As I walk the Acres the last week before Old Man Winter takes the stage, I am immersed in an unusual feeling--hope. Yep, hope. A Ripley's moment, eh? The skies are mostly gray, the ground is soaked, cold is in the air, most everything is dormant. Where does the hope come from?
First, the dry summer has been countered by a wetter than normal fall. Hopefully, whatever damage the semi-drought may have inflicted has been reversed by the many rains of autumn 2012. The pond is full to overflowing much to the pussy willow's delight. The low areas are under water, but I prefer Cummings conclusion--"the world is puddle-luscious"--to any negative thoughts. The rain will seep into the ground and provide impetus for next year's growth. And my weather-proof boots keep my feet dry so that's not a problem. (What? Of course, I always slosh through the puddles just to make sure.) The bog, too, is boggish again--again, a good thing in my opinion. The plants and seeds that are lovers of moist, wet sites are settling in to "home" as they know it. All that gives me hope for a beautiful spring. I am also hoping for our first good snow at the end of the week, a warm blanket for the cold that's sure to come.
Amazingly, some of last year's "hope" is still blooming. I know, another Ripley's. Several snapdragons are still blooming--red, yellow, orange, white. One small patch of lilac alyssum is still blooming in a planter. And there are a few hot pink buttercups blooming in several places. Who knew some buttercups weren't yellow? These colorful beauties are free to hang on for as long as they want. Let's hope so anyway. For you flower lovers who are jealous--my heart bleeds for you. (Ha!)
My imagination also gives me hope. I'm imagining what the cold, wet winter will do to revive my dormant trees and shrubs when the warmth of March adds the last growth ingredient and "life" comes back again. I have no doubt that they will all spring into action and grow magnificently. Some will finally reach a level of maturity that will allow them to bloom for the first time. Some will just continue their rise toward the skies. A wet, cold winter is essential for a lovely spring. I, also, imagine that the bulbs are already mixing their paints so that they can colorize my world next year from March to October. As if to stimulate my hopes and tempt me into "too soon" expectations, a few daffodils have already poked through the soil and checked out the future. Some crocus, grape hyacinth, and Dutch iris do that every year. But though they are expected, they do add to the hopeful feeling.
The wild area is brown and dead. Well, the paths have a little green. And the brambles' branches are red. But everything else is just dead. So, where's the hope? Seeds. Many of the plants are still hanging on to theirs waiting for a few more storms to let go. Many of them have already thrown the next generation onto the soil. The coneflowers show signs of having provided some snacks for the sparrows of the field. Here's hoping, as they usually do, that they play their role as winged gardeners and start a new patch of coneflowers for next summer. I, of course, have thrown my own seeds into the area with hopes of a bountiful harvest. And my gardening angels always having something "up their sleeves."
I guess, it all depends on your outlook. I could walk the Acres and think, "I'd better go reread Genesis and make sure there won't be another flood." Or I could muse, "everything is dead and dormant; there is no hope." But my experience tells me that none of that negativity is true. "Hope springs eternal"--it really does. Perhaps the skies help. Even on the cloudiest, gray days there is usually a break in the cover and behold! a patch of blue emerges, and the sun's invisible yellow rays prance around the Acres. No matter how thick the clouds, the sky and the sun are just waiting above them, knowing their chance will come when they can break through the darkness and bring the warmth that will bring renewal to the plants of Iten's Acres. Sooner than you think--or imagine--or hope. Guaranteed. Fulfilled hope is the reward of patience, you know. And at those moments of brightness, I always reflect on Vincent van Gogh. To him, blue symbolized the mysterious and the infinite. Yellow, his favorite color, symbolized the presence of sacred love. God's blues and yellows are always there, always active, just waiting for the best moment. Yes. Behind the gray, He is always there, and He loves to remind us of His presence. He is the God of hope.
I wish Vincent or one of his proteges could stop by next year and paint some of my daffodils. The yellow ones--on a background of blue skies. I can hope, can't I?
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Serenity
Walking the Acres at the onset of December there is a sense of serenity about the place. All is at rest. The Sentinel still stands unaffected by any season. Every year at least one huge limb comes crashing down so its gnarlyness is slowly decreasing. But it is still impressive and fearless in its slow decline to the way of the world. The bees at the top are silent and retired for the year. I'm sure if I could fly to the top of the tree, I could hear a low hum resonating in the tree, but being wingless, I can only imagine. I can, I suppose, hum and sing as I walk. Actually, as a crazy old man, I do that anyway; I'll just pretend I'm talking to the bees. They won't hear me, so I won't face any musical harmonic criticism from the experts.
I love to sit on the bench by the pond this time of year. The rains of autumn have refilled the pond. The muskrat has moved back in for the winter. Maybe it's a mink. I really don't know. The only evidence is the hole it has dug near the flower garden by the pond. (Last year, that produced a tragedy as the outlaws in an attempt to catch the creature dug up the garden. I hope that doesn't happen again this year. It would not add to the serenity.) There are slivers of ice on the surface of the pond some mornings as winter sends notice that it is on the way. Some mornings there is a mist rising from the water reminiscent of the old tarns mentioned in an old Poe story or two. (Think "The Fall of the House of Usher.") But it is not a haunting feeling here at the Acres. Only peace and serenity are allowed under the watchful eye of the Sentinel.
The only obvious activity this time of year is near the house. Those pesky squirrels are up early gathering walnuts and hickory nuts--and probably a tulip bud or two. They run for the thickets when I come near. They have learned that there is no safety in the branches of the trees. I'll bet that if I could walk through the thickets in spring, I would find a transplanted tulip or two gracing the wildness. I can live with that imagining. A small kudos to the varmints. The other busy-bodies by the house are the birds at Mom's window feeder. Coming and going, coming and going are the chickadees, titmice, woodpeckers, and nuthatches. The goldfinch, Cardinals, siskins, and purple finches sit and munch. The field sparrows, song sparrows, chipping sparrows, and snowbirds scour the patio for "crumbs." There must be some. They keep coming back. On colder days when I'm sure the chipmunks are staying in, I'll even throw a little on the ground for the scourers. Mom enjoys watching them, but her memory is such that she has at times forgotten their names. She used to know them all by heart, but sometimes as we grow older, I guess the mind trumps the heart. Not that I mind reminding her of who the visitors are. Repeating the words "chickadee," "nuthatch," "snowbird," is not a tedious exercise in the least. Musical words if you say them right. Hum them if you can! The Homesteader, by the way, enjoys spending the mornings with Mom, basking in the sun, tail moving back and forth imagining how much fun it would be to get back outside and chase the winged company. (For those who just know me here on the blog, the Homesteader is now a permanent member of the household. I should change her name to "Boss." Yes, I am a soft touch.) The activity of the birds, believe it or not, adds to the serenity of the place. Movement can be beautiful--a dance of the birds is such a beauty.
As I walk through the stand of trees and then through the back meadow and wild area, all is quiet. The only raucous color is green. The wind is still there. On the windiest days the neighbor's pines hum. Otherwise all is silent, serene. There are plenty of signs of deer, but I have not seen them. I imagine they are checking me out from the safety of the brush or the pine forest. Camouflaged, they feel secure hiding in plane sight. With no leaves I can see through everything; and yet, no doubt, miss many things. I do not mind. Often, I just sit on the green throne, bask in the grey skies, imbibe the quietness, embrace the breeze, find serenity in the pastoral splendor of my neighbor's goats and alpaca grazing serenely next door.
Yes, the Acres are at rest. And I enjoy participating in the wonder.
Walking the Acres at the onset of December there is a sense of serenity about the place. All is at rest. The Sentinel still stands unaffected by any season. Every year at least one huge limb comes crashing down so its gnarlyness is slowly decreasing. But it is still impressive and fearless in its slow decline to the way of the world. The bees at the top are silent and retired for the year. I'm sure if I could fly to the top of the tree, I could hear a low hum resonating in the tree, but being wingless, I can only imagine. I can, I suppose, hum and sing as I walk. Actually, as a crazy old man, I do that anyway; I'll just pretend I'm talking to the bees. They won't hear me, so I won't face any musical harmonic criticism from the experts.
I love to sit on the bench by the pond this time of year. The rains of autumn have refilled the pond. The muskrat has moved back in for the winter. Maybe it's a mink. I really don't know. The only evidence is the hole it has dug near the flower garden by the pond. (Last year, that produced a tragedy as the outlaws in an attempt to catch the creature dug up the garden. I hope that doesn't happen again this year. It would not add to the serenity.) There are slivers of ice on the surface of the pond some mornings as winter sends notice that it is on the way. Some mornings there is a mist rising from the water reminiscent of the old tarns mentioned in an old Poe story or two. (Think "The Fall of the House of Usher.") But it is not a haunting feeling here at the Acres. Only peace and serenity are allowed under the watchful eye of the Sentinel.
The only obvious activity this time of year is near the house. Those pesky squirrels are up early gathering walnuts and hickory nuts--and probably a tulip bud or two. They run for the thickets when I come near. They have learned that there is no safety in the branches of the trees. I'll bet that if I could walk through the thickets in spring, I would find a transplanted tulip or two gracing the wildness. I can live with that imagining. A small kudos to the varmints. The other busy-bodies by the house are the birds at Mom's window feeder. Coming and going, coming and going are the chickadees, titmice, woodpeckers, and nuthatches. The goldfinch, Cardinals, siskins, and purple finches sit and munch. The field sparrows, song sparrows, chipping sparrows, and snowbirds scour the patio for "crumbs." There must be some. They keep coming back. On colder days when I'm sure the chipmunks are staying in, I'll even throw a little on the ground for the scourers. Mom enjoys watching them, but her memory is such that she has at times forgotten their names. She used to know them all by heart, but sometimes as we grow older, I guess the mind trumps the heart. Not that I mind reminding her of who the visitors are. Repeating the words "chickadee," "nuthatch," "snowbird," is not a tedious exercise in the least. Musical words if you say them right. Hum them if you can! The Homesteader, by the way, enjoys spending the mornings with Mom, basking in the sun, tail moving back and forth imagining how much fun it would be to get back outside and chase the winged company. (For those who just know me here on the blog, the Homesteader is now a permanent member of the household. I should change her name to "Boss." Yes, I am a soft touch.) The activity of the birds, believe it or not, adds to the serenity of the place. Movement can be beautiful--a dance of the birds is such a beauty.
