Prologue: I know. Dictionaries don't have prologues, but convention is not a theme at Iten's Acres. This should have probably been like the second or third entry in this developing blog, but I'm a little random so here it is now. And, of course, the WIA Dictionary will not be alphabetized. Random must rule!
Walking Iten's Acres: the process of ricocheting from flower bed to flower bed until one finds oneself in the back meadow. The process then becomes more of a meander until the wild area is reached. Then? Back to the ricocheting on the various paths. Backtracking is required. Stopping is also a necessity in order to walk properly. Sitting in the green throne on the top of the hill may also come into play. Yes, sitting quietly and observing is an integral part of Walking Iten's Acres.
Opera (literally "willing work"): Everything done on Iten's Acres is opera. The singing is provided by my feathered friends. Totally random of course. Barking dogs may also be part of the melodic symphony that accompanies my willing work.
Discombobulate: The feeling I have this year since the weather has messed up all my meticulous note keeping about what should bloom when and where. There is a feeling that I'm going to miss something. Beauty is a terrible thing to miss.
Feeding the Bluebirds: The mowing of the front of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you stop, turn off the mower, and sit quietly. Then, the bluebirds come and reap the bug harvest stirred up by the mowing. The longer you sit, the more birds join the party. Robins, goldfinch, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, catbirds, sparrows of all kinds. Makes a nice lunch break, even if I'm not the one eating.
Feeding the Swallows: The mowing of the back of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you not stop. These velvet acrobats enjoy circling the mower, flying right at you, coming from all sides, feasting on the fleeing insects. It is, believe it or not Ripley, a source of joy.
Serenity: 1) walking and being totally ignored by the bluebirds as they roam the Acres. I have been accepted as a non-threatening aspect of their lives 2) standing in the back meadow on a clear night overwhelmed by the majesty of a starlit sky 3) lying on the floor upstairs listening to the rain dance on the roof 4) the moment when one is surprised by beauty. 5) The sound of two little children calling out "Hi Al" (The list goes on, but I'll stop for now.)
Plague: A bad mosquito time: see spring of 2012
Expectation: The time spent from December to March wondering what bulbs that were planted in the fall will come to life in the spring.
Anticipation: The sense that today as you walk some new beauty will be blooming that was not blooming yesterday--or even this morning.
Gardening Angels: Those responsible for secretly planting new species each year at the Acres or for moving flowers to a new place that they've never been before. (Responsible this year already for a new elderberry bush, a columbine in a new place, an unknown wild flower in Bed 1 (The Morning Glory Bed), a Bronze Dutch iris in the Red and White Bed. More to come! I hope.
Outlaws: My two furry friends--Bonnie and Gus (No, I still haven't convinced Aaron to rename Gus Clyde). Walking companions at times. Work supervisors at times. Fertilizers at times. Skunk, rabbit, and ground hog exterminators at times (one of those activities is not appreciated). Occasional rascals--they do like to dig at times. Always more than happy to be petted and loved on.
Mulch: That practice that is used sparingly in order to ensure a new crop of larkspur, cosmos, snapdragons, etc. Yes, my gardens are "weedy." But it's worth the laziness. For example, the Rainbow Bed outside Mom's window, at one time had one balloon flower. This year there are over fifty.
Weeds: Plants that if we found them in the wild area would produce "oohs" and "aahhs" but in a flower bed are called "weeds" and summarily hated. Dandelions and buck thorn are, however, weeds and deserve to be despised.
Peace: When worries evaporate as one walks the Acres and breathes in the loveliness.
Compost: The leftovers that the Outlaws munch on if I toss them out back.
Varmints: Rabbits, deer, groundhogs. Walnut trees. Mosquitoes and ticks. Not even Iten's Acres is perfect.
Meadow: The open expanse at the back of the property. Great place for star gazing, feeding swallows, chatting over the fence with a good neighbor, sitting on a green throne.
