The outlaws Bonnie and Gus have been temporarily--I hope--separated. My company on my daily walks have thus been negatively affected. The problem is that my neighbor has purchased another dog. Gus now has a brother. I don't even know its name yet, and, even on my own property, it considers me a "threat." The puppy is a black lab, and I'm not in the least afraid of it; their reputation precedes them as being gentle, kind dogs. And though the pup barks at me whenever it sees me, it is not threatening, just unsure of my place in its new universe. Gus, of course, gets along fine with his new sibling and doesn't even feel jealous when the new kid on the block gets to go inside while he has to stay outside. My guess would be that in his doggyness, Gus even feels sorry for his new friend's lack of freedom. And Gus still comes running to see me, get some affection, and take a little walk. And the puppy will follow along at a safe distance, but if I stop to try to get to know him, he starts barking and backs away. Gus looks at him as if he's nuts and continues to enjoy my company. I imagine that he may even enjoy not having to share the attention.
The problem is that Bonnie and the new pooch have not yet established a friendship. Bonnie is working on it, but it hasn't happened so far. She comes onto my property and just sits and looks longingly at her old friend Gus who seems to be across an impassable chasm. The puppy will charge at Bonnie barking like a mad dog, but she just sits there unimpressed and totally unintimidated. My hope is that eventually they'll become friends, and the outlaw gang will be able to reunite and join me on my walks. And if the puppy is out, the gang may even grow to three. I could handle three companions on my daily excursions despite the old adage that's "two's company, and three's a crowd." I could learn to love a crowd. And I'm sure they would let me continue to tag along. After all, man is a dog's best friend.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Child (hood) in Me
As I walk my acres, I often reflect on how much my childhood has affected what I've planted here. I suppose that's a little strange since I grew up in a small suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, called Wellston. We certainly did not have five acres or so to plant in; nevertheless, what we did plant and what I grew up with has undeniably influenced my choices decades later.
The most obvious way is my love for irises. We had tons of them in both the yards I grew up in; the one on Derby Avenue--that house is now gone--and the one on Chatham Avenue--that house is still there as well as the house behind it where Grandma Blackburn lived. And the neighbors on Chatham had hundreds of iris too. Yep, iris were "implanted" into my consciousness--dare I say heart--at a very young age. They are still my favorite flower by far. I have hundreds of them everywhere on my property. And I am always thinking up ways to add more! I often wonder how great it would be to go back to Wellston and see if any of those old iris are still there--not just at our house but at the Saffley's house next door. And even though the Saffley's house is gone and it's just an empty lot, I would love to go and see not only if some of the old irises are still prospering there--and in our old yard--but also if I could move some of them to my acres in Ohio. You may think it strange, but I would prefer to dig them up in the late fall or winter when they are dormant just so I could be surprised by what colors I got. I would probably have to wait a couple of years on the proverbial "pins and needles" because it usually takes my new iris two years to decide they like where they are and bloom.
I love iris. Waiting is good.
Another childhood memory that has impacted my planting is the huge sycamore we had in our back yard. I loved that old tree with its huge limbs and huge leaves. It was a beauty. Anyway, I have planted a couple of them here. I will be long gone before they get as magnificent as the one we had on Chatham, but my imagination can picture it. And here at Iten's Acres I don't have to rake those huge leaves in the fall. The one who does my raking is called "the wind." That old tree, by the way, is still alive. You can see what's left of it by going to Google Earth and typing in 6337 Chatham Avenue, Wellston, Missouri. It's not the beauty it was, by I see it with my childhood eyes--as magnificent as ever.
We also had peach trees; I have a couple of those. Lilies; I have a ton of those--literally. Roses--which I don't have much success with probably because they need special attention and I'm an every plant for itself person; I do, though, have a few struggling roses on the place. And we had phlox; one of my favorites still today. On my place I've had to plant them near the house. The ones I planted away from the house have served as deer snacks from time to time. I do have some little "patches" in the wild area that, so far, have escaped "lunch time." I figure, probably irrationally, that the deer have missed them because they are all mixed up in the millions of other flowers out there. A man can hope, can't he?
