On opening the living room drapes this morning, I was aghast to see a peeping Tom sitting by the sidewalk, staring right at me, not five feet away.  He didn’t blink or flinch, and made no attempt to run.

What’s more, as I looked at the cage by the hedge, I could see that the door to the cage was down.  That meant there should have been an animal inside, hopefully, a rabbit.  There wasn’t!  How did the critter remove the apple without getting caught? 

What was this brazen rabbit trying to communicate as he gaped straight at me?  Was it something like, “See.  I got your apple, and I didn’t get caught!  Now what are you going to do about it?”

What an insolent wretch!  No doubt he brought his siblings over  last night, told the strongest one to hold the door up with his paw, while he scooted in and seized the prized apple.

                                            I can just see him as he plopped down

 and ate the WHOLE thing

without sharing as much as

 one teensy little brown seed.

Rejoice!  The apple bait worked once again! We hauled Rabbit No. 2 out to the countryside after breakfast.  This time, we carried the cage to the opposite side of the busy road before releasing her.  When Lloyd opened the door and tipped the cage up a little, instead of bounding out and up the wooded hill, the rabbit ran along on the inside edge of the woods.

Maybe her Romeo has a new burrow dug by now, and will have the Welcome sign hung out.

Believe it or not, before she was caught, she chewed off a small clump of chives at the edge of our sidewalk garden!!  Is the idea of a rabbit’s menu just something green??  I would have thought she would turn her nose up at the onion-garlic taste of chives!  Maybe I should set out a hot pepper plant and see how that suits such wild taste buds.

We’ll bait the cage again in case more of her ilk come prowling and chomping about.

For the second spring in a row, crocuses, grape hyacinths, tulips, you name it, have been chomped off in our flowerbeds, robbing us of the long-awaited splash of brilliant colour.  As if that wasn’t bad enough, sprouting bean plants and flowers continued to be chewed off down to the ground all summer long.  Now I know why Mr. McGregor in Beatrix Potter’s tales got SO ANGRY at Peter Rabbit!!

Last year, I tried a water gun (not powerful enough).  I tried hurling stones (but couldn’t shoot half straight).  We tried a cage, following someone’s suggestion that a piece of broccoli inside would do the trick.  No way. 

This week we hauled a larger cage out of the shed, pushed the back of it under the cedar hedge as far as possible, and baited it with a fresh piece of apple.  Bingo! 

After breakfast, we couriered the critter out to the countryside.  When my husband opened the cage door beside a ditch at the edge of a woods, the rabbit didn’t head for the ditch (as all of our previously released animals have), but scooted around the front of the car, crossing the road in front of fast-moving traffic.  He had been faster . . . because we saw the white puff of his tail ping-ponging up the slope of the woods on the opposite side of the road. 

We reset the cage when we got home to try and catch his mate.  May they soon be reunited!

Maybe grape hyacinths will bloom around here after all . . . instead of becoming some wretched rabbit’s salad! 

And that is your excerpt for the day from the edge of the big woods. 

Left Pine pointed out where he thought my John Henry should go, and I discreetly followed his advice.  And now it is with mixed emotions that I clean up my paint brushes and bid this canvas adieu.

Perhaps you, too, have become attached to Noble Pine, to Left Pine, or to the prim and proper Ms. Aspen and her two cousins, to the towering Guardian of the Path, to the dear Old Sentinel, and, last but not least, to the fragrant bake apple blossoms cheering all who walk this path.

Perhaps in your fancy you, too, have sat for a spell on the big rock and enjoyed the vista of Norris Point, and longed for its unhurried pace.

Do let me know if you have enjoyed joining me on this creative ‘jog’ in the exceptionally beautiful province of Newfoundland.  (By the way, The Old Sentinel painting will be offered on eBay shortly, and prints will soon be available on our website.)

The Noble Pine dropped a cone almost on top of my palette.

“What’s all this about?” I cried in surprise.

“Just my way of saying ‘Way to go, Ms.!  I sure like the reflections and the glitter of the sunlight on the water.  Why, I feel ten years younger just looking at them!’”

“Thank you, Noble Pine.  You’re a pal.”

The Guardian of the Path had a question.

“Now, what about the pretty bake apples across from me?  What I want to know is, Did you ever find out if they have any fragrance?”

“Oh, I’ve got good news!  Good news!” I replied.  “A friend of mine, who was born in Newfoundland, put my question on her Facebook page.  This is the gist of the answers that came in:

 “The fact is that it has its own taste and scent that is like no other.

It smells like the BEST thing EVER!”

“Now, don’t that beat all?” declared the Guardian of the Path.  “Don’t that beat all!”

 “I could have told you that,” said The Old Sentinel with a sniff.

“Then why didn’t you?” chorused all the trees, as they turned on him indignantly.

“I should have spoken up.  I’m right sorry, ma’am.  I really am.  As you know, I’ve watched the bake apples blossom every spring for over 200 years.  And the ladies who picked them didn’t put every berry in their basket, you know.  I heard them exclaim more than once:

     They are tart like a raspberry, but taste more like a . . . . .

          dried apricot in berry form

               kinda

                    sorta

                         but not really.

The trees looked a bit puzzled, and you could almost see them moving their tongues around, trying to figure out just how a bake apple berry tasted.

Changing the subject, Left Pine had a question.

“When are you going to put your John Henry on the painting?”

“Now, don’t get your shirt in a knot,” I said with a chuckle.  “That might be next week.  Right now I’m bogged down with paperwork, trying to fill out our income tax papers.  What a pain.  I actually have a bit more touch-up to do on the painting, but, hopefully, you’ll see my John Henry next week.  Be thinking about where I should put it, will you?”

“Indeed I shall,” Left Pine said, pleased to be assigned a little task.  He wafted some pine scent my way with the gentlest motion of an arm.