As I walk through the stand of trees and then through the back meadow and wild area, all is quiet. The only raucous color is green. The wind is still there. On the windiest days the neighbor's pines hum. Otherwise all is silent, serene. There are plenty of signs of deer, but I have not seen them. I imagine they are checking me out from the safety of the brush or the pine forest. Camouflaged, they feel secure hiding in plane sight. With no leaves I can see through everything; and yet, no doubt, miss many things. I do not mind. Often, I just sit on the green throne, bask in the grey skies, imbibe the quietness, embrace the breeze, find serenity in the pastoral splendor of my neighbor's goats and alpaca grazing serenely next door.
Yes, the Acres are at rest. And I enjoy participating in the wonder.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
The Homesteader
The last few weeks, the idiots of the world have been busy in Morrow County. Doing what, you ask? Dumping their cats--as if by some magic trick they're capable of surviving on their own out here in the country. I would love to wave a magic wand of my own--as alluded to on facebook--and send those dirtbags off into the Alaskan hinterlands and see how great they would be at survival. Anyway, just since the first of October, I've seen five cats around the Acres that have never been here before. I walk the Acres, they run; the proverbial "scaredy" cats--not that I blame them. Common cat sense would tell them they are in a precarious position. I've seen two gray cats--one just a kitten, a black and white cat, an orange tabby, a calico, and a little white kitten. They have, for the most part, made themselves scarce. Only one of the group has stayed nearby. The little white kitten--hereafter officially designated The Homesteader--from the very onset has decided that my old dilapidated wooden shed right behind my house was going to be hers. From her point of view there has never been a question of ownership rights. It is her place--thank you.
She has one blue eye and one green eye but doesn't seem the least bit awkward about it. Obviously, what someone would think of her strangeness is their hangup, not hers. She can see quite well with both of them. And if you don't like it, well, just move on; she's not counting on sharing her new home anyway. And she has no use for the white cat legends. She can hear fine as well, too. She also has a marvelous voice for such a little urchin. And is quite willing to use it in all its contralto splendor whenever she feels like it (i.e. whenever she wants something.) She is not the least bit intimidated by other cats either. She has had two brief encounters with some of the other dropoffs. One of the gray cats, three times her size thought he or she could move in and take the food I had set out for her. Not so fast. She didn't back down an inch, and he slinked away into the trees. She also met the calico--a huge beast--and they just sat next to each other and exchanged cat pleasantries until the calico wandered off. The calico is a gorgeous cat and fat; maybe she actually belongs to someone in the neighborhood, and I just haven't seen her before. (That would be great! And decrease the population in Alaska by one.) She was back later this week admiring the birds on Mom's bird feeder, a real Audubon fan.
The Homesteader, for the most part, stays very near the shed. I have begun feeding here there perhaps that is part of the attraction Though she has also made it into her safe haven. Both of the outlaws have chased her at least once a piece, and she scampers under the shed for safety. Often, she comes out on the other side just in case they are still there. I have told the gang members in no uncertain terms to leave her alone and to stay out of the shed, and they have run off, but I don't know if the warning would be effective if I wasn't there to "enforce" it. I hate to scold my furry dog friends, but she would have no chance against either one of them. She has also learned to fly. I keep trying to find her wings under her fur, but no luck so far. I'm sure she's a fairy cat. Somehow she climbs--uh, I mean flies--up into the top of the rafters in the shed and that's where she spends the nights and some of the days. Though being a cat, on sunny days, she does like to sit outside the shed during the day and take her cat naps there. She has started to gain some confidence, and I don't know if that's a good thing for her long term survival or not. She lets me pet her now; in fact, insists on it at times. It's called "training the human that feeds you." And she's wandered a little. If I'm working near by, planting or mulching or whatever, she comes and joins me and gives me more instructions than I could possibly use. She also likes to go around to the front of the abode and entertain the birds at Mom's feeder. I even think she has a taste for sunflower seeds and peanuts. Who knew? This afternoon she disappeared for awhile. She may have been doing that everyday, but this evening when I went out to feed her--yes, I'm well trained--she wasn't around. An hour later she came out from under the shed demanding supper. I can only imagine that she's decided to use the groundhog tunnels under there for her holiday excursions. Though that seems strange too. If you read a nature article sometime on groundhogs who swear there is a weird ghost cat wandering their tunnels with two eerie different colored eyes, the musings will be confirmed. Maybe she'll evolve into a new breed--the ground cat or the tunnel cat, or Homesteader the friendly ghost cat?
I hope she, somehow, can survive the winter. I'm trying to find someone to adopt her. I'll do what I can until that happens. Yeah, on occasion I've been know to have a soft heart or a soft head whichever applies. I'll feed her. If she's still here when the cold sets in, I'll put some old rags in the rafters so she has a place to sleep. I guess I could really go daffy and enlarge the squirrel hole in the bottom of the shed door and keep it closed so that only she could go in and out. Did I just say that? I'm losing my mind. Sigh.
So, if anyone needs to have their cat training updated--yours not hers--The Homesteader awaits you. She is all cat, trust me. Independent, quite the vocal artist, smarter than the average human, and looking to adopt. Come on by. Make a friend for life--on her terms, of course.
The last few weeks, the idiots of the world have been busy in Morrow County. Doing what, you ask? Dumping their cats--as if by some magic trick they're capable of surviving on their own out here in the country. I would love to wave a magic wand of my own--as alluded to on facebook--and send those dirtbags off into the Alaskan hinterlands and see how great they would be at survival. Anyway, just since the first of October, I've seen five cats around the Acres that have never been here before. I walk the Acres, they run; the proverbial "scaredy" cats--not that I blame them. Common cat sense would tell them they are in a precarious position. I've seen two gray cats--one just a kitten, a black and white cat, an orange tabby, a calico, and a little white kitten. They have, for the most part, made themselves scarce. Only one of the group has stayed nearby. The little white kitten--hereafter officially designated The Homesteader--from the very onset has decided that my old dilapidated wooden shed right behind my house was going to be hers. From her point of view there has never been a question of ownership rights. It is her place--thank you.
She has one blue eye and one green eye but doesn't seem the least bit awkward about it. Obviously, what someone would think of her strangeness is their hangup, not hers. She can see quite well with both of them. And if you don't like it, well, just move on; she's not counting on sharing her new home anyway. And she has no use for the white cat legends. She can hear fine as well, too. She also has a marvelous voice for such a little urchin. And is quite willing to use it in all its contralto splendor whenever she feels like it (i.e. whenever she wants something.) She is not the least bit intimidated by other cats either. She has had two brief encounters with some of the other dropoffs. One of the gray cats, three times her size thought he or she could move in and take the food I had set out for her. Not so fast. She didn't back down an inch, and he slinked away into the trees. She also met the calico--a huge beast--and they just sat next to each other and exchanged cat pleasantries until the calico wandered off. The calico is a gorgeous cat and fat; maybe she actually belongs to someone in the neighborhood, and I just haven't seen her before. (That would be great! And decrease the population in Alaska by one.) She was back later this week admiring the birds on Mom's bird feeder, a real Audubon fan.
The Homesteader, for the most part, stays very near the shed. I have begun feeding here there perhaps that is part of the attraction Though she has also made it into her safe haven. Both of the outlaws have chased her at least once a piece, and she scampers under the shed for safety. Often, she comes out on the other side just in case they are still there. I have told the gang members in no uncertain terms to leave her alone and to stay out of the shed, and they have run off, but I don't know if the warning would be effective if I wasn't there to "enforce" it. I hate to scold my furry dog friends, but she would have no chance against either one of them. She has also learned to fly. I keep trying to find her wings under her fur, but no luck so far. I'm sure she's a fairy cat. Somehow she climbs--uh, I mean flies--up into the top of the rafters in the shed and that's where she spends the nights and some of the days. Though being a cat, on sunny days, she does like to sit outside the shed during the day and take her cat naps there. She has started to gain some confidence, and I don't know if that's a good thing for her long term survival or not. She lets me pet her now; in fact, insists on it at times. It's called "training the human that feeds you." And she's wandered a little. If I'm working near by, planting or mulching or whatever, she comes and joins me and gives me more instructions than I could possibly use. She also likes to go around to the front of the abode and entertain the birds at Mom's feeder. I even think she has a taste for sunflower seeds and peanuts. Who knew? This afternoon she disappeared for awhile. She may have been doing that everyday, but this evening when I went out to feed her--yes, I'm well trained--she wasn't around. An hour later she came out from under the shed demanding supper. I can only imagine that she's decided to use the groundhog tunnels under there for her holiday excursions. Though that seems strange too. If you read a nature article sometime on groundhogs who swear there is a weird ghost cat wandering their tunnels with two eerie different colored eyes, the musings will be confirmed. Maybe she'll evolve into a new breed--the ground cat or the tunnel cat, or Homesteader the friendly ghost cat?
I hope she, somehow, can survive the winter. I'm trying to find someone to adopt her. I'll do what I can until that happens. Yeah, on occasion I've been know to have a soft heart or a soft head whichever applies. I'll feed her. If she's still here when the cold sets in, I'll put some old rags in the rafters so she has a place to sleep. I guess I could really go daffy and enlarge the squirrel hole in the bottom of the shed door and keep it closed so that only she could go in and out. Did I just say that? I'm losing my mind. Sigh.
So, if anyone needs to have their cat training updated--yours not hers--The Homesteader awaits you. She is all cat, trust me. Independent, quite the vocal artist, smarter than the average human, and looking to adopt. Come on by. Make a friend for life--on her terms, of course.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Color Coded
I sat today in the "green throne" at the top of the hill in the meadow behind the house. If I turn it at an angle, I can see just about the whole area which has to be at least three acres. Close to one half of this area is, of course, the wild flower area. You can "read" the "history" of this area by the colors. No, seriously. As I've mentioned before, when I made the Acres my home, this back area was all overgrown. My first autumn here I had the area flattened with a bush hog. Then, I marked the area I wanted to let grow wild with a number of cement blocks. (Hmmm, if I lose this place, I'd better tell the new owners those blocks are out there. They have long since disappeared into the wildness. The next bush hog user could be in for a big surprise if he tries to level the wild areas. Shame on him if he does! But I doubt if a bush hog can cut down cement blocks. Ugh.) Anyway, that first spring and summer I let the marked area go wild--minus the mowed paths, of course. Walking Iten's Acres requires places to walk--everywhere. Since that first year, however, I have let the wild area "grow." In fact, every year I have let it expand. I just love God's gardening even better than my own. This year I've widened two of the margins: at the top of the area I've let it expand by ten yards or so and at the very back of the property I've expanded the margin by five yards or so. And I plan to let another quarter moon shaped area go wild this fall and winter. The last two or three times I mow back here I'll let that area go unmowed. No more cement blocks. (No allusions to any similarities to those blocks and my head are permissible--even if applicable.) I already have seeds to throw in this "new" area, either right before or right after the first snowfall. (I may have to amend that and wait for a later November snow the way this fall has begun. Brrr.) I always "plant" the seeds then. I mean, that's when nature does her "planting." The seeds then go through the normal progression of wet, cold, and spring warmth. It has worked well in my years here.
