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.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
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.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Chapter 15: Walking through Woods
I don't know what is the official definition of "woods." I mean, I know it's a place with trees, but is there a numerical standard? How many trees does it take to make a "woods"? I hope I have enough. But it would be a close call probably. You can take the path through the middle of my woods out to the back meadow in about thirty seconds--if you walk slowly. Now, to walk it from one side to the other takes longer. It does stretch the entire width of my Acres. And yes, I do have a path for taking that trek. In fact, I have another path through the trees--uh, I mean the woods--from the house to the meadow that is more of a winding longer trail. And, of course, my woods connect with the woods on Dennis' acres. The deer often come across 25, slip up through Dennis' woods, cut through mine, and then meander on down to Aaron's pine trees--especially in the winter. They love those pine trees. Protects them from the weather some I reckon. Oops--I mean, protects them from the weather some I "guess." Sorry, didn't mean to slip into Southern lingo there.
The great thing about the woods is that it gives me another "eco-system" for planting--experimenting--with flowers, trees, and shrubs. It's full shade heaven in the woods themselves. It's partial shade to full shade along the edges. To be honest, I haven't had a great deal of success in the woods, but the edges are doing well. I would someday like to build an old country wall between the woods and the edges on the house side. Not just so I can quote "Mending Wall," my neighbors would be totally unaffected by such a wall anyway--but so that I can define the edges into easier to maintain garden plots. Keep the woods at bay a little bit. I'd also like to add a little definition to an area just on the meadow side of the woods, right to the left of the center path. I've tucked a rhododendron, red twig dogwood, bleeding heart, and some daffodils in , there. Such miracle constructions are a long way off, but while I'm prophesying, I'd like to make the paths in the woods more substantive as well. Cobblestones of some sort maybe? Any suggestions are welcome.
On the edges of the woods that face the house there are a great number and variety of flowers and shrubs. There is a bigger "edge" directly behind the house than on the other side of the path on the house side. There's also a large wooden shed right behind the house on this edge. In fact, the winding path through the woods begins right behind this shed. A secret path. =) Anyway, right behind the house on the edge of the woods are three forsythia, a rose of Sharon, a redbud, and a bleeding heart. All of these bloom each year, except for one of the forsythia. Flowers that I've planted here are a lot (tip: "a lot" means at least a dozen) of crocus, daffodils, lilies, hosta, tulips, Dutch iris, grape hyacinth, rosy Alpine bells, and stardrift. Sprinkled among these beauties are a few phlox, iris, astilbe, huechera, aconite, Lenten roses, anemones, wood hyacinth, bluebells, coral bells, fern, corydalis, balloon flowers, and sedum. Lots of sprinkling! Bring your flower umbrella! It's quite an extensive garden. I do have a problem here with squirrels taking some of the bulbs despite the fact that there are two huge walnut trees over here, and the ground is littered with nuts. Did I happen to mention in this "history" that I hate squirrels and walnut trees? I thought so. I hate squirrels and walnut trees. Anyway, this is a beautiful spot from early spring to frost, though I am in constant warfare with the encroaching woods. And the squirrels.
The other edge of the house side is not nearly as wide. It has "lots" of crocus, a redbud, bleeding heart, and two forsythia that bloom each spring, the Acres' only mountain laurel, and a "sprinkling" of daffodils, dwarf iris, tulips, lilies, hosta, fern, and fall crocus. Most of this area is full shade though one small area has some sun. There's an encroachment battle over here as well. That's why that idea of a wall keeps ricocheting around my empty brain.
The other "edge" of the woods--the meadow side--is mostly flowering trees and shrubs that have not yet fulfilled their purpose. They are growing nicely, just not blooming. A rose of Sharon and a magnolia bloom every year, but not any of the other stuff: two redbud, another magnolia, a crab apple, a hawthorn, four dogwoods--one pink, and two blue spruce. Of course, the spruce won't bloom. Now, there are a couple dozen daffodils over here that bloom each spring and a patch of black-eyed Susan that bloom in the summer. (God planted those. I can't take credit.) The rhododendron that I already mentioned was about to bloom this last spring, but one of the deer traipsing through my woods stopped to munch. Ugh. At least it's still alive so there's hope. There are some aconite, hosta, lilies, and iris over here, but they don't bloom much. This edge does get a little sun, but just a very little. That's undoubtedly the problem, but I'll keep hoping. The things that have bloomed keep my hopes alive.
