#lawn geese

[coldgreengrapes]

I need someone to edit Wikipedia for us Canadians. Porch geese caught on with Southwestern Ontarians sometime before 1995, because I enjoyed looking at them through my childhood. Look at this more recent article about one Windsorites' porch goose garment collection.

I didn't know porch geese were a regional quirk until I moved out of Southwestern Ontario! Nobody has these lovely ladies out here. I may buy one for myself now lol

[rabbitcruiser]

Bower Ponds, Red Deer (No. 3)

Leonard Gaetz gave a half-share of 1,240 acres (5.0 km2) he had acquired to the Calgary and Edmonton Railway to develop a bridge over the river and a townsite. As a result, the Crossing was gradually abandoned. The first trains arrived in 1891.

Following World War I, Red Deer emerged as a small, quiet, but prosperous, prairie city.

Bird watcher Elsie Cassels helped to establish the Gaetz Lakes bird sanctuary.

During Great Depression of the 1930s, Central Alberta was not hit by severe drought. The city was virtually debt-free and profited from its ownership of the local public utilities.

In World War II, a large army training camp was located where Cormack Armoury, the Memorial Centre and Lindsay Thurber High School are now. Two training airfields were built south of the city at Penhold and Bowden.

Red Deer expanded rapidly following the discovery of major oil reserves in Alberta in the late 1940s. Red Deer became a centre for oil and gas and related industries, such as the Joffre Cogeneration Plant.

North Red Deer was amalgamated in 1948.

Government and administrative services include a hospital, a courthouse and a provincial building.

The railway moved to the outskirts and passenger train service ceased. The CPR bridge is now a walking trail.

Red Deer is Alberta's third largest city, with a slightly higher population than Lethbridge.

Source: Wikipedia

[uwudonoodle]

My neighbor has a goose dressed as a strawberry. I love her.

[whathasangramainyudonewrong]

Wrong #587

We came across some geese on a ray shift and I swear he was like, chirping at them

No one else heard it, but I swear he did it

[shroomsnail]

do some people really live in places where there are no wild animals?? like, even downtown, i see sparrows all the time despite trees being mostly absent. rats at night. turkey vultures above our heads. wasps and mosquitoes. spiders of all kinds licherally in every possible corner and inch of all buildings. ???

[tipsywench]

Look at these adorable babies I saw today. They held up traffic to cross the road but at least they were cute

[novusimperialis]

walking home from work today and im reminded why ive been enjoying this place so much. like im walking down the drive, there squirrels in the trees on my right, saw a pair of bunnies running around on the field on my left and futher up a snake just crosses in front of me. im in england, this is like the second time ive ever seen a wild snake. this whole touch grass thing actually kinda works, actually put me in a good mood

[headspace-hotel]

Nature is healing.

I burned the Meadow a couple weeks ago. At first it looked like nothing but charred ashes and dirt, with a few scorched green patches, and I was afraid I'd done something terrible. But then the sprouts emerged. Tender new leaves swarming the soil.

My brother and I were outside after dark the other day, to see if any lightning bugs would emerge yet. We had been working on digging the pond. That old soggy spot in the middle of the yard that we called "poor drainage," that always splattered mud over our legs when we ran across it as children—it isn't a failed lawn, and it never was.

Oh, we tried to fill in the mud puddles, even rented heavy machinery and graded the whole thing out, but the little wetland still remembered. God bless those indomitable puddles and wetlands and weeds, that in spite of our efforts to flatten out the differences that make each square meter of land unique from another, still declare themselves over and over to be what they are.

So we've been digging a hole. A wide, shallow hole, with an island in the middle.

And steadily, I've been transplanting in vegetation. At school there is a soggy field that sadly is mowed like any old field. The only pools where a frog could lay eggs are tire ruts. From this field I dig up big clumps of rushes and sedges, and nobody pays me any mind when I smuggle them home.

I pulled a little stick of shrubby willow from some cracked pavement near a creek, and planted it nearby. From a ditch on the side of the road beside a corn field, I dug up cattail rhizomes. Everywhere, tiny bits of wilderness, holding on.

I gathered up rotting logs small enough to carry and made a log pile beside the pond. At another corner is a rock pile. I planted some old branches upright in the ground to make a good place for birds and dragonflies to perch.

And there are so many birds! Mourning doves, robins, cardinals and grackles come here in much bigger numbers, and many, many finches and sparrows. I always hear woodpeckers, even a Pileated Woodpecker here and there. A pair of bluebirds lives here. There are three tree swallows, a barn swallow also, tons of chickadees, and there's always six or seven blue jays screaming and making a commotion. And the goldfinches! Yesterday I watched three brilliant yellow males frolic among the tall dandelions. They would hover above the grass and then drop down. One landed on a dandelion stem and it flopped over. There are several bright orange birds too. I think a couple of them are orioles, but there's definitely also a Summer Tanager. There's a pair of Canada Geese that always fly by overhead around the same time in the evening. It's like their daily commute.

The other day, as I watched, I saw a Cooper's Hawk swoop down and carry off a robin. This was horrifying news for the robin individually, but great news for the ecosystem. The food chain can support more links now.

There are two garter snakes instead of one, both of them fat from being good at snaking. I wonder if there will be babies?

But the biggest change this year is the bugs. It's too early for the lightning bugs, but all the same the yard is full of life.

It's like remembering something I didn't know I forgot. Oh. This is how it's supposed to be. I can't glance in any direction without seeing the movement of bugs. Fat crickets and earwigs scuttle underneath my rock piles, wasps flit about and visit the pond's shore, an unbelievable variety of flies and bees visit the flowers, millipedes and centipedes hide under the logs. Butterflies, moths, and beetles big and small are everywhere.

I can't even describe it in terms of individual encounters; they're just everywhere, hopping and fluttering away with every step. There are so many kinds of ants. I sometimes stare really closely at the ground to watch the activities of the ants. Sometimes they are in long lines, with two lanes of ants going back and forth, touching antennae whenever two ants traveling in opposite directions meet. Sometimes I see ants fighting each other, as though ant war is happening. Sometimes the ants are carrying the curled-up bodies of dead ants—their fallen comrades?

