie a scoosh tae warn awa’ ither animals, it wid pit ye in mine o’ chemical warfare. Anither scunner this summer hiv been the raccoons that bide roon aboot us. They sleep ablo’ our neighbour’s shed a’ day, but come oot at nicht an’ hae a ceilidh in oor back gairden. They affy like the grass an howk it up tae git the grubs that bide ablo’. We pit doon cayenne pepper, hopin’ that the spice wid gar them ging awa’, bit it seems they like the grubs wi’ a sup spice, an’ they wirna bathered.
Ae nicht, by accident, I left a shooer curtain on the washin’ line, and fin I gied oot the neist mornin, it was a’ rippit. They’d been swingin’ on’t and cha’d at it an’ a’!
Noo, it’s pumpkin time, an’ I wis thinkin’ o’ makin’ a pumpkin mannie, wi a pumpkin for a heid an’ aul’ claes; a kin o’ a ‘scare raccoon.’ Bit they’d ate the pumpkins, so fit’s the eese?
An’ as I write this, in my bilin’ het office, we’re breathin’ fool air fae a noo ower thirty thoosan’ acres wildfire a suppie north o’s in the wine country o’ Napa Valley. The fire wis deliberately set an’ the firemen are hae’in an affy job pittin’t oot.
Mt. St. Helens, the volcano in Washington State is spootin’. Thon lava kin mak an affy sotter, an’ gin’ it gies a gweed spoot, it winna help oor air.
For various reasons, mainly work related deadlines, I’ve tae tak a brak fae pittin’ in my bittie, an’ winna be writin’ sae’ regularly.
I appreciate hearin’ fae a’body that’s contacted me at the ‘oormargit@catbow.net’ email address.
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