#Spring Hill Nurseries

[brightgnosis]

'Peppermint Pearl' Wintergreen (Gaultheria Procumbens) from Spring Hill Nurseries

[nemfrog]

Rose quartet. West Hill Nurseries, Inc. : spring catalog. 1926. Back cover.

Internet Archives

[augustjustice]

Sharing Smokes Outside the Snow Ball

AO3 Link

It's the Winter of 1999, and Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are standing outside the Hawkins Middle School Snow Ball, sharing a smoke.

Eddie can't believe he's back here, the whole thing feeling nearly as surreal as that nightmare, wayward Spring Break over ten years ago. He'd barely made it out of that hell hole alive, Steve himself practically having to hold Eddie together as they made their way from Forest Hill to Hawkins Memorial Hospital.

Spring had turned into summer, sweltering and oppressive as Eddie slowly, painfully healed.

There had been bright spots, though. Watching Lucas and Erica squabble during the one-shot campaign he had cooked up just for the party that June. Evenings out beside the Harrington's temperature controlled pool, beer bottle sweating in his hand as he traded a joint back and forth between Argyle and Jonathan, the sound of Robin's cackle loud and bright as she managed to hipcheck Steve into the pool. Steve's own blinding smile--a longtime feature of Eddie's secret high school fantasies--being turned on him the first time he made it from the front doors of the physical therapy clinic to the passenger side of his BMW, without needing any help at all.

But then summer had ended, and Eddie, finally back together again like a character out of a children's nursery rhyme, had packed up his van and headed straight to Chicago, not looking back.

Sure, there'd been post cards sent, phone calls to Dustin and the other Hellfire brats, promises to see everyone soon. Promises that Eddie couldn't keep, even if he wanted to.

Not when he didn't dare set foot in Hawkins, not ever again.

Then, over a decade into his second life as a struggling guitarist by night, record shop employee by day, his cousin Brooke had landed on his doorstep, looking too tired and too young all at once, a bruise around her eye. Behind her, her eleven year old son was studying the apartment hall's tiling.

"I left him." Eddie didn't need an explanation for that one. Her good-for-nothing husband, Nash. "Jake won't be any trouble, he just...needs a place to stay, while I get back on my feet. Somewhere his daddy can't find him. Just for a little while."

Eddie thought of his Mama. And then he called Wayne.

"Shit, Uncle Wayne, I--don't know what to do."

"Come on home now, boy," Wayne said, easy as anything, like Eddie had left only yesterday. "Come on back home."

So Eddie had.

That had been six months ago. And now he was standing in the aforementioned middle school parking lot with Steve 'the Hair' Harrington, while their kids--and wasn't that just a fucking head trip and a half--danced the night away.

"I keep half expecting Click to round the corner screaming my name," Eddie admits as he gives Steve a light. "Remember junior year, I sold to you in the alley behind the gym? Old bat nearly got me that time."

"Remember? I literally had to shove that joint down the front of my shorts, dude," Steve admits, which draws a snort out of Eddie to match his own chuckle. "Most of the guys on the basketball team couldn't move half as fast as you did that day. You practically vanished into the woods before she even made it to the stadium. Totally shoulda gone out for the track team, Eds."

Eddie clutches his chest, as though he's been shot. "Don't speak such blasphemy to me, Harrington."

"Yeah, well, you can quit worrying. Pretty sure she finally retired," Steve tells him, taking a long drag before he's passing the cigarette back to Eddie, even that brief touch enough to send sparks of electricity up Eddie's arm. Then he shoots Eddie that charming, infamous Harrington smile, boyish and cocky, the one that says he's used to getting exactly what he wants. "Even if she's not, I'm head of the PTA. If Higgins tries anything, I'll just threaten not to bring cupcakes to the next bake sale."

"Harrington, my hero," Eddie fakes a swoon, collapsing for a brief second against Steve's shoulder, an excuse to get close.

The theatrics get no rise out of Steve beyond an amused smirk. Even after all these years, he's still used to Eddie's antics, it seems.

"You know, it was total déjà vu," he nods to the middle school gymnasium, all decked out in blue and white, "dropping Sam off here."

Though he's actually gotten to know the Harrington offspring in person since he's been back, Eddie had received the rundown from Dustin and the others on Steve's journey to dadhood in their scattered calls over the years.

The December after Eddie had left, Steve had met a girl, taken her out on a few dates, and accidentally gotten her pregnant.

With Samantha, a name Dustin had proudly persuaded Steve into as the little girl's godfather. Every bit as adorable, now that Eddie had seen her, as the gushing picture the party had painted for him, all big blue eyes and wavy chestnut hair just like her father's.

Steve had gotten down on one knee long before she was born, determined to tie the knot and do right by her mother nearly as soon as he'd heard the news.

The pair had been divorced not even two years later.

"I don't think they were ever really in love," Dustin had informed Eddie one sunny afternoon impromptu of nothing, as always blunt in his honesty. "But you know what Steve is like. He's a hopeless romantic."

Eddie didn't, not exactly. But he's gotten enough glimpses, both back in '86 and much more recently, that he's starting to put the picture together.

Steve draws Eddie out of that particular reverie with another bright laugh. And then he's recounting the memory of Dustin's hair, done up in the infamous Harrington 'do, as Steve pulled up in front of the '84 Snow Ball playing chaperone in his trusty Beemer, long since traded in for the much more affordable sedan he's driving now.

"I demand photographic evidence, Harrington," Eddie insists, smile crooked, that distracting dimple appearing in his right cheek, "you can't conjure up an image like that and then not fork over the goods."

"Hey, man, talk to Dustin. Mrs. Henderson took like...a million pictures that night," Steve laughs.

But he's already mentally going through the album tucked away on a bookcase back at home, positive he's got his own photo to show for it. It'll make for a nice excuse to invite Eddie over for dinner one night.

The subject turns then to their own checkered experiences with school dances.

"Class of '85, baby! That's when they made your 'King Steve' title official," Eddie crows, teasing as he taps Steve once on the nose.

Steve goes a bit cross-eyed, following the movement of his finger.

"Yeah, well, talk about a total let-down of a night. I didn't even bring a date," Steve admits, tone blasé. The truth is, his entire senior year had been something of a disappointed trudge towards graduation, a walk he had taken mostly alone. There had been bright spots--the little band of miscreants he'd fallen into babysitting, for one--but they had all been far outside the walls of Hawkins High. "I'm guessing you weren't around for that? Not really your scene, especially with the Munson Doctrine's strict rules about 'forced conforming.'"

He puts Eddie's words in deliberate air quotes, his turn to give him a teasing smile.

"You're wrong about that one, big boy. I saw them, adorning your glorious locks with the crown." That mischievous smile is back. "We're not that old, dude, don't tell me you already forgot the whole 'prom streaking' incident?"

Eddie shoots him a loaded, deliberate look.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Shaking his head with a laugh, Steve waves his arms in front of him, like he's calling a time out. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me. That was you?"

"The one and only. What can I say, Jeff and Gareth dared me. Besides, by that point," Eddie shrugs casually, "I already knew I didn't have a shot at graduating anyway, so. Thought I'd close out the year with a bang."

"You've seriously never considered doing anything halfway in your life, have you, Munson?" Steve asks, giving Eddie's shoulder an almost exasperated nudge, smile fond in spite of himself.

"Absolutely not, Stevie boy. Life's too short. Where's the fun in playing it safe?"

Eddie swings into Steve's space, then, dark eyes sparkling. Goading and flirtatious. Just like when they were teenagers, thrown together in the worst of circumstances but making the best of it, before time and pain and trauma put all that distance between them.

And if Steve's eyes drop down to Eddie's lips as they share air, slow enough it can't be anything but deliberate, and their fingers brush just a tad too intimately the next time they trade the cigarette back and forth...well. They've got a lot of lost time--and shared smokes in school parking lots--to make up for.