My neighbor gave me all of their fallen leaves (twelve bags!) and it turns out that piling leaves on top of a rock and log pile in a wet area summons an unbelievable amount of snails.

I always heard of snails as pests, but I have learned better. Snails move calcium through the food chain. Birds eat snails and use the calcium in their shells to make egg shells. In this way, snails lead to baby birds. I never would have known this if I hadn't set out to learn about snails.

In the golden hour of evening, bugs drift across the sky like golden motes of dust, whirling and dancing together in the grand dramas of their tiny lives. I think about how complicated their worlds are. After interacting with bees and wasps so much for so long, I'm amazed by how intelligent and polite they are. Bumble bees will hover in front of me, swaying side to side, or circle slowly around me several times, clearly perceiving some kind of information...but what? It seems like bees and wasps can figure out if you are a threat, or if you are peaceful, and act accordingly.

I came to a realization about wasps: when they dart at your head so you hear them buzzing close by your ears, they're announcing their presence. The proper response is to freeze and duck down a bit. It seems like wasps can recognize if you're being polite; for what it's worth, I've never been stung by a wasp.

As night falls, bats emerge and start looping and darting around in the sky above. If the yard seems full of bugs in the day, it is nothing compared to the night.

I'm aware that what I'm about to describe, to an entomophobe, sounds like a horror movie: when i walk to the back yard, the trees are audibly crackling and whirring with the activity of insects. Beetles hover among the branches of the trees. When we look up at the sky, moths of all sizes are flying hither and thither across it. A large, very striking white moth flies past low to the ground.

Last year, seeing a moth against the darkening sky was only occasional. Now there's so many of them.

I consider it in my mind:

When roads and houses are built and land is turned over to various human uses, potentially hundreds of native plant species are extirpated from that small area. But all of the Eastern USA has been heavily altered and destroyed.

Some plants come back easily, like wild blackberry, daisy fleabane, and common violets. But many of them do not. Some plants need fire to sprout, some need Bison or large birds to spread them, some need humans to harvest and care for them, some live in habitats that are frequently treated with contempt, some cannot bear to be grazed by cattle, some are suffocated beneath invasive Tall Fescue, Kentucky bluegrass, honeysuckle or Bradford pears, and some don't like being mowed or bushhogged.

Look at the landscape...hundreds and hundreds of acres of suburbs, pastures, corn fields, pavement, mowed verges and edges of roads.

Yes, you see milkweed now and then, a few plants on the edge of the road, but when you consider the total area of space covered by milkweed, it is so little it is nearly negligible. Imagine how many milkweed plants could grow in a single acre that was caretaken for their prosperity—enough to equal fifty roadsides put together!

Then I consider how many bugs are specialists, that can only feed upon a particular plant. Every kind of plant has its own bugs. When plant diversity is replaced by Plant Sameness, the bug population decreases dramatically.

Plant sameness has taken over the world, and the insect apocalypse is a result.

But in this one small spot, nature is healing...

[mizusnose]

My home in your arms

Completely inspired by these lyrics by the last dinner party “And you can hold me like he held her and i will fuck you like nothing matters”... :))))))))

Mizu caught your eye as the music heightened and the dim of the Halloween lights revealed the tear stains on your face. You hurried, a dizzying and humiliating thing that was smeared away the moment Mizu caught up to you. Through the mess of people dancing together, the low ceiling of the living room made you feel even more trapped.

“What’s wrong.”

And then all of a suddent, she’s there, pressed against your side, the edges of your elbow and the thick of your arms touch her own.. You look at her: the dark of her hair and the ridges of her nose and the meeting of her eyebrows on soft forehead skin.

“We have to go”

When “I” turned to “We”, you do not know, but you find that you don’t mind. Mizu nods, resolute and steady. She holds your hand and leads you through raspberry vape smoke, the smell of liquor, and the crash of someone’s vases. Outside, you finally feel reprise. A singular low groan from your throat into the frost Halloween night air grounds you a bit.

Still holding your hand, Mizu leads you to your car, the same one you and Taigen had taken to get to the party at the beginning of the night. The beginning of the night…Before you’d seen him with Akemi pressed together in the dark of a bedroom.

“I can’t–I..no..no, no.”

You know you’re not making sense, and that the shaking of your hands isn’t helping Mizu understand the situation any better, but you can’t stop.

“Okay okay.”

Mizu leads you away from the cursed car, and instead to the edge of the lawn, a smattering of red fallen leaves sticking to her doc martens as she holds you suddenly.

“It’s okay.”

You hear hoots and whistling a bit away, but it’s quickly silenced when Mizu left her head from yours.

“Let’s get out of here okay? I brought my bike.”

You nod silently, not quite sure how Mizu managed to get your hands to stop shaking so suddenly. Instead of questioning it, you follow Mizu’s leather clad jacket to the bike that you had once described as the thing that would take Mizu away from you forever. Now, it seems like its the forever you’ve been dreaming about.

The ride is a whizzing smear of the nighttime campus and bits of the surrounding sleepy town theyir college is located in. By the time they make it to Mizu’s shabby apartment, the hair on your arms are standing and Mizu’s shart hair is mussed and staticky.

The inside of Mizu’s apartment is the same. Minimal, neat, and barely any food on the countertops where you know there usually would be some. You consider it a bit longer than necessary, and stop inside the entrance.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Mizu steps to you, her big clunky shoes creates an echo and you look up to her–all of her. Her jet black hair, and smudged eyeliner, and blue eyes, and smal nose, and wet mouth. Her concern a written thing over her entire face.

“You wanted someone, someone else, to come back with you tonight.” You state, gesturing to the countertops and clean living room and the small bed that housed all of Mizu.

“Doesn’t matter.” Mizu says decisively. She leans forwards, connects the skin of her forehead to yours, and chuckles, “It doesn’t matter. Because you’re sad, and I love you, so it doesn’t matter, okay?”

