I hate to upset the balance of the universe, to irritate my fair weather friends, to destroy the world view of those of you who want to live in the desert--but I kinda like rainy days. Even if they come on Monday. I enjoy walking my acres on a misty, drizzly, gray day. I put on my Nature Conservancy baseball cap ( I know they don't have a team). Slip on my Ocean Conservancy rain jacket (I don't know why you would need a rain jacket in the ocean). And then off I go walking--and singing--in the rain. I wear that stuff so my neighbors can just shake their heads and say, "There goes that crazy environmentalist. Doesn't know enough to come in out of the rain." Keeps them from thinking I'm a total nut case--I'm just misled, which is a forgivable offense.
But I actually love those walks. The sound the rain makes as it falls to the ground, touches the leaves of the trees, sends the concentric circles across the puddles and the pond, all those things I enjoy. There is something cathartic about it. It's as if the rain reaches into my soul and cleanses the anxiety and cares away. (Hmm, I'm starting to sound a little Transcendental there. Thoreau would walk with me. Emerson would say he's sure he would enjoy walking with me if it didn't get him all wet.) It's amazing the effect the rain has on the flowers and grass. It's as if it's actually green paint enriching everything. And no matter how many days it has rained before, each rain brings more flowers and shrubs to life. They know the sun will be coming later to enhance their growth, but it's the rain that calls their name and brings them out. The birds, too, rejoice in the rain. As I walk, I can hear them sing--in their shower, so to speak. They love it. And the robins love the worm feast! I sometimes feel sorry for the robin. He's a gorgeous black and orange, but so common we ignore his beauty. He doesn't mind though; singing in the rain is his specialty, and he has no problem whatsoever with self-esteem. A rainy walk is always accompanied with song.
I guess it's my oft professed melancholy nature that makes me love rainy days so. If I was an artist, I know I would paint in grays and soft blues and greens. I don't have the vision to be a painter; that's a gift God has given to others. And a marvelous gift it is! My favorite artist is Neil Riley. I love his works. Yes, lots of grays and soft blues. He paints the extraordinarily ordinary things. I look at his paintings and think, "I've been there," even though I haven't. Oops, sorry for the rabbit trail. Ahh, how the mind wanders when one is strolling blissfully through the wild area on a rainy day.
Anyway, I don't mind if you complain about the rain. Just remember that not all of us are complaining. A few weird environmentally conscious chubby old bald men are enjoying the day. I'm soaked clear through. Time to go inside and take a nice warm shower and drink a cup of Lemon Lift hot tea. Wet on wet. Try it some time. You won't melt.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
The Ides of April
By the middle of April, the beauty pageant is in full swing. In the shady areas the blue and pink anemones are starting to blanket the ground. I need to add some red ones for next spring. They are quite the propagators. Three cheers for evasive flowers. The three cousins are starting to enrich the shade as well. The red and white bleeding hearts are beginning to bloom--God has such an imagination. Their wild cousins the Dutchman's Breeches have already been carpeting the shade area under the trees. And the red and pinkish corydalis are abloom as well. I love their little pipe like flowers. The yellow and blue varieties come a little bit later. God can even make the shady areas of life resonate with beauty, can't He?
The star of the April proceedings are the daffodils--yellows, whites, a touch of pink, even touches of orange are everywhere, and one variety even has a little green on the flower. The beds are blooming, the pond is surrounded, the trees have their bouquets, and even the wild area cannot keep the indomitable daffodil from trumpeting to the sky. No matter how thick the growth, they push their way through. Beauty must triumph. Please pass the tiaras for the daffodils.
The two flowers competing for the best supporting actress role--excuse the change of metaphors--are the tulips and the hyacinth. It's a toss up--too close to call. The hyacinth come in brilliant colors, and they smell delicious. There should be a picture of hyacinth next to the word aromatic in the dictionary. They, too, are tough and bloom even in the wild area. The most evasive--in a good way--are the grape hyacinth--which enigmatically come in white and pink as well as "grape." They are quite small--see the picture in the last fb album--but they multiply like crazy. They are particularly picturesque when they surround a bouquet of daffodils--yellows and whites encased in a purple border. Stunning in my opinion.
The tulips are beautiful as well--reds, oranges, yellows, whites, greens, bi-colors. This time of year it's good "to be in Dutch." The only complaint I have with tulips is that they wimp out after a couple of years and quit blooming or in some cases quit coming up at all. Of course, I then get to buy some more to plant! I guess I shouldn't complain. Both the daffodils and tulips should still be around when the iris start to make their appearance. I can hear them now whispering in the beds--"Where have you been? What took you so long? You've missed April."