As mentioned, I have not had much success in the forest. (Whoa, in just a few paragraphs it's grown from a maybe woods to a forest! Ah, the power of the pen!) God has a nice bouquet of May apples in here and a large swath of Dutchman's breeches, and numerous violets. And He has some trillium in here that have not yet bloomed. I'm sure they will one of these springs. I have tried all sorts of flowers and shrubs in here and failed. All flora that were supposed to be full shade lovers, woodsy plants. But. . . I do have some daffodils and crocus that bloom in here before the trees get their leaves. And some fall crocus after the leaves have fallen. And there are a couple Lenten roses and ferns that I've put in here still alive. But not nearly the number I've planted in here. Any suggestions for things to try would be welcome. There may be a bunch of Arbor Day saplings in here. When I first moved here, I planted a bunch of them in here, but I have no idea how they're doing. I didn't think to mark where I put them. Brilliant, eh? I have stumbled on a redbud and dogwood that are growing in here, but the others, who knows? Maybe twenty years from now who ever owns Iten's Acres after me will wake up some spring morning and go, "Wow, honey, come look at this. It's a miracle. The woods are all abloom." I don't think I qualify as a miracle producer, but it's fun to imagine such a moment sometime in the future. My gardening angels and I can give each others high fives in heaven. Can you give a high five to someone with wings?
Anyway, you can come and hike the woods with me anytime--edges and all--without the slightest chance of getting lost or without the slightest chance of not encountering some beauty. Come in the winter, and we can quote "Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening," and we won't even have "miles to go before we sleep." It's just a couple steps to the back door.
The great thing about the woods is that it gives me another "eco-system" for planting--experimenting--with flowers, trees, and shrubs. It's full shade heaven in the woods themselves. It's partial shade to full shade along the edges. To be honest, I haven't had a great deal of success in the woods, but the edges are doing well. I would someday like to build an old country wall between the woods and the edges on the house side. Not just so I can quote "Mending Wall," my neighbors would be totally unaffected by such a wall anyway--but so that I can define the edges into easier to maintain garden plots. Keep the woods at bay a little bit. I'd also like to add a little definition to an area just on the meadow side of the woods, right to the left of the center path. I've tucked a rhododendron, red twig dogwood, bleeding heart, and some daffodils in , there. Such miracle constructions are a long way off, but while I'm prophesying, I'd like to make the paths in the woods more substantive as well. Cobblestones of some sort maybe? Any suggestions are welcome.
On the edges of the woods that face the house there are a great number and variety of flowers and shrubs. There is a bigger "edge" directly behind the house than on the other side of the path on the house side. There's also a large wooden shed right behind the house on this edge. In fact, the winding path through the woods begins right behind this shed. A secret path. =) Anyway, right behind the house on the edge of the woods are three forsythia, a rose of Sharon, a redbud, and a bleeding heart. All of these bloom each year, except for one of the forsythia. Flowers that I've planted here are a lot (tip: "a lot" means at least a dozen) of crocus, daffodils, lilies, hosta, tulips, Dutch iris, grape hyacinth, rosy Alpine bells, and stardrift. Sprinkled among these beauties are a few phlox, iris, astilbe, huechera, aconite, Lenten roses, anemones, wood hyacinth, bluebells, coral bells, fern, corydalis, balloon flowers, and sedum. Lots of sprinkling! Bring your flower umbrella! It's quite an extensive garden. I do have a problem here with squirrels taking some of the bulbs despite the fact that there are two huge walnut trees over here, and the ground is littered with nuts. Did I happen to mention in this "history" that I hate squirrels and walnut trees? I thought so. I hate squirrels and walnut trees. Anyway, this is a beautiful spot from early spring to frost, though I am in constant warfare with the encroaching woods. And the squirrels.
The other edge of the house side is not nearly as wide. It has "lots" of crocus, a redbud, bleeding heart, and two forsythia that bloom each spring, the Acres' only mountain laurel, and a "sprinkling" of daffodils, dwarf iris, tulips, lilies, hosta, fern, and fall crocus. Most of this area is full shade though one small area has some sun. There's an encroachment battle over here as well. That's why that idea of a wall keeps ricocheting around my empty brain.