You nods despite the confusion in your mind, the thud in your chest like wild geese in the sky. The soft animal of you growls suddenly, somewhere deep and primal inside you. A gutted feeling that leaves you sick and sullen.

“I-I didn’t know that he was cheating on me.” You say, a simple non-sequitor that has Mizu fisting your shirt. It’s thin, so her whitened knucles brush the sides of your ribs and your stomach, “If I did, I wouldn’t have come out with him tonight. Would’ve watched movies or went to yours, or well–I mean, you were out too so I guess–”

“Whatever I’m doing deserves to be interrupted by you.” Mizu says. A devastating silence follows, and you frown, your eyes well, and you feel hot rage and sadness swell inside you.

“Taigen, he–” You start, before Mizu brings your skull forward to the crook of her neck, “He didn’t know, but he thought and I just always said–”

“What?” Mizu said, unsteady in the hold she had you in.

“He always said you liked me. He always was jealous. And I always had to tell him–convince him that it wasn’t–that you wouldn’t–”

“No.” Mizu interrupts, holding you to her more closely now, “No.”

“You didn’t though, or at least, I didn’t think you did. But now–now..”

Mizu pulled away then. A startled horse. She faced you head on, a stallion in the wild, ready to dash with one wrong move, one wrong word.

“You do.” You said, awestruck. Mizu’s face went through emotions so quickly that you couldn’t pin one down before the next started. Anger, then fear, then rage, then love, then sadness, a desperate other thing that wasn’t yet known.

“I didn’t–”

“He always said you–he just..” You knew you weren’t making any sense, and yet, the dawn of realization rose inside you. A burning edge of sun spots and summer breeze and red dying leaves. You looked down at the mud and crimson on Mizu’s heel. You laughed, a quiet deadly thing, “You want me? You do? You want me?”

And then, and all at once Mizu looked at you, and stepped forward, and kissed you.

A simple kiss was what you were expected, but when you stepped back with the force of Mizu, her hands around you and her mouth on yours, you felt the tip of her tongue. An invitation, perhaps. Or worse yet, a demand, one that had been left dormant and silent in its wake, only overpowered by the self-control of a girl who wanted another girl who dated a man.

When the kiss broke, you tasted the cinammon mint of Mizu’s tongue. The same flavor you had tasted years ago, at the beginning of Freshman year when you both didn’t know how to kiss yet and so Mizu offered and you said yes, and—

“I want you”

And then they were kissing again, and you found yourself following along. Riding with the rythym of Mizu’s touches. Her hot hands up the back of your shirt, all the way to you neck and your bra, and then your skin when she unclasped the strap of the bra you had on.

“I do. All of you.” Mizu growled, pushed away for only a moment before pulling you along with her to her small twin sized bed. You didn’t know what it meant, except only that you wanted Mizu just as badly as she seemingly wanted you. She kissed you again, and this time, her tongue soothed over the ridge of gun behind your front row of teeth. You squirmed, and she moaned, a deep rolling thing that seeped into your gut.

“I thought, I always thought you didn’t–you couldn’t”

“Wouldn’t what?” Mizu pulled away, the sound of lips disconnecting in the air, “fuck you? Kiss you? Love you?”

You nodded, amazed with the way Mizu looked against the shitty off-white of the wall behind her: framed like the goddess of some ancient tribe, mirrored in the heavens. You whimpered, and felt Mizu’s firm thight pressed against you.

“I would, all of it. Just say so, I will.”

So you did, “Show me, then.”

1/2

———

I’m tipsy, I have work tomorrow (yes i’m an adult with an actual job), and so this will have two parts sowwy 🥺🥲

[thelambliesdown1974]

