Iris Time

     The month of May is my favorite time to walk my acres.  It's not that I don't enjoy all the other daily walks, but May is Iris time.  I love iris.  The queen of flowers.  And this month she is reigning in Iten's Acres.  She is, of course, mysterious and fickle.  She is always full of surprises--and not all surprises are good.  But I love her still.  And will sing her praises.  And will add some more of her children to the kingdom for next year and the years to come.
     To be honest, she disappointed a little this year in some areas.  Bed 1--the first bed as you enter the acres--was down this year but that was not her fault.  Last fall I dug up this bed and re-did it.  I had few expectations of iris blooms.  The dwarf iris did "okay," and some of them will re-bloom in the fall.  The iris that looks like a sunset according to my older sister is going to grace the bed again.  (Keep an eye out for the next installment of pictures on facebook.)  The other iris in the bed which I was sure would bloom this time for the first time grew magnificently--but no blooms.  Those are the iris that frustrate me the most.  Why go to all the trouble to grow so luscious and then fizzle at the end? 
      Other of the queen's subjects disappointed as well.   Bed 2 and Bed 9 had a few blooms but not many.  Bed 2 is in need of what Bed 1 got last year--a re-do.  Bed 9 is just cantankerous.  My favorite iris is in that bed, and it has only bloomed once in the six years I've been here.  My patience is being tested.  I may have to break down and cheat next year and put some special iris food on the rhizomes.  Don't tell anyone please.  I hate to spoil them.
     On the other side of the spectrum, it has in many places been a glorious year for iris.  Bed 5 has been magnificent again.  Bed 11 up by the house--the one Mom can see from her window seat--has been more than magnificent--again.  Mom must have a deal going with the iris in that bed.  It's a rainbow of color--blue, white, red, apricot, yellow, purple, lavender, peach, ocher, a feast for the eyes and a bouquet for the nose.  And the other big surprise this year has been the number of iris that ignored the two year plan.  As I've mentioned over and over again, my experience has been that it takes new iris two years to bloom.  Not so this spring.  I've had a dozen iris, at least, that have ignored the plan and bloomed in this their rookie season.  Some in the beds, some by the pond, some in the rock garden, and even some in the wild area.  The glorious has far outweighed the disappointments.  Ahhh, the iris.  There's still a week or two of her beauty to grace my walks.  I will enjoy each one.  And though there is some sadness at her withholding of some of her beauty, I cannot complain.  Love is not perfect, but it is love.

The Lull

     It is that time of the year when there is a lull between the myriads of daffodils that grace early and mid-spring and the multitude of iris that beautify mid to late spring.  As I walk, there are a few late daffodils that are still abloom particularly in Bed 2 and the Rock Garden.  Those are two of the areas that always "lag behind" the other areas--not that I mind.  (The Rock Garden is splendid right now--daffodils, thrift, quince, creeping phlox, periwinkle, spirea.  You should see it!)  There are also some dwarf daffodils hanging on--late bloomers.  And the green-eyed daffodils are always last to bloom.  As I walk, the iris are just in the bud stage--except for a few dwarf iris that start early.  In fact, the first real iris--a white with a rose tint that always blooms first--just bloomed today.  (It's close to the house so I'll take Mom on a beauty hunting excursion later today.)  Anyway,  it will be a while before the iris take the stage.  I can wait.  Each walk I check to see what new buds show up.  Hold your breath.  There's going to be quite a show if they all follow through.
     But what to do in the lull--in the in-between moments of daffodils and iris?  Trust me.  God fills the lulls with beauty too,  The red and white bleeding hearts are in full array.  The blue bells and pink and white coral bells are everywhere.  The camassia--their feet in water--are unfolding their purple loveliness.  The purple tall  allium unabashedly compete for the purple prize.  The crab apples--scarlet and white--are sheets of color.  The apple trees, too, are awash in white. The flowering almonds add a dapple of pink here and there.  Violets still carpet the ground in many areas--purples, whites, yellows, two-tones.  A tulip or two refuses to quit showing off.  The wild phlox are spreading everywhere.  There's even a stand or two of bittersweet--small but brilliant purples.  And a variety of yellow wildflowers that I have no idea what their name is.  I just call them beautiful, stick them in a vase, and let my mom enjoy them.
     Some lull!  How often in the "lulls" of life, in the present-tense "down times," have I by focusing on the past and anticipating the future, missed the glory of today?  Bring on the "lulls"!