[plantanarchy]

do you mind sharing more about the logistical nightmare of growing things this year? i'd love to hear more about it

Oh yeah, basically we have a freshly built range of fancy, brand new greenhouse that is just about finished but it's apparently zoned as purely production space so technically the public shouldn't be allowed in there.

It's going to be our new main production house and place we do seeding, cuttings, baby plants, etc so that the main houses and eventually outdoor area around it can be more aesthetically appealing retail displays that are easier to shop.

But!! This year it's not yet ironed out where everything will be relocated and grown. And the range wasn't ready for the earliest start of spring production. Anything that is grown in the production only house ideally would have a "home" somewhere on the sales floor aka a display where it moves out of the production house when it's ready for sale.

There's also a huge long term plan for the outside sales and display garden area happening that will take. So long to get ready.... Our entire several acre nursery is in the process of moving locations to become a big huge parking lot. The mum field is moving. There will be deer fencing. Patios. Gardens. An absurd amount of work and time that seems unlikely to happen this season

but in the meantime, no one knows when that will happen and also i am.. the main person doing all of the planning of where things grow and move and hang and when for the current growing season. In terms of annuals, hanging baskets, combo planters, perennials, tropicals, herbs, veggies.

And that takes a lot of. Thinking. Planning. Calculating. And recalculating. Then moving everything... having the manpower with the brainpower to do that is a big hurdle and also, there aren't good routes to move things easily right now either.

Converting our current production house to a regular house is also like.... it's so gross. It needs regraded and new benches. We'd need to take out all the production stuff (seed trays, tools, tags, supplies, etc) and find a nice home for it in the new houses. That also means all that stuff won't be immediately accessible from the main houses without going outside and up a hill.

The good thing that when the new production house is done it will be sooooo much easier to do production stuff. The flat filler will be living in there so filling pots will be vastly easier. There's a huge garage door in and out instead of an obnoxious pinch point. There aren't benches so I could be more flexible with aisleways and positioning stuff. Eventually there will be so much hanging basket production in there. There will be a whole separate brand new Dosatron injector for that house and the upper houses.

It's very exciting!!! It's also terrible. I'm tired.

[finch-farran]

And Then, There Was One | Self-Para

There was a house on a hill in Twelve. There were holes in the walls where the light and rain got in-- bugs in the summer and bitter cold all through the winter. The house was mostly empty, except for threadbare blankets that offered some warmth, a bit of collected furniture that always smelled damp even in a stretch of drought, and one chipped tea cup in the cabinet that had been passed around an uncountable number of times to greet parched lips. The house was loud once, with a family of seven to creak its floorboards and sing to the birds that nested in its ceilings.

Kazoo had been the first to go. He wheezed terribly all through the spring when the pollen was thick in the air. The air only got hotter and drier as spring rolled into summer, and Kazoo's lungs couldn't take the heat. The house was quiet for a long time, with a family of six who weren't quite sure how to shake its beams with laughter like Kazoo used to do.

Ace was the next to leave. He'd always been the best of them-- the oldest, and the smartest by miles. He knew what it meant to be honorable. He knew that peacekeepers never were, and it's why he never felt bad about swindling them for shit. It's also why he knew what the honorable thing to do was when he found out he had a kid on the way. The house was a little bit emptier, with a family of five who were okay with getting by on a little less if it meant Ace's missus and their son had a little bit more.

Mouse came next. He was the quietest of everyone-- seen and never heard. He had little, deep set eyes that had a way of observing the world and really seeing it. He was a kind soul, would never hurt a fly no matter how shitty things got. He did right by people. He died under rubble, and the house was full of anger. There was so much rage and only a family of four to split it up between them.

Teacup and Cricket went at the same time. They were an inseparable duo who'd shown up together, so it only made sense that they'd leave together too. Cricket had talked and talked about it. It was what Cricket did-- he always talked and talked. And teacup, a little boy ready to tackle the whole world, always listened. So, they hitched a ride. They fled to Eleven, and they fought in the name of their friend Mouse. They fought for Twelve. They fought for the little house with a family of two.

Finch Farran was the last to leave, called up on a stage and dragged away from Twelve. She'd put up a good fight, but she died in an Arena. Twelve never had a shot in hell, and they all knew it. Finch had put up a good fight anyway. It was the only way she knew, because she'd been doing it all her life.

And the day that Finch Farran died, Ace stood in a shoe-box nursery holding his son close and telling a story of the girl who didn't flinch. Cricket and Teacup stood in a field somewhere in Eleven where a grove of pear trees used to be. That fact was almost unrecognizable now, because the trees were burnt down and the dirt was marred by sandbags and coils of barbed wired. It was there that they received the news. It was there that they mourned another loss.

The day that Finch Farran died, the house in Twelve sat quietly on its ragged hill. The house was silent, except for the sound from a little tube TV that only worked two weeks out of the year. Sawmill sat on a broken old lawn chair in front of the TV, and he watched, wondering if a family of one could still be called a family at all. They were a family of seven, and now he was just one. A bitter cold seeped in through the holes in the walls, and there weren't enough feet to creak the floorboards or enough voices to sing to the birds nested in the ceilings. And the house on the hill in Twelve sat alone with just one to fill it.

[breakfast-at-timothys]

The ups and downs of Life-on-the-Hill:

The stairs leading down from Old Schools to the junction of Church Hill with the High Street, Harrow.

More of those Harrovian Traditions:

Harrow has perhaps a greater sense of tradition than in most institutions. Some so old and so bewildering, not only does Harrow seem to live in a world of it's own (complete with its own idiosyncratic language), but nobody remembers quite why some of those traditions exist or pretends there's a logical reason to them.

The fact is though, even if they're eccentric, traditions bring people together as a community, make it more special, lifts it from the drab and soulless and makes it feel more distinct:

*

The Harrow Club:

In the spring of 1883, Dr Butler (the then Head Master of Harrow), wrote to all Old Harrovians informing them of the decision to start a School Mission in Latimer Road in Notting Dale; Notting Dale at the time being one of the drabbest and most squalid districts of London. The station at Latimer Road was known as Piggerty Junction: “from the miserable and unwholesome establishment for the feeding of those animals which occupied the site of our Church and Mission Room”.

Rich inhabitants there were none; the moderately poor were scarce. “The purpose of the Mission,” wrote Dr Butler, was “to minister to the wants of the poor and the neglected, and in so doing bring closer together classes of our fellow countrymen who know far too little of each other”.

Masters and boys at Harrow undertook to pay the salary of the first Missioner, The Reverend William Laws. And together with charities and members of the newly-formed Harrow Mission Association, would also be responsible for other expenses, such as the purchase of land and the construction of the buildings.

On Trinity Sunday 1884, the Mission Room was opened. And in 1887 the foundation stone of the Church was laid by the Duchess of Albany; ninety boys from Harrow providing a guard of honour.

Progress was rapid. Penny dinners were served for children of working mothers; records showing that in the first seventy days, a total of some 9507 dinners were served, 1702 of which were free.

By 1888 Clubs were established for men, youths and boys; sport playing a prominent role in Club Life. In 1893, a children's holiday fund was established; the beginning of camps organised by the Mission, which took place annually until a property was purchased in 1985 in the Forest of Dean. And in 1902, a day nursery was established, with the Princess of Wales as Patron.

The Harrow Club W10 was established in 1967; the sale of property in North Wembley that had been purchased in 1910, providing the Club with considerable new funding with which to carry out its activities.

Throughout its history the successful evolution of the Harrow Club has relied on many Old Harrovians. This involvement has continued; School Monitors playing an important role in the management of the Clubs, especially during the Great War.

In 2000, His Majesty King Charles III, then Prince of Wales, attended the official reopening of Harrow Club W10 as a “Community Centre for the twenty-first century”.

[drstonetrivia]

Chapter 7 Trivia

A-Hakone we will go, A-Hakone we will go, Heigh-ho, the volcan-o, A-Hakone we will go.

Senku seems determined to break all the pots even if, to me, it doesn't match up with what his goals are.