Margins: The sides of the meadow that are allowed to grow wild. Home to a variety of birds. The goldfinch in particular like to nest in the margins. Every year they get just a tad wider.
Back Forty: The very back of the property, past the wild flower area, the place to stand and look back up at the house. When one arrives here, it is time to turn around and begin the meandering back. No, it is not forty of anything.
Iris--iris
Pepsi--Pepsi is the tree of life; coke came after the fall. (I just had to include that, sorry.)
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Friday, May 18, 2012
The Ides of May
The Ides of May have passed. Safe. Safe at last. The one thing--the only thing--the weather geniuses have gotten right every year since I made Iten Acres my home is the frost date. No more frost after May 15th (at least until late fall anyway). What does that mean for the labor force at the Acres? No more covering things at night for one thing. But more importantly in the beauty department--I can now plant annuals. All my poor pots that have been sitting waiting to play their role in the loveliness of the grounds now get their chance. I think I may have about fifty of them--all different sizes and even a few different colors. Now, they are decorated.
Being naturally paranoid, I usually wait until about the 20th to go flower shopping. My favorite place is Baker's Acres, but I have not been able to go there since Mom arrived. They're just too far away. I couldn't leave her alone for as long as it would take to go there, shop, and come home--at least five hours round trip with the meandering through their flowers. They have more variety by far than anyone else around here. Ahhh well, perhaps another spring unless Mom outlives me. You never know. Anyway, second choice is Oakland Park Nursery in Delaware. It takes a couple of hours to go there even, shop, and return.
First priority is the "container garden" outside Mom's window on the patio where she loves to spend her mornings. Her favorites are marigolds, geraniums, lantana, and petunias. She already had several glorious containers of dianthus and pinks that had survived the warm winter--red, white, and pink everywhere. I also had already planted some pansies for her and a knockout red rose. Now, she has the entire "painting." Naturally, I added a few of my favorites: snapdragons, verbena, dahlias, begonia. In a couple of weeks, it will be gorgeous. Not that Mom isn't easy to please. She even thinks dandelions are beautiful. If only we all could see beauty everywhere we look--even at the weeds of life. I also planted a couple of "surprises" in her garden--calla lilies. I like surprises. I can't wait until they come up! (But I guess I'll have to.)
I also have "gardens" on the back patio, by the canopy, by the bird bath in The Conifer Bed. And I have pots scattered everywhere--by the pond, by the "doghouse," by the treeline, and, would you believe it, in the trees, in the meadow, and even in the wild area. "You can't have too much beauty" is the motto of Iten's Acres. Well, one of them anyway.
The nice thing about annuals is that once you plant them they bloom the rest of the spring, summer, and fall. They have no season like the perennials that have a "time" for blooming and then stop. And they keep getting larger and larger as the year goes on; more and more lovely. And many of them are propagators. They seed themselves and come back next year all on their own. (That's one of the reasons I don't mulch much. I'll endure some weedy gardens for more flowers.) I don't even have to plant cosmos, morning glories, or larkspur anymore if I can help it. (I can't always help it.) They have become annual perennials.
"Solomon in all his glory is not arrayed like one of these."
Aren't you glad you worship a God who loves the beautiful?
The Ides of May have passed. Safe. Safe at last. The one thing--the only thing--the weather geniuses have gotten right every year since I made Iten Acres my home is the frost date. No more frost after May 15th (at least until late fall anyway). What does that mean for the labor force at the Acres? No more covering things at night for one thing. But more importantly in the beauty department--I can now plant annuals. All my poor pots that have been sitting waiting to play their role in the loveliness of the grounds now get their chance. I think I may have about fifty of them--all different sizes and even a few different colors. Now, they are decorated.
Being naturally paranoid, I usually wait until about the 20th to go flower shopping. My favorite place is Baker's Acres, but I have not been able to go there since Mom arrived. They're just too far away. I couldn't leave her alone for as long as it would take to go there, shop, and come home--at least five hours round trip with the meandering through their flowers. They have more variety by far than anyone else around here. Ahhh well, perhaps another spring unless Mom outlives me. You never know. Anyway, second choice is Oakland Park Nursery in Delaware. It takes a couple of hours to go there even, shop, and return.