Riding Iten's Acres

     Yesterday was the first mowing day at the acres.  It was a little later than normal because of the incessant rain of the last month.  But finally the chance came to at least mow some of the grass.  I wasn't able to mow it all.  The front of my property on one side is still under water.  An area between the pond and the house is still too wet as well.  Part of the property next to the house is still covered with walnut tree; the one who is supposed to take it away has been negligent.  (Those parts I'll mow by hand next week.  Thanks again Jason for the muscle mower!)  And part--a small part--of the back didn't get mowed because I ran out of time.  But most of the acres are mowed.  I'll finish the back area on Monday if it doesn't rain too hard.  I prefer not to mow on Sunday.  Oh, I don't believe in a Sabbath restriction, but I find a day of rest marvelous and energizing.  Who came up with that idea to rest one day a week?  It's a good one.
     The first mow comes with some trepidation.  First, will the mower work?  Will it even start after a winter of idleness.  And then will it mow without breaking down?  No offense to those of you who love your Toro but mine has broken down every year that I've owned it--at least once.  Three cheers for warranties or I might have paid more on repairs the last four years than I paid to buy the thing.  Next mower will not be a Toro.  This time it worked fine.  The next trepidation is will I accidentally cut any small trees or shrubs down?  This year for the first time I was not a klutz.  Everything survived!!!  And the grass was really high, but I still managed to not mow any of them down.  Feel free to pat me on the back.  But please wait until I'm done doing so.  The third worry is will the barn swallows be back yet to keep me company on my ride?  Alas, they have not yet returned.  Sad face.
     I do love mowing!  Call me strange if you want, but I look forward to it.  This time of year it has an extra joy--beheading hundreds of dandelions!  Yes!!!  But I also enjoy just being outside in the fresh air.  There's time to think as you mow too.  I have to be careful that I don't zone out and wipe out some shrubs as mentioned before, but the time alone with my thoughts is great.  Horror of horrors, sometimes singing occurs.  And though I wear a hat and have no hair so the wind can't blow through my hair, the breeze feels good.  I even enjoy, after I've finished the mowing, taking a walk and admiring my work.  It just looks better; the paths in the wild area feel brand new; the shrubs and small trees stand out free from the camouflage of the tall grass.  I don't cut any majestic patterns--I don't even cut straight lines--but it still looks beautiful.  Mowing day is a good day.  Riding Iten's Acres is a delight, one of the joys of simple things.  "This is the day that the Lord has made let us rejoice and be glad in it!"  

Rainy Days and Mondays

     I hate to upset the balance of the universe, to irritate my fair weather friends, to destroy the world view of those of you who want to live in the desert--but I kinda like rainy days.  Even if they come on Monday.  I enjoy walking my acres on a misty, drizzly, gray day.  I put on my Nature Conservancy baseball cap ( I know they don't have a team).  Slip on my Ocean Conservancy rain jacket (I don't know why you would need a rain jacket in the ocean).  And then off I go walking--and singing--in the rain.  I wear that stuff so my neighbors can just shake their heads and say, "There goes that crazy environmentalist.  Doesn't know enough to come in out of the rain."  Keeps them from thinking I'm a total nut case--I'm just misled, which is a forgivable offense.
     But I actually love those walks.  The sound the rain makes as it falls to the ground, touches the leaves of the trees, sends the concentric circles across the puddles and the pond, all those things I enjoy.  There is something cathartic about it.  It's as if the rain reaches into my soul and cleanses the anxiety and cares away.  (Hmm, I'm starting to sound a little Transcendental there.  Thoreau would walk with me.  Emerson would say he's sure he would enjoy walking with me if it didn't get him all wet.)  It's amazing the effect the rain has on the flowers and grass.  It's as if it's actually green paint enriching everything.  And no matter how many days it has rained before, each rain brings more flowers and shrubs to life.  They know the sun will be coming later to enhance their growth, but it's the rain that calls their name and brings them out.  The birds, too, rejoice in the rain.  As I walk, I can hear them sing--in their shower, so to speak.  They love it.  And the robins love the worm feast!  I sometimes feel sorry for the robin.  He's a gorgeous black and orange, but so common we ignore his beauty.  He doesn't mind though; singing in the rain is his specialty, and he has no problem whatsoever with self-esteem.  A rainy walk is always accompanied with song.  
     I guess it's my oft professed melancholy nature that makes me love rainy days so.  If I was an artist, I know I would paint in grays and soft blues and greens.  I don't have the vision to be a painter; that's a gift God has given to others.  And a marvelous gift it is!  My favorite artist is Neil Riley.  I love his works.  Yes, lots of grays and soft blues.  He paints the extraordinarily ordinary things.  I look at his paintings and think, "I've been there," even though I haven't.  Oops, sorry for the rabbit trail.  Ahh, how the mind wanders when one is strolling blissfully through the wild area on a rainy day.
      Anyway, I don't mind if you complain about the rain.  Just remember that not all of us are complaining.  A few weird environmentally conscious chubby old bald men are enjoying the day.  I'm soaked clear through.  Time to go inside and take a nice warm shower and drink a cup of Lemon Lift hot tea.  Wet on wet.  Try it some time.  You won't melt.