The other "edge" of the woods--the meadow side--is mostly flowering trees and shrubs that have not yet fulfilled their purpose. They are growing nicely, just not blooming. A rose of Sharon and a magnolia bloom every year, but not any of the other stuff: two redbud, another magnolia, a crab apple, a hawthorn, four dogwoods--one pink, and two blue spruce. Of course, the spruce won't bloom. Now, there are a couple dozen daffodils over here that bloom each spring and a patch of black-eyed Susan that bloom in the summer. (God planted those. I can't take credit.) The rhododendron that I already mentioned was about to bloom this last spring, but one of the deer traipsing through my woods stopped to munch. Ugh. At least it's still alive so there's hope. There are some aconite, hosta, lilies, and iris over here, but they don't bloom much. This edge does get a little sun, but just a very little. That's undoubtedly the problem, but I'll keep hoping. The things that have bloomed keep my hopes alive.
As mentioned, I have not had much success in the forest. (Whoa, in just a few paragraphs it's grown from a maybe woods to a forest! Ah, the power of the pen!) God has a nice bouquet of May apples in here and a large swath of Dutchman's breeches, and numerous violets. And He has some trillium in here that have not yet bloomed. I'm sure they will one of these springs. I have tried all sorts of flowers and shrubs in here and failed. All flora that were supposed to be full shade lovers, woodsy plants. But. . . I do have some daffodils and crocus that bloom in here before the trees get their leaves. And some fall crocus after the leaves have fallen. And there are a couple Lenten roses and ferns that I've put in here still alive. But not nearly the number I've planted in here. Any suggestions for things to try would be welcome. There may be a bunch of Arbor Day saplings in here. When I first moved here, I planted a bunch of them in here, but I have no idea how they're doing. I didn't think to mark where I put them. Brilliant, eh? I have stumbled on a redbud and dogwood that are growing in here, but the others, who knows? Maybe twenty years from now who ever owns Iten's Acres after me will wake up some spring morning and go, "Wow, honey, come look at this. It's a miracle. The woods are all abloom." I don't think I qualify as a miracle producer, but it's fun to imagine such a moment sometime in the future. My gardening angels and I can give each others high fives in heaven. Can you give a high five to someone with wings?
Anyway, you can come and hike the woods with me anytime--edges and all--without the slightest chance of getting lost or without the slightest chance of not encountering some beauty. Come in the winter, and we can quote "Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening," and we won't even have "miles to go before we sleep." It's just a couple steps to the back door.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Chapter 14: Space: The Flower Frontier
When I first arrived at Iten's Acres, there was a large open space to the right of the house practically devoid of any plants save grass and a walnut tree. For some reason my predecessor had planted a clump of blackberry bushes--four or five--right behind the privacy fence at the edge of the parking area. Why he put them there or why he planted so many I do not know. But by the time I became "park ranger," they were huge--white blossoms in the spring, lots of berries by mid-summer. I have been surprised by the apparent lack of interest in the fruit by the birds and wildlife, but the only creature that snacks on them is a chubby old bald thing. Well, some visiting dignitaries once made a pan of blackberry cobbler. But other than that . . . There were, also, two metal sheds on this side of the house, a pair of horseshoe pits, the frame of a doghouse, and a line of trees--mostly walnut--between my property and my neighbor's. I don't know why my predecessor left only the frame of a doghouse--he took the large "cage" that was there and the outside of the doghouse. I don't know if the line of walnut trees is on my property or Aaron's, but I do know that if I ever get my hands on a chainsaw, they may just "disappear." Aaron may come home some day and find himself the victim of deforestation. Hope he doesn't mind. In my happy dreams I can see the walnut trees going up in smoke in someone's wood burning stove.
As you may have guessed by now, the area around the house is the exact counterpoint to the front of the Acres. Up there, most of my property is to the left of the driveway. Back here at the homestead, after the driveway has wound its way around the ancient maple and the pond, most of the space is to the right of the driveway/parking area. Naturally, all that space needed some decorating. And over time, a plan was instigated, acted upon in stages, and some beautiful "stars" have been planted in this space.