However I'm imagining whoever Tsukasa revived next was using pots crafted by Tsukasa's hand. (If they decided to remake any)

~80km, or about 17 hours of walking (at about 5km/hr), basically as the crow flies. Taiju could run it in 5 hours, going at 16 km/hr. They stop for one night and probably do the trip in two days.

The Tokyo <-> Hakone route becomes pretty important down the road.

With Senku's crude sextant, he just lines the sights up with the sun and reads the angle that way. A proper sextant has mirrors, so you adjust the angle until the horizon and sun are aligned in the view piece.

If we assume the sun rises at 5:30AM (it's currently around springtime), then 35,970 seconds later is 10 hours later, making it about 3:30PM.

Modern buildings simply aren't built to last thousands of years. Needs change, and thus things are only built to last ~100 years, so it makes sense that there's nothing left.

If you wanted to build something to last 3,700 years, check out the Great Pyramids for inspiration!

Interestingly, skyscrapers may last longer because of the amount of glass in them and the strength of the concrete. This is probably why Roppongi hills is still identifiable but people's houses aren't.

Obviously this doesn't account for severe natural disasters.

If they're in Kamakura, they did not go as the crow flies, and the whole trip becomes 94km (20 hours of walking).

Fun fact: if you visit the Great Buddha, you can peek inside the hollow structure from the back.

Bronze can last an incredibly long time. the Antikythera Mechanism survived for around 2000 years despite the seawater thanks to bronze's resistance to corrosion. Like Senku says, bronze will also leach copper into the soil, which can kill plants if there's a high amount present.

Prunus yedoensis is one of the most widely planted cherry cultivars, and they're all clones of the same plant. This works by grafting a branch onto another tree, making the "top half" a cherry tree, or alternatively just using cuttings.

The tree itself has a short lifespan.

These are Japanese Horsetail, better known as tsukushi. They're similar to asparagus in appearance and taste, but have hollow stems.

Senku needs one hand on his stick to check stability, so he holds his shoes in one hand. Yuzuriha can hold her shoes in both hands. Taiju needs both hands to hold all their stuff, so his are tucked into his belt.

I thought it was a nice detail :)

Nitric acid burns skin, so I assume RF would too, but Yuzuriha is saying it's cold? Is she talking about the stone feeling cold? If that part of her foot is fully stone, how is she walking if she can't bend her toes? Is it just a stone layer on top of skin?

I've got questions.

Detective Tsukasa is on the case! He seems to have some basic tracking knowledge, but more impressively he can predict Senku's moves very accurately using both his knowledge of science and possibly fighter's instincts. Senku doesn't stand a chance…

Hakone is in a volcanic region with lots of natural onsen and a view of Mt. Fuji to the northwest. This scene resembles Owakudani - a geothermic area north of Mt. Hakone, along the Hakone ropeway route.

Owakudani natural hot springs seem to range in temperature between 36.3 and 96.0°C. There's no telling what the exact temperature of the pool they chose is, but Senku obviously can't take the heat.

Senku uses the terms "gunpowder" and "black powder" interchangably. This isn't technically incorrect, as up until recently they were the same thing. Nowadays, we also have smokeless powder that can be used for the same purpose.

(Also, if you don't recognise the tune at the beginning of the thread it's "A-Hunting We Will Go", a folk song/nursery rhyme.)

Finally, several of these were taken directly from Caleb Cook's trivia, so credit where it's due.

[kitchenisking]

March Fic Rec

Guys it's still Sunday! Anyway, March is here witch mean spring is here! As much as I love the winter I also love watching the twas and flowers bloom. That everyone has a great month!

between the click of the light and the start of the dream by thepsychicclam - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 105192, sterek)

A twig snaps, and then Stiles hears breathing and the rustle of leaves. He strains to get a better glimpse into the darkness, but it’s pointless. There’s nothing but a black void.

It's Stiles' senior year, and he's trying to concentrate on normal things - like the lacrosse championship, spring break, prom, graduation (and definitely not Derek) - when he starts having nightmares and waking up in the middle of nowhere. Oh yeah, and he's being haunted by a hag. Great.

This Might Be Irony by thepsychicclam - (Rating: Mature, Words: 38340, sterek)

Stiles and Derek have been close friends since the Hale siblings moved in next door after their parents' death. But Derek's in the popular group, he's a star baseball player, and he dates popular Pep Squad captain Jennifer Blake. Stiles doesn't have any of that, just his skateboard and a hopeless crush on Derek (oh yeah, and his Vote Lydia Martin Prom Queen button). As prom and the baseball state championship grow closer, Stiles and Derek start rekindling their friendship.

And it all begins with two white boards.

Didn't See That Coming by knittersrevolt - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 83838, sterek)

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills in the dust after he catches his husband cheating on him. 

He finds his way to New York where he starts working for the Hale House Nursery, accidentally adopts a werewolf baby (through no fault of his own thank-you-very-much), and somehow starts training to be an Exorcist Emissary. So, in general, life was going good.

Then he hears that demons have found their way into his hometown. Can he face his inner demons and go back to save the day?

Wolves with a Spark by AMatchInWater - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 58089, sterek)

Talia lets out a shocked gasp, "your eyes. They're purple." The Alpha is practically oozing with excitement. Stiles hisses, as the fingers touching the Nemeton start to sting as markings etch themselves into his knuckles and a small one on his wrist that looks like a Y but the stem goes up between the v part. "What the-?" Stiles yells out in pain, yanking his hand off the bark, the back of his left forearm feeling like it's been set on fire. A white fox with vibrant blue eyes burns into his flesh. "Mom?" He asks again, she died when he was young, but the Omega remembers what she looked like fully shifted. The spitting image of the tattoo forming on his skin. "What's happening?" Frantic eyes meet Talia's and Derek's. "You're a spark." Talia whispers in wonder. "You have magic, Stiles." 

OR

Stiles moves in with the Hales after his father passes away. Presenting as an Omega and then a spark years later. He's hopelessly head over heels for Derek and wants to be his mate, but it almost certain the Alpha doesn't feel the same way about him so he says nothing and pines from a distance. Talia asks if Stiles would like to train to be an emissary to the Hale pack and Stiles agrees.

Accidental Amnesiac Mates Acquisition (ft. a baby) by redhoodedwolf - (Rating: T, Words: 24549, sterek)

“Who are you?”

He snapped his head around and clutched the child tighter to his chest. But then his senses caught up with him: Pack, mate, family, safe, calm, anxiety, panic, panic, panic

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Who are you?”

The man with the warm brown eyes gaped at him in surprise. “Um. I don’t know.”

The baby in his arms promptly burst into tears.

*

What it says on the tin.

Bleeding Love by BisexualInDisguise - (Rating: T, Words: 6919, sterek)

Stiles promised himself that the werewolves didn't smell the depression and desperation wafting off of him because they were simply distracted, not because they couldn't care less. He told himself that he's just good at hiding it.

Stiles was trying so damn hard. 

But he's broken so many promises to himself.

----

Scott's a bad friend and Derek's a fluff ball

I found you hidden in plain sight (why'd I take so long?) by Gorgeousgreymatter - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 25419, sterek)

Stiles is pretty sure he’s hallucinating. He’s got to be. There’s no other plausible explanation, he thinks, as he sits on the sidelines of the lacrosse field and feels the cold, hard bench underneath him, the roar of the crowd at his back like the worst white noise machine in the world.

There’s no other reason why he sees it, the hulking, black figure of a wolf peering at him from the treeline behind the bleachers. Its eyes flare in the glaring glow of the stadium lights, but they’re the wrong color, he thinks: blood-moon red instead of cobalt blue, but the familiarity of it all makes his stomach roll and clench.

Til We Ain't Strangers Anymore byWriteByNight - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 35994, sterek)

Stiles should've expected Derek to suddenly disappear since the werewolf was in the habit of taking off without notice. However, Derek always showed up when they needed him.