Anyway if you were to join me on my walk today, the color spectrum is full and gorgeous. Hundreds of daffodils, a few dozen hyacinth, a few dozen tulips, a spattering of anemone, bleeding hearts, corydalis, and Dutch Breeches. God knows how to do a landscape! It's too bad Brutus and the gang didn't wait until the Ides of April to do in Julius. With all the beauty around, he might have died a happier man. =)
The star of the April proceedings are the daffodils--yellows, whites, a touch of pink, even touches of orange are everywhere, and one variety even has a little green on the flower. The beds are blooming, the pond is surrounded, the trees have their bouquets, and even the wild area cannot keep the indomitable daffodil from trumpeting to the sky. No matter how thick the growth, they push their way through. Beauty must triumph. Please pass the tiaras for the daffodils.
The two flowers competing for the best supporting actress role--excuse the change of metaphors--are the tulips and the hyacinth. It's a toss up--too close to call. The hyacinth come in brilliant colors, and they smell delicious. There should be a picture of hyacinth next to the word aromatic in the dictionary. They, too, are tough and bloom even in the wild area. The most evasive--in a good way--are the grape hyacinth--which enigmatically come in white and pink as well as "grape." They are quite small--see the picture in the last fb album--but they multiply like crazy. They are particularly picturesque when they surround a bouquet of daffodils--yellows and whites encased in a purple border. Stunning in my opinion.
The tulips are beautiful as well--reds, oranges, yellows, whites, greens, bi-colors. This time of year it's good "to be in Dutch." The only complaint I have with tulips is that they wimp out after a couple of years and quit blooming or in some cases quit coming up at all. Of course, I then get to buy some more to plant! I guess I shouldn't complain. Both the daffodils and tulips should still be around when the iris start to make their appearance. I can hear them now whispering in the beds--"Where have you been? What took you so long? You've missed April."
Anyway if you were to join me on my walk today, the color spectrum is full and gorgeous. Hundreds of daffodils, a few dozen hyacinth, a few dozen tulips, a spattering of anemone, bleeding hearts, corydalis, and Dutch Breeches. God knows how to do a landscape! It's too bad Brutus and the gang didn't wait until the Ides of April to do in Julius. With all the beauty around, he might have died a happier man. =)
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Stella
I have a new woman in my life. Her name is Stella. She is as black as a starless night and runs like the swirling wind--directionless and indefatigable. I haven't known her long. And, at first, she was a little standoffish, not quite sure of my place in her world or if I even deserved to be in it. Who is she? How did we meet? She is my neighbor's new black lab. Still a puppy, she is huge and energetic.
I don't know what made her decide we could be friends. Perhaps it was because her older, little brother Gus let it be known quite early that I was okay. He ignored her barking and, as usual, came running to see me whenever I was out walking the acres. All her barking and nervousness could not deter him from coming to see the old man and to get some affection and company. Perhaps it was because my property has lots of what she loves the most--water. My pond and bog are her greatest delight. She enjoys getting soaked and then running to see me to shake off the water--a prankster at heart. Perhaps it is because when I walk the back of the property, she has acres of open land to run and on occasion a deer to chase. (It's comical, actually, to see little blond Gus chasing a deer that could squash him in a second and to see huge black Stella in pursuit quickly taking the lead in the chase. Gus, being a male, probably thinks the deer is running from him. Right. Ahhh, the male ego--even in a mutt.) Anyway, at one point when I called Gus to come join me, Stella came running too, ears flopping, a million miles an hour, as if we had been compatriots for years. And so a new friendship began. Now, whenever I'm out and she's out, she comes running to join me on my walks--if you can call running in circles everywhere in the vicinity and stopping by briefly for a little petting actually walking "with me." She appears to have only one speed--full throttle, and at times, I wonder if she'll be able to stop in time when she comes by for her brief "visits" or if she'll just bowl me over. So far, she has demonstrated a good set of brakes.
There is one source of tension. Bonnie. They are not quite sure of each other--a couple of alpha females vying for "bosshood" of the neighborhood. They don't quarrel anymore, but the relationship is just one of tolerance. There is a good aspect of it for me. (Selfish idea, eh?) When they are both outside with me, they are jealous of my attention. Stella actually stops running around and comes and walks by my side demanding to be petted. Bonnie puts her paws up on my chest as if to claim ownership and to get her affection. I am a star--fussed over by two gorgeous females. Gus, again being the typical male, is oblivious to it all--as long as he gets his attention. He can be jealous and demanding too, racing to beat them both to my side. Poor, stubby-legged Gus is always last.
Anyway my walk has gotten busier, not that I mind. I've got good furry neighbors, good brown-eyed friends, who love to see me walking about so they can join me. I'm even in my magnanimous way willing to forgive the occasional trampling of flowers. And a shaggy shower.