First priority is the "container garden" outside Mom's window on the patio where she loves to spend her mornings. Her favorites are marigolds, geraniums, lantana, and petunias. She already had several glorious containers of dianthus and pinks that had survived the warm winter--red, white, and pink everywhere. I also had already planted some pansies for her and a knockout red rose. Now, she has the entire "painting." Naturally, I added a few of my favorites: snapdragons, verbena, dahlias, begonia. In a couple of weeks, it will be gorgeous. Not that Mom isn't easy to please. She even thinks dandelions are beautiful. If only we all could see beauty everywhere we look--even at the weeds of life. I also planted a couple of "surprises" in her garden--calla lilies. I like surprises. I can't wait until they come up! (But I guess I'll have to.)
I also have "gardens" on the back patio, by the canopy, by the bird bath in The Conifer Bed. And I have pots scattered everywhere--by the pond, by the "doghouse," by the treeline, and, would you believe it, in the trees, in the meadow, and even in the wild area. "You can't have too much beauty" is the motto of Iten's Acres. Well, one of them anyway.
The nice thing about annuals is that once you plant them they bloom the rest of the spring, summer, and fall. They have no season like the perennials that have a "time" for blooming and then stop. And they keep getting larger and larger as the year goes on; more and more lovely. And many of them are propagators. They seed themselves and come back next year all on their own. (That's one of the reasons I don't mulch much. I'll endure some weedy gardens for more flowers.) I don't even have to plant cosmos, morning glories, or larkspur anymore if I can help it. (I can't always help it.) They have become annual perennials.
"Solomon in all his glory is not arrayed like one of these."
Aren't you glad you worship a God who loves the beautiful?
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Chapter 17: The End of History
Okay. It's not actually the end of history; just the end of the "History of Iten's Acres" segment of this blog. As you remember (right?), the back of the property had just been bush hogged and now I had to decide what to do with all that space. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Three things had already been decided: a "show stopper" as one entered the "expanse," an orchard, and a wildflower area. Lots of things were still to be decided, and the make up of the area has changed over the years. Things added. Things removed. I'm sure there are still some changes to come. I certainly have a few things I would like to do.
The "show stopper" ended up being a pair of crab apples: one deep red, one pinkish white. The show only goes on in the spring, but as you enter the back through the path through the trees in mid-May usually, the first thing that catches your eye--or at least is designed to catch your eye--are two trees ablaze in color. They catch my eye, of course, but I'm looking for them. They are still young so the color splash should only get bigger as the years pass by.
The orchard is still growing. Katie used to be Thompson helped me get it started that first fall. I guess I should name it after her. Immortalize her. If my memory serves me right, it was a cold even snowy (?) day when we planted those first saplings. But my memory is not to be trusted. The first two trees were two "cherry" trees. Unfortunately, they bloomed and had fruit last summer for the first time, and the fruit looked and tasted an awful lot like pears. I guess I need to add some real cherry trees to the orchard one of these days. Also in the orchard are apple trees, blueberry bushes, raspberry and blackberry bushes, some dying peach trees (Surely, there is a brand of Yankee peach trees somewhere. I love peaches!), and a hazel nut bush. I need another one of those in order for it to produce nuts I think. Only the pear cherry trees have produced so far. I would like to add some peaches that won't die, and I heard that there is a Northern plum tree out there somewhere. When they all mature, I can fight it out with the birds and wildlife for pie making rights.