As the weeks pass by, Stiles is no longer confused and a little hurt. What started as heartache begins to get worse the longer Stiles goes without seeing Derek. Eventually, his body begins to shut down and his only hope seems to be Derek...but nobody can find him.

There's no cure for a broken heart. Except, maybe, the cause for the broken heart himself.

- - -

Or the one where Derek takes off without warning and Stiles finds out he could be Derek's mate and the distance between Derek and Stiles, along with Derek's refusal to develop the bond, is slowly killing Stiles. Without Derek, Stiles will die, but no one knows where he is or how to contact him. And Stiles is barely keeping it together.

Synonyms for Longing by wanderingeyre  - (Rating: T, Words: 11386, sterek)

Derek has been at his house for less than two days and Stiles is deeply regretting his decision to offer Derek a place to stay. Well, it was more like he didn’t try to throw Derek back out the window when he creeped in two nights ago, but he would have made a valiant effort if he’d known what a pain in the ass Derek would be. 

Suddenly you're standing still by gottalovev - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 7669, sterek)

A long time ago, Stiles promised his mom that he'd never cross the Hale property lines. He has kept his word even if there hasn't been a Hale in Beacon Hills for years, not since the fire. But suddenly Scott gets turned into a werewolf, Derek Hale is back, and Stiles has to share his biggest secret. (AU set in S1+ where Stiles is a born werefox)

[itsadragonaesthetic]

Forgive me for my rambling incoherent nature for I am very tired and scatterbrained. (Post about finding community and connection as a dummy little white American below the cut)

But like, sometimes... I don't know how I feel about things as an American. In general... honestly. I'm mostly white, raised in a white family. I have zero connection to my genetic ancestry, and I don't know most of it anyway. My mom's side is just, mostly white Americans that go back maybe hundreds of unrecorded years. My dad's side is Italian and Irish Catholics. I could not be more far removed from that culture. I grew up in an ecological community that no one in my family has ever known or cared about until I was born.

I just feel like this creature, abandoned to freedom. I feel like this is a very white American thing to say, but I have no... inherent culture at all. None that was given to me by generations of family, considering they all cut ties with me and my parents a long time ago. Me and my immediate family have just been adrift in the ebbs and flows of American life.

But I meet groups of people who have never been to the place I grew up and they have... a lot of reactions. They tell me they hate it here, mostly. They comment on the light stone architecture. They ask me about the old stone buildings in the middle of nowhere. They think the plant life is ugly. They hate how dry and "dead" everything is. They mispronounce words that I kinda forgot were native or Spanish words. People comment on how much I know about the plants.

I think about it sometimes and I feel really connected to this place. We have special holidays unique to only this city. Its nearly the birding capital of the lower 48. This place is literally covered in art. Every empty building face has a mural. The mountains stand like comforting friends to me. I really do feel like this place is a huge part of who I am.

Sometimes I go by Sentinel Peak. The hill the city was named after (an O'odham word that means "at the base of the black hill"). It was used as a sort of landmark to get to a spring where there were ancient settlements. Some of the houses and grinding bowls still stand and are still maintained by the O'odham. There is actually still a garden there dedicated to giving nursery jobs to the disabled.

Like you can guess, some Christian people built a church and began to kick natives out. The Black Hill became Sentinel Peak; a sentinel lookout for Apache invaders. The mountain is now mostly famous for the giant white 'A' that was built by university students around 100 years ago (giving it its somewhat more common name, "A Mountain"). It is also home to an annual firework display every 4th of July that can be seen from every corner of the city. The biggest problem is that the black hill is covered in invasive cattle grasses that combust easily. Every year, the black hill persists in maintaining its name.

I love that hill to bits. It hurts to think of its past, and I feel guilty for even looking at it from my paved sidewalk just under a giant, somewhat ugly highway that has pretty much destroyed any chance for archeological digs or cultural restoration. But I frequently remind myself that negativity gets me nowhere. I begin to feel humbled for this mountain letting me make not only a physical home, but a spiritual home here too. It's like an infinitely forgiving grandmother who welcomes me with open arms despite any wrongdoing people who look like me have done. It's because of the resilience of this mountain, it's people, and it's ecosystem that I have somewhere that my heart can call home.

Then I pull out my calendar and plan another invasive grass pull at the Base of the Black Hill.

[nemfrog]

Concord grapes. West Hill Nurseries, Inc. : spring catalog. 1926. Cover.

Internet Archive

[kittypets-unite-au]

Worldbuilding Tidbits: RiverClan Territory

General description: RiverClan territory is a mix between a grassland and a marsh, with many streams intersecting the territory. Their territory to the very west is a twoleg campsite, but thankfully it’s rare for them to venture far into their land. The grasses range from short to long, and trees, while fairly sparse compared to ThunderClan, are still show up. Trees include willows, magnolia, birches, cottonwoods, maples, cypresses, and hornbeams, with the occasional pine or fir trees growing toward the northeast near fourtrees. Common undergrowth includes yarrow, reeds, rushes, bulrushes, cornflowers, dandelions, spotflowers, baneberry bushes, buckeye bushes, winterberry bushes, dogtooth violets, snakeroot, foxgloves, garlic, leeks, honeysuckles, brambles, cattails, water lilies, sedges, ragweed bushes, asters, chaffweeds, lilacs, thimbleweeds, ferns, goldenrod, goldenseal, marigolds, and wormwoods.

Common prey: Trouts, salmon, perches, carps, bass, bluegills, wipers, catfish, breams, pikes, dances, chubs, walleyes, minnows, salmon, water voles, water shrews, wood ducks, ducks, grebe, rails, coots, moorhens, cranes, curlews, loons, and field mice

Rare prey: Swans, rabbits, geese, squirrels, storks

Common threats: Swans, geese, otters, flash floods, things being dumped into water and poisoning the fish, dogs from the campsite, occasional twolegs encroaching on their territory

TERRITORY:

The camp is a wide island surrounded by a gentle stream. The island is in the middle of the territory and is tucked into a grove surrounded by willow and elm trees. The dens are made out of woven reeds and willow branches secured to the ground with deeply-embedded sticks, but they’re designed to float if there’s a flash flood and stick together. The addressing place is a tall rock in the middle of the camp surrounded by water called the Riverstone, and the leader’s den is a large, uprooted bush woven with vines and branches and covered in moss and oak leaves next to a willow that is a few tail-lengths from the Riverstone. The deputy’s den is close to the leader’s den and is a woven mass of branches, reeds, and brambles secured by two branches in the ground. The druid’s den is a thick, hollowed out elm trunk with a roof woven from reeds and branches, and enough room to fit two druids and five patients. The nursery is a woven tangle of reeds and vines with moss plugging the holes situated near the entrance in case of emergencies with room for seven cats. The elder’s den is an old, hollowed log with enough room to fit seven cats. The lorekeepers, warriors, and caretaker dens are thick bushes with reeds and brambles woven in. The warriors den can fit up to 24 cats each, while the lore-keepers and caretaker’s dens can hold up to 12

Tribute Hill- A small hill situated just a little bit from the RiverClan camp, with the top being mostly flat. Lots of lavender, dandelions, and cornflowers grow here, and the top of the hill is the Tribute Stones and the Old Prayer Willow

Tribute Stones- A collection of stones placed on top of the Tribute Hill. Cats come here to pay tribute to passed loved ones, usually through flowers, well wishes, and pretty stones, and some cats even say prayers for the dead

Old Prayer Willow- The Old Prayer Willow is in the center of the Tribute Stones. It’s an old, tall willow whose branches shield the hilltop from bad weather and heat. Oftentimes, cats who are having difficulties in life or need advice from their ancestors go to the willow, as it’s said to be a hotspot for StarClan’s signs

River- The lifeblood of RiverClan, flowing through all parts of the territory in small streams and ponds. The main river wraps all around the territory, acting as a natural border between WindClan and ThunderClan. The river, at its most narrow part, is about 30 feet across, and is full of fish. Certain parts of the river are much more shallow, while some parts are known to flood during spring thaws. The river also gets low during particularly hot summers, which causes RiverClan to hunt on other parts of their land and/or fight for sunningrocks