We had bleeding hearts in Wellston as well, but they are associated with a "family tragedy" in my memory. One spring Grandma Blackburn was helping out by weeding my mom's flowers and mistakenly pulled them up thinking they were weeds. I have done everything I can since then to make up for the error and to cover up for Grandma by planting bleeding hearts wherever I can. Amazingly, there were two enormous ones already on my property when I moved to Iten's Acres. Right next to the house even. Imagine my joy when I saw those that first spring! Grandma must have been here before me helping with the cover up.
Anyway, as I walk Iten's Acres my childhood walks around with me--inside of me. It is a companionship I cherish. Who said one's personal history is irrelevant? Mine is filled with beauty. In the present tense. I need to take my granddaughters for a walk and give a "lecture" on "the history of flowers" in the Iten family. Maybe I can plant a seed or two?
The most obvious way is my love for irises. We had tons of them in both the yards I grew up in; the one on Derby Avenue--that house is now gone--and the one on Chatham Avenue--that house is still there as well as the house behind it where Grandma Blackburn lived. And the neighbors on Chatham had hundreds of iris too. Yep, iris were "implanted" into my consciousness--dare I say heart--at a very young age. They are still my favorite flower by far. I have hundreds of them everywhere on my property. And I am always thinking up ways to add more! I often wonder how great it would be to go back to Wellston and see if any of those old iris are still there--not just at our house but at the Saffley's house next door. And even though the Saffley's house is gone and it's just an empty lot, I would love to go and see not only if some of the old irises are still prospering there--and in our old yard--but also if I could move some of them to my acres in Ohio. You may think it strange, but I would prefer to dig them up in the late fall or winter when they are dormant just so I could be surprised by what colors I got. I would probably have to wait a couple of years on the proverbial "pins and needles" because it usually takes my new iris two years to decide they like where they are and bloom.
I love iris. Waiting is good.
Another childhood memory that has impacted my planting is the huge sycamore we had in our back yard. I loved that old tree with its huge limbs and huge leaves. It was a beauty. Anyway, I have planted a couple of them here. I will be long gone before they get as magnificent as the one we had on Chatham, but my imagination can picture it. And here at Iten's Acres I don't have to rake those huge leaves in the fall. The one who does my raking is called "the wind." That old tree, by the way, is still alive. You can see what's left of it by going to Google Earth and typing in 6337 Chatham Avenue, Wellston, Missouri. It's not the beauty it was, by I see it with my childhood eyes--as magnificent as ever.
We also had peach trees; I have a couple of those. Lilies; I have a ton of those--literally. Roses--which I don't have much success with probably because they need special attention and I'm an every plant for itself person; I do, though, have a few struggling roses on the place. And we had phlox; one of my favorites still today. On my place I've had to plant them near the house. The ones I planted away from the house have served as deer snacks from time to time. I do have some little "patches" in the wild area that, so far, have escaped "lunch time." I figure, probably irrationally, that the deer have missed them because they are all mixed up in the millions of other flowers out there. A man can hope, can't he?
We had bleeding hearts in Wellston as well, but they are associated with a "family tragedy" in my memory. One spring Grandma Blackburn was helping out by weeding my mom's flowers and mistakenly pulled them up thinking they were weeds. I have done everything I can since then to make up for the error and to cover up for Grandma by planting bleeding hearts wherever I can. Amazingly, there were two enormous ones already on my property when I moved to Iten's Acres. Right next to the house even. Imagine my joy when I saw those that first spring! Grandma must have been here before me helping with the cover up.
Anyway, as I walk Iten's Acres my childhood walks around with me--inside of me. It is a companionship I cherish. Who said one's personal history is irrelevant? Mine is filled with beauty. In the present tense. I need to take my granddaughters for a walk and give a "lecture" on "the history of flowers" in the Iten family. Maybe I can plant a seed or two?
Friday, February 18, 2011
Warm Ups
The first warm-up of the year causes a lot of diverse ideas to begin bouncing around my brain.
