JOY ALONG THE WAY: ANOTHER WHIMSICAL NATURE BALL

I'm not finished with the goldenrod. They will have an afterlife.

Last autumn I purchased two baseball-sized Styrofoam balls. With the help of Samantha I collected pretty molted bird and chicken feathers. The bulk of the feathers came from the cages where the exotic chickens were displayed at the Southeast Missouri District Fair.

Though not considered exotic, the black and white polka dotted guinea feathers were the most attractive. I stuck the best of the feathers into the Styrofoam ball so closely that no part of the ball could be seen. Suspended from the porch ceiling, it floated around in the merest breeze like some strange, headless, footless bird. Quite impressive. When winter came I brought it inside and suspended it from the ceiling near my typewriter. It floats around with my movements as if stirring up inspirational ideas. It shows no wear and I enjoy it immensely.

So, about the second Styrofoam ball?

That's where the goldenrod comes in again.The blossom turns fuzzy and fawn-colored when its heyday is over. The tip end curls in like a frog's tongue when it snatches a bit of food. Out of the wind and rain, the blossoms keep this attractive shape all winter.

When this metamorphosis occurs I will clip off the dried blossoms, leaving a small stem to stick into this second ball. There might be some places where the surface of the ball shows through but I'll fix that. Some spikes of lavender will do just fine, adding further appeal by their fragrance. Also, some dried flower spikes of the sweet basil will go in. I don't have any sage this year. Maybe a friend has some. I once grew pennyroyal but it is gone. Because I know where it grows, I'd have to go all the way up to St. Francois County to get it. While there, I could get some sprigs of bittersweet and a few twigs of the yahoo bush with its pink flowers which hold their color so long. In Cape County, out on County Road, number something or other, I know where to get some yarrow pods.

This "nature ball" might grow so big I may have to get a bigger ball, or else a second one to use up all the autumn bits and pieces. There are still the dried mint and chamomile right at my steps and, down along the creek, some "birdnests" of the curled up Queen Anne's Lace.

Maybe, while this whimsical ball is still swinging from the porch ceiling, a cricket will come to live in it, lending voice and animation.

Some fiddlers with these small pieces of autumn might spray the dried goldenrod blossoms with sparkling glitter or paint but I like it best when it, and all the other things, are allowed to change to the color nature intended.

Before I bring it in to hang by the feather ball, the cricket, if it is there, will have to go. A cricket song in the house at night is a step too far.

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.