The Great Chipmunk Rescue

Welcome to the not-quite summer solstice edition of Enchanted Side Quests. Summer is arriving a little late hereabouts and we’ve only been spotting the fireflies for the past two-three nights, while off the coast, they’ve been out for weeks. I was relieved to see them, worried some unseen pollutant had disappeared them like so many insect populations you hear about. They’re an important source of magic for children and writers.

I am steadily plotting A Binding of Spellwork and Story, for which I received a grant from artsnb to write, and I know what you’re thinking, “Still?” and yeah, I am not fast at this. Plotting for me includes multiple notebooks filled and every scene broken down to the very best version of itself. I end up with a very messy not-draft of some 50 000 words, and then I get to writing in earnest.

I started taking photos of my plot board so I can SEE some progress beyond notebooks filling up. The one below is from a few weeks back and wow, it’s very heartening to know how much fuller it is already. And maybe I can sequence them all in a video for social media purposes? Like a time lapse of a slow motion plotter.

There is no rhyme or reason to the colours involved, I just like chaotic colour. What DOES matter is the order. Here you can see I have a lot of beginning, a bit of a middle, and some ending stuff.

Life is still chaotic and some family members are still in crisis, but I’ve forced myself to spend a few hours every morning working on my writing despite it all, and it’s helped a lot. My mental health is better and my anxiety lower, which makes me an all-around better parent and better equipped to handle the day’s crises as they come.

I felt a nice inner glow when I saw someone post about my book Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop on social media with a caption that read “I think of this book whenever I see a little free library.”

Now I’m grinning again, thinking of all the little library magics in the book and outside of the book, like when a friend of mine took a copy of Bornstein’s Hello Cruel World that I sent them to put in a Little Free Library in Florida during a visit. That book plays a pivotal role in Care and Feeding, so this felt like making magic. I’ve also had friends buy copies of the book specifically to put inside Little Free Libraries, knowing how magical it would be to read this book if that’s where you found it.

Writers, I tell ya. We can’t get enough of that magic.

Which brings us to this month’s side quest: my chipmunk rescue adventure.

So. We all know (one hopes) that if you have a big tub to collect rainwater in, that you put a stick in it in case any critters or bees fall in, they can climb out. For some reason, I put in one of the kids’ snow shovels this year, thinking it would suffice. It didn’t, I think the plastic was too slippery for wet paws. This is important.

I was on the phone with my friend from BC (because I am old and still use the phone for such things) and outside because we tend to get loud and silly when I wandered to our rainwater tub. And there, floating, was a drowned chipmunk.

My heart got heavy with dread. (Please put a stick in your tubs if you haven’t already).

I put the phone down, cursing the shovel for not doing it’s job, and then I took the shovel to remove the small, furry corpse before the kids could see it, which is when the little fella blinked.

Shovel be damned, I scooped the little critter up in my hands and put him on the grass, where he lay there, shivering or maybe shaking with shock. I told my friend I’d call her back and picked him back up to hold against my chest in case he was cold and went around to the front door to ask my partner for help finding something to put the poor thing in.

The chipmunk was moving significantly more already, which was a really good sign.

Mike brought out a box with a t-shirt to hold him and the chipmunk immediately flopped over, probably from exhaustion.

Then came the internet searching of nesting material and food. The kids picked him some wild strawberries to eat while Mike found some clean sawdust and old grass. Little chippy was started to move more still, made himself a cozy nest to hide in, and rested.

Its hard to get closure with stuff like this, because it does have deep affect on the mind to experience this with a wild critter. Last summer I found a baby snowshoe hare in rough shape that we took to the wildlife vet and I still wonder what happened to her. This time, success is waking up to an empty box and a hope that our chipmunk returned to his forest home.

But when nature give you the opportunity to be kind, you also get the chance to rescue yourself a little bit, too.

It has been a WILD month. The hummingbirds have returned, the garden is planted and happily growing, and the critters are out and about.

You can imagine my shock when I was at my desk, working through my morning plotting hours, when I saw something dark through the window, out of the corner of my eye. Was that a bear?

I went around to the front of the house, going out into our mud room which has the only place with windows facing the direction the bear went in. Sure enough, there was the bear, sauntering over to our compost barrel. And then INTO our compost barrel.

Where he pulled out the remains of a half-rotten squash rind covered in coffee grounds.

He then lost interest in the rotten squash rind and compost entirely, choosing to saunter over the vehicles, give them a sniff, then wandered up the driveway and into the woods.

While cautious, I’ll admit it was exciting to be able to watch a young, wild black bear explore from a safe location. It was also a good opportunity to teach the kids some safety stuff and while I was worried we’d have to stop composting, the bear hasn’t come back a few weeks in. We do live in nature’s home, and big wild animals come with the small ones.

That said, I do prefer the smaller ones when it comes to my kids, who have asked to keep thousands of snakes and toads as pets so far this summer.