Wow! that was a long digression. Sorry. Back to color. As I sit in my green chair, (remember, that's where I was before my mind started to wander) I can tell which areas are the "oldest" because they're yellow--golden rod everywhere. The younger areas, on the other hand, look to be all white--heath asters. The color difference is quite obvious from my seat at the top of the hill. Of course, when I walk the areas, the colors are not quite as defined. The white area has dabs of golden rod and dabs of mainly purple asters and a few pink ones. In fact, the "older" the new area is--that sounds strange--the more dabs there are, mostly purple ones. And the older yellow area is full of purple asters. In fact, even though the golden rod is fairly much through blooming, I have tens of thousands of aster buds that have not yet bloomed. And the edges of the golden rod area have white asters. There are also four old paths that I have for various reasons let go back to wildness so that the yellow area has four white stripes in it. Yellow zebras? All those various beauty marks are obvious when you walk the paths, adding to the joy. Yes, I feel joy walking there. But from the "throne" it just looks like a huge patch of yellow and a huge patch of white. Beautiful in its own way.
Another beauty moment this time of year as I sit and enjoy the view is the activity of the goldfinch. They are all over the dried out thistles. Amazing. And, of course, the butterflies are all over the area. Especially, this time of year, the monarchs. What beauties!
Anyway, sitting on Iten's Acres can be as wondrous at times as walking Iten's Acres. Remember, bring you own throne--color doesn't matter--and relax awhile. It's good for the soul as well as the eyes. And the leaves haven't really started to change yet. I love autumn!
I sat today in the "green throne" at the top of the hill in the meadow behind the house. If I turn it at an angle, I can see just about the whole area which has to be at least three acres. Close to one half of this area is, of course, the wild flower area. You can "read" the "history" of this area by the colors. No, seriously. As I've mentioned before, when I made the Acres my home, this back area was all overgrown. My first autumn here I had the area flattened with a bush hog. Then, I marked the area I wanted to let grow wild with a number of cement blocks. (Hmmm, if I lose this place, I'd better tell the new owners those blocks are out there. They have long since disappeared into the wildness. The next bush hog user could be in for a big surprise if he tries to level the wild areas. Shame on him if he does! But I doubt if a bush hog can cut down cement blocks. Ugh.) Anyway, that first spring and summer I let the marked area go wild--minus the mowed paths, of course. Walking Iten's Acres requires places to walk--everywhere. Since that first year, however, I have let the wild area "grow." In fact, every year I have let it expand. I just love God's gardening even better than my own. This year I've widened two of the margins: at the top of the area I've let it expand by ten yards or so and at the very back of the property I've expanded the margin by five yards or so. And I plan to let another quarter moon shaped area go wild this fall and winter. The last two or three times I mow back here I'll let that area go unmowed. No more cement blocks. (No allusions to any similarities to those blocks and my head are permissible--even if applicable.) I already have seeds to throw in this "new" area, either right before or right after the first snowfall. (I may have to amend that and wait for a later November snow the way this fall has begun. Brrr.) I always "plant" the seeds then. I mean, that's when nature does her "planting." The seeds then go through the normal progression of wet, cold, and spring warmth. It has worked well in my years here.
Wow! that was a long digression. Sorry. Back to color. As I sit in my green chair, (remember, that's where I was before my mind started to wander) I can tell which areas are the "oldest" because they're yellow--golden rod everywhere. The younger areas, on the other hand, look to be all white--heath asters. The color difference is quite obvious from my seat at the top of the hill. Of course, when I walk the areas, the colors are not quite as defined. The white area has dabs of golden rod and dabs of mainly purple asters and a few pink ones. In fact, the "older" the new area is--that sounds strange--the more dabs there are, mostly purple ones. And the older yellow area is full of purple asters. In fact, even though the golden rod is fairly much through blooming, I have tens of thousands of aster buds that have not yet bloomed. And the edges of the golden rod area have white asters. There are also four old paths that I have for various reasons let go back to wildness so that the yellow area has four white stripes in it. Yellow zebras? All those various beauty marks are obvious when you walk the paths, adding to the joy. Yes, I feel joy walking there. But from the "throne" it just looks like a huge patch of yellow and a huge patch of white. Beautiful in its own way.
Another beauty moment this time of year as I sit and enjoy the view is the activity of the goldfinch. They are all over the dried out thistles. Amazing. And, of course, the butterflies are all over the area. Especially, this time of year, the monarchs. What beauties!
Anyway, sitting on Iten's Acres can be as wondrous at times as walking Iten's Acres. Remember, bring you own throne--color doesn't matter--and relax awhile. It's good for the soul as well as the eyes. And the leaves haven't really started to change yet. I love autumn!
Monday, July 30, 2012
Backroads Trek
Yesterday, it was a Sunday, and we didn't have to worry about coordinating our activities with the Hospice folks, so I took Mom on a trek into the backroads of Morrow County--we even slipped into Knox County for a little while. It was a bit of a struggle getting her into the car but well worth the effort. As we travel, she comments about everything: the crops in the fields, the animals, each little country burgh we pass through, the weather, the sky--everything. A running commentary for our hour or so of meandering. She loves to cherish each moment of the present tense. And, of course, each present tense moment brings something from her memories into play. Sometimes I can see the connection; sometimes not. But they're good memories. She loves to relive moments from her past. After all, a vast portion of her life resides there. One of our family heirlooms is the time (many of them) when one of the kids would ask Pop something, and he would say, "I don't know. Go ask your mother. If she doesn't know, she'll make something up." She observes, comments, rests confidently in her conclusions. I nod, occasionally throw in an "un huh," and smile a lot. Wouldn't have it any other way. Drive on.
We encountered an Amish horse and wagon at the very outset of our journey. I've never seen one this far away from their communities. He was a long, long way from home. And no gas stations between here and there.
I'm not a farmer but despite having so little rainfall the crops look marvelous to me. The corn is ten, twelve feet high, tasseled. The soy beans look lush; one big five, ten acre bush. The fields resonate green. Farm animals are out and about. Cows, roving chickens (they're all free range out here), horses--what a regal animal, sheep with their guard llama. The sheep, at times, don't appear to be too bright. I've seen them on days when it was a zillion degrees with humidity to match all huddled together next to the barn. How can that not be suffocating? (I better understand God referring to us as sheep--not too bright at times. I speak only for myself.) The llama has it all together. He likes to stand right in the middle of the creek under the shade of some small trees. He may be their protector and champion, but I get the idea that they're not exactly good friends. Unless he's trying to pull the wool over my eyes again. Today, it was cooler and the sheep were scattered, I couldn't even see security.
We saw the biggest flock of barn swallows I have ever seen. Had to be at least fifty perched on the telephone wires, on the road, flying over the fields. Amazing. I wanted to race home, get my riding mower, and come back, and mow the field. Can you imagine be surrounded by four or more dozen of gorgeous, acrobatic, velvet blue, dive bombers? Just thinking about the glory of it makes me laugh out-loud for joy, makes my heart race at the wonder of it. Undoubtedly it would be better than any out of body experience. I have never seen so many! It's either been a good year for barn swallows or they're flocking together for a trip South sooner than I would have expected. We had summer in winter; maybe a blizzard is coming in mid-August? They wouldn't say. Maybe one of my ornithologist friends can educate me. Saw another flock about half that size no more than a mile further down the road.
Anyway, it was a good trip. No destination required. Just meander aimlessly. Mom enjoying each moment, "educating" like good moms always too, soaking in the beauty of the day. She shared one of her favorite anecdotes of a woman walking down the street and calling out to her, "Heaven is my Home, but I'm not Homesick yet." To be perfectly honest, I rather think she actually is at least a little Homesick. Lots of old friends to see again, Pop is waiting, myriads of people she introduced to Jesus, the One she's been carrying on a conversation with for decades but has yet to meet face to face.
All roads lead Home. Travel on.
We encountered an Amish horse and wagon at the very outset of our journey. I've never seen one this far away from their communities. He was a long, long way from home. And no gas stations between here and there.
I'm not a farmer but despite having so little rainfall the crops look marvelous to me. The corn is ten, twelve feet high, tasseled. The soy beans look lush; one big five, ten acre bush. The fields resonate green. Farm animals are out and about. Cows, roving chickens (they're all free range out here), horses--what a regal animal, sheep with their guard llama. The sheep, at times, don't appear to be too bright. I've seen them on days when it was a zillion degrees with humidity to match all huddled together next to the barn. How can that not be suffocating? (I better understand God referring to us as sheep--not too bright at times. I speak only for myself.) The llama has it all together. He likes to stand right in the middle of the creek under the shade of some small trees. He may be their protector and champion, but I get the idea that they're not exactly good friends. Unless he's trying to pull the wool over my eyes again. Today, it was cooler and the sheep were scattered, I couldn't even see security.
We saw the biggest flock of barn swallows I have ever seen. Had to be at least fifty perched on the telephone wires, on the road, flying over the fields. Amazing. I wanted to race home, get my riding mower, and come back, and mow the field. Can you imagine be surrounded by four or more dozen of gorgeous, acrobatic, velvet blue, dive bombers? Just thinking about the glory of it makes me laugh out-loud for joy, makes my heart race at the wonder of it. Undoubtedly it would be better than any out of body experience. I have never seen so many! It's either been a good year for barn swallows or they're flocking together for a trip South sooner than I would have expected. We had summer in winter; maybe a blizzard is coming in mid-August? They wouldn't say. Maybe one of my ornithologist friends can educate me. Saw another flock about half that size no more than a mile further down the road.
