A Timely Word From Maeve and Mable

 

Common Tansy

            It was the very bosom of a summer day, warm as a drowsy cloud. Brilliant flecks of sunshine dotted the forest floor. Insects hummed, bunnies hopped, and lesser birds called to each other lazily.
            A couple of matronly Great Ravens spoke together on a high branch, from which they could espy the doings in the forest nearby. A slight breeze trickled through height where they rested.
            “Well, now that he’s here, what’s to become of him?” said Mabel. “I did what I could for him.”
            “You did well, Sister,” said Maeve, turning a bright eye upon the other.
            “Praise from you, dear Maeve, is praise indeed,” murmured Mable.
            “It is only deserved, my dear, but I wonder what’s to become of him now?” said Maeve. “He has a foot in each of two worlds. Neither here nor there. Not really.”
            “How so?” said Mable, looking down to the forest floor, where Maurice was sitting on a bit of deadfall, playing a bluesy tune on his harmonica.
            “It looks like he is trying to bring Branson to the Forest,” remarked Maeve. “He’s a Howler, a real one, and yet there he sits, tail tucked out of sight, in a coat and pants!”
            “What’s to be done?” asked Mable.
            “Well, observe. Every few bars, he stops and scratches furiously at his own hairy hide, but encased as it is in pants, etc., he’s not making much headway with whatever is biting him,” said Maeve. “I would hate to see him bring fleas into the Home Clearing! Ramona wouldn’t thank us for bringing that!”
            “Ah, no, Ramona wouldn't thank us for that,” observed Mable. “By the way, do Forest Keepers ever have fleas?”
            “Some do, and they scratch themselves to bits. Ramona doesn’t allow fleas in the Home Clearing. She puts dried Tansy under the beds in the cave, but I think the fleas just don’t go there,” said Maeve. "Even fleas have that much sense."
            “A real Howler, living in the Forest must be clean. Unwashed human clothing is not clean. He must be devested somehow, Mable,” said Maeve. “I will think of a Song.”
            The sun moved his bright spots across the forest floor, and the wind scurried through the fir branches as Maeve composed a Song for Maurice.
            “I’ve got it, let’s approach him,” said Maeve. “But first, listen, Dear,” and Maeve sang it for Mable.
            Maurice was still hanging out playing his harmonica when the two Ravens lit on the forest floor before him.
            “Greetings, Good Howler Maurice, “ said Maeve. “Mable and I have a song for you!”
            “What!” said Maurice, while scratching under his left arm. “Mable, nah… Come on!”
            “Hello, Pilgrim,” said Mable, with a Raven giggle.
            “But, how can this be? What have you done with the Buick?” said Maurice.
            Mable just winked, and smiled a Raven smile.
            While Maurice was still trying to organize his thoughts, Maeve and Mable began to sing.
            Maeve’s Song was called Now To Cast Off The Contemptible Clothing!
            Maurice listened with his mouth slightly agape and his tongue lolling a bit.
            “You have to ditch the pants, shirt, and coat, Maurice. The fleas live there,” said Maeve. “Ramona would not thank you for bringing fleas into the Home Clearing!”
            “But what shall I do with them?” cried Maurice.
            “Bury them, burn them, put them under a big rock, doesn’t matter. A True Howler doesn’t wear Man’s things into the Great Forest!” said Maeve.
            So, Maurice being a doggie sort of a creature, dug furiously with his hands until he had a deep enough hole. Then he packed his clothing in the bottom of the hole, and pushed the forest soil back over it. Then he tamped it down with his feet.
            “Much better!” said Maeve.
            “Must I bury my book, pen, and harmonica?” said Maurice.
            “No, there are no fleas on them, but you need a way to carry them about,” said Maeve.
            “What shall I do?” said Maurice.       
            “First we must go to the river, you shall swim and wash yourself, then we will go find Ramona and ask her!” said Maeve.
            The Ravens flew and Maurice trotted along below them, all the way to the silver river. Then he bathed himself, while the two waited, with his things on a boulder beside them.
            Maurice came out of the water and shook himself nearly dry, as all canids do. Then he sat in the warm air for a while, to fluff up. By now, the sun was starting to think about evening, and the light was different, and the shadows longer, reaching nearly across the river.
            Maeve and Mable flew, and Maurice trotted, carrying his book and so on.
            When they got to the Home Clearing, Ralph, Ramona, Cherry, Blue, Bob, and Berry, were all sitting down to a rather large roast of young buck.
            “Maurice!” called Ralph, “Welcome, come and sit! Maeve, Mable, come and eat with us!”
            “This is wonderful!” said Ramona. “Come and sit by my fire!”
            “Hi!” said Cherry, not quite as shy as she was before.
            Blue woofed a bit, and the Pumas grinned secret cat grins.
            Maeve and Mable alternated telling bits of the story of how Maurice came to be there, and explained that he needed some sort of a bag or something for his book, pen, and harmonica.
            “Hello, Ralph and Ramona, and Cherry! It is so good to be here at last,” said Maurice.
            They all had Ramona’s good dinner together, just catching up, and asking about every one back and forth.
            After dinner, Ramona said, “Thaga can probably make a bag to go over your shoulder, Maurice, but for tonight, and until she does, just put your things up on the shelf in the cave.”
            “Thank you, Ramona,” said Maurice happily.
            That night, Ralph, and Maurice, and Blue, and Bob and Berry all had a campout under the stars by the fire circle.