Okay but like walking across 🚶‍♂️ the sitting room 🐒🪑 I turn the television 📺 on 🔛 sitting beside you I look into your eyes 👁️ as the sound 🎼 of motor cars 🚗 fade in the night time 🌝 I swear I saw your face change 😲 it didn’t seem quite right 🤔 and it’s hello babe! 👋 with your guardian eyes so blue 👀 hey my baby 👶🏼 dont you know our love ❤️ is true 🫂 coming closer 👬 with our eyes 👁️ a distance falls around our bodies ⬅️➡️ out in the garden 🪴 the moon 🌙 seems very bright 💡 six 6️⃣ saintly shrouded men ✝️ move across the lawn 🏡 slowly the seventh walks in front 🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️🚶‍♂️ with a torch 🔦 held high in hand 🤚 and it’s hey babe! 👋👶🏼 your suppers waiting for you 🍝 hey my baby! 👋👶🏼 don’t you know our love ❤️ is true 🫂 I’ve been so far from here 🌄 far from your loving arms 😘 it’s good to feel you again 🥰 it’s been a long long time ⏳⌛️… hasn’t it🤔…………………… I know 🤓 a farmer 👨‍🌾 who looks after a farm 🌾 with water clear 💧 he cares for all his harvest 🥕 I know 🤓 a fireman 👨‍🚒 who looks after the fire 🔥… cant you see he’s fooled you all 😈 yes it’s him again 🤯 can you see he’s fooled you all 😢 share his peace ☮️ sign the lease 📑 he’s a super sonic scientist 👨🏻‍🔬 he’s the guaranteed eternal sanctuary man 🙏 look! 👀 look into my mouth 👄 he cries 🗣️ and all the children 👧🏼 passed down many paths 🛤️ I bet my life you’ll walk inside 🚶‍♂️ hand in hand 🧑‍🤝‍🧑 gland in gland 😵‍💫 with a spoonful 🥄 of miracle 🕊️ it’s the guaranteed eternal sanctuary 🙏 (we will rock you 🪨 rock you 🪨 little snake 🐍 we will keep you snug ☺️ and warm 😊…………………… wearing feelings 😁 on our faces 💁‍♂️ while our faces took a rest 😴🛌 we walked across the fields 🌾 to see the children 👦🏼 of the west 🧭 but there was a host of dark skinned warriors 🤺 standing still below the ground 👇🏻 🌎 waiting for battle! ⚔️ fights begun they’ve been released 😡 killing for for peace ☮️ bang bang bang! 💥 bang bang bang! 💥 and they’ve given me a wonderful potion 🧪 but I cannot contain my emotion 😭 and even though I’m feeling good 😌 👍 something tells me 🧐 I better activate my prayer 🙏 capsule 💊 todays the day 📆 to celebrate 🎉 the for have met their fate 🪦 the order for rejoicing 🥳 and dancing 🕺 has come from our warlord 🤴…………………… wandering through the chaos 🥾 the battle has left ⚔️ we climb up the mountain of human flesh 🗻 to a plateau of green grass 🏞️ and green trees 🌳 full of life 🕊️ a young figure 👦 sits still by a pool 🌊 he’s been stamped human bacon 🥓 by some butchery tool 🔪 he is you 🫵 social security 🧑‍⚖️ took care of this lad we watch 👀 in reverence as narcissus 😌 is turned to a flower 🌸 a flower? 🌸 …………………… if you go down ⬇️ to willow farm 🌳 to look for butterflies 🦋 flutterbyes gutter flies 🪰 open your eyes 👁️ it’s full of surprise 😲 eye one lies like a fox 🦊 on the rock 🪨 in the musical box 🎶📦 there’s mum and dad 👨‍👧👩‍👧 and good and bad 😇😈 and everyone happy to be here 😋 there’s Winston Churchill dressed in drag 👠 he used to be a British flag 🇬🇧 plastic bag 🛍️ what a drag 🙄 the frog was a prince 🫅 the prince was a brick 🧱 the brick was an egg 🍳 the egg was a bird 🦅 have you heard 👂 yes! We’re happy as fish 🐟 and gorgeous and geese 🦢 and wonderful clean in the morning 🧼 we’ve got everything 🤑 we’re growing everything 🌱 we’ve got some in ⬅️ we’ve got some out ➡️ we’ve got some wild things 👹 floating about 🕴️everyone 👦👩🧑 we’re changing everyone 😧 you name them all we’ve had them here 👈 and the real stars are still to appear! ⭐️🤩 feel your body melt 🫠 mum 👩 to mud 🪱 to mad 😡 to dad 👨🏻 dad diddly office ✏️ dad diddly office ✏️ you’re all full of ball 🏀 dad 👨🏻 to dam 🦫 to dumb 😛 to mum 👩 mom diddly washing 🧽 mom diddly washing 🧽 you’re all full of ball 🏀 let me hear you lies 👂 we’re living this up 🆙 to the eyes 👀 mama I want you now! 😩

[rabbitcruiser]

Goose Day  

National Goose Day is celebrated on September 29 every year. Also known as Michaelmas Day, the holiday initially celebrated the Archangel Michael but later became associated with geese because the date coincided with rent day in medieval England. Geese were a common form of payment, and many a citizen paid off their landlord with a goose tucked under their arm. Today the holiday is an excuse to munch on some tender roast goose, a bird that’s not eaten as frequently nowadays. No matter how you choose to celebrate, enjoy International Happy Goose Day!

History of National Goose Day

Egyptians were among the first civilizations to domesticate geese some 3,000 years ago. They captured thousands of the birds in nets, kept them in pens, and bred them for meat and eggs. Goose was a delicacy only the wealthy merchants and nobility could afford. In the 4th century in France, locals told the story of St. Martin of Tours and his geese. Martin did not want to be a bishop, and on the day of his appointment, he locked himself inside a barn. The honking was so loud that the geese drew the congregation to the barn, where they discovered Martin hiding. Martin became a bishop in 327 A.D. The goose was the traditional bird eaten by the Christian faithful on his feast day on November 11.

The first informal Goose Day in the U.S. was celebrated in Pennsylvania, in the Juniata River Valley. A Dutchman named Andrew Pontius employed Archibald Hunter, and their contract stated that Pontius would settle payments on September 29. Hunter appeared on Pontius’ doorstep with a goose on the day of payment. He explained to his employer that geese were good luck symbols for the coming year.

This is how the tradition of Goose Day caught on in America, starting in the Juniata River Valley. In 1973, International Goose Day was officially celebrated in Mifflin County, and in 1976, Juniata County followed suit. Since then, International Happy Goose Day has been observed annually on September 29.

National Goose Day timeline

3,000 Years Ago

Geese in Egypt

Ancient Egyptians domesticate geese.

17th Century

A Goose For Christmas

In London, geese become a popular Christmas dish.

1843

A Christmas Carol

Ebenezer Scrooge presents a goose for Christmas dinner.

1856

“The Food of London”

According to George Dodd’s “The Food of London,” 888,000 geese are sold every year, compared to 69,000 turkeys.

National Goose Day FAQs

Do geese have teeth?

No, geese do not have teeth.

How long do geese live?

Canadian geese live between 10 to 24 years, while swan geese live for 20 years.

Do geese mate for life?

Geese mate for life, and it’s rare for them to split up.

National Goose Day Activities

Roast a goose: Roast goose has a gamey but intense flavor comparable to dark meat like beef. Now is the perfect time to give it a try.

Fry a goose egg omelet: Goose eggs are larger and richer in flavor compared to chicken eggs. A goose egg omelet is sure to be a tasty treat.

Sharing is caring: Give your friends, family, neighbors, and coworkers some succulent goose meat to sample. They’ll love it, and you get to introduce one more person to this delicious fowl.

5 Great Facts About Geese

Imprinting on moving objects: Goslings will imprint on the first suitable moving stimulus, whether it's a mother goose, a human being, or an object.

Geese are territorial: Geese are fiercely protective of their territory, making them good guard animals on a farm.

Geese are the largest waterfowl: Aside from swans, geese are the largest waterfowl.

They are loyal: Geese mate for life and are very protective of their partners and offspring.

Goose alarm: In ancient Rome, geese were used to alert the citizens of the Gaulish invasions.

Why We Love National Goose Day

Goose meat is juicier: Farmers often joke that geese are the pigs of the air, bred to be lard animals. This means their meat is juicy and tender. You won’t need any gravy.

