I am–and have always been–the person picking up pods from the corner of the playground while others race around or jump rope. I am the mom arranging stones on the riverside while the other adults are…well…not knee deep in mud. One of the down sides of being creative is being conspicuous. I remember a friend I went to see one time in Toronto telling me to “quit picking” as I scoured the beach.
The other day, I was waiting while the children played on a playground, and I spotted a big piece of styrofoam. All around it were these. These pods. I was impressed by the diverse patterns and colours present in the wood, all from one tree. Teal, black freckles, gray lines, brown patches. The insides of pods that had been fermenting there all winter. I had to bring them home. I had to explain to a new acquaintance why I was carrying a pail of musty pods.
It’s because I’m an artist. Sometimes I pick up pods.
Sheryl
I’m glad that you are an artist. You help me see things that I sometimes miss. The circular pattern that you made with pods is wonderful.
The Farmhouse Chronicles and Delight-filled Leaves Art
Thank you! I also appreciate your work on your blog. It inspired me to start my own family history one as well, thefarmhousechronicles.wordpress.com. the time period of your grandmother’s journal is a time where I have quite a few photos and letters, so it’s an interesting connection.
Sheryl
Thank you for the kind words. Now I’m going to go look at the Farm House Chronicles.