Swirling Depths- This part of the river has a unique trait of the water swirling and swirling around, but this water is rarely fast enough to sweep away anyone, although it is a bit tricky to navigate. This area is used to help apprentices practice swimming and diving skills, and is an ideal spot to teach water combat

Marshy Shallows- Near the Twoleg Bridge is a marshy area, full of reeds, peat, moss, tall grass, and dogwood bushes. Hidden in the plant life are frogs and salamanders, and fish like to hang out here in the late spring and early summer

Twoleg Bridge- An old but sturdy bridge built by twolegs long ago. The bridge used to be frequented by twolegs as there was a hiking trail from the campsite to Fourtrees, but it has fallen in disuse as the twolegs rarely walk the path anymore. Now it’s only used by RiverClan to get to the gatherings

Twoleg Trail- Connected to the twoleg bridge is an old hiking trail that connects all the way back to the Summer Twolegplace, although it’s mostly grown over and never used nowadays. Seeds tend to scatter in this area during the spring and early summer that attract many types of birds and field mice, making this a valued hunting spot

Rushing Rapids- A little bit away from the twoleg bridge and nearing the gorge is the rushing rapids. The water is powerful and can easily sweep even the best swimmers down into the murky depths, but it is a great fishing spot, especially in the summer when the salmon come. Unfortunately, young apprentices sometimes challenge each other to swim in these waters, and every once in a while a cat dies from such a dare

Gorge- Carving out a natural border between RiverClan and WindClan, the gorge is a steep cut in the ground that contains the river, although the waters are much more wild. The gorge extends to the very outskirts of RiverClan territory and, if any cat feels adventurous enough, they can find the river that feeds into the gorge

Training Stones- A bit aways from the gorge is the training stones, a collection of large stones and soft, loamy earth. It’s a favorite spot for mentors to train apprentices in combat, and the ground is soft enough to cushion harsh falls

Grassy Hills- Gently sloped hills dotted with flowers and the occasional birch or elm. These hills are a great spot for land prey

Dragonfly Pond- In the grassy hills lie a large pond, fed by an underground spring. It has lots of lilypads, reeds, and spotflowers, and the pond is circled by sedge bushes. Dragonflies often flock to this pond, but the pond also contains minnows and shad

Wet Expanses- The grassy hills eventually blend into a marshy expanse of land, called the wet expanses. Many small streams, ponds, and puddles form in to soft, moist earth, and this place is a good spot for frogs, minks, muskrats, trout, and shad. Turtles live here as well, but they are considered sacred and are rarely touched. Catching a frog here in the early spring is considered good luck, and older cats say apprentices that catch them will have a successful moon

Cottonwood Grove- On higher land next to the wet expanses is a forest called cottonwood grove, named for the aforementioned trees that mostly grow here. Unlike ThunderClan’s forest however, these trees are spaced out and have sparse foliage. The forest also contains a few birch, cypress, and willows. Squirrels, mice, and voles roam the forest, but it’s considered bad luck to hunt here during times of easy prey. However, if a flood happens the clan shelters here

Fern Glade- In the middle of the cottonwood grove is a serene glade filled with ferns and wildflowers, surrounded by brambles and baneberry bushes. Here, lorekeeper apprentices learn stories of old and memorize the code, and history lessons are often held in this spot

The Blessed Fields- Right outside the cottonwood grove is a meadow with fertile soil, where herbs are abundant.

The River Cherry- At the end of the blessed field lies a lone, old cherry tree, sitting on a ridge overlooking the river. It’s said that Riverstar died on that hill, wishing to see his beloved river one last time before he died, and when he breathed his last, a cherry tree grew from his body. This tree blooms in the spring and early summer and is very beautiful. There’s a tradition that courtfriends take a part of this tree, be it a twig, a petal, or even one of the cherries to propose

Clear Pond- Next to the cherry tree is the clear pond, a pond full of small tadpoles and minnows. It’s forbidden to fish from this pond, as it’s said that Riverstar himself blessed that pond. When the moon is almost full, the druids travel to this bond to find omens of the clan’s fortune for the next moon

Clear Stream- Running from the clear pond is the clear stream, a small but fast current that runs all the way into a long-abandoned fox burrow.

Flowing Cavern- The flowing cavern is a fox burrow, long since abandoned and having not been occupied in ages. The stream pools in a small crevice on the floor before draining underground. If a cat is struggling with difficulties in their life, they are encouraged to stay a night in the den, as it’s said that the den allows StarClan cats to visit their loved ones and comfort them. Most cats say they wake up with a sense of deep peace and contentedness, sometimes with the smell of a dead loved one in their noses. Druids like to add herbs like lavender and rosemary to give it a soothing smell.

Pastures- A wide, honestly picturesque expanse of grassy meadows where horses are let out to graze and be rode. It's also a common place to have picnics or walk dogs, and kids play here a lot. Generally RiverClan avoids this area due to the high amounts of twoleg activity, plus the dogs pose a danger if they spot a patrol and manage to get loose, and the occasional twoleg kit will spot a cat and take them.

Summer Twolegcamp- At the further edge of the territory lies the Summer Twolegcamp, or called the twolegcamp for short. During the spring, summer, and early autumn, twolegs come in and out of the area and live in tents. The twolegs like to stay up late and play in the surrounding fields, but they thankfully never go too far unless a dog got loose.

[renee-writer]

Hilarious with more than a hint of truth

🚨😂 Public service announcement

If you are new to Georgia, we are about to experience a “ Georgia Winter”. This is 6 or 7 days of cold, maybe some ice ❄️☃️and snow🌨. Meteorologist will threaten snow, And It may snow and it may not, but if they say 2 inches it could be 10 or it could be 1/2”. It doesn’t matter how much ❄️ Snow it is, we’ll all freak out 🤦‍♀️ because we don’t see snow often.

The threat of snow (or ice) is your prompt to head to the grocery store and buy milk 🥛, eggs 🥚and bread 🍞. It doesn’t matter if you need these items or not you will just buy them 🤷‍♀️ (milk sandwiches🥪 anyone 🤷‍♀️🤦‍♀️🤣). It’s just what we do. Rest assured that everyone in town will be there.

You’ll also need to make a mad dash for faucet covers and finding them and getting out of the store will be like an episode of the hunger games 😂 You’re in the redneck district. 🤷‍♀️😂🤣🤪

Don’t look for a sled. You won’t find one. In the rare chance we get enough ice or snow to sled grab some cardboard 📦 or a trash 🗑 can lid and go find the nearest hill.

Just go with it.

You’ll be fine. 😳

We don’t have equipment to handle the winter and weather. The roads will be a mess and even though the state has been telling you for a week they’re ready, they’re not and it won’t work. Just stay home if you can and if you can’t just come to terms with the fact that nobody here knows how to drive in snow and ice.

Whatever you do, DO NOT⚠️🚫 talk about snow tires.

If you happen to slide off the road or get stuck, turn your flashers on, take a deep breath and wait. Two Dudes 🧔‍♂️👨‍🦰 in a four wheel drive truck will be along in no time to offer assistance. Don’t try to help them, they live for this stuff 😂🤪, and will do what they can to get you back on the road. If either one of them screams “hey y’all watch this " just get back and get your phone out and start recording, you’ll probably have a viral video for TicTok later 🤷‍♀️😂

No matter what you do, don’t talk about how they did it back home in any of these scenarios.

Nobody cares.

You live in Georgia now.

Georgians know they live in the greatest state in the country and it’s our way or the highway.

When we act like we’re going to die and start to complain about the 7 days of winter just shut up, we’re serious and we don’t care how much you love it.

You’ll be back in flip flops 🩴 within a week to ten days and it’ll be nice until right around Easter 🐰.