They have a unique taste: Geese absorb the flavor of whatever they eat in their body fat. Breeds like Black Brant are prized for this reason. Fed on eelgrass or wild celery diet, they’re pretty popular on the West Coast.

It’s a welcome change: People don’t eat goose as much as they used to. It’s a nice change if you’re bored of eating chicken or turkey all the time.

Source

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

At the Dawn There is Rejoicing--a birthday gift for @kmomof4 (Chapter 4)

Summary:  Birthday gift for Krystal, @kmomof4. Based on the story of Leslie Moore and Owen Ford in the book Anne’s House of Dreams–the 5th book in the Anne of Green Gables series.  Emma Gold has led a difficult life.  Her brother and her father died when she was a child, and she was then coerced into marrying the odious Neal Gold.  She thought she’d been granted a reprieve when he was believed to be lost at sea–only for him to return disabled and in need of a caregiver.  Killian is a newspaper reporter who is tired of his routine life.  When he falls ill, his editor forces him to take a sabbatical.  What will happen when Emma takes Killian in as a border for the summer? Big thank you to @snowbellewells for making the cover pic set!

Word Count: 3990

Other Chapters: (Prologue) (1) (2) (3) (5) (6) (7) (Epilogue)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Emma, dearie, I’ve come to ask you a favor,” Granny said, climbing the steps onto the veranda where Emma sat watching Neal chase the chickens in the yard.  One of them, thoroughly exasperated, turned around and gave him a vicious peck.  Neal yowled in response.

“Serves you right, you big, lumbering oaf!” Granny called across the lawn.  “Saying that man doesn’t have the sense he was born with would be a slander.  He never had any sense to begin with.”

Emma smiled to herself.  Whatever else it might be, a visit from Granny was always diverting.  “What’s the favor, Granny?” she asked.

Granny took a seat beside her and pulled out her knitting.  For the time being, she had put aside knitting for unwanted eighth babies and begun an afghan for Mary Margaret and David’s very much wanted first.  “Well,” she began, “I know you take in boarders from time to time and I was hoping you’d be willing to do so again.”

Emma had indeed begun taking in boarders several years ago.  It was hard to make ends meet sometimes, now that Neal was not able to be employed, and the steady income from a boarder was a welcome addition to her coffers.  “I don’t see why not,” Emma said.  “Who is it?”

“Name’s Killian Jones,” Granny said after a moment.  “Bless, me, but that man’s going after the geese now.  Emma dearie, you need a leash for that husband of yours.  Anyway, Mr. Jones, it turns out, is a descendant of the first residents of the Nolan’s House ‘o Dreams over there.  I thought about asking them to take him in, but that little house is barely bigger than a postage stamp, and now that they’ve brought in a nurse and housekeeper–name’s Johanna, I think–they’re just about bursting at the seams.”

“What’s this Mr. Jones like?” Emma asked.

“Never met him, myself,” Granny said, her needles clacking away in the otherwise peaceful afternoon, “but I’ve heard tales of his grandfather.  Good man, that.”

Emma raised her eyebrows in feigned shock. “Why Granny, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d praise any man as good or intelligent, or…well…worth anything.”

“Now, Emma, I’m not a complete misandrist, you know,” Granny said.  “I do rather like Dr. Nolan.  He’s got some brains in that blond head of his.  And Captain Nemo can be tolerable company when he’s not being cantankerous.”

“And what about Mr. Gepetto?” Emma asked slyly. 

“Pfft,” Granny said.  “That man wouldn’t know brains if they bit him on his well-formed backside.”

“Well-formed, you say?” Emma asked with a grin.

Granny blushed.  Actually blushed, and Emma’s grin widened.  “Never you mind, Emma, dearie.  We’re not talking about that hairy nincompoop.  We’re talking about Mr. Jones’s grandfather, Liam Jones.”

“Wasn’t there some story about him, something poignant and romantic?” Emma asked.

“Indeed there was,” Granny said, regaining her composure.  “You see, Liam Jones sailed over to the harbor from England many years ago looking to make a better life for himself.  He left his sweetheart, Elsa, back home, vowing to send for her when he’d established himself.  He took up school teaching, built that little house ‘o dreams with his own two hands, and finally he’d saved up enough money for his lady love’s passage.  

“Well, he sent for her and then waited. And waited. And waited. The time came when the ship–The Jewel of the Realm by name–was supposed to arrive, and no Elsa.  He took to going down to the shore every blessed day, looking for its sails to appear over the horizon.  At first he maintained his spirits.  After all, it was a long voyage.  Delays happened.  But as the days and then months went by, he began to worry.  First walking the shore with his anxiety, then taking to sitting despondently on the sand, but every day he waited.  The devotion that man showed.  Legendary.  

“Finally people began to give the ship up for lost, but Liam never lost faith.  He maintained steadfastly that his Elsa would return to him.  And then one day, he went to the shore, his eyes shining, an unearthly joy on his face. 

“‘She’ll arrive today,�� said he, and you know what, Emma dearie?  She did.  That blessed day, around sunset, The Jewel of the Realm made port.  The reunion of Liam and Elsa–well, let’s just say it was beautiful enough to make anyone blubber like an idiot.  (Mary Margaret’s probably still sobbing over the whole story down there in her house ‘o dreams after I told it to her.  You know how she is.)  He took her into his arms, tears streaming from his face, and the kiss that resulted was one for the ages.”

“How beautiful,” Emma said wistfully.  “And do you think this Killian is built of the same stuff as his grandfather?”

“Who’s to say,” Granny said.  “His folks moved to Montreal long before he was born, and you can never trust them city folks, but he probably has as good a chance of not being completely worthless as any man.”

“Well, we could certainly use the income,” Emma said.  “Sure.  Tell Mr. Jones he can board with us.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian Jones stopped to catch his breath for what felt like the fifteenth time since exiting the train.  He’d opted against taking a carriage to the boarding house Miss Lucas had directed him to in her latest letter.  It was, after all, a mere quarter mile walk from the station.  He thought he’d be able to manage it, particularly as he’d paid the stationmaster to have his luggage sent after him.

