“The branches of a crab”

At the Sabine Farm there are sundry crabapples.  The other day I was walking past one and, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted something not quite right in one of them.  Stopping and scanning, I suddenly realized that a very still grouse was staring me down from a close branch.  As I moved to deploy the camera, it left, in dudgeon and much ruffling.

Crabapples make fine jelly.

In the winter about to close its jaws and commence its cold chewing, the wild turkeys will eventually discover the crabsapples and various berries in the front yard and will coverge.  Some will roost and flap, dropping the dessicated frozen fruit while others swarm beneath.

With a tip of the biretta to the Laudator.   o{]:¬)

Eden Phillpotts, Crab-apple:

Winter has filched the forest bare;
The boughs are naked, lean and grey
But whisper to the winter air,
All croaking, creaking cheerfully
Of what the Spring
Will bring.

Where breaks the wood upon the hill
The branches of a crab arise
And round about, for all who will,
Her unregarded harvest lies,
Cheerful and bright
To sight.

Her jewels flash among the weeds
With not a peck, or bite, or scar
Save where a mouse, in hope of seeds,
Has taken courage one to mar,
But lost the gain
For pain.

Both men and women happen so,
Of pulp acerb and spirit bleak:
Right well their inner wealth they know,
And muse why neighbors never seek
To win the gold
They hold.

Alas, we shirk them, shy and swerve
At greeting chill and voice unkind;
We dread the pang and lack the nerve
To tackle their unfriendly rind;
Our days fly past
Too fast.

Joseph Decker, Still Life with Crab Apples and Grapes

About Fr. John Zuhlsdorf

Fr. Z is the guy who runs this blog. o{]:¬)
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One Comment

  1. mao now says:

    even here in subtropical Louisiana, you will find crab apples! as A child we used to go to the country, and harvest them at a friends house. My Mom made a wonderful jelly. the joys of autumn…

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