✤

Just June Roses for Purrsday

 

Love & Roses

That's about it!

I'm wishing you a day full of happy Purring™!

Let's just talk amongst ourselves, as we always do.

It's a pleasure and a privilege to see you here!

🌸

They Love Two Things Above All Else

 

 

            Thaga, that wise and resourceful Neanderthal matron, had a wee cool pantry dug into the earth underneath the house. Ooog dug it there for her. There was a door and stairway, just as if it led down into a basement. The ancient earth, into which it was dug kept all her things cool, almost as nicely as a refrigerator.
            In addition to spuds, cabbages, onions, carrots, and garlic, she had a large earthenware crock full of brine in which she stored her rolls of butter that she traded with the cow woman down the street for. The butter was in exchange for garden stuff, and Thaga’s very good bread.
            Of course, she kept cheese and sausages down there too. Naturally.
            One day, having emptied the butter dish upstairs, Thaga descended into her little pantry, or more properly, her in-house cellar, to get a new roll of butter. Ooog would want butter with his bit of lunch when he came in from the garden.
            As she was going down the stairs, she shut the door carefully behind herself. When she came to the bench where the butter crock stood, she found the lid knocked off and on the floor. In addition to that, one roll of butter was laying out on the bench. It was covered with small prints like hand prints and there were several bites take from it. Thaga was astounded.
            “Now, who could have done this,” she asked herself. “I certainly did not! Ooog would never, and Harold the cat can’t get down here. I don’t believe Harold would raid my butter crock anyhow. He gets all he wants up in the kitchen,” she continued.
            With a little frown wrinkle on her forehead, Thaga looked all around the small cellar room. It didn’t seem as if any thing could hide there. But she searched anyhow.
            There was nothing hiding behind the boxes of vegetables, or the stacked cheeses, or among the bottled jams and sauces on their shelf. She moved the hanging sausages around and there was clearly no one there.
            She had several ropes of garlic, and dried peppers hanging from the overhead too. From the corner of her eye, as she was looking under cabbages, Thaga noticed movement in the garlic and peppers.
            “What have we here,” quoth Thaga to herself. And quick as a bunny she whipped those ropes of dried things to the side.
            Hanging there with his fingers looped through a couple of hooks in the ceiling was a small hairy creature similar in build to a human being. He was about 16 inches tall. He looked at Thaga with sharp black eyes and kicked at her face with his feet.
            Dodging the grubby little feet, Thaga grabbed those same feet and turned him upside down and shook him firmly, as if he were a dirty feather duster.
            “Who are you? Tell me your name, or I’ll plunge you in the sauerkraut!” said Thaga, though in truth, she would never do that to her sauerkraut!
            The little thing squirmed and screamed, but couldn’t get loose of Thaga’s terrific grip. Finally, he went limp and said, “Maug. I am Maug! Let me go!”
            “Maug, I confound thee!” said Thaga in a firm loud voice. Nothing happened. He was still there wriggling in her grip, spitting and hissing too.
            “You lied! You lied!” sang Thaga. “Tell me the truth, or I’ll boil you like a hen!” This was also highly unlikely. But, why tell the truth to a little black eyed forest grubber?
            It screamed horribly, until Thaga began to worry about Ooog possibly hearing the noise and becoming worried. She hung on, and shook him until he was quiet.
            “Tell me your name!” she demanded sternly. “Butter thief! Dirty thing in my cellar room!” He was silent, so she shook him some more. “How did you get in here?”
            “Ha! I’ll never tell! Fat old lady!” it spat.
            Obviously, he had dug his way in. Thaga had noticed a rabbit sized hole behind the garlic.
            “Tell me your name, gnome, elf, or whatever you think you are! Now!” yelled Thaga.
            “Into the pot with you then!” hollered Thaga. She shook him some more.
            “Verm! It’s Verm, fat old thing! My ma called me Vermmmmmm!” it sang in a high squeaky voice. As he cried out, he dropped something. It was a plain little golden ring. It was Thaga’s very own wedding ring!
            “Got it off my finger! Dirty little thief!” she said.
            Thaga grinned to herself, because Thaga knew a couple of things.
            “Very well, Verm. I confound thee. Banished you are to the forest earth. Dig there grimkin! Be gone!” said Thaga.
            Instantly, he was gone, as gone as if he had never been there. There wasn’t even a puff of smoke to remember him by.
            She bent down and retrieved her ring, and slipped it on her finger.
            “That worked pretty well,” said Thaga with satisfaction. “I never had to do that before!”
            She put the lid back on the butter crock, clean side down, promising herself to scrub it or get Ooog to cut another one. She picked up the befouled roll of butter to take upstairs and use for starting fires.
            Then she walked firmly up the twelve or so steps to the cellar door and passed into her kitchen. When she got up there, Harold the cat looked at her and said, “You should have left the door open, Ma’am. I would have taken care of that rat for you!”
            “Thank you, Harold! I appreciate the offer. My way was much less messy!” said she, giving Harold a nod and a wink.
            She wrapped the dirty butter in some old paper and put it in the kindling box.
            “Don’t eat this butter, Harold. It’s too dirty!” she told her cat, as he watched.
            “Meow!” said Harold. Then we he went outside to see what Ooog was doing. The front door was open, and sunlight was streaming in making bright squares on the stone floor.
            When Ooog came in for lunch, followed by Harold, Thaga told him the whole story, and asked him to close off the tunnel Verm had dug into her cellar room.