He’d thought wrong.

Blast this bloody pneumonia!  Dr. Whale had warned him it would take time, fresh air, and a lot of rest to fully regain his strength, but Killian hated feeling like an invalid.

He glanced around the harbor which would be his home for the next several months.  The island and the seashore were certainly picturesque.  He closed his eyes, enjoying the warm sea breeze blowing across his face–far more clammy than he would have liked. The salty tang of the air calmed him.  He’d always loved the ocean, always thought if he’d lived a couple centuries ago he’d have been a pirate.  Aye, this would be the perfect place to finish his recuperation.

Opening his eyes once more, he took in his bearings.  Off to his left sat a single, tiny white house.  He recognized it from the black and white dageurrotype his mother had received some years after moving to Montreal.  This, then, must be the house Liam Jones had built for his bride.

Turning to the right, he spotted a two-story gray house with a lovely front lawn and a garden off to the side.  This must be Mrs. Gold’s boarding house.  Killian sighed in relief noting that he was a mere hundred yards from the white picket fence that encircled the dwelling.  He wanted nothing more now than to collapse on his bed and sleep for the foreseeable future.

He tried to stride confidently up to the front door, but in his present state, his gait was more of a hobble.  Even so, he made it in due time and rapped smartly on the front door.

A moment later the door opened, and for the second time in as many minutes his breath completely abandoned him.

Beautiful didn’t begin to describe the absolute vision who peered out at him with enquiring green eyes, nor gorgeous either.  She was positively ethereal.  Perhaps he hadn’t survived the journey after all.  Perhaps he’d just arrived at the pearly gates and was being welcomed by an angel.

Well….welcomed might be too strong a word.  The vision before him regarded him with surprise and something like suspicion.  “Yes?” she asked.

“Good–” he started, hating the way his voice cracked like a young lad attempting to speak to the first lass he fancied.  He cleared his throat–which started a mercifully short bout of coughing–and tried again. “Good morning.  I’m looking for Mrs. Emma Gold.”

She gave him a quick nod.  “I’m Mrs. Gold.”

His eyebrows shot to his forehead.  This was Mrs. Gold?  This was his landlady for the summer?!  When Miss Lucas had told him about the place he was to board and the woman who ran it, he had imagined a bustling, matronly woman several decades this woman’s senior.  He’d imagined a bossy woman with a thoroughly cowed, hen-pecked husband, not this absolute vision.

“P-pleased to meet you,” he stammered, desperately trying to regain his bearings.  “I’m–I’m–”  

She raised a single eyebrow at his stammering (and his apparent inability to remember his own name), but he could see the amusement behind her eyes.

This was bloody ridiculous!

“I’m Killian Jones,” he finally managed.  “I believe you have a room for me to rent for the summer?”

Understanding lit her features.  “Come in, Mr. Jones,” she said at once.  “Granny told me about your illness.  You must be dead on your feet after that long journey.  Let me show you to your room.  My….husband….Neal can see to your luggage for you.  He’s…”

Killian saw the discomfort in Emma’s face at the mention of her husband, and he put a comforting hand on her arm.  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Gold.  Miss Lucas told me about your husband’s…situation…there’s no need to avoid the subject on my account.  And as for my luggage, it will be delivered later today.”

She nodded, and he saw her relief in the way he’d straightforwardly addressed Mr. Gold’s disability.  For a moment they merely stood, looking at each other, and Killian rather thought he could look at this woman for the rest of his life and be thoroughly content, but his head was beginning to swim, and he began to be afraid he’d collapse right here in her entrance hall.

Mrs. Gold must have seen him begin to sway on his feet, and she gasped, her eyebrows raising again.  Taking his arm, she led him up a flight of stairs to the first room on the left, promising to bring him a bracing cup of tea after he’d had a chance to rest.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma went down to the shore one evening a week later, feeling the need to walk, to get away, to blow off some of this pent up energy and emotion she was feeling.

She’d taken in boarders before, plenty of times.  Usually they were pleasant couples or older gentlemen.  She’d had the occasional issue with one of her boarders–someone who was a little too forward, who made a few too many innuendoes, who saw her as some sort of prize to be won, despite her married state.  

She’d never had trouble rebuffing them.  She could take care of herself, and normally it took no more than a single, icy stare to shut them down completely.  The one time a rather lecherous man named Walsh had refused to take no for an answer, she’d kneed him in a rather sensitive area.  When she’d told Captain Nemo about the situation later, he’d had a stern talk with the unfortunate man.  One that had involved his fists. An hour later, Mr. Walsh had shown up sporting quite the shiner.  He’d meekly apologized and then told her he meant to vacate the premises.

Kiliian Jones was….well he was something different altogether.  He was nothing like any of the other boarders she’d taken in.  The first time she’d seen him standing on her doorstep, it had taken everything in her not to drop her jaw.  He was a beautiful man.  Beyond beautiful.  Even pale and wan as he’d been, he’d set her heart fluttering with a single glance of those ocean-blue eyes.

Killian had been nothing but a gentleman ever since he’d arrived.  He’d been friendly, congenial, and always eager to help her with whatever she needed.  More than once he’d taken Neal off her hands for an hour or two so that she could run errands.  He’d been, in short, the perfect boarder.

But sometimes he flirted, rather outrageously. So outrageously, in fact, that she knew he was trying to make her laugh, to lighten this undeniable tension between them, this unspoken something that she could neither explain nor truly understand.  Sometimes she’d catch a look in his eye when he didn’t think she was watching, something longing and intense.  It made her stomach swoop and her heart race.

Emma remembered one day, a few weeks after her marriage, going to visit Neal’s cousin, Gideon.  The two men looked rather similar, but their personalities couldn’t have been farther apart.  Gideon was warm, personable and endlessly thoughtful.  He’d been the ideal host.  On the second day of their visit, he introduced them to Violet, the young woman who had caught his fancy.

