Thursday, June 20, 2013
Friday, June 14, 2013
Today at Iten's Acres: The Outlaws
The Outlaws:
The gang has been separated by technology. My neighbor put up an electric fence to make sure his little beagle doesn't get into the road and get hit. I can't blame him. Poor Stella--his beautiful black lab--lost her life to one of those speeding back road demons. So, this will keep the beagle safe.
It does mean the end of the gang. Bonnie stays away. Even brain-dead Gus has learned to keep his distance. The only slow learner has been the little beagle. I feel guilty--a little--because whenever I'm out walking or "working," she wants to run over and "help." Yowl!!!! Several times already. And there is an element of injustice here: the old huge brown lab that visits on occasion is impervious to the shock. She doesn't have a collar, so she just runs right through it like it's not even there, joins me for my walks, and keeps me company. Bonnie will join us once in awhile. The alpaca are scared to death of the lab and squeal--I don't know what else to call it--whenever she's with me out back in the meadow. Protective Bonnie comes racing to the rescue, but when she sees who it is, she just joins us, tail wagging, completely out of guarding mode. Hats off to Gus. Sorry little beagle. Welcome Big Brown. Let's walk, shall we?
The gang has been separated by technology. My neighbor put up an electric fence to make sure his little beagle doesn't get into the road and get hit. I can't blame him. Poor Stella--his beautiful black lab--lost her life to one of those speeding back road demons. So, this will keep the beagle safe.
It does mean the end of the gang. Bonnie stays away. Even brain-dead Gus has learned to keep his distance. The only slow learner has been the little beagle. I feel guilty--a little--because whenever I'm out walking or "working," she wants to run over and "help." Yowl!!!! Several times already. And there is an element of injustice here: the old huge brown lab that visits on occasion is impervious to the shock. She doesn't have a collar, so she just runs right through it like it's not even there, joins me for my walks, and keeps me company. Bonnie will join us once in awhile. The alpaca are scared to death of the lab and squeal--I don't know what else to call it--whenever she's with me out back in the meadow. Protective Bonnie comes racing to the rescue, but when she sees who it is, she just joins us, tail wagging, completely out of guarding mode. Hats off to Gus. Sorry little beagle. Welcome Big Brown. Let's walk, shall we?
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Backroads of Morrow County: Beginnings
Backroads of Morrow County Update:
It has begun. The farmer's reward and risk. The winter wheat is several inches high. Still green--not enough time and sun yet for "amber waves of grain." But it can't be too long. I'm sure I can hear the wheat singing in the wind. "O, beautiful for spacious skies . . ." Most of the other fields show evidence of crops too. I say "most" because a few fields are still not plowed--notably, the one across the way from me. The agricultural engineer who plows it usually does it "late" so I'm not worried. Last year corn. This year I expect soy beans. Everywhere else--almost--the long green lines of plants are racing toward the horizons. The corn is distinctive. There's no doubt what it is. The soy beans not so much. I assume that it's soy beans though now it merely looks like small green patches of "weedy" stuff stretching off into the distance. They are not yet big enough to "connect." They look like fields of green polka dots at this point. But before you know it, they will be cords of green.
The only wild flowers along the roads are wild phlox, daisies, and sweet pea. Pink and white borders nodding "welcome" as I drive past. The "doormats" of dusty roads. The doves have already committed themselves to wire sitting. The swallows are practicing their wind skimming. No doubt already gathering lunch for the kids. The blue birds grace the open meadows with an occasional meadowlark to add some yellow and black--and a song. The red-wings are everywhere--the neighborhood fussing crones. The red-headed woodpeckers are in their usual haunts. Red, black, and silver-white they are always a feast for my eyes. An occasional goldfinch will arc his way across the road, just showing off I imagine--like most males. The bird life of Morrow County is in full swing--or should I say full wing. Gorgeous, for sure.