Anyway, it was a good trip. No destination required. Just meander aimlessly. Mom enjoying each moment, "educating" like good moms always too, soaking in the beauty of the day. She shared one of her favorite anecdotes of a woman walking down the street and calling out to her, "Heaven is my Home, but I'm not Homesick yet." To be perfectly honest, I rather think she actually is at least a little Homesick. Lots of old friends to see again, Pop is waiting, myriads of people she introduced to Jesus, the One she's been carrying on a conversation with for decades but has yet to meet face to face.
All roads lead Home. Travel on.
Friday, July 20, 2012
Odds and Ends--Mostly Odds
There were no encounters of a third kind at Iten's Acres this week--unless you count the mouse that was on the riding mower when I went to get it out early in the week. He was not happy to see me. And I didn't think he was planning on mowing the lawn for me. He panicked and ran under the mower. I'm surprised that he didn't have a mouse heart attack when I turned it on. Luckily for him I don't turn on the blades until I get out into the yard. The little rascals like to build a nest in the motor. Time to get out the d-con. Emmm, tasty. I don't bother in the winter. Dave the lawnmower guy always cleans out the nest when he gives me my spring tuneup.
I mowed the front of the Acres. Even though we haven't had much rain, the grass has still been growing. Well, actually it's the buck thorn. If you don't know what buck thorn is, count your blessings, name them one by one. Number one: not knowing what buck thorn is. Ugly, invasive weed. I think if I ever had a lawn company put something down that kills dandelions and buck thorn, I might not have much lawn left out front. Yep, I know, a bit of an exaggeration. But exaggeration can be therapeutic at times.
There are flowers blooming everywhere. Each bed has beauty. Hibiscus and rose of Sharon are scattered here and there in odd places. The pond has a bouquet of yellow water lilies. The wild area still has a zillion (exaggeration) Queen Anne's Lace, a couple kinds of coneflowers, some lingering day lilies, and black-eyed Susans. But the star of the show is the phlox. I brought up a couple of plants from Mom's South Carolina home when I first moved to the Acres. They are now everywhere. You can't keep them in the flower beds. Not that I would want to. Sun or shade makes no difference to them either. Every year there's a new bunch or two, or three, or four, or . . . You get the picture. They have a marvelous scent. Hummingbirds and butterfly love them. Bumble bees get inebriated on them. They just sit on them for hours. (I wonder if they have to get de-phloxed when they get back to the hive?) They also change colors as they spread. I must have a dozen different shades by now, and I started out with just two: pinks, reds, purples, lilacs, white, greens, two-tones. And they all bunch together. You can have four or five different colors in one small group. They are huge as well--six, seven feet tall. If you get a chance, flock to the nursery and get some phlox. They will bloom until the first frost as well.
The oddest events of this week at Iten's Acres: three days in a row of rain. I couldn't believe it. And the rain was followed by much cooler temperatures. Thank you, Lord. I pray you will send some of the stuff to Iowa, Indiana, Illinois, Texas, and any other place in need of it. Aren't you glad that He sends rain on the just and the unjust? Otherwise the whole world might be a desert.
I mowed the front of the Acres. Even though we haven't had much rain, the grass has still been growing. Well, actually it's the buck thorn. If you don't know what buck thorn is, count your blessings, name them one by one. Number one: not knowing what buck thorn is. Ugly, invasive weed. I think if I ever had a lawn company put something down that kills dandelions and buck thorn, I might not have much lawn left out front. Yep, I know, a bit of an exaggeration. But exaggeration can be therapeutic at times.
There are flowers blooming everywhere. Each bed has beauty. Hibiscus and rose of Sharon are scattered here and there in odd places. The pond has a bouquet of yellow water lilies. The wild area still has a zillion (exaggeration) Queen Anne's Lace, a couple kinds of coneflowers, some lingering day lilies, and black-eyed Susans. But the star of the show is the phlox. I brought up a couple of plants from Mom's South Carolina home when I first moved to the Acres. They are now everywhere. You can't keep them in the flower beds. Not that I would want to. Sun or shade makes no difference to them either. Every year there's a new bunch or two, or three, or four, or . . . You get the picture. They have a marvelous scent. Hummingbirds and butterfly love them. Bumble bees get inebriated on them. They just sit on them for hours. (I wonder if they have to get de-phloxed when they get back to the hive?) They also change colors as they spread. I must have a dozen different shades by now, and I started out with just two: pinks, reds, purples, lilacs, white, greens, two-tones. And they all bunch together. You can have four or five different colors in one small group. They are huge as well--six, seven feet tall. If you get a chance, flock to the nursery and get some phlox. They will bloom until the first frost as well.
The oddest events of this week at Iten's Acres: three days in a row of rain. I couldn't believe it. And the rain was followed by much cooler temperatures. Thank you, Lord. I pray you will send some of the stuff to Iowa, Indiana, Illinois, Texas, and any other place in need of it. Aren't you glad that He sends rain on the just and the unjust? Otherwise the whole world might be a desert.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Encounters
There were two encounters at Iten's Acres last week. The first came at about mid-morning when the matriarch called out from her throne, "What's this big animal walking down the driveway?" I couldn't imagine. What would be out there that she wouldn't recognize? I rose from my blue leather chair at the back of the house where I was, no doubt, doing nothing of significance, and walked to the front of the abode. Was it a lost elk from upper Michigan? Was it a bear from who knows where? Was it just a large coyote? I've seen one or two of them lately, but she's seen one of them before. We had a storm the day before (thanks again, Kathy), but I don't think it was a thunder of Hippos. Before I could even reach a viewing area--the kitchen window--I heard, "Oh, it's a deer." And behold it was. I admit it was the biggest deer by far that I have ever seen on the Acres. Huge. Beautiful creature, strolling down the driveway as if he owned it. Why is it that beautiful things can be so destructive? Anyway, as protector of the Acres, I grabbed the old trusty .22 and headed out the door. By the time I got out there, he was past the turn in the driveway and wandering by the flower beds, and I'm sure, looking hungrily at the hibiscus and lilies. When he saw me coming, his first response was a deer smirk. He just looked at me, did a deer shrug, and looked away. But, ahhhhh, when I fired the gun, he sprang into action, veered right into Dennis' thicket, and disappeared. I hope he kept going across 25, through the swamp, and into the woods on the other side. No, animal lovers, I did not shoot at the creature. I shot at the ground and hoped for the fear effect. It has worked before, and it worked again. Goodbye, beautiful devourer of beauty. Don't come back.
I wish we could talk to the animals. I really wouldn't mind their presence if they weren't so voracious. In fact, as I said, this deer was gorgeous. What would I tell him? "Say, dear deer, let's make a deal. You can cross my property any time unmolested by this chubby old bald guy. Just promise not to eat the flowers. I'll tell you what. I'll even buy you a huge bale of hay in the winter. I'll put out a salt block, too. And in hunting season you and yours can use my place for a sanctuary. I'll put up 'No Hunting' signs, wrap ribbons around you with a sign that says 'Pet Deer, don't shoot,' open up the shed so you can sleep inside safely. Just don't eat the daisies or anything else. Deal?" Wouldn't that be good? Sigh. Not going to happen. Sorry, if I see you again, I'll come gunning.
The second encounter is actually becoming a regular occurrence. If it's a cool time of day, I begin my walk by helping Mom into a chair on the front patio. She puts on her sun glasses, the pillow goes behind her, I give her her phone so she can call me while I'm out back if she needs me, and the old baseball hat goes on her head. She loves it, surrounded by flowers, birds, and the activity of a country yard. Then, I'm off to traverse the meadow and wild area, trudge around the pond, or wander by all the gardens out front. On occasion, I'm fortunate enough to run into Dennis out back, and we can have a neighborly chat. The encounter occurs when I come back to sit with Mom, and there, sitting happily by her side is one of the outlaws--Bonnie or Gus. They have discovered that if Mom is out there, they can get all the petting they want. Dog Heaven. It's a lovely sight. I am a little surprised because Mom is more of a cat person and actually has a little fear of dogs, but she has found two friends here, and love casts out fear as you all know. I am allowed to join the party and do some petting of my own, but Mom is the star. And she knows it. And revels in it. And yes, reveling is good.
Walking Iten's Acres you just never know what you might encounter. But encounters are good--even those with beautiful dangers.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
The WIA Dictionary
Prologue: I know. Dictionaries don't have prologues, but convention is not a theme at Iten's Acres. This should have probably been like the second or third entry in this developing blog, but I'm a little random so here it is now. And, of course, the WIA Dictionary will not be alphabetized. Random must rule!
Walking Iten's Acres: the process of ricocheting from flower bed to flower bed until one finds oneself in the back meadow. The process then becomes more of a meander until the wild area is reached. Then? Back to the ricocheting on the various paths. Backtracking is required. Stopping is also a necessity in order to walk properly. Sitting in the green throne on the top of the hill may also come into play. Yes, sitting quietly and observing is an integral part of Walking Iten's Acres.
Opera (literally "willing work"): Everything done on Iten's Acres is opera. The singing is provided by my feathered friends. Totally random of course. Barking dogs may also be part of the melodic symphony that accompanies my willing work.
Discombobulate: The feeling I have this year since the weather has messed up all my meticulous note keeping about what should bloom when and where. There is a feeling that I'm going to miss something. Beauty is a terrible thing to miss.
Feeding the Bluebirds: The mowing of the front of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you stop, turn off the mower, and sit quietly. Then, the bluebirds come and reap the bug harvest stirred up by the mowing. The longer you sit, the more birds join the party. Robins, goldfinch, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, catbirds, sparrows of all kinds. Makes a nice lunch break, even if I'm not the one eating.
Feeding the Swallows: The mowing of the back of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you not stop. These velvet acrobats enjoy circling the mower, flying right at you, coming from all sides, feasting on the fleeing insects. It is, believe it or not Ripley, a source of joy.
Serenity: 1) walking and being totally ignored by the bluebirds as they roam the Acres. I have been accepted as a non-threatening aspect of their lives 2) standing in the back meadow on a clear night overwhelmed by the majesty of a starlit sky 3) lying on the floor upstairs listening to the rain dance on the roof 4) the moment when one is surprised by beauty. 5) The sound of two little children calling out "Hi Al" (The list goes on, but I'll stop for now.)
Plague: A bad mosquito time: see spring of 2012
Expectation: The time spent from December to March wondering what bulbs that were planted in the fall will come to life in the spring.
Anticipation: The sense that today as you walk some new beauty will be blooming that was not blooming yesterday--or even this morning.