1. It's too early. Winter isn't over yet--not even close. I'm sure nature will adjust to whatever weather comes its way, but still I worry. I know. Worry is the greatest waste of time known to humanity, but I have to exercise my brain somehow. I suppose I could log on to weather.com and order up the weather I want: "I'll take a slow warm-up starting about the middle of April. A nice six to eight inches of snow to cover the ground until then would be good. And not too much rain once the warm-up begins. My German irises--my favorite--don't like wet feet. Oh, the last frost should be about May 1st." For some reason I can't find the order form on that web site. Hmmph. I'll check back later.
2. The pond is at its deepest. The snow and ice on top have melted, but the pond beneath is still frozen solid so the melt has no place to go. My sister threw some goldfish in the pond last fall. Wouldn't it be amazing if they made it? When the world's economy implodes, can you eat goldfish?
3. I'm always surprised at what survives being covered by ice and snow for weeks on end. The Lenten roses look as green as ever. In fact, they'll be budding and blooming soon--snow or no snow. The hardy cyclamen has even spread under the snow. Weird plant. Blooms in the fall; leaves last all winter and then die back in the summer. Crazy plant has it all backwards. Poor upbringing I guess. The dianthus are fine now that the snow is gone, and they're in planters. Tough little things. And, of course, a couple of crocus have started to emerge. They don't need too much encouragement to show off. So human of them, eh?
4. My land has two temperature zones. The back of the property is always two weeks behind the front. No, really. Similar plants in the back always bloom a couple of weeks after the same plants have bloomed in the front. And it takes longer for the snow to melt out back. And the ground to dry out. In fact, at times, you can walk out back and at the bottom of the "hill," you can feel the temperature drop. It feels as if you're walking into a cave. Nice feeling--in the summer. Maybe the groundhogs have lived there so long that their millions of tunnels have created a Mammoth Cave under my property? I need a meteorologist to explain things to me. Not that it matters, but I have a need-to-understand brain. Which only means that it's pretty empty.
5. I should be able to take Mom outside fairly soon. She has a bad case of cabin fever. Anybody know where I can rent a golf cart or some such two seat vehicle? I'm getting too old to push her all over the property in a wheel chair. Yep, I'm a wimp. She does love seeing all the flowers. And I can't say "no." She is still the boss.
6. I have some work to do before spring arrives. I need to move all the branches that have fallen down back to the brush piles in the wild area. And I have some young trees that are growing in the rock garden by the house. Nature planted them. I don't want them there. Saw time. And I need to cut down some poison ivy plants taking over a couple of the trees I want to keep. Hopefully, they're still dormant. If not, scratch that.
7. And the final idea bouncing around? It won't be long until spring. And then summer. And then fall. And then, winter again! "To everything there is a season." Change is good, isn't it?
1. It's too early. Winter isn't over yet--not even close. I'm sure nature will adjust to whatever weather comes its way, but still I worry. I know. Worry is the greatest waste of time known to humanity, but I have to exercise my brain somehow. I suppose I could log on to weather.com and order up the weather I want: "I'll take a slow warm-up starting about the middle of April. A nice six to eight inches of snow to cover the ground until then would be good. And not too much rain once the warm-up begins. My German irises--my favorite--don't like wet feet. Oh, the last frost should be about May 1st." For some reason I can't find the order form on that web site. Hmmph. I'll check back later.
2. The pond is at its deepest. The snow and ice on top have melted, but the pond beneath is still frozen solid so the melt has no place to go. My sister threw some goldfish in the pond last fall. Wouldn't it be amazing if they made it? When the world's economy implodes, can you eat goldfish?
3. I'm always surprised at what survives being covered by ice and snow for weeks on end. The Lenten roses look as green as ever. In fact, they'll be budding and blooming soon--snow or no snow. The hardy cyclamen has even spread under the snow. Weird plant. Blooms in the fall; leaves last all winter and then die back in the summer. Crazy plant has it all backwards. Poor upbringing I guess. The dianthus are fine now that the snow is gone, and they're in planters. Tough little things. And, of course, a couple of crocus have started to emerge. They don't need too much encouragement to show off. So human of them, eh?