Step one was the obvious one. I mean, what would any sane gardener do with horseshoe pits other than turn them into flower beds? Duh. One of the pits is now a bed of shade flowers. One of the pits is now a bed of shade and sun flowers. In fact, this second bed was doubled in size this autumn. The stars of the shade garden are a Lenten rose, a yellow corydalis, a lily, some phlox, crocus, and hyacinth. The stars of the "dappled" bed are a meadow sweet, creeping phlox, lilies, daffodils, crocus, and glory of the snow. Neither bed has ever complained about the change in its job description. Just thought I would throw that in there.
Step two was just as obvious--at least to this old man. Do something about the doghouse area. It's quite huge--forty feet long by eight to ten feet deep. It's shady in the morning but gets some sun in the afternoon. In other words, I can plant whatever I want in there, anything goes--or should I say anything grows. A flower lovers dream. In the spring the stars of this area are wild phlox, anemones, snowdrops, white iris, daffodils, tulips, and pink columbine. All of these are not only gorgeous but aggressive "spreaders." In summer the stars of this area are phlox and oriental lilies--most of them orange tiger lilies. Both of these flowers grow eight feet tall or higher, bloom prolifically, and like their spring "pals," spread magnificently. And the phlox as they spread, change color! In addition, a variety of morning glories come up each summer from seed and wind their way up the phlox and lilies to add to the bouquet of flowers. By August this area is stunning. (There are other flowers in here, but these mentioned are the stars.) Every year because of the madcap spreading of all the varieties the "pattern" in this bed is constantly changing. The wildness of it adds to its appeal. Someday I will remove the old doghouse frame and allow them to race to fill in the new open area.
Step three involved the metal shed that is too readily visible as one walks toward the back/front of the house. The plan was to try to make it disappear--as much of it as possible--by putting a garden in front of the visible area. This, of course, required an emphasis on taller, wider, plants. The solution was a forsythia, a redtwig dogwood, lots of phlox, and some day lilies. These are the major beauties here and do quite well in "hiding" the shed from spring to frost. I love it when a plant comes together.
Step four was to put a huge--16 by 16--lily bed right in the middle of the area. It has other things in it as well--iris (duh), a lilac, phlox, daffodils, giant sunflowers, and moon flowers to name a few. But the lilies are the stars. There are, at least, forty different lilies in this bed and each year they spread out to claim more territory. At times in mid-June there are 150 blooms in this bed each day. Marvelous to see! I always put a number of gladiolas in here as well; they can tower as high as the lilies. And morning glories and larkspur come back each year from seed to add to the color scheme. I'm going to have to add some cosmos in here as well. They'll come back each year, too. And they last until frost. This bed will become the eighth wonder of the world--or at least, of Iten's Acres.
Step five--hey, there's lots of space--was to put in what I call the Conifer Garden, next to the doghouse zone. It has some non-conifers in it, but it started out all conifers until I made it into an actual bed. By mid-summer it is quite shady most of the day. What's in here? Glad you asked. Taxus, red and yellow barberry, false cypress, two elderberries, a Lenten rose, a few hosta, an iris, and some lilies are the main ingredients. There is one "special" bouquet here--toad lilies. They are strange but lovely little flowers that love the shade and bloom late in the year. I have a couple elsewhere, but in this bed they thrive! (Tip: elderberries do not last long once they ripen. They must be the filet mignon of the bird world. They are an exceedingly sweet berry--when I've been quick enough to get a bite or two. Maybe they're the milky way of the bird world?) Adding to the picturesque quality of this garden is a bird bath. It's lovely on summer afternoons to see a flock of goldfinch in full bloom flitting about the foliage here and gathering around the rim of the bird bath to drink. And to munch on elderberries too, no doubt.
This fall I did two last things to this space. (Well, not "last," but last so far.) First, I cut down the walnut tree! "To everything there is a season. . .A time to dance!" I hate those trees! The other "last" thing was to turn an old dilapidated fire pit into an iris bed. It's quite small but deep with the iris sitting on top of the soil. I'll be anxious to see if the experiment works. If it does, you'll probably see some more "pot bunkers" of various flowers popping up all over the Acres.
Ahhhh, I love large open spaces. Yep, I love being spacey. The more space, the more places to plant a variety of stars.
As you may have guessed by now, the area around the house is the exact counterpoint to the front of the Acres. Up there, most of my property is to the left of the driveway. Back here at the homestead, after the driveway has wound its way around the ancient maple and the pond, most of the space is to the right of the driveway/parking area. Naturally, all that space needed some decorating. And over time, a plan was instigated, acted upon in stages, and some beautiful "stars" have been planted in this space.