Georgia’s “second winter” will be 2 or 3 days and will hit right around Easter🐰, usually the week before or the week after. This will hit right around the time you plant flowers and a garden🍅🌽🫑🥒🫛

We know you’re not from around here when we see you’ve planted flowers before Easter and before the “second winter” has hit.

This is why all the people at the nursery don’t sound like us when you’re shopping for plants.

We know better.

During second winter it’ll go from 70 to 25 and you’ll experience all four seasons in one day.

This too shall pass, get used to it and when second winter is over you can enjoy the 3-4 Days🤪 of “spring”🌈☔️⚘️🪻 before summer gets here and it’ll be melt your face off 🥵hot until sometime around Halloween 👻🎃.

All 💯 Facts.

Enjoy 😉 🤷‍♀️😂

Copied & Shared!

[twilights-800-cats]

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Chapter 20

The entire camp exploded with noise.

All of Crowflight’s tiredness burned away in an instant, replaced with adrenaline as the cry came up again, but this time it was Smokewillow screaming into the night:

“Foxes! Foxes in the camp!”

“How in StarClan’s name?!” Duskwhisker hissed, scrambling to her paws, scattering half her nest in the process. The other warriors were scrambling, half-awake, into the clearing, their pelts littered with strands of bedding.

“Doesn’t matter!” Crowflight snapped back. “Come on!” Unsheathing his claws, he leaped out of the rain den.

His heart thudded in his ears as he took stock of the situation: The light of the waning moon shone down on the camp, turning every cat’s pelt to silver. The edges of the clearing were lined with cats, each standing shoulder to shoulder. Smokewillow was in front of the nursery, guarding it – and his mate – with his body. Barkface and Ryewhisper’s eyes shone from the dark recesses of their den.

In the center of the clearing paced the two foxes – they were large, thin, and, by the look in their eye, hungry and angry. There was a patch of destroyed camp wall behind them, opening the way to the moors outside.

For a long moment it seemed like they were all at a stalemate, the cats and the foxes locked in a staring contest, waiting to see who might make the first move. Crowflight wondered if the foxes had anticipated this many cats – maybe they would flee?

Then, one of the foxes laid their eyes upon the trio of apprentices. They barked to their comrade, and both narrowed snouts turned to the young cats.

They barked at the apprentices, but whatever they were saying was lost on Crowflight’s ears. I wish Midnight were here! he thought desperately. She understood fox!

Thistlepaw and Weaselpaw shared a glance, and then wailed as one. Thornpaw stepped in front of them both, her tail lashing and claws gleaming.

“You’ll have to get through me!” she declared, puffing out her pelt.

“Through all of us!” Mudclaw snarled, bounding down the hill to her side.  

The foxes barked again, and then rushed.

Like a wave, the entire Clan surged. Crowflight flung himself at the nearest fox of the pair, digging his claws into their spine.

For a moment, he was back in the mountains, in the Cave of Rushing Water – the battle with Sharptooth played over in his mind. That monstrous cat-creature had been three or four times his size, but that hadn’t stopped him then; a simple fox was certainly not going to stop him now.

He dug his claws in until the fox squealed, leaving room for Duskwhisker to fasten her teeth into its leg. Tornear slammed into it from the opposite side, and Whitetail dug her claws into its flanks. Just a tail-length away, the other fox had drowned in another sea of cats, led by Ashfoot.

The fox beneath Crowflight writhed and screeched, desperately kicking and biting at any chance at freedom. Its jaws snapped just a whisker away from Tornear’s ear, threatening to take it off entirely. A lashing hind paw caught Whitetail in the gut, sending her skidding back – only to have her be replaced by Thornpaw, who dug her claws in even tighter.

Crowflight felt the fox begin to shake. He tightened his grip, then lunged, taking the fox’s scruff in his jaws. He bit down as hard as he dared – not letting go when the fox let out a baying wail, but not threatening to break its spine, either.

The fox shifted its stance, then, and Crowflight felt its spine hunch beneath his belly. Loosening his grip, Crowflight let the fox buck him off, landing far more gracefully on four paws than he would have had he resisted.

His target had chosen to slam itself into the earth to dislodge all its attackers, kicking out with its legs to keep any of the warriors from attacking its exposed belly.

“Back off!” Crowflight ordered. “Be careful!”

The others obeyed. As Crowflight approached, his body low and prepared to spring again, the fox was backing up, its beady eyes flickering to and fro. It was surrounded – Crowflight to its front, Duskwhisker and Whitetail to one side, Tornear and Thornpaw on the other. Together the cats pushed it back towards the broken barrier.

The fox didn’t want to leave. It lashed out with a paw at Thornpaw, but the young she-cat ducked in time. Tornear backed her up, catching the fox’s foreleg in his jaws and biting hard. The fox yelped, punished, and decided enough was enough – it turned and fled, tail between its legs.

Only one left, now, he thought, satisfied.

Turning about, Crowflight realized that this other fox was being far more aggressive than its partner – the rest of WindClan’s warriors, led by Ashfoot, were having a hard time pinning it down. Its jaws were lathered with foam and blood, and Crowflight spotted more than one wound on his Clanmates.

This one’s desperate! Alarm rang in his ears. If we’re not careful, it’ll take one of us down with it!

The fox made a move.

It lunged for Onewhisker, who could only hiss in defiance as he was bowled over onto his back. The fox’s jaws slavered as it aimed a bite straight for the WindClan leader’s throat.

Crowflight’s heart stopped. No!

A dark streak slammed into the fox before the killing blow was struck – Mudclaw had lunged forward, grasping the fox’s neck between his forelegs. Using all his weight, the dark tabby tom managed to pull the fox away from Onewhisker, falling into another flailing pile of teeth and claws himself.

“Mudclaw!” wailed Duskwhisker. “Stop!”

“What do we do?” screeched Bramblefur, her pelt fluffed to its ends. “What do we do?!”

Crowflight’s fur stood on end. He wasn’t sure what to do himself – getting too close to the fighting could lead to more than one of them being injured, and the distraction might cause Mudclaw to get even more hurt. No one was giving any orders – Onewhisker lay on the ground, stunned, eyes wide and lit with shock.

Finally, Ashfoot saw an opening. Heart in his throat, Crowflight watched his mother plunge into the fray. She grabbed the fox by its lashing tail and tugged it back, off of Mudclaw – but the fox wasn’t happy about that, not at all.

With a screech it whipped around and snapped at Ashfoot, catching her in the shoulder with its teeth. There was a huge gush of blood, and Ashfoot yowled in pain.

Fear coursed through Crowflight. With a screech of fury, he flung himself at the fox, seeing nothing but its jaws fastened into his mother’s shoulder and the blood spurting through the air.

Crowflight hit the fox with his body, the force of the impact knocking them both down into the churned slush. Crowflight found anything he could latch onto with tooth or claw and began to strike, nothing but red in his eyes and the pained wail of his mother deep in his ear fur.

Eventually, Crowflight became aware that the fox had stopped fighting back.

The adrenaline left him just as suddenly as it had come, and Crowflight felt his limbs turn to water. He tried to pull himself off of the fox, but slipped in the churned-up slush and fell onto his belly. His heartbeat was deafening, and his stomach turned – the thick smell of blood in the air made him want to retch.

“Hey, hey,” Duskwhisker’s mew seemed faint and far away, even though Crowflight felt her right by his side. She nudged him with her paws. “It’s okay, Ashfoot is okay! It’s done!”

“She’s... okay?” Crowflight responded blearily.

Duskwhisker nodded. Crowflight turned his eyes to his mother, who was struggling to get to her paws. Her shoulder was thick with blood, but she was breathing, and she looked over the dead fox at her son and her eyes shone with appreciation.

Crowflight sighed with relief, his entire body sagging.

Barkface and Ryewhisper pulled themselves out of their den, herbs in their jaws. Barkface made for Ashfoot immediately, pressing a thick wad of cobwebs into her shoulder. Ryewhisper continued on, slathering poultices and cobwebs wherever he needed to.

