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.
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