🐀

A Few Items of Fatherly Advice from Ralph

 

            Look, I know everybody already has a dad. And, dads try to tell you everything you need to know to get through life successfully. This is laudable, and necessary. I salute your progenitors, as a group!
            However, it struck me recently that you all might benefit from some timely advice from a devoted Forest Dad, me. Hear me out and see whether you agree.
 
            1.      Take time to dance! It squares you with the Universe. It removes grumpy moods and confuses the mosquitoes. Anybody can dance! When I do it, the earth giggles.
 
            2.      Stand on one leg often. Two legs make you really stationary. Be flexible and ready to go any direction at a moment’s notice. And if you get really good at it, you might be able to pick that leg up and just exist, in the air.
 
            3.      Only eat stuff that looks like what it is. Things that come in bags and boxes are made in the spirit of Ma’ii, the Trickster. Beware of artifice!
 
            4.      Get to know your local rocks. They know a lot. They were here before you, or me! Listen to them.
 
            5.      Water is good. Go swimming all the time. Salt water is very good. Most of this planet is covered in water. There is a lot to be discovered down there. Also, there are fish. Fish are edible.
 
            6.      Go outside when it’s storming. Get good and wet, and let your hair blow in the wind. Sing praises to the Maker while you are out there. When you hear thunder, be thankful. Lightning is an augmenter of perspective.
 
            7.      Don’t answer your phone! It only leads to trouble! Turn the ringer off. How can you stand that thing anyhow? If I had one, I would let Ramona bust it up, and bury it along some lonely highway.
 
            Since 7 is the ancient number denoting perfection, I’ll leave it at that. And, if you have young ones, be sure to hand down my admonishments. They will stand out among their fellows if they learn and follow my teachings. They will be almost like Forest People themselves, and this is a good thing!
            As always, all my best to you! I hope we meet soon, somewhere along the way.

💚

Have A Cigar?

 