Gardening Angels: Those responsible for secretly planting new species each year at the Acres or for moving flowers to a new place that they've never been before. (Responsible this year already for a new elderberry bush, a columbine in a new place, an unknown wild flower in Bed 1 (The Morning Glory Bed), a Bronze Dutch iris in the Red and White Bed. More to come! I hope.
Outlaws: My two furry friends--Bonnie and Gus (No, I still haven't convinced Aaron to rename Gus Clyde). Walking companions at times. Work supervisors at times. Fertilizers at times. Skunk, rabbit, and ground hog exterminators at times (one of those activities is not appreciated). Occasional rascals--they do like to dig at times. Always more than happy to be petted and loved on.
Mulch: That practice that is used sparingly in order to ensure a new crop of larkspur, cosmos, snapdragons, etc. Yes, my gardens are "weedy." But it's worth the laziness. For example, the Rainbow Bed outside Mom's window, at one time had one balloon flower. This year there are over fifty.
Weeds: Plants that if we found them in the wild area would produce "oohs" and "aahhs" but in a flower bed are called "weeds" and summarily hated. Dandelions and buck thorn are, however, weeds and deserve to be despised.
Peace: When worries evaporate as one walks the Acres and breathes in the loveliness.
Compost: The leftovers that the Outlaws munch on if I toss them out back.
Varmints: Rabbits, deer, groundhogs. Walnut trees. Mosquitoes and ticks. Not even Iten's Acres is perfect.
Meadow: The open expanse at the back of the property. Great place for star gazing, feeding swallows, chatting over the fence with a good neighbor, sitting on a green throne.
Margins: The sides of the meadow that are allowed to grow wild. Home to a variety of birds. The goldfinch in particular like to nest in the margins. Every year they get just a tad wider.
Back Forty: The very back of the property, past the wild flower area, the place to stand and look back up at the house. When one arrives here, it is time to turn around and begin the meandering back. No, it is not forty of anything.
Iris--iris
Pepsi--Pepsi is the tree of life; coke came after the fall. (I just had to include that, sorry.)
Walking Iten's Acres: the process of ricocheting from flower bed to flower bed until one finds oneself in the back meadow. The process then becomes more of a meander until the wild area is reached. Then? Back to the ricocheting on the various paths. Backtracking is required. Stopping is also a necessity in order to walk properly. Sitting in the green throne on the top of the hill may also come into play. Yes, sitting quietly and observing is an integral part of Walking Iten's Acres.
Opera (literally "willing work"): Everything done on Iten's Acres is opera. The singing is provided by my feathered friends. Totally random of course. Barking dogs may also be part of the melodic symphony that accompanies my willing work.
Discombobulate: The feeling I have this year since the weather has messed up all my meticulous note keeping about what should bloom when and where. There is a feeling that I'm going to miss something. Beauty is a terrible thing to miss.
Feeding the Bluebirds: The mowing of the front of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you stop, turn off the mower, and sit quietly. Then, the bluebirds come and reap the bug harvest stirred up by the mowing. The longer you sit, the more birds join the party. Robins, goldfinch, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, catbirds, sparrows of all kinds. Makes a nice lunch break, even if I'm not the one eating.
Feeding the Swallows: The mowing of the back of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you not stop. These velvet acrobats enjoy circling the mower, flying right at you, coming from all sides, feasting on the fleeing insects. It is, believe it or not Ripley, a source of joy.
Serenity: 1) walking and being totally ignored by the bluebirds as they roam the Acres. I have been accepted as a non-threatening aspect of their lives 2) standing in the back meadow on a clear night overwhelmed by the majesty of a starlit sky 3) lying on the floor upstairs listening to the rain dance on the roof 4) the moment when one is surprised by beauty. 5) The sound of two little children calling out "Hi Al" (The list goes on, but I'll stop for now.)
Plague: A bad mosquito time: see spring of 2012
Expectation: The time spent from December to March wondering what bulbs that were planted in the fall will come to life in the spring.
Anticipation: The sense that today as you walk some new beauty will be blooming that was not blooming yesterday--or even this morning.
Gardening Angels: Those responsible for secretly planting new species each year at the Acres or for moving flowers to a new place that they've never been before. (Responsible this year already for a new elderberry bush, a columbine in a new place, an unknown wild flower in Bed 1 (The Morning Glory Bed), a Bronze Dutch iris in the Red and White Bed. More to come! I hope.
Outlaws: My two furry friends--Bonnie and Gus (No, I still haven't convinced Aaron to rename Gus Clyde). Walking companions at times. Work supervisors at times. Fertilizers at times. Skunk, rabbit, and ground hog exterminators at times (one of those activities is not appreciated). Occasional rascals--they do like to dig at times. Always more than happy to be petted and loved on.
Mulch: That practice that is used sparingly in order to ensure a new crop of larkspur, cosmos, snapdragons, etc. Yes, my gardens are "weedy." But it's worth the laziness. For example, the Rainbow Bed outside Mom's window, at one time had one balloon flower. This year there are over fifty.
Weeds: Plants that if we found them in the wild area would produce "oohs" and "aahhs" but in a flower bed are called "weeds" and summarily hated. Dandelions and buck thorn are, however, weeds and deserve to be despised.
Peace: When worries evaporate as one walks the Acres and breathes in the loveliness.
Compost: The leftovers that the Outlaws munch on if I toss them out back.
Varmints: Rabbits, deer, groundhogs. Walnut trees. Mosquitoes and ticks. Not even Iten's Acres is perfect.
Meadow: The open expanse at the back of the property. Great place for star gazing, feeding swallows, chatting over the fence with a good neighbor, sitting on a green throne.
Margins: The sides of the meadow that are allowed to grow wild. Home to a variety of birds. The goldfinch in particular like to nest in the margins. Every year they get just a tad wider.
Back Forty: The very back of the property, past the wild flower area, the place to stand and look back up at the house. When one arrives here, it is time to turn around and begin the meandering back. No, it is not forty of anything.
Iris--iris
Pepsi--Pepsi is the tree of life; coke came after the fall. (I just had to include that, sorry.)
Friday, May 18, 2012
The Ides of May
The Ides of May have passed. Safe. Safe at last. The one thing--the only thing--the weather geniuses have gotten right every year since I made Iten Acres my home is the frost date. No more frost after May 15th (at least until late fall anyway). What does that mean for the labor force at the Acres? No more covering things at night for one thing. But more importantly in the beauty department--I can now plant annuals. All my poor pots that have been sitting waiting to play their role in the loveliness of the grounds now get their chance. I think I may have about fifty of them--all different sizes and even a few different colors. Now, they are decorated.
Being naturally paranoid, I usually wait until about the 20th to go flower shopping. My favorite place is Baker's Acres, but I have not been able to go there since Mom arrived. They're just too far away. I couldn't leave her alone for as long as it would take to go there, shop, and come home--at least five hours round trip with the meandering through their flowers. They have more variety by far than anyone else around here. Ahhh well, perhaps another spring unless Mom outlives me. You never know. Anyway, second choice is Oakland Park Nursery in Delaware. It takes a couple of hours to go there even, shop, and return.
First priority is the "container garden" outside Mom's window on the patio where she loves to spend her mornings. Her favorites are marigolds, geraniums, lantana, and petunias. She already had several glorious containers of dianthus and pinks that had survived the warm winter--red, white, and pink everywhere. I also had already planted some pansies for her and a knockout red rose. Now, she has the entire "painting." Naturally, I added a few of my favorites: snapdragons, verbena, dahlias, begonia. In a couple of weeks, it will be gorgeous. Not that Mom isn't easy to please. She even thinks dandelions are beautiful. If only we all could see beauty everywhere we look--even at the weeds of life. I also planted a couple of "surprises" in her garden--calla lilies. I like surprises. I can't wait until they come up! (But I guess I'll have to.)
I also have "gardens" on the back patio, by the canopy, by the bird bath in The Conifer Bed. And I have pots scattered everywhere--by the pond, by the "doghouse," by the treeline, and, would you believe it, in the trees, in the meadow, and even in the wild area. "You can't have too much beauty" is the motto of Iten's Acres. Well, one of them anyway.
The nice thing about annuals is that once you plant them they bloom the rest of the spring, summer, and fall. They have no season like the perennials that have a "time" for blooming and then stop. And they keep getting larger and larger as the year goes on; more and more lovely. And many of them are propagators. They seed themselves and come back next year all on their own. (That's one of the reasons I don't mulch much. I'll endure some weedy gardens for more flowers.) I don't even have to plant cosmos, morning glories, or larkspur anymore if I can help it. (I can't always help it.) They have become annual perennials.
"Solomon in all his glory is not arrayed like one of these."
Aren't you glad you worship a God who loves the beautiful?
The Ides of May have passed. Safe. Safe at last. The one thing--the only thing--the weather geniuses have gotten right every year since I made Iten Acres my home is the frost date. No more frost after May 15th (at least until late fall anyway). What does that mean for the labor force at the Acres? No more covering things at night for one thing. But more importantly in the beauty department--I can now plant annuals. All my poor pots that have been sitting waiting to play their role in the loveliness of the grounds now get their chance. I think I may have about fifty of them--all different sizes and even a few different colors. Now, they are decorated.
Being naturally paranoid, I usually wait until about the 20th to go flower shopping. My favorite place is Baker's Acres, but I have not been able to go there since Mom arrived. They're just too far away. I couldn't leave her alone for as long as it would take to go there, shop, and come home--at least five hours round trip with the meandering through their flowers. They have more variety by far than anyone else around here. Ahhh well, perhaps another spring unless Mom outlives me. You never know. Anyway, second choice is Oakland Park Nursery in Delaware. It takes a couple of hours to go there even, shop, and return.
First priority is the "container garden" outside Mom's window on the patio where she loves to spend her mornings. Her favorites are marigolds, geraniums, lantana, and petunias. She already had several glorious containers of dianthus and pinks that had survived the warm winter--red, white, and pink everywhere. I also had already planted some pansies for her and a knockout red rose. Now, she has the entire "painting." Naturally, I added a few of my favorites: snapdragons, verbena, dahlias, begonia. In a couple of weeks, it will be gorgeous. Not that Mom isn't easy to please. She even thinks dandelions are beautiful. If only we all could see beauty everywhere we look--even at the weeds of life. I also planted a couple of "surprises" in her garden--calla lilies. I like surprises. I can't wait until they come up! (But I guess I'll have to.)