4. My land has two temperature zones. The back of the property is always two weeks behind the front. No, really. Similar plants in the back always bloom a couple of weeks after the same plants have bloomed in the front. And it takes longer for the snow to melt out back. And the ground to dry out. In fact, at times, you can walk out back and at the bottom of the "hill," you can feel the temperature drop. It feels as if you're walking into a cave. Nice feeling--in the summer. Maybe the groundhogs have lived there so long that their millions of tunnels have created a Mammoth Cave under my property? I need a meteorologist to explain things to me. Not that it matters, but I have a need-to-understand brain. Which only means that it's pretty empty.
5. I should be able to take Mom outside fairly soon. She has a bad case of cabin fever. Anybody know where I can rent a golf cart or some such two seat vehicle? I'm getting too old to push her all over the property in a wheel chair. Yep, I'm a wimp. She does love seeing all the flowers. And I can't say "no." She is still the boss.
6. I have some work to do before spring arrives. I need to move all the branches that have fallen down back to the brush piles in the wild area. And I have some young trees that are growing in the rock garden by the house. Nature planted them. I don't want them there. Saw time. And I need to cut down some poison ivy plants taking over a couple of the trees I want to keep. Hopefully, they're still dormant. If not, scratch that.
7. And the final idea bouncing around? It won't be long until spring. And then summer. And then fall. And then, winter again! "To everything there is a season." Change is good, isn't it?
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Bragging Rights
When I first moved up here to Iten's Acres more than half a decade ago . . . "more than half a decade ago" sounds a lot more significant than "a little over five years ago," don't you think? "More than half a decade ago"--makes me sound like one of the original settlers on the frontier. Ah, the power of the pen. Anyway, I digress. When I first moved up here, the greatest surprise I encountered was that they had real winters in Morrow County. Who knew that a mere forty to forty-five miles to the north of Columbus would make such a difference?! But it did.
I remember living in Worthington and listening to many a weather report predicting six or so inches of snow, and we'd be lucky to get two--usually just a trace. Not so up here. I can, also, remember making a fool of myself in the barber shop in Marengo--a little two-stop-sign burg we have up here. (A barber shop? That's what you would call a salon. It's a place where they cut your hair--males only.) It was the first time I had gotten a hair cut in the area, and I was sitting in the chair all smug and hoping to impress the old timers. A winter storm had been predicted, and I was laughing at the idea that we would actually get much snow--"Oh, the weathermen ( no offense Jennifer Myers) never get it right. We'll be lucky to get an inch or two," proclaimed the chubby old bald guy in the barber's chair. They all gave me the oddest looks--even a sneer or two may have reached their bearded lips. Anyway, when I woke up the next morning and looked out on Iten's Acres, a ton of snow. I think I let my hair go a little longer that winter--until spring. I didn't want to show up at the barber shop again too soon just to be immersed in ridicule and shame.
Thankfully, Dennis rescued me with his little plow (He's been a great neighbor from the very beginning.) or I might not have made it to school for three or four months. I'm sure Tom would have believed me though, "I'm snowed in." Yeah, right. But anyway, the snow storms became my badge of honor--bragging rights. I'd go into school and find an inch or two, and off-handedly reveal the fifty feet of snow I had to drive through to get to work on time. (Okay, so I exaggerated--a little.) But what a man! Enduring such winters! Surely, that's good for one star in my crown? I know. I didn't have to lift a shovel. Dennis did all the work while I stood there petting Bonnie. Oh, but I did have to duct tape my mailbox back up every time the snow plows knocked it off. That's strenuous, right? The pioneer spirit at work?
Anyway, a terrible thing has happened this winter. I think that the snow and ice storms have been worse in Columbus then they've been up here. Unbelievable! How could nature do that to me? My self-esteem is under attack. No longer can I brag about how horrible my winter is compared to theirs. I've fallen into second place, and there are only two contestants. At least, I don't have to drive to school and admit my loss of bragging rights. Oh, the shame that would be! And I'm still hoping for one good storm that out does the Columbus folks. There's still time right? I can have some hope. So, wear the crown lightly my city dwelling friends.
And if nothing happens yet this winter, I'll be ready for a rematch in December.