The Ides of April

    By the middle of April, the beauty pageant is in full swing.  In the shady areas the blue and pink anemones are starting to blanket the ground.  I need to add some red ones for next spring.  They are quite the propagators.  Three cheers for evasive flowers.  The three cousins are starting to enrich the shade as well.  The red and white bleeding hearts are beginning to bloom--God has such an imagination.  Their wild cousins the Dutchman's Breeches have already been carpeting the shade area under the trees.  And the red and pinkish corydalis are abloom as well.  I love their little pipe like flowers.  The yellow and blue varieties come a little bit later.  God can even make the shady areas of life resonate with beauty, can't He?
    The star of the April proceedings are the daffodils--yellows, whites, a touch of pink, even touches of orange are everywhere, and one variety even has a little green on the flower.  The beds are blooming, the pond is surrounded, the trees have their bouquets, and even the wild area cannot keep the indomitable daffodil from trumpeting to the sky.  No matter how thick the growth, they push their way through.  Beauty must triumph.  Please pass the tiaras for the daffodils.
    The two flowers competing for the best supporting actress role--excuse the change of metaphors--are the tulips and the hyacinth.  It's a toss up--too close to call.  The hyacinth come in brilliant colors, and they smell delicious.  There should be a picture of hyacinth next to the word aromatic in the dictionary.  They, too, are tough and bloom even in the wild area.  The most evasive--in a good way--are the grape hyacinth--which enigmatically come in white and pink as well as "grape."  They are quite small--see the picture in the last fb album--but they multiply like crazy.  They are particularly picturesque when they surround a bouquet of daffodils--yellows and whites encased in a purple border.  Stunning in my opinion.
     The tulips are beautiful as well--reds, oranges, yellows, whites, greens, bi-colors.  This time of year it's good "to be in Dutch."  The only complaint I have with tulips is that they wimp out after a couple of years and quit blooming or in some cases quit coming up at all.  Of course, I then get to buy some more to plant!  I guess I shouldn't complain.  Both the daffodils and tulips should still be around when the iris start to make their appearance.  I can hear them now whispering in the beds--"Where have you been?  What took you so long?  You've missed April."
     Anyway if you were to join me on my walk today, the color spectrum is full and gorgeous.  Hundreds of daffodils, a few dozen hyacinth, a few dozen tulips, a spattering of anemone, bleeding hearts, corydalis, and Dutch Breeches.  God knows how to do a landscape!  It's too bad Brutus and the gang didn't wait until the Ides of April to do in Julius.  With all the beauty around, he might have died a happier man. =)