I also have "gardens" on the back patio, by the canopy, by the bird bath in The Conifer Bed. And I have pots scattered everywhere--by the pond, by the "doghouse," by the treeline, and, would you believe it, in the trees, in the meadow, and even in the wild area. "You can't have too much beauty" is the motto of Iten's Acres. Well, one of them anyway.
The nice thing about annuals is that once you plant them they bloom the rest of the spring, summer, and fall. They have no season like the perennials that have a "time" for blooming and then stop. And they keep getting larger and larger as the year goes on; more and more lovely. And many of them are propagators. They seed themselves and come back next year all on their own. (That's one of the reasons I don't mulch much. I'll endure some weedy gardens for more flowers.) I don't even have to plant cosmos, morning glories, or larkspur anymore if I can help it. (I can't always help it.) They have become annual perennials.
"Solomon in all his glory is not arrayed like one of these."
Aren't you glad you worship a God who loves the beautiful?
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Chapter 17: The End of History
Okay. It's not actually the end of history; just the end of the "History of Iten's Acres" segment of this blog. As you remember (right?), the back of the property had just been bush hogged and now I had to decide what to do with all that space. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Three things had already been decided: a "show stopper" as one entered the "expanse," an orchard, and a wildflower area. Lots of things were still to be decided, and the make up of the area has changed over the years. Things added. Things removed. I'm sure there are still some changes to come. I certainly have a few things I would like to do.
The "show stopper" ended up being a pair of crab apples: one deep red, one pinkish white. The show only goes on in the spring, but as you enter the back through the path through the trees in mid-May usually, the first thing that catches your eye--or at least is designed to catch your eye--are two trees ablaze in color. They catch my eye, of course, but I'm looking for them. They are still young so the color splash should only get bigger as the years pass by.
The orchard is still growing. Katie used to be Thompson helped me get it started that first fall. I guess I should name it after her. Immortalize her. If my memory serves me right, it was a cold even snowy (?) day when we planted those first saplings. But my memory is not to be trusted. The first two trees were two "cherry" trees. Unfortunately, they bloomed and had fruit last summer for the first time, and the fruit looked and tasted an awful lot like pears. I guess I need to add some real cherry trees to the orchard one of these days. Also in the orchard are apple trees, blueberry bushes, raspberry and blackberry bushes, some dying peach trees (Surely, there is a brand of Yankee peach trees somewhere. I love peaches!), and a hazel nut bush. I need another one of those in order for it to produce nuts I think. Only the pear cherry trees have produced so far. I would like to add some peaches that won't die, and I heard that there is a Northern plum tree out there somewhere. When they all mature, I can fight it out with the birds and wildlife for pie making rights.
The wildflower area was easy to do--just don't mow it and let it grow. I do mow paths through it so that I can meander between them and enjoy them up close. And I do mean meander. There's little I enjoy more than a slow trek through the wildflowers. I have, in fact, let the area expand over the years and even added a little wild area detached from the main garden. I may add another one this fall. To be honest, I was stunned by the vast variety of flowers and grasses that just grow naturally in the area. And every year God adds a few new ones. Last year, for example, my gardening angels planted spiderwort and prairie coneflowers in the wildness. I suppose I'm strange but I delight in such surprises. It's a fascinating spot to spend some idle time year around. What? Yep, you caught me. I have added some flowers of my own and usually throw a bag or so of wild flower seed in there every late fall or early winter. You do know that the best time to throw in those seeds is after the first snow? They then go through the natural sequence of cold and wet that they go through in nature. The only unnatural things I've planted in here are hundreds of daffodils and a few hyacinth. The deer and other creatures ignore them, and they are not intimidated by the battle with the natural stuff already out there. Competition does not scare them. I expect that in a few years Wordsworth or one of his disciples will want to come, stand on the top of my hill, and write a poem about them.
I have added two other areas to the back acres in the last few years. One, despite the fear of deer, I put a flower bed in the back. It's made out of old cement blocks I found on the property. I hope all you Better and Homes and Garden folks aren't too aghast at my choice of material. And I did hedge my bets by putting it right up near the tree line--a hop, skip, and a jump from the back of the house. Well, I can't hop, skip, or jump anymore, but you get the picture. Close. I think if I ran at full speed, I could get there in a day or two. Only once have I caught deer starting to nibble, and I fired my .22 in the air and away they fled. Now, they're hop, skip, and jump experts. And a rabbit was chewing on my phlox in there last summer. He is no longer among the living, and it appears he did not pass on the information in the genetic code of his ancestor. He, too, is no longer with us--the tulip muncher has met his end. Nope, not a single regret. It's a lovely bed by the way: daffodils, iris (of course), phlox, coneflowers, lilies, tulips, corydalis, monkshood. Beauty from early spring to frost.
The other new addition is the Rock Pile. It, too, is gorgeous, especially right now in early spring. The thrift and the creeping phlox are spreading like crazy carpeting the area. And there are some daffodils, iris, lilies, balloon flowers, and coneflowers as well as other stuff in here as well. I enjoy it immensely. Even if in the winter it is just a pile of rocks.
The main thing I would like to do back here is add some decent size trees--not many, just a few. I've tried small ones but they don't last long. Dinner for the deer and ground hogs. Thus, the need to get some trees a little more developed than the sapling stage. Time will tell. As for now, I just spend some quiet time sitting on the green throne at the top of the hill, taking in the beauty and the silence, feeling the breeze, and dreaming of what the next few years will add to the History of Iten's Acres.
The "show stopper" ended up being a pair of crab apples: one deep red, one pinkish white. The show only goes on in the spring, but as you enter the back through the path through the trees in mid-May usually, the first thing that catches your eye--or at least is designed to catch your eye--are two trees ablaze in color. They catch my eye, of course, but I'm looking for them. They are still young so the color splash should only get bigger as the years pass by.
The orchard is still growing. Katie used to be Thompson helped me get it started that first fall. I guess I should name it after her. Immortalize her. If my memory serves me right, it was a cold even snowy (?) day when we planted those first saplings. But my memory is not to be trusted. The first two trees were two "cherry" trees. Unfortunately, they bloomed and had fruit last summer for the first time, and the fruit looked and tasted an awful lot like pears. I guess I need to add some real cherry trees to the orchard one of these days. Also in the orchard are apple trees, blueberry bushes, raspberry and blackberry bushes, some dying peach trees (Surely, there is a brand of Yankee peach trees somewhere. I love peaches!), and a hazel nut bush. I need another one of those in order for it to produce nuts I think. Only the pear cherry trees have produced so far. I would like to add some peaches that won't die, and I heard that there is a Northern plum tree out there somewhere. When they all mature, I can fight it out with the birds and wildlife for pie making rights.
The wildflower area was easy to do--just don't mow it and let it grow. I do mow paths through it so that I can meander between them and enjoy them up close. And I do mean meander. There's little I enjoy more than a slow trek through the wildflowers. I have, in fact, let the area expand over the years and even added a little wild area detached from the main garden. I may add another one this fall. To be honest, I was stunned by the vast variety of flowers and grasses that just grow naturally in the area. And every year God adds a few new ones. Last year, for example, my gardening angels planted spiderwort and prairie coneflowers in the wildness. I suppose I'm strange but I delight in such surprises. It's a fascinating spot to spend some idle time year around. What? Yep, you caught me. I have added some flowers of my own and usually throw a bag or so of wild flower seed in there every late fall or early winter. You do know that the best time to throw in those seeds is after the first snow? They then go through the natural sequence of cold and wet that they go through in nature. The only unnatural things I've planted in here are hundreds of daffodils and a few hyacinth. The deer and other creatures ignore them, and they are not intimidated by the battle with the natural stuff already out there. Competition does not scare them. I expect that in a few years Wordsworth or one of his disciples will want to come, stand on the top of my hill, and write a poem about them.
I have added two other areas to the back acres in the last few years. One, despite the fear of deer, I put a flower bed in the back. It's made out of old cement blocks I found on the property. I hope all you Better and Homes and Garden folks aren't too aghast at my choice of material. And I did hedge my bets by putting it right up near the tree line--a hop, skip, and a jump from the back of the house. Well, I can't hop, skip, or jump anymore, but you get the picture. Close. I think if I ran at full speed, I could get there in a day or two. Only once have I caught deer starting to nibble, and I fired my .22 in the air and away they fled. Now, they're hop, skip, and jump experts. And a rabbit was chewing on my phlox in there last summer. He is no longer among the living, and it appears he did not pass on the information in the genetic code of his ancestor. He, too, is no longer with us--the tulip muncher has met his end. Nope, not a single regret. It's a lovely bed by the way: daffodils, iris (of course), phlox, coneflowers, lilies, tulips, corydalis, monkshood. Beauty from early spring to frost.
The other new addition is the Rock Pile. It, too, is gorgeous, especially right now in early spring. The thrift and the creeping phlox are spreading like crazy carpeting the area. And there are some daffodils, iris, lilies, balloon flowers, and coneflowers as well as other stuff in here as well. I enjoy it immensely. Even if in the winter it is just a pile of rocks.
The main thing I would like to do back here is add some decent size trees--not many, just a few. I've tried small ones but they don't last long. Dinner for the deer and ground hogs. Thus, the need to get some trees a little more developed than the sapling stage. Time will tell. As for now, I just spend some quiet time sitting on the green throne at the top of the hill, taking in the beauty and the silence, feeling the breeze, and dreaming of what the next few years will add to the History of Iten's Acres.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The View from Iten's Acres, Spring 2012
We have lots of little idioms connected with spring in the American vernacular. You know: "spring forward"--when we "want" to give up an hour's sleep to have more daylight even though the days are already getting longer all by themselves. Or "he has a spring to his step" implying energy, bounce, elation. (Not to be used of anyone the morning they "spring forward.") Monetarily, we are often encouraged to "spring for it," pick up the tab so to speak. Deplete the extra bank account. (This is rarely said by the person expected to do the "springing.") And then there is always the "spring fling"--a time of joyous celebration. Anyway, the word "spring" has a lot of connotations attached to it, and such is the case for me as I walk Iten's Acres here in the spring of 2012. For me, it's a time of mixed emotions.
Actually it all started with the winter. Only one good snow, not much cold, not really a winter. Proof? I had daffodils coming up in early January. I had a fern that lived through the entire winter. Yep, the entire winter. Never died. Poor thing must be more addled than I am. The calender looked normal; the weather was bizarre.
