Offerings on the deck
February 27, 2012 by Cynthia
Lordeee, it’s a gorgeous day.
It’s early Saturday morning, the rain has stopped and the fast-moving clouds scoot past the sun, freeing slanty-gold morning light. The backyard’s full of it, and a fat grey squirrel hops the rails to drink from Emelia’s offering bowl.
Emelia, the daughter of my friend Carol and a delightful melange of brains, beauty, sophistication and ten year-old girl, has turned my back deck into some kind of religious shrine.
Carol brought Emelia and three gorgeous glass artworks for a photosession a couple Sundays ago. Emelia brought her friend Marie, and the two of them played Hunger Games in the backyard while we angled and lit and shot.
Carol’s done some amazing things with Bullseye opaline glass and a sandblaster–her talent continues to astound me–so I spent a few hours figuring out how to show it off.
Emelia and Marie ran like crazy people through the backyard, exploring the giant redwood, skidding on the moss-covered cement and periodically popping back into the house for small glass bowls, preferably blue, a steady supply of cool water they didn’t intend to drink, and other things.
“Uhm, Cynthia? Do you have maybe 10 little paper cups?”
“Sure,” I said, mystified, opening a cupboard. “Help yourself.”
“WOW! You have red SOLO cups! Can we have one? PLEEEEEEASE?”
“Why?” demanded Carol, wiser in the ways of inventive youngsters, “What are you girls doing out there?”
“We must prepare sacrifices to the bear gods,” Emelia explained patiently, as if this were the most reasonable thing in the world.
Sacrifices?
“Girls? Where are the cats?” I asked, a bit panicked.
Whew. Lola was up in her windowperch, watching the clouds and giving herself a manicure. Nikki huddled, whimpering, under the bed.
Nikki apparently doesn’t do well with miniature humans, no matter how well-behaved. If two quiet, mostly outside little girls can send her into fits of terror, heaven knows what one of my parties will do. Lola’s more pragmatic; little girls frequently have food, so she keeps an eye on them…at a distance. I made a mental note to bring over quiet friends and find ways to socialize poor Nikki BEFORE the next gathering.
Shoot finished, we went out to view the girls’ handiwork; small circles of stones surrounded bowls, made patterns on the moss and cast stacked shadows on the deck. An old chair and table were arranged just so, and little pools of clear water sparkled in the light.
I had no idea what it meant, or how it figured into sacrificial offerings–I haven’t read Hunger Games yet–but I liked the looks of it, and so I left everything in place. The backyard critters have adopted the installations as part of the community water supply, and sometimes play soccer with the rocks.
And so a fat squirrel drinks from the sacrificial bowl this morning, while a raccoon casually moves a pebble offering four boards farther down the deck. I gasp at the wildlife and run for my camera, but when I return only the installations remain.
The clouds regroup, and it starts to sleet, spoiling my shot. I’m not worried; this is glassland spring, and the weather’s still deciding what it wants to be when it grows up.
I wait patiently, and sure enough, the sun returns.
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Cynthia, your delightful story shows how creative and engaging children can be with their environment, given the chance. The bowl is gorgeously sublime. No wonder the critters like it. Cheers.