Stella

     I have a new woman in my life.  Her name is Stella.  She is as black as a starless night and runs like the swirling wind--directionless and indefatigable.  I haven't known her long.  And, at first, she was a little standoffish, not quite sure of my place in her world or if I even deserved to be in it.  Who is she?  How did we meet?  She is my neighbor's new black lab.  Still a puppy, she is huge and energetic.
     I don't know what made her decide we could be friends.  Perhaps it was because her older, little brother Gus let it be known quite early that I was okay.  He ignored her barking and, as usual, came running to see me whenever I was out walking the acres.  All her barking and nervousness could not deter him from coming to see the old man and to get some affection and company.  Perhaps it was because my property has lots of what she loves the most--water.  My pond and bog are her greatest delight.  She enjoys getting soaked and then running to see me to shake off the water--a prankster at heart.  Perhaps it is because when I walk the back of the property, she has acres of open land to run and on occasion a deer to chase.  (It's comical, actually, to see little blond Gus chasing a deer that could squash him in a second and to see huge black Stella in pursuit quickly taking the lead in the chase.  Gus, being a male, probably thinks the deer is running from him.  Right.  Ahhh, the male ego--even in a mutt.)   Anyway, at one point when I called Gus to come join me, Stella came running too, ears flopping, a million miles an hour, as if we had been compatriots for years.  And so a new friendship began.  Now, whenever I'm out and she's out, she comes running to join me on my walks--if you can call running in circles everywhere in the vicinity and stopping by briefly for a little petting actually walking "with me."  She appears to have only one speed--full throttle, and at times, I wonder if she'll be able to stop in time when she comes by for her brief "visits" or if she'll just bowl me over.  So far, she has demonstrated a good set of brakes.
     There is one source of tension.  Bonnie.  They are not quite sure of each other--a couple of alpha females vying for "bosshood" of the neighborhood.  They don't quarrel anymore, but the relationship is just one of tolerance.  There is a good aspect of it for me.  (Selfish idea, eh?)  When they are both outside with me, they are jealous of my attention.  Stella actually stops running around and comes and walks by my side demanding to be petted.  Bonnie puts her paws up on my chest as if to claim ownership and to get her affection.  I am a star--fussed over by two gorgeous females.  Gus, again being the typical male, is oblivious to it all--as long as he gets his attention.  He can be jealous and demanding too, racing to beat them both to my side.  Poor, stubby-legged Gus is always last.
     Anyway my walk has gotten busier, not that I mind.  I've got good furry neighbors, good brown-eyed friends, who love to see me walking about so they can join me.  I'm even in my magnanimous way willing to forgive the occasional trampling of flowers.  And a shaggy shower.

Meandering through March

     March "comes in like a lamb and goes out like a lion."  Or vice-versa.  What happens when it just kind of "blahs" its way in and "blahs" its way out?  Can we blame it on the groundhog?
     Despite the fact that my acres are not that extensive--less than five and a half acres--it takes me at least forty or forty-five minutes to walk them once spring sets in.  My "problem" is that I focus on every detail.  I'm checking every inch of the place to see what's coming up, what's starting to bloom, what "new" things have survived the winter to make their inaugural appearance on the premises.  I even--I guess it's an obsession--keep records of what comes up when.  Anyway, my walk is more like a meander this time of year in particular as my anticipation gets the best of me.  I go from bed to bed looking for the signs of growth, wander all the paths in the wild area looking for the signs of growth, ricochet through the trees looking for the signs of growth--just lots of looking for.  And even worse, I love it! 
     There's not a whole lot of blooming that takes place in March--at least up here in the country--two or three dozen crocus--lilac, purple, white, yellow, gold dabs of color scattered here and there, one small gang of dwarf yellow daffodils in Bed 7 under the old maple, snowdrops sprinkled around under the trees, a few winter aconite--yellow spots of color; a few Lenten roses that are the real stars of March--deep purples, pure whites, soft mauves.  But most of March is just promise.  The tulips are coming up, but they, for the most part, wait courteously for the daffodils to bloom first.  The iris are starting to reach for the sky--the dwarf ones will bloom first and then again last in the fall when they rebloom.  The tree buds are getting fat--leaves will be here soon.  March is indeed a time of hope and promise.  And who doesn't love resting in both of those?
     Sorry, it's mid-morning; I've got to go meandering.  I hope none of my flowers are going to play an April Fool's joke on me.  I'll be back--but not soon.  Details, details, details.  I love it!