And then things really heated up. Long before spring officially arrived, the warmth of spring swooped in. Ohio has been rehearsing for summer for over a month. Seventies and even the low eighties. Thunderstorms. High humidity. Peepers. Flowers blooming a month early.
Now as a flower addict that should be viewed as a good thing. Right? There should be a "spring in my step" as I traverse the Acres. As I walk each day, the blooms of late April and May are already here en masse. Usually in mid-March there are a few early crocus scattered here and there, snow drops, and perhaps the dwarf daffodils in, where else, the Spring Bed. This March? The willow trees are already "leafed out," and the ancient maple is ready to follow suit. I have gorgeous daffodils everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. All the beds except the Blue Bed have a host of them. (Horticulturists have not yet "invented" a blue daffodil.) The pond is surrounded--hundreds of yellows, whites, and pinks gracing the shore line. All the places I've "naturalized"--I love naturalizing--are bursting with blooms. You can't stand anywhere on my property without seeing a host of daffodils. Stunning. In a couple weeks I expect to have a thousand daffodil blooms on Iten's Acres. The crocus for the most part have already bloomed and faded away until next year. A few of the traditionalists are still popping up daily. They refused to be enticed by the weather and are adhering to the calendar. And hyacinth are everywhere. You can find them blindfolded. Ahhhh, the common scents of spring. There are corydalis, grape hyacinth in all their colors, dwarf iris, even the tulips are joining the parade. It's a joyous, beautiful walk.
But it's a month early. And being human, I struggle with embracing my "spring fling," the "good" of the beautiful landscape without expecting a disaster soon to come. Why are we humans like that? Okay, why is this human like this. Instead of being content and fully embracing the good times of blessing, I keep thinking some "evil" payback must be on the way. Sigh. If only I could be content and fully embrace the joys without those fears ricocheting around my mind. I mean, the "frost free" date for Ohio is May 1st. That's almost two months away. The forsythia just bloomed. FAS says I have three snows yet to come. (If you have seven forsythia does that mean 21 snows? By the way, thanks Mom and Chloe for the forsythia starts. They've done well.)
Anyway spring is here in full force. My walks are lovely. But . . . What's that old verse we use to say as kids: "Spring is here, the grass is ris" I wonder where the flower is? Oh, there you are you blooming idiot." Ahhh, if only this idiot would enjoy his "spring fling," walk with a spring in his steps in the full confidence that a real winter isn't lurking behind the jet stream waiting to spring forward and make me spring for it.
Actually it all started with the winter. Only one good snow, not much cold, not really a winter. Proof? I had daffodils coming up in early January. I had a fern that lived through the entire winter. Yep, the entire winter. Never died. Poor thing must be more addled than I am. The calender looked normal; the weather was bizarre.
And then things really heated up. Long before spring officially arrived, the warmth of spring swooped in. Ohio has been rehearsing for summer for over a month. Seventies and even the low eighties. Thunderstorms. High humidity. Peepers. Flowers blooming a month early.
Now as a flower addict that should be viewed as a good thing. Right? There should be a "spring in my step" as I traverse the Acres. As I walk each day, the blooms of late April and May are already here en masse. Usually in mid-March there are a few early crocus scattered here and there, snow drops, and perhaps the dwarf daffodils in, where else, the Spring Bed. This March? The willow trees are already "leafed out," and the ancient maple is ready to follow suit. I have gorgeous daffodils everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. All the beds except the Blue Bed have a host of them. (Horticulturists have not yet "invented" a blue daffodil.) The pond is surrounded--hundreds of yellows, whites, and pinks gracing the shore line. All the places I've "naturalized"--I love naturalizing--are bursting with blooms. You can't stand anywhere on my property without seeing a host of daffodils. Stunning. In a couple weeks I expect to have a thousand daffodil blooms on Iten's Acres. The crocus for the most part have already bloomed and faded away until next year. A few of the traditionalists are still popping up daily. They refused to be enticed by the weather and are adhering to the calendar. And hyacinth are everywhere. You can find them blindfolded. Ahhhh, the common scents of spring. There are corydalis, grape hyacinth in all their colors, dwarf iris, even the tulips are joining the parade. It's a joyous, beautiful walk.
But it's a month early. And being human, I struggle with embracing my "spring fling," the "good" of the beautiful landscape without expecting a disaster soon to come. Why are we humans like that? Okay, why is this human like this. Instead of being content and fully embracing the good times of blessing, I keep thinking some "evil" payback must be on the way. Sigh. If only I could be content and fully embrace the joys without those fears ricocheting around my mind. I mean, the "frost free" date for Ohio is May 1st. That's almost two months away. The forsythia just bloomed. FAS says I have three snows yet to come. (If you have seven forsythia does that mean 21 snows? By the way, thanks Mom and Chloe for the forsythia starts. They've done well.)
Anyway spring is here in full force. My walks are lovely. But . . . What's that old verse we use to say as kids: "Spring is here, the grass is ris" I wonder where the flower is? Oh, there you are you blooming idiot." Ahhh, if only this idiot would enjoy his "spring fling," walk with a spring in his steps in the full confidence that a real winter isn't lurking behind the jet stream waiting to spring forward and make me spring for it.
Monday, February 6, 2012
The Dead of Winter
Sounds ominous: "the dead of winter." To be honest, I'm not quite sure what that idiom means. I assume that it refers to the middle of the winter season, time wise. I don't think it applies to the flora since everyone knows they're just dormant, waiting for mid-March to spring back into life. But again, I'm not sure. Maybe the "dormant of winter" just doesn't sound so chilling. Who knows? Someone I'm sure, but not me. So, assuming that it is a time appellation, everyday now--early February--I walk the Acres in "the dead of winter."
This winter, however, hasn't been quite so dead in many ways. So far. It hasn't been terribly cold--only one day in the single digits. We've had some snow here in Morrow County, but it hasn't lasted very long, unlike last winter when it snowed before Thanksgiving, and I think the ground was white until April. We even had a tremendous ice storm. And cold. This winter, however, has been, and is currently, not very cold or flaky. But, of course, we have six weeks to go officially. And I can remember significant snow as late as April and cold snaps in the first weeks of May. So the final "verdict" is not in yet.
As I walk this time of year, though, snow-cold or dry-warm, I enjoy my treks. Just walking the Acres is good exercise for my old arthritic bones and aging heart I'm sure. It always takes awhile. Remember: "walk slowly" is the Acres' motto. And this time of year has it's uniqueness. The ground, even though it's been rather warm (less cold anyway), is quite frozen. Hard as cement at times. It's also easy to see what things need to be accomplished before spring arrives and where new shrubs or trees would fit nicely for next year's improvements. In addition, the snow we have had has "pushed down" much of the old growth; I can see all the way through my neighbor's pine "forest" by this time of year. I am tempted to sneak over there for a peak. Okay. I confess. I'm guilty of trespassing. It is so quiet and calm under those trees even on the windiest days. I can see why the deer enjoy it there.
Jobs that need to be done before spring? I have several trees--small--that have to give way to the saw. Some small trees have to go that are coming up in the rock garden right next to the house. I cut those down every winter, but they return for another "battle." I have a couple of scraggly pine trees that I want to remove so the flower beds next to them can get more light. There are also a number of trees coming up in the midst of the huge conifer in the front of the property. I want to get rid of the competition. Wish I had a chain saw, but I don't, so Iten power will have to do. The exercise won't hurt me, and I'd probably lose a hand or a foot to a chain saw being the oaf that I am with tools. Another pre-spring chore is hauling all the fallen limbs back to the brush pile in the wild area. Eventually, the pile will be large enough to provide shelter in the winter for the creatures that make their home here. I have some holes to fill as well. A muskrat has made my pond his home this winter, and my canine friends have been eagerly digging holes in hopes of having that elusive muskrat meal. Muskrat love it is not. If I don't fill the holes, my lawn mower will get stuck come spring and summer. The outlaw gang has been very persistent in their pursuit. You would think that they were dogs or something. . . oh, wait. . .
And this winter as I walk I have kept an apprehensive eye on the flower beds and other areas where I know flowers have been planted--naturalized. The poor things have been befuddled by the warm weather. Now the pussy willow is always full of buds, so I don't worry about it--at least the monster bush by the pond. And there are other plants that stay green all winter as well: Lenten roses, mountain laurel, dwarf conifers, iris, rhododendron, azalea (more red than green), and primrose to name a few. But as early as January this year, I have had daffodils coming up. And now, tulips, hyacinth, lilies--particularly the pink ladies, and the crocus are emerging. I suppose that's normal for the crocus, but still I fret. Oh me of little faith. I'm sure such winters have occurred countless times over the years and all has been well. But . . . Anyway, such things occupy my searching eyes as I walk. And, of course, the sin of anticipation has already set in as I imagine what new things will pop up this spring in the places where I planted them last fall. The old mind churns as the old feet walk. Oh, and winter lovers (like myself) don't worry: no forsythia yet so according to the old legends we have at least three snows to come!
Anyway, all of this is just to say that walks in "the dead of winter" are actually quite lively. Things to see. Work to imagine. (I may even do some of it.) Fears to assuage. Exercise for the mind, the body, and even the soul.
This winter, however, hasn't been quite so dead in many ways. So far. It hasn't been terribly cold--only one day in the single digits. We've had some snow here in Morrow County, but it hasn't lasted very long, unlike last winter when it snowed before Thanksgiving, and I think the ground was white until April. We even had a tremendous ice storm. And cold. This winter, however, has been, and is currently, not very cold or flaky. But, of course, we have six weeks to go officially. And I can remember significant snow as late as April and cold snaps in the first weeks of May. So the final "verdict" is not in yet.
As I walk this time of year, though, snow-cold or dry-warm, I enjoy my treks. Just walking the Acres is good exercise for my old arthritic bones and aging heart I'm sure. It always takes awhile. Remember: "walk slowly" is the Acres' motto. And this time of year has it's uniqueness. The ground, even though it's been rather warm (less cold anyway), is quite frozen. Hard as cement at times. It's also easy to see what things need to be accomplished before spring arrives and where new shrubs or trees would fit nicely for next year's improvements. In addition, the snow we have had has "pushed down" much of the old growth; I can see all the way through my neighbor's pine "forest" by this time of year. I am tempted to sneak over there for a peak. Okay. I confess. I'm guilty of trespassing. It is so quiet and calm under those trees even on the windiest days. I can see why the deer enjoy it there.