Surprisingly, the wet spring has led to some early haying. I saw an older man, a younger man, and a boy at work in the field down the road from me. History at work. Grandpa, son, grandson making a team. The boy was too small to be of much help, but the knowledge of generations was, no doubt, being filtered down to him. Not much help, but probably the most important person in the field. The knowledge of good farming is being passed down, and the lad is our hope. May he see joy in the labor and nourish a love for it. Grandpa--as this grandpa knows--is not as strong as he once was at the work, but he has the "tricks and resolution" to pass on Santiago-like to the "boy" that he loves. Dad--son--is the evidence that grandpa knows what he's doing and is worthy of emulation in this labor of love for the land, the animals who will feast on the hay, and the farmers who earn their living--and ours--in the historical story of mankind's relationship to his "place on earth" as Wendell would call it. As I watch them, a favorite quote comes to mind: "Simplicity carried to extremes is elegance." Not to mention lovely in its generational way.
Yep, it has begun. Rural America, Adam-like, facing the hardships of life, at the mercy of the weather, learning the beauty and character building of hard work--and the joy of family.
It has begun. The farmer's reward and risk. The winter wheat is several inches high. Still green--not enough time and sun yet for "amber waves of grain." But it can't be too long. I'm sure I can hear the wheat singing in the wind. "O, beautiful for spacious skies . . ." Most of the other fields show evidence of crops too. I say "most" because a few fields are still not plowed--notably, the one across the way from me. The agricultural engineer who plows it usually does it "late" so I'm not worried. Last year corn. This year I expect soy beans. Everywhere else--almost--the long green lines of plants are racing toward the horizons. The corn is distinctive. There's no doubt what it is. The soy beans not so much. I assume that it's soy beans though now it merely looks like small green patches of "weedy" stuff stretching off into the distance. They are not yet big enough to "connect." They look like fields of green polka dots at this point. But before you know it, they will be cords of green.
The only wild flowers along the roads are wild phlox, daisies, and sweet pea. Pink and white borders nodding "welcome" as I drive past. The "doormats" of dusty roads. The doves have already committed themselves to wire sitting. The swallows are practicing their wind skimming. No doubt already gathering lunch for the kids. The blue birds grace the open meadows with an occasional meadowlark to add some yellow and black--and a song. The red-wings are everywhere--the neighborhood fussing crones. The red-headed woodpeckers are in their usual haunts. Red, black, and silver-white they are always a feast for my eyes. An occasional goldfinch will arc his way across the road, just showing off I imagine--like most males. The bird life of Morrow County is in full swing--or should I say full wing. Gorgeous, for sure.
Surprisingly, the wet spring has led to some early haying. I saw an older man, a younger man, and a boy at work in the field down the road from me. History at work. Grandpa, son, grandson making a team. The boy was too small to be of much help, but the knowledge of generations was, no doubt, being filtered down to him. Not much help, but probably the most important person in the field. The knowledge of good farming is being passed down, and the lad is our hope. May he see joy in the labor and nourish a love for it. Grandpa--as this grandpa knows--is not as strong as he once was at the work, but he has the "tricks and resolution" to pass on Santiago-like to the "boy" that he loves. Dad--son--is the evidence that grandpa knows what he's doing and is worthy of emulation in this labor of love for the land, the animals who will feast on the hay, and the farmers who earn their living--and ours--in the historical story of mankind's relationship to his "place on earth" as Wendell would call it. As I watch them, a favorite quote comes to mind: "Simplicity carried to extremes is elegance." Not to mention lovely in its generational way.
Yep, it has begun. Rural America, Adam-like, facing the hardships of life, at the mercy of the weather, learning the beauty and character building of hard work--and the joy of family.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Walking Iten's Acres: Prevarication May 25, 2013
I'm
going to sue. Whom you ask? The weather channel, all the
weatherpersons on the local channels, and the Farmer's Almanac. Why you
ask? They declared that there would be no frost in Ohio after May
15th. Prevaricators. ("Liars" sounds so harsh.) Charges you ask?