I remember living in Worthington and listening to many a weather report predicting six or so inches of snow, and we'd be lucky to get two--usually just a trace. Not so up here. I can, also, remember making a fool of myself in the barber shop in Marengo--a little two-stop-sign burg we have up here. (A barber shop? That's what you would call a salon. It's a place where they cut your hair--males only.) It was the first time I had gotten a hair cut in the area, and I was sitting in the chair all smug and hoping to impress the old timers. A winter storm had been predicted, and I was laughing at the idea that we would actually get much snow--"Oh, the weathermen ( no offense Jennifer Myers) never get it right. We'll be lucky to get an inch or two," proclaimed the chubby old bald guy in the barber's chair. They all gave me the oddest looks--even a sneer or two may have reached their bearded lips. Anyway, when I woke up the next morning and looked out on Iten's Acres, a ton of snow. I think I let my hair go a little longer that winter--until spring. I didn't want to show up at the barber shop again too soon just to be immersed in ridicule and shame.
Thankfully, Dennis rescued me with his little plow (He's been a great neighbor from the very beginning.) or I might not have made it to school for three or four months. I'm sure Tom would have believed me though, "I'm snowed in." Yeah, right. But anyway, the snow storms became my badge of honor--bragging rights. I'd go into school and find an inch or two, and off-handedly reveal the fifty feet of snow I had to drive through to get to work on time. (Okay, so I exaggerated--a little.) But what a man! Enduring such winters! Surely, that's good for one star in my crown? I know. I didn't have to lift a shovel. Dennis did all the work while I stood there petting Bonnie. Oh, but I did have to duct tape my mailbox back up every time the snow plows knocked it off. That's strenuous, right? The pioneer spirit at work?
Anyway, a terrible thing has happened this winter. I think that the snow and ice storms have been worse in Columbus then they've been up here. Unbelievable! How could nature do that to me? My self-esteem is under attack. No longer can I brag about how horrible my winter is compared to theirs. I've fallen into second place, and there are only two contestants. At least, I don't have to drive to school and admit my loss of bragging rights. Oh, the shame that would be! And I'm still hoping for one good storm that out does the Columbus folks. There's still time right? I can have some hope. So, wear the crown lightly my city dwelling friends.
And if nothing happens yet this winter, I'll be ready for a rematch in December.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Trust Me
I know it doesn't look or feel like it, but spring is coming. I know. It's frigid. The ground is covered with ice and snow. A real groundhog couldn't even get out of his nest to look for his shadow. Not that he would be stupid enough to want to. And yes, the snowbirds are still here in abundance. They show no signs of getting anxious to head north. And yes, those early avian harbingers of spring have not yet arrived. There are no red-winged blackbirds checking out my pond--dead cattails and all. None of them are sitting on the fences running along the freeways. As I walk around my pond and the bog, they are not there calling me all those blackbird things they call me for disturbing their nesting area in the spring. But trust me. Spring is coming.
Proof? The pussy willow around the pond--living in willow heaven--is already loaded with buds. Some of them have even opened up to show their silver blooms. Even the ones up front have buds, just no blooms. Yet. And I'm sure that the winter heather are just waiting for a little melt to show off their pink blooms. And the Lenten roses are ready to show off their colors right through the snow. And I'm fairly certain that I can hear the snow crocus discussing when they intend to show off their beauty. Yes, spring is coming. The "juices" will soon be flowing through the dormant trees and shrubs. Each in their appointed time will resume their "life." The cold of winter has done most of its "job." It's just waiting for the thaw so that it can saturate the ground with the spring drink the world is eagerly anticipating--to do what God has ordained it to do. To fulfill its purpose.
Cold does that you know? Gives us time to rest. Makes us eager for the thaw and a resumption of growth and fruitfulness. It's not a "bad" thing. Just part of the seasons of life. And it, too, has its beauty. Cold, I'll be delighted with spring, but, I think I'll miss you as well. Melt well.
The signs are there folks and more are coming. Spring is almost here. Trust me. Or, at least, trust the pussy willows. And keep an eye out for those red-winged blackbirds along the highway.
