If they only knew...

I'm not exactly sure how the progression went, but I'll try to give an accurate account of the progression of things: My dear friend, who I love dearly, couldn't find what she needed locally, so she went online and ordered some 10" straw wreaths. (Actually, she wanted 6" ones, but this is what arrived.) Great. Now down to business. She drove to Price Chopper, to buy some pre-shredded suet (what have we come to?!), some peanut butter, cornmeal, and a bag of song-bird food. From somewhere she procured some beautiful wheat ears, pinecones and a bag of brightly coloured ribbons. So we made a plan, and spent the afternoon together today making these exquisite wreaths to hang outside in the trees for our little feathered friends. While the suet slowly, carefully melted, we chatted about this and that, a wonderful, companionable visit between friends who hadn't enjoyed each others company for months. The kitchen began to swell with the heavy odour of Mr. Rideout's butcher shop in Marston Magna. He's been dead now for at least 20 years, but for the years we lived in the village, his shop, on the Queen Camel road was a daily destination. "2 lb. of your best sausages, please, Mr. Rideout. Oh, and we'd better have a leg of lamb for the Sunday joint. And have you made any faggots today? We'll need a dozen. (Faggots, for you American readers, are delicious meatballs made up of all kinds of unmentionables and stuffed into intestine skins...completely scrumptious!) How's Mrs. Rideout? And Sally? Is she enjoying Australia? You must miss her most dreadfully." And so it went. Everybody in the village knew all about everybody. What a heavenly place to grow up. We were all born in the guest room of the Manor House, a lovely Jacobean house which stood on the village green, flanked by the Church of St Mary the Virgin on one side and the farmhouse labourers cottages on the other. Roland Guppy had climbed up the yew tree in the graveyard on the afternoon of my birth, some 61 years ago, to get a better look. He called down to his mate at the foot of the tree:"I can see the doctor in his white nightie!" This, according to my beloved father, who had taken himself off across the fields, to get away from the drama of awaiting the arrival of his second daughter, both blue and breach! Where was I? Oh yes, in Derby, Vermont making bird seed wreaths! The pot was too small for the 10" wreaths so we held them up, taking turns to pour this amazing mixture of melted suet, peanut butter and cornmeal onto the wreaths until they were covered, but it was all going extremely well. My dear friend had dutifully placed a couple of pork chops on a plate to defrost for dinner that evening, and they seemed safe enough, sitting there on the kitchen counter...so at one point, I was patting a sodden wreath with birdseed, just a little tricky, as the birdseed was now all mixed with the suet, and it wasn't sticking too well. And then my friend, who I love dearly,decided to take things into her own hands, took the plate of birdseed to the pot, and lifting the wreath onto the plate proceeded to scatter birdseed from one end of the kitchen to the other! What a mess! What fun we were having. I really love my friend! There was a little of the suet mixture remaining in the pot, so she ran off and came back with a bundle of pinecones. Now that was fun! While we sat and chatted after this enormous effort, she tied red ribbons on some raisin icicles she had made for my birds. It seemed to take a long time, and she was most particular about her bows. They are truly beautiful. I shall hang them in the morning, along with the wreath and pinecones in one of the trees left standing after last week's storm. If those darling little birds only knew to what lengths we went to give them such a nourishing treat! Would they care? I doubt it! But I care, and I'm sure my sweet friend cares. We made a moment...So. What did you do today? How were the pork chops, dear friend?!