Extreme physical trauma. I should not have had to cover a zillion
plants on May 24th. Severe emotional stress. It is impossible
to cover all the plants that have come up that would be susceptible to
frost on May 25th. I had to choose. Heartbreaking. Evidence you ask?
We have them all on tape. Well, FA is on paper. "The frost date for
Ohio is May 15th. You can go buy your flowers now and plant them worry
free." Open and shut case--the wretches. Oh, don't give me this "we
can't control the weather" excuse. Then, quit acting as if you can.
Quit trying to be the Nostradamus of weather. (He didn't know what he
was talking about either, by the way.) All that you own will be mine.
Heh, heh. Hey, maybe it's a conspiracy? Maybe the nurseries pay them
to say that? We buy our flowers, plant them, the frost comes.
Flowerslaughter occurs. We beauty addicts have to go buy some more to
replace the ones that got the cold shoulder. Hmmmmm. I'll have to have
my lawyers check their bank statements. I will own the world.
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Today at Iten's Acres: May 22, 2013
Today at Iten's Acres:
Do you want the good news first or the bad news?
Bad news: It's been a terrible, horrible, excruciatingly disappointing iris spring. Four of my beds that are usually loaded have either had only one bloom or as of now have only one bulb that hasn't even bloomed yet. My iris eyes are not smiling. And I don't think they're just running late because there aren't even any bulbs.
Good news: The ones that have bloomed are stunning. Look for the pictures on Saturday. Some real beauties. And several of them are first timers at the acres.
More good news: Wild turkey in the Back 40. She must have been just sitting in the tall grass watching me. Only when I turned to walk toward where she was concealed did she hit the air waves. Monstrous bird. Great aviator too. Called me something in turkish that I'm sure was not an "Oh, glad to see you chubby, old bald human." I was surprised. Maybe she has a nest back there? I'll have to stay away for awhile and see. Don't want to be a family wrecker.
More bad news: She almost gave me a heart attack. I am now 70--lost three years off my life. At least.
I'll end with good news: I've been trying since I moved here to find something that would thrive in my bog and add color to the Acres. Now, my gardening angels have added some monkey grass and just a tad of trollius, but no success for me. Well, along the edge I have some wild hyacinth, Japanese and Siberian Iris, and some hibiscus that have bloomed--but just along the edges. But, la di dah, this year I have three patches of gorgeous yellow water iris right in the middle of the bog! I planted them last fall under a great deal of skepticism. I mean, what flower enjoys being drowned for most of the year--submerged in swamp water? The answer: yellow flag iris. I repent of my skepticism and gladly do a bog dance!!
Do you want the good news first or the bad news?
Bad news: It's been a terrible, horrible, excruciatingly disappointing iris spring. Four of my beds that are usually loaded have either had only one bloom or as of now have only one bulb that hasn't even bloomed yet. My iris eyes are not smiling. And I don't think they're just running late because there aren't even any bulbs.
Good news: The ones that have bloomed are stunning. Look for the pictures on Saturday. Some real beauties. And several of them are first timers at the acres.
More good news: Wild turkey in the Back 40. She must have been just sitting in the tall grass watching me. Only when I turned to walk toward where she was concealed did she hit the air waves. Monstrous bird. Great aviator too. Called me something in turkish that I'm sure was not an "Oh, glad to see you chubby, old bald human." I was surprised. Maybe she has a nest back there? I'll have to stay away for awhile and see. Don't want to be a family wrecker.
More bad news: She almost gave me a heart attack. I am now 70--lost three years off my life. At least.
I'll end with good news: I've been trying since I moved here to find something that would thrive in my bog and add color to the Acres. Now, my gardening angels have added some monkey grass and just a tad of trollius, but no success for me. Well, along the edge I have some wild hyacinth, Japanese and Siberian Iris, and some hibiscus that have bloomed--but just along the edges. But, la di dah, this year I have three patches of gorgeous yellow water iris right in the middle of the bog! I planted them last fall under a great deal of skepticism. I mean, what flower enjoys being drowned for most of the year--submerged in swamp water? The answer: yellow flag iris. I repent of my skepticism and gladly do a bog dance!!