“You’re fine,” Ryewhisper determined after sniffing Crowflight’s pelt.

Crowflight lifted his head. “I am?”

Ryewhisper nodded. “Just tired, and bloody. Here’s some thyme for the shock...”

Crowflight lapped it up without a thought. Slowly, he felt his body returning to normal, and his head didn't seem as foggy. He managed to sit up and began to clean himself, with Duskwhisker’s help.

“You think that was the pair that was holed up outside our territory?” Webfoot wondered, his tail flicking.

“Possibly,” Whitetail agreed, her eyes troubled. “Even so...”

“How did this even happen?!” Bramblefur’s meow was high pitched, full of fear. Her gaze beseeched the Clan. “Foxes don’t attack camps!”

“You’re right, they don’t,” Barkface grunted, looking up from Ashfoot. “Something must have drawn them here.”

“Are you saying one of us did this?” Onewhisker wondered, getting to his paws. He had a nasty bite on his hind leg that Ryewhisper was trying to dab with a poultice. It seemed like he had finally grasped awareness of the situation.

“I don’t want to say it,” Barkface mewed, his gaze stern. “But Bramblefur is right – the foxes had to sense that they were outnumbered, but they came anyway. That means they must have come for something.”

Crowflight couldn’t help it. He glanced at Mudclaw, who had drawn himself up and off to the side, licking his wounds. It looked like he’d come away from saving Onewhisker with only a few scratches, which Crowflight considered quite lucky, with how angry the fox had been.

Did you do this? Crowflight wanted to ask it aloud, but he knew he couldn’t dare.

But why would Mudclaw lure foxes into camp and put every cat in danger? That just didn’t make any sense, not when Mudclaw’s complaints were that he wanted WindClan to be safe and stand on their own, with their own strength.  

This only works if he wants a convenient way of getting rid of Onewhisker – but why do that only to save him? Crowflight’s head hurt. Unless he wanted to undermine Onewhisker again? But that only circled back onto itself – Mudclaw didn’t want to hurt anyone in WindClan, according to him. Crowflight still couldn’t imagine he was lying about that – besides, foxes weren’t exactly something a cat could hope to control.

“I-It was us.”

The voices were small but in the leafbare silence they seemed like screams. Thistlepaw and Weaselpaw padded up to Onewhisker, their heads bowed low.

Onewhisker raised a brow. “What’s this, now?” he wondered, looking confused.

The siblings glanced at one another, then Weaselpaw explained: “Thistlepaw said it was a bad idea, but I wanted to try looking for the Moonstone, i-in the woods outside our territory. We didn’t find it, but we did find-”

“Your catches!” Tornear breathed, lifting his head in realization.

Beside him, Webfoot flattened his ears and hissed, “You stole fresh-kill from the foxes, while we weren’t looking?!” The gray tom was bristling. “Are you both hare-brained? Have we taught you nothing?!”

Both apprentices flinched, cowering under the harsh, disappointed glares of their mentors. In the crowd, Softbreeze looked stunned, having just spent an entire day singing her sons’ praises to everyone who could listen.

“Be easy, Webfoot,” Onewhisker soothed. “Their intentions were good. Foolish, but good...”

Weaselpaw whimpered, “We’re sorry! We just wanted to help!” He trembled in the light of the moon. “Please, don’t stop us from becoming warriors!”

“We didn’t mean to hurt anyone!” Thistlepaw agreed, his tail wrapped tightly around his paws.

Crowflight couldn’t help but feel badly for the two apprentices – he could imagine what they were thinking, that finding the new Moonstone might get them and their denmate their warrior names, might mark them out as heroes to all the Clans...

Might stop the turmoil brewing in their own Clan.

Onewhisker stared down at the two apprentices. The entire Clan was looking at him, awaiting his next words. The brown tom took a deep breath, as if to steady himself.

“I can’t stop you from becoming warriors, because I cannot even properly name a warrior myself right now,” Onewhisker reasoned. Crowflight thought he sounded frustrated with himself.

Onewhisker meowed on: “You both did what you thought was for the good of the Clan - of all the Clans - but I cannot ignore that it was still a foolish decision. You disobeyed your mentors, and you brought danger onto your home.” He glanced at Ashfoot. “We’re lucky that no one was killed.”

Raising his chin, he announced, “As punishment, you two will spend the next two moons assisting Poppyfoot with whatever building tasks she has in mind, no matter how small. Not only that, but you will help Barkface and Ryewhisper with whatever they might need to heal our Clanmates after this incident. All of this alongside your normal duties, starting at sunup. Is that clear?”

“It is,” Thistlepaw murmured.

Weaselpaw, beside him, nodded.

Onewhisker sighed. “Good.”

Crowflight swallowed. Was that too harsh? It’s not my place to worry about that, he told himself. I’m not Clan leader, thank StarClan!

Both Thistlepaw and Weaselpaw slunk off, followed by their mother. If Softbreeze had stern words for her kits, Crowflight didn’t hear them. He laid his head on his paws, eyes blurry, too tired to care at the moment.

“Emberstep, Duskwhisker, go and bury the fox,” Onewhisker meowed, his voice sounding far away. “Make it deep, and as far away from camp as you can. Tornear, Smokewillow, back them up, just in case the other fox is out there...”

Crowflight shut his eyes.

“Good job,” Mudclaw’s voice touched his ear. “I told you that WindClan still needs you...”

———————————————————

“WindClan doesn't need this right now!”

Crowpaw hunched his shoulders, staring firmly down at his paws. He glared at the grass sticking up between them, wondering if it was dry enough now for just his eyes to start a fire.

Mudclaw was pacing, his pawsteps breaking the brittle stems. He was bristling all down his spine, his tail lashing back and forth. Angry, frustrated.

At me, Crowpaw thought. At himself.

“Are you even listening?” Mudclaw hissed.

Crowpaw, too focused on his own paws, missed the blow aimed at his head until it connected. Ear ringing, eyes stinging, Crowpaw had to finally lift his muzzle to meet Mudclaw’s blazing eyes. The brown tabby was at his full height, his claws tearing at the grass.

“What is even going on in your head?” Mudclaw demanded. “Is it all rabbit fluff up there or is there something, anything at all?!”

Crowpaw bristled defensively. “I did it for the Clan!” he snapped back. “The rabbits have all gone to ground in the heat, or the Twolegs are scaring them off - we’re starving!”

“You stole from another Clan!” Mudclaw snarled. “And more than that, you got caught!”

Crowpaw curled his lip.  

“Now I have Tallstar breathing down my neck, wondering if I’m a fit mentor, even if I’m a fit deputy!” Mudclaw went on, seething. “Did you think it was funny, hearing that puny, arrogant Tinystar call us prey-thieves in front of the other Clans? Now Leopardstar thinks we’re going to steal her nasty fish! She might go back on her promise! All because you messed up!”

Crowpaw flattened his ears.

Mudclaw huffed. “If this happens again, you can say good-bye to your warrior name,” he stated plainly. “I’ll make sure you’re stuck as an apprentice, forever, scraping out the elder’s den since you can’t be trusted to bring back even a single piece of fresh-kill without bringing all of ThunderClan with you!”

Crowpaw’s eyes widened. “No way!” he breathed. It felt like his lungs were empty, suddenly. “You can’t do that! That’s not fair!”

“You’ve messed up one too many times,” Mudclaw said harshly. “I’ve kept you back in hopes that you might turn yourself around, but all it seems to me is that you’re determined to spit on your father’s legacy. If Deadfoot is looking down on you, I would guess he’s ashamed.”

Crowpaw bristled. The world spun, and he dug his claws into the dusty earth. “I, I...”

“I want you to think about it,” Mudclaw growled. “I want you to think about whether or not your behavior is what Deadfoot would have wanted from you. When you’re ready to be serious, come find me...”

Mudclaw disappeared into the wind.

Crowpaw felt his frustration bubble over. The wind blazed around him, hot and heavy, flattening the grass against the earth.