            Ralph didn’t have anything special going on one summery day, and he got to thinking about how he always went to the ranger station when he wanted to shoot the breeze with his old bud Rick.
            Now, Rick had actually not been to Ralph’s locale since the pizza making night. That had been a long time ago. It didn’t seem right to Ralph. He’d eaten a lot of cookies and doughnuts, and drunk a lot of Rick’s coffee in Rick’s office.
            While he was still pondering this situation, Maeve happened to fly down out of the firs and land on Ralph’s shoulder, as usual.
            “You’re thinking pretty loud there, Boss,” said Maeve.
            “Oh, yeah? What am I thinking about?” queried ol’ Ralph.
            “I don’t know! You’ll have to tell me that!” said Maeve. “I’m not actually a mind reader, not much anyhow.”
            “I was thinking that it would be cool if Rick and I sat here on my log and smoked a couple of these cigars,” admitted Ralph.
            “You want me to go get him?” said Maeve.
            “Not exactly like that, Black Leg! Ask him if he’s got the time, etc.. etc., and if he’d like to come down and hang out for a while,” said Ralph.
            “You know Rick and I don’t talk, but I’ll give it a shot,” Maeve said, lifting off.
            Ralph smiled as he watched her fly off low through the tree trunks in the direction of the ranger station.
            It was OK with him either way, but he was pretty sure Rick would show up.
            So then, when Maeve got over there, she found Ranger Rick just exiting his truck. Perfect! She landed right at his feet. He jumped a little, when he saw the great black Raven appear at his feet.
            “Uh, hi, Maeve! What’s up?” said Rick cordially.
            “Hey, Rick! The Boss wonders if you have time to come and hang out with him for a few minutes,” said Maeve.
            “Yeah, Dexter really runs this outfit anyhow,” said Rick. “Let me run in there and tell him to carry on without me.”
            Rick popped into his office, and right back out.
            “I’ll take you in, just follow me,” said Maeve.
            Rick followed Maeve as she flew in short hops behind the station dumpster and into the woods. For a short distance, it was just a path in the woods. But then it changed. Maeve hop/flew into an area that looked a little watery and indistinct. Rick shook his head and followed her right in.
            Inside, it was the Great Forest. Sunlight filtered down in diagonal rays between the massive Douglas firs. The air was sweet with an indefinable almost floral scent. Birds called responsively to each other. And it seemed to Rick that he saw a small flower or two bloom as he passed. Time seemed to stop. He almost heard the very forest speaking to him.
            Suddenly, there was Ralph, sitting up on his big cedar log. He seemed to be humming something under his breath. When he saw Maeve and Rick coming, he waved happily.
            “Thanks for coming! Short notice huh?” said Ralph.
            “Short notice? No, it’s good! Happy to see you at home,” said Rick.
            “I’m going to go see Ramona,” said Maeve, who then took off.
            “I was looking at my cigar box here, Rick, and it seemed to me that having a cigar with a friend is better than having a cigar sitting out here alone, yanno?” said Ralph. “Have a seat, man!”
            So, Rick climbed up on Ralph’s log.  It was a little bit of a scramble for him, but he landed upright beside Ralph.
            “I haven’t had a cigar since college, Ralph. It was a terrible cigar!” said Rick.
            “Well, shall we see how this one stands up to memory?” said Ralph.
            “You bet, “ said Rick. Then there was the whole business of lighting up Ralph’s fairly fancy cigars, sitting on a big cedar log in the heart of the Great Forest. It took a few minutes.
            “Ralph, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” said Rick.
            “Ask away!” Ralph was intrigued.
            “Were your people and the people who lived here before we got here really friends, like they say? And, are those paintings of big mysterious figures they find on rock walls really some of you guys?” said Rick. “Do you know any Indians yourself? I don’t see them around here.”
            “This is what my mother told me. Yes, we have always been either friends, trading partners, or sometimes at war with the native population before the Europeans got here. The funny thing is, we were here before the tribes got here. Most of them don’t say that, do they? Yes, they did paint images of some of us. I'm not sure what else they could be!"
            “But, then, Ralph, I gotta ask, where did your people come from, in the beginning that is,” said Rick
            Ralph smiled, took a puff of the cigar, and winked.
            “Well, Mom didn’t come right out and tell me the answer to that one,” said Ralph. “Ask, yourself, Rick. Where did any of us come from?”
            “It’s all the same, isn’t it?" admitted Rick. “I think we know Who, but we don’t really know how. There are the old stories, and I’m sure they’re true. Mysterious, manifold and deep.”
            “That’s true! How about one of these Heinekens?” said Ralph.
            “Sure!” said Rick.
            They drank their beers and thought deep thoughts for a while.
            “I better go back to work,” said Rick. “Can I just walk out of here?”
            “Yup! Just follow the path. Getting out is easier than getting in!” said Ralph. “Thanks for coming! Let’s do it again! Oh, yes, I do know some tribal types at Tulalip. Nice people. People from several local tribes and some Mexicans all got scooped up and put there together! I should tell you the story of what happened when I went out there a couple of year ago sometime.”
            “I’ll look forward to that,” said Rick as he jumped down to the ground, and headed off down the path to the ranger station on the other side of the dumpster.
            “Say hi to Ramona and Cherry,” said Rick, “when you get down to the fire.”

🍀

Who Goes There? We Know Who!

             This fine rendition of one of Ralph's buddies is called the Mt. Rainier Bigfoot. It was made by sculptor Benjamin Isitt. We found him standing in Elbe, WA, which is near unto Mt. Rainier, well, Tahoma.

            I'm pretty sure Ralph would like to borrow the hat for a little while, but Maeve wouldn't go for it. She would feel that it impinged on her shoulder seating area, and looked ridiculous. Ramona and even Thaga would laugh at it.

            Yeah, it's another open thread. 

            But, when you look at this photo you just know he's out there! Himself, the real Ralph. And you can also depend on his merry heart wishing us all well.

            He says that the standing invitation to visit the Great Forest still stands!

🍃🧡🌿

    

          

In Celebration of Catfurday

 💮Yesterday's Portraits of The Scouts💮

Sweetie in a box. Manic!

Elegant Booker. Near a box.

You can see that their souls are completely different.

Both very fine fellows.

🤍