Emma would never forget the way the two of them looked at each other–as though the sun rose and set in the other’s eyes.  While the men were otherwise occupied, Violet had taken Emma aside and confided her happiness.

“Every time I see him,” she’d gushed, “every time I even hear his name spoken, I get the butterflies.”

Emma had looked at her blankly.  “Pardon?”

“You know,” Violet had gone on, “butterflies.  That swooping feeling of being in love.  That feeling that your beloved is the most precious person in the world and your day is incomplete if it doesn’t involve him.”

Emma didn’t know, not at the time at least.

Now she did.  Now she understood all too well what Violet had meant, and she hated herself for it.

This man was her boarder, and she was married for heaven’s sake!  These feelings she was having, the way her heart yearned for….for something she couldn’t even put into words was utterly unacceptable.

If she were smart, she’d put a professional distance between them.  She’d lay down boundaries, insisting that he lead his life and she lead hers and other than the normal interactions of a landlord and a boarder, never the twain should cross.

But she couldn’t.

The fact is, she liked him.  It went beyond this strange fancy she’d taken to him.  She liked him.  She liked their easy camaraderie.  They’d already fallen into something of a routine.  Most nights they walked together over to the Nolan’s house or to the lighthouse to spend a few hours with Mary Margaret and David, Captain Nemo and Granny, and yes, often Marco Gepetto.  Those evenings were spent with laughter and good company.  They were a balm to Emma’s lonely spirit.

And at the end of the evening, she had Killian to walk home with.  They’d talk and laugh over the day's events, sometimes engage in heart to hearts, sometimes just walk together in easy silence.  It was so nice to have someone to go home with, a companion and friend to while away the long summer days with.

She was playing a dangerous game; she knew she was.  When the summer came to an end, Killian Jones would return to his home in Montreal, and she would bid him a pleasant but detached farewell, knowing she’d likely never see him again.  She had to.  She was, after all, still a married woman despite Neal being, well, Neal.  There was no other way this could end.

But somehow, the thought of that parting hurt worse than all the lonely years she’d spent before Killian had come into her life.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian chuckled as he and Emma left the Four Winds lighthouse one evening in late June, the sound of Granny and Marco’s bickering ushering them out into the temperate night air.

“Do you think those two will ever stop arguing long enough to admit they’re hopelessly sweet on each other?” Emma asked with a smile that had the power to light up even the darkest night.

Killian laughed again.  “Not until the Grits retake the government,” he said.

Emma’s musical laughter peeled out into the night.  “Have you ever heard anything as ridiculous in your life?”

Killian and Emma had spent the evening at the lighthouse, along with the Nolans, Granny, Marco, and of course, Captain Nemo.  It was a common occurrence, and Killian enjoyed every moment of it.  Within the space of an hour, he felt like he’d known this group of people all his life.

Kindred spirits they certainly were.  They were, what Granny would call “The race that knows Merlin”.  Killian had no idea of the origin of the phrase, but from what he gathered it meant people who understood each other, liked each other, belonged in each other’s lives.

That night, as they’d whiled away the hours, David Nolan had suddenly turned to Marco.  “Mr. Gepetto,” he’d said, “I simply must know.  What is the reason for your…unusual…manner of grooming?”

Granny had made an annoyed sound and rolled her eyes.  “He’s a fool, that’s what,” she’d said.  “Just like a man!”

“Present company excluded, of course,” Mary Margaret had said.

“Jury’s still out on that, Mary Margaret, dearie,” Granny had said.  “But back to the fool sitting next to me.  Going on twelve years ago now, a parliamentary election was afoot, and Mr. Gepetto got it in his head that his party–the Grits–were going to win the day.”

“And they should have!” Marco said heatedly.  “All signs pointed to it!”

Granny eloquently ignored his interruption. “So there we all were, the night of the election, down at Leroy’s general store waiting for the results to be announced.  Leroy’s was the only establishment in the village with a telephone at the time.  There’d been a heated discussion about who would win power, and that absolute dunderhead over there was so all-fired convinced his party would win that he made a vow. ‘As all of you are my witness,’ he said, ‘I vow I will never cut my hair or shave my beard until the Grits are once again in power!”

“And I kept my vow,” Marco said with a solemn nod.

“Oh no one’s doubting your sheer pig-headedness, dearie,” Granny said.  “As you well know, the Grits didn’t win that election–nor any of the ones that have followed, and so there you have it–a man with far more hair than brains.”

“What do you think will happen if the Grits ever take power again?” Emma asked with a smirk, bringing Killian back to the present.

“My guess?” Killian said, “he’ll wake up the barber the second the news is announced and get a 12 years overdue haircut.”

As he and Emma walked companionably back to the house, Killian contemplated the rest of the evening.  He’d always loved visiting the lighthouse.  Captain Nemo had such exciting stories of his adventures on the high seas.  The man was a born storyteller, and he loved his captive audience, spinning his yarns with the best of them.

On this particular night, instead of starting in on his stories right away, he’d rummaged in his old sea chest and produced a battered and worn leather-bound notebook, held it for a moment, and then extended it to Killian.

“I’m not much for writing,” he’d said almost shyly, “but I’m alone in this world, no family left, and it doesn’t sit right with me, my stories dying with me when the time comes. And so I wrote them down, everything I could remember, in this, here, journal.  I’d….I’d like you to read it, lad, give you a chance to really come to know this old sea salt.”

Killian had taken the volume eagerly, and would have opened it on the spot if the old man hadn’t stopped him with a hand on his.  “You wait until I’m not around.  My way of writing is…well, I’m real embarrassed to show it to a real, proper writer.”

He’d honored Nemo’s wishes, but it was taking everything in him not to crack the volume open right here on the dirt path as they walked back to the Gold house.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Emma asked?

She was evidently paying such close attention to him that she didn’t notice the raised tree root in the road before her.  She tripped, and would have sprawled into the dirt if Killian hadn't caught her in his arms.

For a long moment suspended in time they stood silent, frozen in time and space as his arms surrounded her, the only sound of the crickets in the night.  Her eyes widened, and he saw something there–yearning, desire, aching awareness.