And with this flurry of pet requests, there is a small feeling of finally. THIS is why we wanted to raise them here, amid the fireflies and the toads and the sometimes bears. My youngest is terrified of snakes, UNLESS the snake is being held by my eldest, who has suddenly started channeling Steve Irwin for reasons unbeknownst, but welcome.

That’s it for this month’s newsletter, Enchanted friends. What adventures have you been having? Have you read any books I should add to my TBR?

Septembering (in October)

I’m still confused by the autumn of it all. The kids are back in school, leaving me these vast quiet hours to work and write. True to form, it’s too quiet and I’m fighting to get anything done… until they come through the door and everything is back to normal. SIGH. Why is my brain like this?

It doesn’t help that I’m STUCK in my edits. The good news is that first draft of Care and Feeding of Your Little Banned Bookshop is complete! There’s just this one scene at the beginning that I need to add. I’m a firm believer that the beginning informs the ending, so it’s holding everything up. I have this vague sketch of what to write, but I can’t bring myself to pick up my pen and just write it. And I know myself enough to know that this means the idea hasn’t come yet and there’s no point in fighting it, but it’s frustrating. Editing is fun to do, but gosh, it’s awful when it’s just sitting there, waiting.

In the meantime, I’m teasing out my next project, the Binding of Story and Spellwork novel I received an artsnb grant to write. It’s still in the early plotting stages, but it’s surprising me with how it wants to be told and I find myself rushing for my notebook to write down the ideas as they come with a grin on my face.

That probably sounds strange, so I’ll explain myself. Somewhere over the summer, my hearing still a major issue and just feeling very punchy in general, I stopped listening to the voice that tells me what a story should be, and I started listening to what the story wanted to be. To what I wanted the story to be. This probably sounds like common sense to a non-writer, but it’s not. Writers’ heads get filled with every rejection letter they’ve ever received, internet sages doling out lessons about markets and do you want to be an artist or do you want to make money, and you end up spinning around like a spider on a broken web. It had gotten to the point where I couldn’t hear the stories anymore. Then, when my actual hearing went and I couldn’t do anything about it, I fixed the one hearing I could: the stories. I’m not even sure I knew I’d stopped listening, but something that was missing feels like it has returned.

Anyways. Oh, look! A moth shadow:

It’s oak gall season! I tried collecting these too late last year, so I started while the leaves are still on the trees this year. These little balls are created by gall wasps on oak leaves. They’re meant to be nurseries for the wasp larvae, but once they’ve left, some clever medieval folks figured out that you can turn the galls into ink.

(I wonder about that a lot.)

If you see a hole in the oak gall, you know the wasp has vacated the gall and it’s time to collect.

For now, I’ve only collected the galls, so I won’t pretend I have the expertise to teach you the recipe, but if you’d like to try this yourself, you can find plenty of oak gall ink recipes online. Basically you make a sort of tea with the galls, which reacts with iron (so be careful if you’re secretly Fae) to create a rich black ink for painting, for your non-metal dipping pens, or for keeping stories alive in that horrible dystopian future without ink that keeps plaguing your nightmares.

Ahem.

That’s it for this month, Side Questers, the leaves are just starting to change but I’m sure the fall colours will be almost over by the time I begin writing you about my October Side Quests.

I do enjoy fall. The crispy leaves, the colours, the mushrooms, the smell of coming frost. The first few fires in the woodstove that seem more cozy than the chore they’ll soon become. Sweaters. Wearing socks again! What’s your favourite part? Hit reply and let me know, I’d love to hear from you.

Until then,

Juneliness

As some of you know, I started up a newsletter a year (two?) or so ago. That’s what writers do for marketing, they say, and that tracks. But then they just sort of disappear forever, so I’ve a mind to start sharing them here as well, where at least the content remains visible for future readers. And me, when I went to rummage through last summer’s adventures.

So, without further ado, let me introduce to you Jennifer Shelby’s Enchanted Side Quests.

Dear Side Questers,

I’m DELIGHTED to write that I’ve had an essay accepted into The Journal of L. M. Montgomery Studies. I wrote my essay, Of Daydreams and Influence, when I saw a call for submissions to a “Writers and Artists Respond” to L. M. Montgomery for what would have been her 150th birthday this year.

As a girl growing up in Atlantic Canada, it meant a lot to me that L. M. Montgomery was from this area. That she was a writer. That she was FAMOUS. She was my hero. I read and re-read all of her books, especially the Emily trilogy, over and over growing up. My parents put very strict limits on what I was allowed to read (no dragons or fairies on the cover, as they might bring demons into the house, etc., etc.). But I was always allowed to read LMM.

It would be easy to write another essay here, which I’ll avoid for now, but I can trace my life through which LMM book was most important to me at the time, and that’s where I focused my essay. Even The Blue Castle was there for me when I was excommunicated and disowned by my parents.

I’m not entirely sure when this is coming out, but you can be sure I’ll share it here when the time comes.

Last month, I watched a robin build a nest in a yellow birch tree from my hammock chair. Since then, I’ve been keeping an eye on mama. She didn’t leave the nest until after the first little ones hatched, which is when I snuck over and snapped this picture.