He didn’t even know who Deadfoot was! Everyone spoke about him as if he were the greatest hero that WindClan had ever known, but was that even true? Was that only for Crowpaw’s benefit, to make him feel less alone? To make Ashfoot feel better about losing her mate and their other kits - Crowflight’s littermates that hadn’t even seen a moon’s worth of life?

His mind flashed back to his dreams, days ago; seeing Deadfoot atop Longsight Rock, hearing his voice for the first time in his life. The stars had sparkled in the old deputy’s black coat, twinkling in his eyes as he spoke ominous words into Crowpaw’s ears.

“Meet them at midnight on the night of the new moon,” he had said. “Meet them, and make me proud, my son.”

How did one make a hero, a legend, proud?

Was that even possible?

Why was it his responsibility in the first place?

There was no answer.

The dream faded; the wind died. Crowpaw was Crowflight, and Crowflight wished for a much better dream than this.

[gracie-bird]

“I consider Grace Kelly as one of the purest faces I have ever studied. (...) A few years later, she asked me to draw a triple portrait of her as a Christmas present to the Sovereign Prince.  Whilst looking for a date to do the drawing we realized that we would be together, at the same time, in Los Angeles. The Prince and Princess were going to spend a few days in Palm Springs at Frank Sinatra’s. I myself had an exhibition in Beverly Hills.  Hence it was decided that I would do the triple drawing at Frank Sinatra’s home.

On another occasion, in Monaco, to facilitate the settings for little Prince Albert and Princess Caroline, when I was painting their portraits, Princess Grace read them fairy stories.  We were in the nursery.  To listen to her was a real pleasure, she used her acting talents and the children were fascinated.  One of the stories was about Christmas, and the little Princess Caroline, aged four, suddenly interrupted her mother, “Mummy, tell me please, does Father Christmas live near my Palace?” 

-ALEJO VIDAL-CUADRAS ON PRINCESS GRACE OF MONACO.

[themargaretcleveland]

Explore the Beauty of Spring at The Margaret Cleveland, Walther Gardens & Nursery! Are you ready to transform your garden into a breathtaking paradise? At The Margaret Cleveland, excitement is blooming with our latest arrivals! From imported beauties to exotic tropicals, our nursery is bursting with treasures waiting to be discovered. Whether you're a seasoned gardener or just starting out, we have something for everyone. Join us this weekend for an unforgettable experience! Explore our wide selection of annuals, herbs, veggies, and more. Let's make this season of planting, gardening, and collecting truly joyful!

Visit us at Walther Gardens & Nursery:

Thursday to Saturday: 11 AM to 5 PM

Sunday: 12 PM to 4 PM

Or catch us at our Bolton Hill location:

First Weekend of the Month

Friday: 4 PM to 7 PM

Saturday: 12 PM to 7 PM

Sunday: 12 PM to 4 PM

Experience the wonder of nature with us. See you soon at The Margaret Cleveland!

[damasaknjigama]

May Gardening Tips for Vegetable Production and Outdoor Flower Plants

Expert Advice for a Successful Garden this May

As we approach the month of May, it's time to gear up for a productive season in the garden. Whether you're growing vegetables or tending to your outdoor flower plants and ornamentals, there are a few key tips to keep in mind. In this article, we'll provide you with expert advice from Dhruba Dhakal, a University of Missouri Extension Horticulturist, to help you achieve a thriving garden this May.

Vegetable Production

Growing lettuce under screening materials is a great way to slow bolting and extend harvests into hot weather. This simple technique can help you enjoy fresh lettuce for longer periods.

When planting young transplants, it's important to protect them from cutworms. Create cutworm collars using cardboard strips and place them around the base of the stems. This will prevent cutworm damage and ensure the healthy growth of your plants.

Tomatoes thrive in warm soils, so make sure to plant them when the soil temperatures have risen. Additionally, mulch around the plants and provide support stakes or cages at planting time to encourage proper growth.

Broccoli and cabbage plants are often targeted by caterpillars. To control these pests, you can either handpick them or use biological sprays such as B.T. (bacillus thuringiensis) or Spinosad.

When planting squash and cucumbers in hills, it's a good idea to place a stake or flag near the seeds. This will help you locate the root zone watering site once the vines have grown.

Keep an eye out for striped and spotted cucumber beetles, as they can spread wilt and mosaic diseases to squash and cucumber plants. Early detection and intervention are key to preventing the spread of these diseases.

Remove rhubarb seed stalks as soon as they appear. This will redirect the plant's energy towards producing healthy leaves and stems.

Peppers and eggplants should be planted after the soil has warmed up. These warm-season crops thrive in higher temperatures.

If you're planning to grow sweet potatoes, now is the time to plant the slips. These can be purchased from nurseries or started from your own sweet potatoes.

For a continuous harvest of sweet corn, start planting at two-week intervals. To ensure good pollination, plant the corn in a block formation with a minimum of 4 rows. If you're growing different varieties, make sure to isolate them to prevent cross-pollination.

Cilantro tends to go to seed quickly, so consider planting multiple batches or regularly cutting off the bloom heads to prolong the harvest.

When it comes to herbs planted in average soils, they generally do not require extra fertilizer. In fact, too much fertilizer can reduce the flavor and quality of the herbs at harvest time.

Regularly scout your garden for insect and disease problems. If you need to use a pesticide, always follow the directions on the label to ensure safe and effective application.

Outdoor Flower Plants and Ornamentals

To promote healthy growth, pinch back azalea and rhododendron blossoms as they fade. After flowering, fertilize them using an azalea or blueberry fertilizer. It's important to maintain the acidity of the soil for these plants to thrive.

When it comes to spring bulbs, avoid removing the foliage too soon. Premature removal can inhibit flowering next spring, so let the foliage naturally wither and feed the bulbs.

For compact and bushy growth, pinch back mums. This will encourage fuller plants and more abundant blooms.

Lightly side-dress perennials, including spring bulbs, with a 5-10-10 or 10-10-10 fertilizer. Be careful to avoid the center or crown of the plant when applying the fertilizer.

If you're short on time but still want a beautiful garden, choose plants that are easy to maintain and do not require deadheading. Some examples include begonia, impatiens, alyssum, ageratum, lobelia, vinca, and salvia.

If needed, prune blooming shrubs right after the flowers have faded. This will help maintain the shape and overall health of the plants.

For sunny locations, consider using ground covers such as Ajuga, creeping phlox, and creeping juniper. However, be mindful that some ground covers can be invasive, so it's important to choose the right ones for your garden.

Now is the time to plant gladiolus, caladiums, dahlias, cannas, and elephant ears. These beautiful flowering plants will add color and vibrancy to your garden.

If you have tubs or garden pools, consider planting hardy water lilies. These aquatic plants will enhance the beauty of your water features.

Inspect your plants for scale crawlers and other insects. Early detection is crucial for effective pest management. For more information on specific pests, refer to the MU Extension Guides provided in the sources.

Check for newly hatched bagworms on evergreens and conifers. These pests can cause significant damage if left unchecked. Refer to the MU Extension Guide provided in the sources for more information on bagworms.

Remember not to remove spring bulb foliage prematurely. The foliage should be left to feed the bulb. If you need to move or divide bulbs, wait until the foliage has died down.

You can also mark the bulbs for fall transplanting and division.

By following these expert tips, you'll be well on your way to a successful garden this May. Enjoy the beauty and abundance that nature has to offer, and don't hesitate to reach out to Dhruba Dhakal at [email protected] if you have any gardening questions.

As we enter the month of May, it's time to put these gardening tips into action. Whether you're growing vegetables or tending to your outdoor flower plants and ornamentals, these expert recommendations will help you achieve a thriving garden. From protecting young transplants to pruning blooming shrubs, each task plays a crucial role in the overall success of your garden.

Remember to be mindful of pests and diseases, and always follow safe and responsible gardening practices. With a little care and attention, your garden will flourish and provide you with beauty and bounty throughout the season.