The Rural Voice, 2003-11, Page 6PRICE, SERVICE
& SATISFACTION
1998 DODGE GRAND
CHEROKEE LTD
4x4, V8, auto, leather, sunroof,
loaded, in great shape.
9 8,900
2003 DODGE
QUAD CAB 1500 SIT
2 WD, low kms., tube boards,
20" wheels.
$29,900
2002 FORD F150
XL REG CAB
2 WD, V6, stick, low kms
trade.
local
96,900
1997 DODGE DAKOTA
CLUB CAB SPORT
V6, stick, alloy wheels, box liner.
$9,995
HANOVER CHRYSLER
DODGE JEEP
664 -10th St.,
CHRYSLER Hanover
Dtidge
AIM 1-866-788-8886
0
Phone: (519) 364-3570
2 THE RURAL VOICE
Carol Riemer
Just waiting for winter
Carol Riemer
is a freelance
writer who
lives with her
husband and
two
children near
Grand
Valley,
Ontario.
The chill, grey days of November
arrive without warning, huddling
close to our doorstep, and patiently
waiting for winter to arrive. Out by
the mailbox, as I make my morning
journey, an early morning frost clings
to the stark, bare branches of the
maples, with delicate determination.
With the newspaper tucked under my
arm, I walk back to the house. My
breath trails off in the cold, crisp air,
now heavy with the scent of wood
smoke and wet leaves.
Late fall is a quiet time of year, a
natural pause before the hectic
demands of the holidays take over.
For just a brief moment, there is time
to reflect on the passing of another
season. Lost in thought, I'm suddenly
caught off guard by the noisy arrival
of the chickadees, loudly clamouring
for their breakfast. The jays glide in
on a flight path well known to several
generations. As a chorus of
complaints ensues, I shove the paper
in the door and fetching the seed
bucket, quickly return to the feeder.
Wooing winter birds can
sometimes have its down side. Most
days, however, the company is great,
and the conversation, if somewhat
limited, successfully serves to break
the ice. Still, I have to wonder, as
sunflower shells rain down like
confetti from the branches overhead,
whether or not there is some folly in
feeding our fair feathered friends. Not
only do they take me for granted, but
they insist that I be both caregiver
and referee at the same time.
It's really not such an odious task,
I suppose, since most of the
chickadees, cardinals and
woodpeckers are well behaved. But,
the bold and brazen blue jays, despite
repeated warnings, tend to take over
the feeder, carelessly discarding fresh
seed on the frozen ground below.
Nature must have anticipated this.
Ground feeders prefer the solid feel
of terra firma beneath their tiny,
frostbitten feet, and are happy to
scoop up whatever the high rise guys
so thoughtlessly reject.
At high noon, however, there is
tension in the air, as the timid, the
tame and the terrible all meet in gang
warfare over the last of the sunflower
seeds. That's when I throw on my
coat, grab my whistle, and with more
seed in hand, rush out to restore
order.
As dark clouds gather on the
horizon, I decide to go in. Ever since
that cold November day, when I
hastily painted the back steps, just
before it snowed, I've known there
comes a time to go in, and to stay in.
It's time to leave the jealous wind
howling at the door, cozy up to the
warmth of the hearth, and think about
Christmas.
Somewhere, among the boxes of
decorations piled up in the hall closet,
there are Christmas card lists, faded
recipes for mulled cider, buckets of
wax for dipping homemade candles, a
wooden drying rack, and several pairs
of tall winter boots. A wicker basket
full of mismatched mitts and six foot
scarves are souvenirs of the winter I
learned how to knit. The wooden
baby sleigh that sits idly in the corner
of the mud room is a poignant
reminder of how quickly the years go
by.
It won't be long now, before a
fresh layer of snow blankets the
countryside, the house is filled with
Christmas cheer, and the scent of
pine perfumes the frosty air. As night
falls, I warm my hands by the fire,
and watch through the window, as the
birds take refuge, deep in the dark
cedar woods.
Meanwhile, out in the yard, the
feeder stands alone, frozen in place, a
solitary sentry, just watching and
waiting for winter.0