A few years ago, we had a junco bird build a nest in our woodshed behind a few cans of spray paint, and the girls and I spent a wonderful June watching them grow into fledgelings. Every time we see a junco in the garden, one of us always wonders if they’re “one of our babies.” So this robin family is definitely bringing up memories of that summer.

Here are some more pictures, taken a week later because I can’t help myself.

All three fledged a week after this picture was taken, looking very much like small robins by then. I’m looking forward to remembering their dinosaur-looking selves whenever I see a robin from here onward.

I’m writing this month’s missive while waiting for the wildlife rehab to call me back over another of this season’s babies, a lil snowshoe hare we found lying, hurt but alive, in our driveway early this morning. It means something, in a world that feels very cruel and chaotic right now, to have the chance to show kindness. To take that chance whenever we can. To remember that kindness is still a big part of what it means to be a human.
I hope everyone is getting the chance to enjoy the short, sweet summer while it lasts. Soon the girls will be out of school and chaos will be queen! I love the unstructured days of summer and the freedom it offers for creativity.

Until next month,

If you’d like to sign up to receive my newsletter on the 21st of every month (before I post it here), you can do that here.

the summer of the candy moths

The maple trees bring us maple syrup in early spring and now it’s early summer they gift us with visits from Rosy Maple Moths. These vibrant little beasties lay their eggs on the maple trees where their larvae will hatch and munch the leaves. Their populations are reasonable enough our maples don’t sustain permanent damage (although this could change with climate collapse) so we’re free to delight in our candy-colored visitors. They certainly help boost this writer’s sense of wonder during the dreaded summer slump.

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Peekaboo!

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ghosts of the apocalypse

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The ghost flames flickered over the branches, tasting the sweet sap. For half a breath we thought them safe until the phantom flames shimmered and spread their tendrils. The trees were engulfed. The flames rushed through the forest, devouring everything. When they finished with the Boreal, they started on the Amazon. Not a single dandelion was spared. Life on Earth was over.

Some say the phantom of that fire ate our souls as well, but there comes a bitter heartbreak to being forced off-world which lends itself to poetry and dark, deep thoughts of loss. We, the broken, exist to survive now. Our children will not be burdened by this darkness. For them we carry on.

 

 

 

hunting stories

I walk through the forest hunting stories in the fold of old bark, the twist of a leaf. That old beetled undergrowth. 

IMG_20180309_084019_633.jpgStumps rot away into miniature castles, old galls whisper of dark magics, and scars turn into doorways at the base of a tree. These doorways captivate me. Tucked away yet plentiful, turning entire forests into magic hidden villages.

If I knock, will someone answer? Who are they? How do they live their lives? Their stories weave themselves in and around my imagination.

If I don’t knock, if I just step inside, will I find myself outside of time? Will the world be changed around me? Will I be different when I return? Will you know me? Will you notice it in my eyes, in the way I wear my hair?

But then again, I couldn’t. I couldn’t walk inside without a knock, catching some poor dryad mid-shower, shocked and reaching for a towel.

Come on, then, knock. Let’s go.

I hesitate. If I don’t knock, the stories rule the day. If I do knock, then my imagination is limited to what it finds. My knuckles tingle. I shove them in my pocket and move on. My children need me. I need them. Mothers must tread careful with the risk of getting whisked away to other worlds.  I’m hunting stories, not adventure. For now.

gentle whimsy from my tattered thoughts

At long last, I have found the place where stars go during daylight hours.

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#notscientificallyaccurate (that was for you, James)

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I saw a single firefly last night in the rain. His little blue light glowed beneath the shelter of a plantain leaf. The light reflected back from the raindrops all around, and he didn’t seem lonely at all.

bloom

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The lichens bloomed in the unlikeliest of moments, when the days were dark, the nights cold, and a killing frost returned morning after morning. But perhaps that’s when we needed them the most.

respite from responsibilities

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She dropped her responsibilities, one by one, into the stream. They floated, giving her pause, for she expected them to sink. She gave her head a shake and ran off into the forest, forgetting all about them and relishing her freedom.

The current carried her cares into an eddy formed by rocks, and there it washed them clean and kept them safe. Hours passed before she returned to claim them.

As she plucked them, one by one, from the stream, she marveled at how little they weighed. Hadn’t she grown weary beneath their burden a few hours ago? She smiled, skipping home again, ready to take on the world or half of it at least.

places long-forgotten

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The building appeared abandoned. To be sure, she knocked on the door with a vined hand and waited. No one answered but the rustle of the spiders who had already taken up residence, the whisper of termites in the walls, and the sad sigh of places long-forgotten.

She pushed open the door and looked around. The floor had caved in, decomposing into a banquet of nutrients for green and growing things. The roof had begun to crumble, allowing slips of sunshine and pockets of rain to come through. She sent up vines to widen the holes as she planted moss children and nanny mushrooms into the rotten floor.

Her work complete, she slipped outside again, her footsteps soft in the meadow without. She left little trace, but anyone passing the homestead would know Nature had been there, and took it for her own.