Jobs that need to be done before spring? I have several trees--small--that have to give way to the saw. Some small trees have to go that are coming up in the rock garden right next to the house. I cut those down every winter, but they return for another "battle." I have a couple of scraggly pine trees that I want to remove so the flower beds next to them can get more light. There are also a number of trees coming up in the midst of the huge conifer in the front of the property. I want to get rid of the competition. Wish I had a chain saw, but I don't, so Iten power will have to do. The exercise won't hurt me, and I'd probably lose a hand or a foot to a chain saw being the oaf that I am with tools. Another pre-spring chore is hauling all the fallen limbs back to the brush pile in the wild area. Eventually, the pile will be large enough to provide shelter in the winter for the creatures that make their home here. I have some holes to fill as well. A muskrat has made my pond his home this winter, and my canine friends have been eagerly digging holes in hopes of having that elusive muskrat meal. Muskrat love it is not. If I don't fill the holes, my lawn mower will get stuck come spring and summer. The outlaw gang has been very persistent in their pursuit. You would think that they were dogs or something. . . oh, wait. . .
And this winter as I walk I have kept an apprehensive eye on the flower beds and other areas where I know flowers have been planted--naturalized. The poor things have been befuddled by the warm weather. Now the pussy willow is always full of buds, so I don't worry about it--at least the monster bush by the pond. And there are other plants that stay green all winter as well: Lenten roses, mountain laurel, dwarf conifers, iris, rhododendron, azalea (more red than green), and primrose to name a few. But as early as January this year, I have had daffodils coming up. And now, tulips, hyacinth, lilies--particularly the pink ladies, and the crocus are emerging. I suppose that's normal for the crocus, but still I fret. Oh me of little faith. I'm sure such winters have occurred countless times over the years and all has been well. But . . . Anyway, such things occupy my searching eyes as I walk. And, of course, the sin of anticipation has already set in as I imagine what new things will pop up this spring in the places where I planted them last fall. The old mind churns as the old feet walk. Oh, and winter lovers (like myself) don't worry: no forsythia yet so according to the old legends we have at least three snows to come!
Anyway, all of this is just to say that walks in "the dead of winter" are actually quite lively. Things to see. Work to imagine. (I may even do some of it.) Fears to assuage. Exercise for the mind, the body, and even the soul.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Chapter 16: A Lark in the Meadow
"Lark": "a merry or hilarious adventure."
The "history" of the back of Iten's Acres is more involved than the front of the property. Out front, I just picked a spot I liked, put in a flower bed, added flowers, and started looking for another spot. No big deal.
But when I bought the Acres, I didn't have the slightest idea what was in the back. No clue. From the trees right behind the house to the back of the property--and I wasn't even sure where that was--it was an overgrown tangle. My first weekend here I forged my way through the tangle to see what I could find. A lark in the meadow so to speak, though it wasn't really a meadow yet--just wild. Yet, my first trek didn't uncover anything amazing--no trees of significance, no hidden pond, no Eldorado, no cool giant huge boulders, nothing to conquer. My dreams of being the next conquistador quashed. Not that anyone with a conscience would want to be a conquistador. All I found was a small hill--the property slopes down toward the back of the Acres, and a wire fence that I assumed was the line between my land and the neighbor's land behind me. I also discovered that it was a haven for the neighborhood deer herd. They fled like bouncing super balls when I came thrashing through the wilderness. It was fairly obvious that they were not very brave. I mean, they had me outnumbered a dozen to one, but away they bounced. Obviously, this was not the "home of the brave" (at least not for the last two centuries anyway). So the first foray into the wildness, though enjoyable, uncovered nothing mind-boggling, except that the deer obviously considered it their home, not mine.
After Daniel Boone-ing my way back up to the house, the next course of action was obvious. Clear away the tangles. I asked my neighbor Aaron if he thought I could just mow it down with my old riding mower. He told me not to try because the land was probably covered with large stones. That did not prove to be true. The stones out there proved no threat to my riding mower. I honestly doubt, however, if my old mower could have handled all that brush. Not to mention that it probably would have disappeared into one of the myriad of groundhog holes that were uncovered once the area was mowed. So, good advice. Wrong reasoning, but good advice. I wonder how many times I've been guilty of that!
Anyway, the solution to clearing away the tangles was to hire someone with a bush hog. It took me a month, until September, to find someone. It took him several hours to clear it. For some reason he left two small circular areas claiming that he had seen evidence of birds there. Really? Birds living in a thicket in the country. Who knew? He also started to cut into my trees behind the house even though I had specifically told him not to do that. Fortunately, I had gone out to check on his progress and caught him in the act before too much damage was done. "It's hard to find good help these days." I guess the power of the machine went to his head?
Once cleared, the next step was to decide what to do with the area. It was undeniably a much bigger space than out front. There was the hill. There was the deer herd and the groundhogs who would no doubt appreciate me planting flowers and small trees that they could munch on. (And they have done that on occasion, but not all the things I've planted. Some they eat. Some they ignore. A matter of taste I guess.) Anyway, decisions to be made. I knew I wanted a wild flower area. I knew I wanted to begin an orchard. As mentioned, I was leery of putting actual flower beds out there because of the beasts. Although, at Mom's suggestion I was considering a rock garden on a barren hill side. In addition, I wanted to put some larger trees in the area. Decisions. Decisions.
So that's a little introduction to the history of the back acres. I wish I could tell you that the meadow larks have moved in each spring to nest. They haven't. They nest down the road a little bit. Beautiful birds with a beautiful song. What I have done with my "meadow"? I'll tell you next time--fill in the details. That will probably be the last chapter in the History of Iten's Acres. Hope the journey through the last six years of this little patch of the world hasn't been too boring. But for these six years of eternity this has been my place on earth, loaned to me by the God who created it all. And it has indeed been a lark.
The "history" of the back of Iten's Acres is more involved than the front of the property. Out front, I just picked a spot I liked, put in a flower bed, added flowers, and started looking for another spot. No big deal.
But when I bought the Acres, I didn't have the slightest idea what was in the back. No clue. From the trees right behind the house to the back of the property--and I wasn't even sure where that was--it was an overgrown tangle. My first weekend here I forged my way through the tangle to see what I could find. A lark in the meadow so to speak, though it wasn't really a meadow yet--just wild. Yet, my first trek didn't uncover anything amazing--no trees of significance, no hidden pond, no Eldorado, no cool giant huge boulders, nothing to conquer. My dreams of being the next conquistador quashed. Not that anyone with a conscience would want to be a conquistador. All I found was a small hill--the property slopes down toward the back of the Acres, and a wire fence that I assumed was the line between my land and the neighbor's land behind me. I also discovered that it was a haven for the neighborhood deer herd. They fled like bouncing super balls when I came thrashing through the wilderness. It was fairly obvious that they were not very brave. I mean, they had me outnumbered a dozen to one, but away they bounced. Obviously, this was not the "home of the brave" (at least not for the last two centuries anyway). So the first foray into the wildness, though enjoyable, uncovered nothing mind-boggling, except that the deer obviously considered it their home, not mine.
After Daniel Boone-ing my way back up to the house, the next course of action was obvious. Clear away the tangles. I asked my neighbor Aaron if he thought I could just mow it down with my old riding mower. He told me not to try because the land was probably covered with large stones. That did not prove to be true. The stones out there proved no threat to my riding mower. I honestly doubt, however, if my old mower could have handled all that brush. Not to mention that it probably would have disappeared into one of the myriad of groundhog holes that were uncovered once the area was mowed. So, good advice. Wrong reasoning, but good advice. I wonder how many times I've been guilty of that!
Anyway, the solution to clearing away the tangles was to hire someone with a bush hog. It took me a month, until September, to find someone. It took him several hours to clear it. For some reason he left two small circular areas claiming that he had seen evidence of birds there. Really? Birds living in a thicket in the country. Who knew? He also started to cut into my trees behind the house even though I had specifically told him not to do that. Fortunately, I had gone out to check on his progress and caught him in the act before too much damage was done. "It's hard to find good help these days." I guess the power of the machine went to his head?
Once cleared, the next step was to decide what to do with the area. It was undeniably a much bigger space than out front. There was the hill. There was the deer herd and the groundhogs who would no doubt appreciate me planting flowers and small trees that they could munch on. (And they have done that on occasion, but not all the things I've planted. Some they eat. Some they ignore. A matter of taste I guess.) Anyway, decisions to be made. I knew I wanted a wild flower area. I knew I wanted to begin an orchard. As mentioned, I was leery of putting actual flower beds out there because of the beasts. Although, at Mom's suggestion I was considering a rock garden on a barren hill side. In addition, I wanted to put some larger trees in the area. Decisions. Decisions.
So that's a little introduction to the history of the back acres. I wish I could tell you that the meadow larks have moved in each spring to nest. They haven't. They nest down the road a little bit. Beautiful birds with a beautiful song. What I have done with my "meadow"? I'll tell you next time--fill in the details. That will probably be the last chapter in the History of Iten's Acres. Hope the journey through the last six years of this little patch of the world hasn't been too boring. But for these six years of eternity this has been my place on earth, loaned to me by the God who created it all. And it has indeed been a lark.
Friday, January 13, 2012
First Snowfall
On a day like today--a beautiful snowfall--I always think of a poem I used to teach in my American Literature classes. It's not a poetic masterpiece in a technical sense, but I don't worry about that stuff anyway. I suppose that as someone who taught literature for thirty years that those things should matter to me, but they don't. Not at all. I don't care if it's iambic pentameter or whatever it is. I don't care what the rhyme scheme is or even if it has one. I prize a poem if I can see the imagery and if I can feel the emotion of the poet. So, here's a poem for you. Stand by my window with me, watch the falling snow on the trees and field, read, and feel the pathos--the moments in our lives when beauty, sorrow, and love are intertwined. (If it doesn't, that's fine. I'll enjoy it for you.)
The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails softened to swan's-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snowbirds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
And I told of the good All-Father
Who cares for us here below.
Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.
I remember the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar that renewed our woe.
And again to the child I whispered,
"The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!"
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded deep under deepening snow.
The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails softened to swan's-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snowbirds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
And I told of the good All-Father
Who cares for us here below.
Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.
I remember the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar that renewed our woe.
And again to the child I whispered,
"The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!"
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded deep under deepening snow.
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