Proof? The pussy willow around the pond--living in willow heaven--is already loaded with buds. Some of them have even opened up to show their silver blooms. Even the ones up front have buds, just no blooms. Yet. And I'm sure that the winter heather are just waiting for a little melt to show off their pink blooms. And the Lenten roses are ready to show off their colors right through the snow. And I'm fairly certain that I can hear the snow crocus discussing when they intend to show off their beauty. Yes, spring is coming. The "juices" will soon be flowing through the dormant trees and shrubs. Each in their appointed time will resume their "life." The cold of winter has done most of its "job." It's just waiting for the thaw so that it can saturate the ground with the spring drink the world is eagerly anticipating--to do what God has ordained it to do. To fulfill its purpose.
Cold does that you know? Gives us time to rest. Makes us eager for the thaw and a resumption of growth and fruitfulness. It's not a "bad" thing. Just part of the seasons of life. And it, too, has its beauty. Cold, I'll be delighted with spring, but, I think I'll miss you as well. Melt well.
The signs are there folks and more are coming. Spring is almost here. Trust me. Or, at least, trust the pussy willows. And keep an eye out for those red-winged blackbirds along the highway.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Slip Sliden Away
Walking Iten's Acres the last couple of days has been like a very poor performance of Ice Capades. I mean, how many of those performances on ice have a hesitant old man as the "star." For me it's a treacherous trip. Not exactly the magnitude of "To Build a Fire" but a challenge nonetheless. My fragility is always on my mind. I'm afraid that I've reached the age where a fall would reveal that my bones are as brittle as the ice. At the same time, to crunch my way through the snow like an ice breaker on a river is hard work. Did it tire me as much in my "younger" days?
It's not as if the landscape is not beautiful. The branches glisten in the light of the sun. A red sundown sets them on fire. Early in the morning it's as if God sprinkled diamonds everywhere. The juncos look like some Dalmatian has lost its spots, and they are ricocheting down my driveway. The icicles on the house are stretching to reach the ground. The tracks of the smaller animals and the birds leave geometric patterns on the surface of the ice covered snow. In the wind the icy branches sound like castanets (but trust me, I am not tempted to try to dance.) Yes, it is gorgeous, but my trepidation affects my focus, causing me to concentrate more on the placement of my feet than the beauty surrounding me.
And the animals don't help. The red squirrel, a fox squirrel I guess, because of his diminutive size, is usually practically invisible in deep snow--a pair of small red ears running across the landscape. In the ice, though, he scampers across the acres "high and dry"--full speed ahead. Even Gus is light enough to trek across the frozen tundra unfazed by the treachery. And Bonnie who is heavier just races along the ice like it's not there. She does take smaller strides--it's actually a little comical--but she still speeds along when the mood fits her. And here's the old man slip sliding along ever so carefully, worried about every step, missing half the beauty that surrounds him. I wonder how many times in life imagined or even actual treachery has caused me to miss the loveliness permeating my life--to take my eyes off the beauty of Jesus and to focus on the evil that He has promised cannot keep me down, even if I fall? I wonder. . .
It's not as if the landscape is not beautiful. The branches glisten in the light of the sun. A red sundown sets them on fire. Early in the morning it's as if God sprinkled diamonds everywhere. The juncos look like some Dalmatian has lost its spots, and they are ricocheting down my driveway. The icicles on the house are stretching to reach the ground. The tracks of the smaller animals and the birds leave geometric patterns on the surface of the ice covered snow. In the wind the icy branches sound like castanets (but trust me, I am not tempted to try to dance.) Yes, it is gorgeous, but my trepidation affects my focus, causing me to concentrate more on the placement of my feet than the beauty surrounding me.
And the animals don't help. The red squirrel, a fox squirrel I guess, because of his diminutive size, is usually practically invisible in deep snow--a pair of small red ears running across the landscape. In the ice, though, he scampers across the acres "high and dry"--full speed ahead. Even Gus is light enough to trek across the frozen tundra unfazed by the treachery. And Bonnie who is heavier just races along the ice like it's not there. She does take smaller strides--it's actually a little comical--but she still speeds along when the mood fits her. And here's the old man slip sliding along ever so carefully, worried about every step, missing half the beauty that surrounds him. I wonder how many times in life imagined or even actual treachery has caused me to miss the loveliness permeating my life--to take my eyes off the beauty of Jesus and to focus on the evil that He has promised cannot keep me down, even if I fall? I wonder. . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)