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thistleingreyswan_tower
jazzfishwychwoodoursin[F]irst wild beaver spotted in Norfolk in 500 years and Wild beavers may have spread further than we realise:
It is not clear whether the Pensthorpe beaver, whose sex and age is unknown, was illegally released into the reserve by activists using a practice known as beaver bombing. It is possible it wandered of its own accord into the Wensum – an aquifer-fed chalk river whose name is derived from the Old English adjective for “wandering”.
“It could be a naturally dispersing wild beaver,” said Emily Bowen, a spokesperson for the Beaver Trust, a charity that aims to restore beavers to regenerate landscapes. She said that there were established wild populations in eight areas in England at the moment.
Wild beavers have also been spotted in Kent, Hampshire, Somerset, Wiltshire and Hereford, she said. Norfolk has some captive beavers but none have been reported missing.
And if we are talking aquatic mammals, see also otters: otters’ revival in Britain. Still rare only 20 years ago, the charismatic animals are in almost every UK river and a conservation success story.
White storks to be introduced to, believe it or not, Dagenham.
A rather different story: voyaging owls: Two burrowing owls stowed away on a cruise ship out of Miami, and are now living the high life at a Spanish resort before returning to the US next month. We think they may have been in flight from being a threatened species in Florida....
elisemlarryhammerantisoppistDavy met them at Bright River with a big two-seated sleigh full of furry robes … and a bear hug for Anne. The two girls snuggled down in the back seat. The drive from the station to Green Gables had always been a very pleasant part of Anne’s weekends home. She always recalled her first drive home from Bright River with Matthew. That had been in spring and this was December, but everything along the road kept saying to her, “Do you remember?” The snow crisped under the runners; the music of the bells tinkled through the ranks of tall pointed firs, snow-laden. The White Way of Delight had little festoons of stars tangled in the trees. And on the last hill but one they saw the great gulf, white and mystical under the moon but not yet ice-bound.
[...]
They opened the parlor and distributed the gifts before breakfast because the twins, even Dora, couldn’t have eaten anything if they hadn’t. Katherine, who had not expected anything except, perhaps, a duty gift from Anne, found herself getting presents from every one. A gay, crocheted afghan from Mrs. Lynde … a sachet of orris root from Dora … a paper-knife from Davy … a basketful of tiny jars of jam and jelly from Marilla … even a little bronze chessy cat for a paper-weight from Gilbert.
And, tied under the tree, curled up on a bit of warm and woolly blanket, a dear little brown-eyed puppy, with alert, silken ears and an ingratiating tail. A card tied to his neck bore the legend, “From Anne, who dares, after all, to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
sovayspatch and I lit the first night's candle for strength.asakiyumeoursinLast week's bread held out fairly well until it did a variety of mould-related activity. There were still some rolls left, fortunately.
Friday night supper: Gujerati khichchari (with cashew nuts) which I do not seem to have made for absolute yonks.
Saturday breakfast rolls: brown grated apple: Light Spelt flour, molasses, a touch of ginger (this didn't really come through, probably overpowered by the molasses): rose like absolute whoah.
Today's lunch: the smoked haddock and pulses thing - smoked haddock loin fillets baked in cream + water with bay leaf, mace and 5-pepper blend, flaked and then layered with bottled black beans (would buy again), some of the cooking liquid added, top sprinkled with panko crumbs and baked in moderate oven for c. 40 minutes, served with baked San Marzano tomatoes, and slow-cooked tenderstem broccoli, finished with lime, some of which seemed less tenderstemmed than one might have expected.
sartoriasprofiterole_readsskygiantsantisoppistDidn't I tell you," answered Mr Beaver, "that she'd made it always winter and never Christmas? Didn't I tell you? Well come and see!"
And then they were all at the top and did see. It was a sledge and it was reindeer with bells on their harness. But they were far bigger than the Witch's reindeer and they were not white but brown. And on the sledege sat a person whom everyone knew the moment they set eyes on him. He was a huge man in a bright red robe (bright as hollyberries) with a hood that had fur inside it and a great white beard that fell like a foamy waterfall over his chest. Everyone knew him because, though you see people of his sort only in Narnia, you see pictures of them and hear them talked about even in our world - the world on this side of the wardrobe door. But when you really see them in Narnia it's rather different. Some of the pictures of Father Christmas in our world make him look only funny and jolly. But now that the children actually stood looking at him they didn't find it quite like that. He was so big and so glad and so real, that they all became quite still. They felt glad but also solemn.
elisemsovayspatch maintains it is not American-normal to be able to sing the Holst setting of "In the Bleak Midwinter," which until last night I had assumed was just such seasonal wallpaper that I had absorbed it by unavoidable dint of Christmas—it's one of the carols I can't remember learning, unlike others which have identifiable vectors in generally movies, madrigals, or folk LPs. Opinions?troisoiseauxrachelmanija that both piqued my interest and tempered my expectations, and I'm glad I went in forewarned that the plot's ambiguity is never actually resolved and nothing is explained; I didn't mind the Wouldn't that be messed up? Anyways I'm Rod Serling approach, but it would have been annoying to have expected answers that never came.thistleingrey - an inkling of termsswan_tower - "The Novelist Laments in Verse"jazzfish - lynch etcwychwood - christmas approaches like a storm cloudoursin - Okay, nobody has entered the beaver lodges to check for sewing machines - yetelisem - Yuletide progresslarryhammer - “Only the querulous cricket grieves, / And shrilling locust weaves / A song of summer dead.”antisoppist - Advent calendar 15oursin - (no subject)sovay - אמתע מעשׂה, אמתע מעשׂהasakiyume - The Greensleeves Projectoursin - Culinarysartorias - Wishing . . .profiterole_reads - Wake Up Dead Manskygiants - (no subject)oursin - (no subject)antisoppist - Advent calendar 14elisem - Twin Cities history: 1980s, ARA (Anti-Racist Action), Baldies, punk, music, Uptownsovay - אַ ניקל פֿאַר זיי, אַ ניקל פֿאַר מירtroisoiseaux - Recent readingtimeasmymeasure