I don't know what made her decide we could be friends. Perhaps it was because her older, little brother Gus let it be known quite early that I was okay. He ignored her barking and, as usual, came running to see me whenever I was out walking the acres. All her barking and nervousness could not deter him from coming to see the old man and to get some affection and company. Perhaps it was because my property has lots of what she loves the most--water. My pond and bog are her greatest delight. She enjoys getting soaked and then running to see me to shake off the water--a prankster at heart. Perhaps it is because when I walk the back of the property, she has acres of open land to run and on occasion a deer to chase. (It's comical, actually, to see little blond Gus chasing a deer that could squash him in a second and to see huge black Stella in pursuit quickly taking the lead in the chase. Gus, being a male, probably thinks the deer is running from him. Right. Ahhh, the male ego--even in a mutt.) Anyway, at one point when I called Gus to come join me, Stella came running too, ears flopping, a million miles an hour, as if we had been compatriots for years. And so a new friendship began. Now, whenever I'm out and she's out, she comes running to join me on my walks--if you can call running in circles everywhere in the vicinity and stopping by briefly for a little petting actually walking "with me." She appears to have only one speed--full throttle, and at times, I wonder if she'll be able to stop in time when she comes by for her brief "visits" or if she'll just bowl me over. So far, she has demonstrated a good set of brakes.
There is one source of tension. Bonnie. They are not quite sure of each other--a couple of alpha females vying for "bosshood" of the neighborhood. They don't quarrel anymore, but the relationship is just one of tolerance. There is a good aspect of it for me. (Selfish idea, eh?) When they are both outside with me, they are jealous of my attention. Stella actually stops running around and comes and walks by my side demanding to be petted. Bonnie puts her paws up on my chest as if to claim ownership and to get her affection. I am a star--fussed over by two gorgeous females. Gus, again being the typical male, is oblivious to it all--as long as he gets his attention. He can be jealous and demanding too, racing to beat them both to my side. Poor, stubby-legged Gus is always last.
Anyway my walk has gotten busier, not that I mind. I've got good furry neighbors, good brown-eyed friends, who love to see me walking about so they can join me. I'm even in my magnanimous way willing to forgive the occasional trampling of flowers. And a shaggy shower.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Meandering through March
March "comes in like a lamb and goes out like a lion." Or vice-versa. What happens when it just kind of "blahs" its way in and "blahs" its way out? Can we blame it on the groundhog?
Despite the fact that my acres are not that extensive--less than five and a half acres--it takes me at least forty or forty-five minutes to walk them once spring sets in. My "problem" is that I focus on every detail. I'm checking every inch of the place to see what's coming up, what's starting to bloom, what "new" things have survived the winter to make their inaugural appearance on the premises. I even--I guess it's an obsession--keep records of what comes up when. Anyway, my walk is more like a meander this time of year in particular as my anticipation gets the best of me. I go from bed to bed looking for the signs of growth, wander all the paths in the wild area looking for the signs of growth, ricochet through the trees looking for the signs of growth--just lots of looking for. And even worse, I love it!
There's not a whole lot of blooming that takes place in March--at least up here in the country--two or three dozen crocus--lilac, purple, white, yellow, gold dabs of color scattered here and there, one small gang of dwarf yellow daffodils in Bed 7 under the old maple, snowdrops sprinkled around under the trees, a few winter aconite--yellow spots of color; a few Lenten roses that are the real stars of March--deep purples, pure whites, soft mauves. But most of March is just promise. The tulips are coming up, but they, for the most part, wait courteously for the daffodils to bloom first. The iris are starting to reach for the sky--the dwarf ones will bloom first and then again last in the fall when they rebloom. The tree buds are getting fat--leaves will be here soon. March is indeed a time of hope and promise. And who doesn't love resting in both of those?
Sorry, it's mid-morning; I've got to go meandering. I hope none of my flowers are going to play an April Fool's joke on me. I'll be back--but not soon. Details, details, details. I love it!
Despite the fact that my acres are not that extensive--less than five and a half acres--it takes me at least forty or forty-five minutes to walk them once spring sets in. My "problem" is that I focus on every detail. I'm checking every inch of the place to see what's coming up, what's starting to bloom, what "new" things have survived the winter to make their inaugural appearance on the premises. I even--I guess it's an obsession--keep records of what comes up when. Anyway, my walk is more like a meander this time of year in particular as my anticipation gets the best of me. I go from bed to bed looking for the signs of growth, wander all the paths in the wild area looking for the signs of growth, ricochet through the trees looking for the signs of growth--just lots of looking for. And even worse, I love it!
There's not a whole lot of blooming that takes place in March--at least up here in the country--two or three dozen crocus--lilac, purple, white, yellow, gold dabs of color scattered here and there, one small gang of dwarf yellow daffodils in Bed 7 under the old maple, snowdrops sprinkled around under the trees, a few winter aconite--yellow spots of color; a few Lenten roses that are the real stars of March--deep purples, pure whites, soft mauves. But most of March is just promise. The tulips are coming up, but they, for the most part, wait courteously for the daffodils to bloom first. The iris are starting to reach for the sky--the dwarf ones will bloom first and then again last in the fall when they rebloom. The tree buds are getting fat--leaves will be here soon. March is indeed a time of hope and promise. And who doesn't love resting in both of those?
Sorry, it's mid-morning; I've got to go meandering. I hope none of my flowers are going to play an April Fool's joke on me. I'll be back--but not soon. Details, details, details. I love it!
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