Saturday, May 18, 2013
This Week at Iten's Acres: May 18, 2013
This Week at Iten's Acres:
It feels as if I tried to pack the whole month of May into five days. And the weirdness of the weather didn't help. Frost on Monday morning, eighty degrees by the end of the week, and a monsoon rain storm in between. Ah, well. I enjoyed sitting in the recliner, lights off, watching the storm move in: strong winds bending the trees, day night, day night as the lightning ricocheted across the acres, raucous thunder, and then torrents of rain turning the acres into a morass one more time this spring. Quite a storm.
The highlight of the week was, of course, loading down my little red wagon with tons of flowers from Baker's Acres. I always go back and forth between thinking I have enough to fill my planters to wondering if I need to get a few more. Invariably, by the time I've planted everything--and what a lovely day and a half that was--I"m a few plants short. My problem is I'm a "planter packer." I put lots of the little beauties in each pot. Can't help myself. Ah well. I can pick up a few more somewhere. Mom's container garden is luscious. Even though she's not here to enjoy it--and give her advice--I'm sure she would love it: snapdragons, petunia, geraniums, dianthus, marigolds, bright eyes, zinnia, dahlia, salvia, lantana--all her favorites. And the ruby throat has already checked them out and given his approval. I believe he may like the real thing better than the "fake" red "flower juice" in the feeder. (Actually, there's two of them, and the battle is raging for summer squatter rights.) Next, on the work schedule is some mulching and some weed thinning. With all the rain and the days I spent out of town, my beds are overrun. Not than I mind that much. Some of the weeds will be beautiful when they bloom. And the one's that don't will be overshadowed by the flowers. I am a little concerned that the cool, wet spring may limit my iris show. That would be depressing for an iris addict like myself. But maybe, they'll just be a little late this year. I certainly won't scold them for that.
The flower planting did cause me to put off mowing the front of the Acres the day before the storm. Ugh. And it's supposed to rain again tomorrow. The grass will be high again when--if--I can find a warm, sunny day to feed the bluebirds. They have been patiently sitting on the wires waiting for me to do my catering.
And, of course, Homesteader had her surgery this week. My sense of time was so discombobulated that I accidentally took her in a day early. They were gracious enough to take her anyway. Good thing. It's a major production to get her into the carrier. Wears an old man out. She's smarter than I am, a zillion times quicker than I am, and not the least bit interested in taking a ride in a cage. Perseverance won out, eventually. She's home now and doing great, though not exactly feeling fully frisky. Lots of nap time. In between name calling.
Yep, another week at the Acres has slipped away. Seems like a month, at least. But thankfully, it wasn't. Two more glorious weeks of May to go--and I promise to enjoy them. And I'm sure I'll post some pictures for you. Be patient!
It feels as if I tried to pack the whole month of May into five days. And the weirdness of the weather didn't help. Frost on Monday morning, eighty degrees by the end of the week, and a monsoon rain storm in between. Ah, well. I enjoyed sitting in the recliner, lights off, watching the storm move in: strong winds bending the trees, day night, day night as the lightning ricocheted across the acres, raucous thunder, and then torrents of rain turning the acres into a morass one more time this spring. Quite a storm.
The highlight of the week was, of course, loading down my little red wagon with tons of flowers from Baker's Acres. I always go back and forth between thinking I have enough to fill my planters to wondering if I need to get a few more. Invariably, by the time I've planted everything--and what a lovely day and a half that was--I"m a few plants short. My problem is I'm a "planter packer." I put lots of the little beauties in each pot. Can't help myself. Ah well. I can pick up a few more somewhere. Mom's container garden is luscious. Even though she's not here to enjoy it--and give her advice--I'm sure she would love it: snapdragons, petunia, geraniums, dianthus, marigolds, bright eyes, zinnia, dahlia, salvia, lantana--all her favorites. And the ruby throat has already checked them out and given his approval. I believe he may like the real thing better than the "fake" red "flower juice" in the feeder. (Actually, there's two of them, and the battle is raging for summer squatter rights.) Next, on the work schedule is some mulching and some weed thinning. With all the rain and the days I spent out of town, my beds are overrun. Not than I mind that much. Some of the weeds will be beautiful when they bloom. And the one's that don't will be overshadowed by the flowers. I am a little concerned that the cool, wet spring may limit my iris show. That would be depressing for an iris addict like myself. But maybe, they'll just be a little late this year. I certainly won't scold them for that.
