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Nellie McClung: Hitch-hiking hummingbirds, ducks, eggplants and beans

This column first appeared in the Victoria Daily Times on July 16, 1938. It is hard to keep from learning in the country. Knowledge drops from the sky, travels on the breeze and even lurks in fence corners, ready to spring upon us.
Nellie McClung.jpg
Nellie McClung

This column first appeared in the Victoria Daily Times on July 16, 1938.

 

It is hard to keep from learning in the country. Knowledge drops from the sky, travels on the breeze and even lurks in fence corners, ready to spring upon us. In the city, with its manifold distractions and clatter of voices, one is reasonably safe. But the silent places utter speech, compelling us to listen!

I wrote once about the hummingbird’s method of travelling, when the winter drives the little creature to seek a warmer habitation. I had heard the legend of the beneficent wild goose, carrying a passenger under its wing, and now confirmation has come from Williams Lake, where a hummingbird was found on the body of a goose shot by a hunter.

I have heard, too, of sandhill cranes carrying small birds on their backs. From Montana has come the interesting fact that there is a species of small birds there called “crane-backs,” because of their manner of entry.

In Manitoba, there is a movement to preserve the breeding grounds of the ducks and geese, financed by an American society of huntsmen called Ducks Unlimited of Chicago. The drying of the Canadian lakes has been lowering the duck crop for the last few years. So now there is a definite attempt to conserve the water and supply food for the birds at the time of nesting.

Sanctuaries for the birds in flight are provided, too, as they travel south — accredited stopping places, where no evil thing like the blast of a shotgun will disturb their dreams. The wild ducks and geese are so knowing, I wonder if they suspect these evidences of goodwill, coming from their ancient enemy.

Do they see through these gestures? We hope not. In this unfriendly world it is better for the little things not to know too much, but just take the sheltered ponds, with the peace and quiet and the sudden stores of grain, without question.

 

My interest in eggplants led me into a pleasant byway of literature lately. When I saw a display of eggplants at the fair last year, great shiny purple globes on a white platter, I saw nothing in them but a little-known vegetable — something that would give interest to a family dinner. The exhibitor, who knew her business, told us that if people knew how to cook it, eggplant would be as popular as green peas.

“Slice them,” she said, “and soak them in salt water for two hours. Then drain, roll in beaten egg, dip in bread crumbs, and fry in hot bacon fat. Serve with bacon and serve as soon as cooked. Round up your family, and lock them in if necessary.”

I tried this recipe, and found it a good one.

And now here are the plants, growing in beauty, side by side, and adding leaf to leaf. The catalogue was right. They are “stout and thrifty.” But I did not know they have a history, and have been “mentioned in dispatches.”

They came to light in the pages of an old gardening book published in London and bearing the date 1829.

The eggplant belongs to the family of the “love-apple,” I read, “and comes in yellow, white, purple and streaked. The scarlet variety belongs to Greece, and is rare.” But the purple variety is the strain that has broken into literature.

Josephus wrote about them, and they have been frequently used to demonstrate the ancient truth that appearances are deceitful. It appears that these purple globes are sometimes attacked by a poisonous little insect that punctures the skin and causes the meat to suffer and rot. The smooth, bright outside skin is unchanged even when the inside turns to ashes.

Josephus describes them in these words: “Having seen them with my own eye, they bear a fair colour as if made to be eaten, but if you touch them they fly into smoke and ashes. This is the reason for their name of Dead Sea Fruit, or Apples of Sodom.”

As I water these little shrubs in the mellow evening light at Lantern Lane, I wonder if they have any throwback of pride in the fact that John Milton has immortalized them, too. In his Paradise Lost he describes the bitter disappointment of the Lost Souls who sought to allay their thirst with these gay deceivers, only to find themselves with a mouthful of dust.

Their publicity has so far been unfavourable, but, even so, they have made the front page!

 

Insects do not always injure the plant they inhabit. There are beans in Mexico that owe their popularity to the little moth that lays an egg in the blossom. In time, the blossom becomes a bean and the egg becomes a larva. The larva in time fills the bean-shell and grows legs and lines the shell with silk. The silk threads tangle around the little insect’s legs and causes it annoyance. When it jumps and struggles to free itself, it causes the bean to move in a mysterious way, much to the consternation of the beholder.

These are the famous jumping beans of Mexico, which sell for five centavos each in the Mexican markets to the tourists who take them home to mystify their friends.

So it happens that two beans growing side by side might have a different life story. One will end its humble days in a bean stew in Acapulco — the other may by the touch of a moth become a public entertainer in Alberta!