Some days are sweeter than others

Last evening a real doozy of a storm ripped across Roundtop Mtn. Pea-sized hail, lightning, 2” of rain in about 20 minutes, and just 150 yards or so from the cabin several trees fell and blocked the road for a while. A sign was ripped off its wood frame and pieces scattered up the road.

My neighbor said he “heard the freight train” that is the usual indicator of a tornado. But this morning, we didn’t see any signs of twisting, so I’m now thinking it was just a strong burst of straight line winds. In any event, I didn’t have any such wind at the cabin just a few yards away. Even my potted tree remained standing, and it usually blows over in even a moderate wind.

Electricity was out for a few minutes, and apparently lightning struck something related to the phones, as they were out somewhat longer. In any event, it was a wild and wooly evening, much belied by this morning’s photo of the blooming wild honeysuckle.

Have you ever sucked the honey out of a honeysuckle? It’s a tiny drop of sweet nectar and it’s how the plant got its name. I always show the kids at Adventure Camp how to sip this honey. Most them have never heard of such a thing and think it’s a wondrous trick. Simply pull the tiny flower off the vine at the base of the flower, and a tiny drop of nectar will appear at the end.

The aroma of the flower is enough to make you dizzy with delight, and humans are hardly the only species to find it so. Bees, hummingbirds, butterflies—all flock to the flowers.

Sometimes I think nature is all about high drama. Grant opera has nothing on Grandmother Nature. She’s a real diva—raging one moment and then calm and gentle the next. The sweet smell of the honeysuckle follows the angriest storm.