Step one was the obvious one. I mean, what would any sane gardener do with horseshoe pits other than turn them into flower beds? Duh. One of the pits is now a bed of shade flowers. One of the pits is now a bed of shade and sun flowers. In fact, this second bed was doubled in size this autumn. The stars of the shade garden are a Lenten rose, a yellow corydalis, a lily, some phlox, crocus, and hyacinth. The stars of the "dappled" bed are a meadow sweet, creeping phlox, lilies, daffodils, crocus, and glory of the snow. Neither bed has ever complained about the change in its job description. Just thought I would throw that in there.
Step two was just as obvious--at least to this old man. Do something about the doghouse area. It's quite huge--forty feet long by eight to ten feet deep. It's shady in the morning but gets some sun in the afternoon. In other words, I can plant whatever I want in there, anything goes--or should I say anything grows. A flower lovers dream. In the spring the stars of this area are wild phlox, anemones, snowdrops, white iris, daffodils, tulips, and pink columbine. All of these are not only gorgeous but aggressive "spreaders." In summer the stars of this area are phlox and oriental lilies--most of them orange tiger lilies. Both of these flowers grow eight feet tall or higher, bloom prolifically, and like their spring "pals," spread magnificently. And the phlox as they spread, change color! In addition, a variety of morning glories come up each summer from seed and wind their way up the phlox and lilies to add to the bouquet of flowers. By August this area is stunning. (There are other flowers in here, but these mentioned are the stars.) Every year because of the madcap spreading of all the varieties the "pattern" in this bed is constantly changing. The wildness of it adds to its appeal. Someday I will remove the old doghouse frame and allow them to race to fill in the new open area.
Step three involved the metal shed that is too readily visible as one walks toward the back/front of the house. The plan was to try to make it disappear--as much of it as possible--by putting a garden in front of the visible area. This, of course, required an emphasis on taller, wider, plants. The solution was a forsythia, a redtwig dogwood, lots of phlox, and some day lilies. These are the major beauties here and do quite well in "hiding" the shed from spring to frost. I love it when a plant comes together.
Step four was to put a huge--16 by 16--lily bed right in the middle of the area. It has other things in it as well--iris (duh), a lilac, phlox, daffodils, giant sunflowers, and moon flowers to name a few. But the lilies are the stars. There are, at least, forty different lilies in this bed and each year they spread out to claim more territory. At times in mid-June there are 150 blooms in this bed each day. Marvelous to see! I always put a number of gladiolas in here as well; they can tower as high as the lilies. And morning glories and larkspur come back each year from seed to add to the color scheme. I'm going to have to add some cosmos in here as well. They'll come back each year, too. And they last until frost. This bed will become the eighth wonder of the world--or at least, of Iten's Acres.
Step five--hey, there's lots of space--was to put in what I call the Conifer Garden, next to the doghouse zone. It has some non-conifers in it, but it started out all conifers until I made it into an actual bed. By mid-summer it is quite shady most of the day. What's in here? Glad you asked. Taxus, red and yellow barberry, false cypress, two elderberries, a Lenten rose, a few hosta, an iris, and some lilies are the main ingredients. There is one "special" bouquet here--toad lilies. They are strange but lovely little flowers that love the shade and bloom late in the year. I have a couple elsewhere, but in this bed they thrive! (Tip: elderberries do not last long once they ripen. They must be the filet mignon of the bird world. They are an exceedingly sweet berry--when I've been quick enough to get a bite or two. Maybe they're the milky way of the bird world?) Adding to the picturesque quality of this garden is a bird bath. It's lovely on summer afternoons to see a flock of goldfinch in full bloom flitting about the foliage here and gathering around the rim of the bird bath to drink. And to munch on elderberries too, no doubt.
This fall I did two last things to this space. (Well, not "last," but last so far.) First, I cut down the walnut tree! "To everything there is a season. . .A time to dance!" I hate those trees! The other "last" thing was to turn an old dilapidated fire pit into an iris bed. It's quite small but deep with the iris sitting on top of the soil. I'll be anxious to see if the experiment works. If it does, you'll probably see some more "pot bunkers" of various flowers popping up all over the Acres.
Ahhhh, I love large open spaces. Yep, I love being spacey. The more space, the more places to plant a variety of stars.
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