Rosemary for Remembrance

Ah, rosemary---bushes of it higher than a 6'man. So many uses, pesto, roasted potatoes, sticks for sausage. Rumor has it that much of Riverside was wild rosemary. The elders called it a rosemary bald meaning a sandy spot with rosemary bushes. Rosemary for remembrance says a crazed Ophelia. Now the docs are using alkaloids of rosemary to treat Alzheimers. Everything seems to come full circle.

Roselle Jam

They call it a Florida cranberry. It's flower resembles a hibiscus. The recipe for the jam is in Cross Creek Cookery, Majorie Kinnan Rawlings' wonderful book on Florida backwoods cuisine. The taste is fruity but the texture is a bit off putting rather slimy. Perhaps I simply didn't do it right.

The Queen Arrives

Reality is that I don't know her sex. She could be a he for all I know. I am just so happy to have her land on the property. It means there is biodiversity on my tiny plot, at least enough to support a red-tailed hawk.

Her wing span is as wide as the arch she sits on. I remember the power of the talons when Grecia would hit the leather hawking glove and dig in. To watch a hawk furl and drop, that is my idea of pure power and beauty.

Tea for Two or Ten

On cool, non-mosquito days, I crawl into the tea house and sip Earl Grey. I find it returns me to my childhood invisibility, the invisibility I thought I had high in Mimi's chinaberry tree.

The folks in the cul de sac right outside the tea house don't know I am there, so I hear interesting conversations. For some reason, lots of folks choose the cul de sac for romantic meetings and fiery break-ups. The dialogue is intriguing for my writer soul. I remember Steinbeck used to pay Mexican immigrants 50 cents a story. I get mine gratis.