He knew his reflected the same.  If things were different, if their circumstances were different, he’d pull her to him on the spot and kiss her as though her lips brought him oxygen.

As it was, the urge to do just that was so overwhelming it took all his stores of self-control to hold back.  “Emma,” he breathed raggedly after a moment.

With the word, the spell was broken.  She quickly jumped back, her face so aflame, he could see it even in the dim moonlight.  She chuckled nervously as they began walking once again.  “Thanks,” she said, her voice a bit breathless.

“You’re welcome, love,” he said, putting the slightest emphasis on the final word.

They walked in silence for long moments, both trying to compose themselves once again, before Killian finally answered Emma’s question from before the incident.  “I had a thought, Mrs. Gold.”

He said her married name with aching formality, knowing they needed the distance before they did something they each would regret.

“What’s that, Mr. Jones?” she said, in a tone which matched the formality of his own.

“I told you I’ve long wanted to write a novel,” he said, and she nodded in answer. “I’ve lacked only a truly substantial plot, but tonight gave me an idea.”

She looked at him curiously but didn’t speak.

“Captain Nemo wants his tales to live on after his passing,” Killian said. “What if my writing were just the way to help him do so?  What if he and I work together–he provides the stories and I provide the writing acumen?  This could be the novel I’ve always dreamed of writing!”

Suddenly the awkwardness of a few moments before was gone, and Emma’s eyes sparkled up at him with enthusiasm.  “I think it is a fantastic idea!” Emma said with relish.  

And so it was that “The Life Book of Captain Nemo” took form.  For several months, Killian had felt rudderless, as though there were no real meaning in his life, nothing beyond the endless drudgery, but in his few short weeks in the Harbor–in his few weeks with his new found friends–

–In my few weeks with Emma, his heart supplied–

He’d found his purpose, and he couldn’t wait to get started.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Notes:

–This was one of my favorite chapters to write!  Yes, there was some angst and unspoken yearning, but a lot of it was fluff and romance–which, those of you familiar with my writing, know is my comfort zone.  It is also, by far, the longest chapter of this fic.

–With regard to Marco’s unusual grooming, let me just say, I know nothing about Canadian politics, aside from who the current prime minister is.  Politics a few centuries ago?  Forget it!  I have no idea if the Grit party is even still around, and if they are what they stand for.  So if you’re Canadian–neither offense nor endorsement was intended.  This story was taken directly from the source material itself.  It’s so quirky and funny, I felt it really needed to remain in a story that drops around an election season in the U.S. (We could CERTAINLY use some levity when it comes to politics.)

–Up next: Killian finishes his book as the summer comes to a close.  Both Killian and Emma confide in Mary Margaret, and David makes an agonizing discovery that has the potential to upend Emma’s entire life.  Prepare yourself for quite the cliff hanger! (Not literally.  There are no cliffs involved.)

NEXT CHAPTER->

[hasufin]

Pre-emptive

News: Your area is under drought warning! Government advises you take the following steps to conserve water:

Monitor watering lawns, plants and shrubs

Sweep sidewalks and driveways (instead of using a hose)

Avoid washing your car, or instead use a commercial car wash that recycles water

Fix any plumbing leaks – especially toilets and faucets

Reduce shower length to under 5 minutes

Turn off water while brushing your teeth; and Wash full loads of dishes and clothes

Me: I, um, already do all those things. I guess I could make showers a bit shorter, but honestly not by much. I'm not going to stop watering my vegetable garden, but I do it early in the morning and only water the garden itself, I don't use a sprinkler to water a big area.

I confess I've never understood the "have the sink running constantly while brushing teeth". Like, I saw one guy in college do it, and it was the strange. He'd sorta scrub his teeth for like five seconds then stick the brush under the faucet, then he'd scrub his teeth for a few seconds and again under the faucet... I'm not sure how that even worked, because even if he started with toothpaste, it was gone in moments.

We used a hose to clean the walkways at the zoo, but that's because of geese. At home? I honestly can't imagine getting the hose out to clean off a sidewalk.

I don't care to wash my car unless it's at the end of winter to clean the salt off, or it has been severely birded. I know there are people who are obsessed with keeping their car clean, but it's a mindset I've never understood; my car is a means of getting from point A to point B.

Honestly, most of these are "don't be egregiously wasteful" and I grew up poor.

It turns out that I follow most advice on reducing food waste, reducing the amount I spend on gas, &c. I am amazed by how wasteful people can be, and that they need guidance on things like "We don't have a lot of water right now, maybe don't spray it on the ground"

[forestduck]

Jun 14, 2012 - Geese and goslings make good pets, great lawn mowers, and excellent watchdogs. Here's how to keep them he...

[girlfromthecrypt]

Had fun writing messy eater options with the siblings today.

I'm sorry if it's icky but it makes me so unreasonably happy.

We make a truly graceful trio, destroying our breakfast like frenzied geese. George certainly seems to think so. I see him squint as he approaches from across the lawn, seemingly having come from behind the lobby building. Reem, Flo and I look up in synchrony as he sits down on the other side of the table. “Good morning, Miss Mal— woah. Uh…” George's voice trails off when his eyes land on the peanut butter spot on the tip of Reem’s nose.

Flo helpfully shoves a napkin in his sister’s face. 

Goblins <3

[alivehouse]

hate when people are like 'omg my dreams are always so weird' bc im always like 'SAME the other night i had a dream society was mostly made up of these cookie cutter suburban houses on astroturf lawns that were all separated by deep moats of chlorinated pool water and nothing was alive except for mallards and canada geese but they were also slowly dying off from exposure to the chlorine and there was this protest movement trying to form around saving the few bird species remaining but it was completely useless largely because of how isolated everyone was but also because when the people who believed the cause DID occasionally meet up in this large underground concrete complex everyone could access which was the only place of community the society had i guess theyd only ever decide to take actions that were largely half assedly performative and completely ineffective' and theyre always like 'oh. thats cool. uh i had a dream about my teeth falling out the other night'