The flower planting did cause me to put off mowing the front of the Acres the day before the storm. Ugh. And it's supposed to rain again tomorrow. The grass will be high again when--if--I can find a warm, sunny day to feed the bluebirds. They have been patiently sitting on the wires waiting for me to do my catering.
And, of course, Homesteader had her surgery this week. My sense of time was so discombobulated that I accidentally took her in a day early. They were gracious enough to take her anyway. Good thing. It's a major production to get her into the carrier. Wears an old man out. She's smarter than I am, a zillion times quicker than I am, and not the least bit interested in taking a ride in a cage. Perseverance won out, eventually. She's home now and doing great, though not exactly feeling fully frisky. Lots of nap time. In between name calling.
Yep, another week at the Acres has slipped away. Seems like a month, at least. But thankfully, it wasn't. Two more glorious weeks of May to go--and I promise to enjoy them. And I'm sure I'll post some pictures for you. Be patient!
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Homesteader Update: May 15, 2013
It
will be a traumatic day for the Homesteader--aka Nosy Rosy, aka white
dish rag, aka CAT!! As of today there will be no chance of kittens in
her future. I couldn't begin to imagine a whole house full of the furry
troublemakers.
At least the day should be quiet and trauma free. No one to give me a "piece of her mind" about anything and everything. No one to try to kick me out of her recliner so she can comfortably watch what's going on outside on her Acres. No one to vainly pounce on the doorwindow in an attempt to attack the neighborhood chipmunks. No one to knock around her favorite new plaything--a plastic football--all over the house. I have no idea where she found it. But, ah, is it ever a noise maker. She must enjoy the unpredictability of its bounces. She plays with it everywhere. Amusing to watch, entertaining little creature. Well, it's not so entertaining at 4 A.M. I'm going to have to send her to obedience school so she can learn to tell time. Not that that would change anything. It is her house after all. But today and tonight it will be quiet and uneventful. I can type on the computer without her interference. I can eat without getting a lecture on sharing. I can sit in the recliner and read the paper without all the commentary, and the "Don't you think it's time to get out of my chair" blueyellow eyed stares. I can sleep all night. I can wake up on my own, not to the tune of paw prints up and down my back, a wet nose in my face, and "the get up lazy human" serenade. Ah, a day of peace. (It will be nice to have her back tomorrow. Hey! Quit reading between the parentheses!)
At least the day should be quiet and trauma free. No one to give me a "piece of her mind" about anything and everything. No one to try to kick me out of her recliner so she can comfortably watch what's going on outside on her Acres. No one to vainly pounce on the doorwindow in an attempt to attack the neighborhood chipmunks. No one to knock around her favorite new plaything--a plastic football--all over the house. I have no idea where she found it. But, ah, is it ever a noise maker. She must enjoy the unpredictability of its bounces. She plays with it everywhere. Amusing to watch, entertaining little creature. Well, it's not so entertaining at 4 A.M. I'm going to have to send her to obedience school so she can learn to tell time. Not that that would change anything. It is her house after all. But today and tonight it will be quiet and uneventful. I can type on the computer without her interference. I can eat without getting a lecture on sharing. I can sit in the recliner and read the paper without all the commentary, and the "Don't you think it's time to get out of my chair" blueyellow eyed stares. I can sleep all night. I can wake up on my own, not to the tune of paw prints up and down my back, a wet nose in my face, and "the get up lazy human" serenade. Ah, a day of peace. (It will be nice to have her back tomorrow. Hey! Quit reading between the parentheses!)
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