The wildflower area was easy to do--just don't mow it and let it grow. I do mow paths through it so that I can meander between them and enjoy them up close. And I do mean meander. There's little I enjoy more than a slow trek through the wildflowers. I have, in fact, let the area expand over the years and even added a little wild area detached from the main garden. I may add another one this fall. To be honest, I was stunned by the vast variety of flowers and grasses that just grow naturally in the area. And every year God adds a few new ones. Last year, for example, my gardening angels planted spiderwort and prairie coneflowers in the wildness. I suppose I'm strange but I delight in such surprises. It's a fascinating spot to spend some idle time year around. What? Yep, you caught me. I have added some flowers of my own and usually throw a bag or so of wild flower seed in there every late fall or early winter. You do know that the best time to throw in those seeds is after the first snow? They then go through the natural sequence of cold and wet that they go through in nature. The only unnatural things I've planted in here are hundreds of daffodils and a few hyacinth. The deer and other creatures ignore them, and they are not intimidated by the battle with the natural stuff already out there. Competition does not scare them. I expect that in a few years Wordsworth or one of his disciples will want to come, stand on the top of my hill, and write a poem about them.
I have added two other areas to the back acres in the last few years. One, despite the fear of deer, I put a flower bed in the back. It's made out of old cement blocks I found on the property. I hope all you Better and Homes and Garden folks aren't too aghast at my choice of material. And I did hedge my bets by putting it right up near the tree line--a hop, skip, and a jump from the back of the house. Well, I can't hop, skip, or jump anymore, but you get the picture. Close. I think if I ran at full speed, I could get there in a day or two. Only once have I caught deer starting to nibble, and I fired my .22 in the air and away they fled. Now, they're hop, skip, and jump experts. And a rabbit was chewing on my phlox in there last summer. He is no longer among the living, and it appears he did not pass on the information in the genetic code of his ancestor. He, too, is no longer with us--the tulip muncher has met his end. Nope, not a single regret. It's a lovely bed by the way: daffodils, iris (of course), phlox, coneflowers, lilies, tulips, corydalis, monkshood. Beauty from early spring to frost.
The other new addition is the Rock Pile. It, too, is gorgeous, especially right now in early spring. The thrift and the creeping phlox are spreading like crazy carpeting the area. And there are some daffodils, iris, lilies, balloon flowers, and coneflowers as well as other stuff in here as well. I enjoy it immensely. Even if in the winter it is just a pile of rocks.
The main thing I would like to do back here is add some decent size trees--not many, just a few. I've tried small ones but they don't last long. Dinner for the deer and ground hogs. Thus, the need to get some trees a little more developed than the sapling stage. Time will tell. As for now, I just spend some quiet time sitting on the green throne at the top of the hill, taking in the beauty and the silence, feeling the breeze, and dreaming of what the next few years will add to the History of Iten's Acres.
The "show stopper" ended up being a pair of crab apples: one deep red, one pinkish white. The show only goes on in the spring, but as you enter the back through the path through the trees in mid-May usually, the first thing that catches your eye--or at least is designed to catch your eye--are two trees ablaze in color. They catch my eye, of course, but I'm looking for them. They are still young so the color splash should only get bigger as the years pass by.
The orchard is still growing. Katie used to be Thompson helped me get it started that first fall. I guess I should name it after her. Immortalize her. If my memory serves me right, it was a cold even snowy (?) day when we planted those first saplings. But my memory is not to be trusted. The first two trees were two "cherry" trees. Unfortunately, they bloomed and had fruit last summer for the first time, and the fruit looked and tasted an awful lot like pears. I guess I need to add some real cherry trees to the orchard one of these days. Also in the orchard are apple trees, blueberry bushes, raspberry and blackberry bushes, some dying peach trees (Surely, there is a brand of Yankee peach trees somewhere. I love peaches!), and a hazel nut bush. I need another one of those in order for it to produce nuts I think. Only the pear cherry trees have produced so far. I would like to add some peaches that won't die, and I heard that there is a Northern plum tree out there somewhere. When they all mature, I can fight it out with the birds and wildlife for pie making rights.
The wildflower area was easy to do--just don't mow it and let it grow. I do mow paths through it so that I can meander between them and enjoy them up close. And I do mean meander. There's little I enjoy more than a slow trek through the wildflowers. I have, in fact, let the area expand over the years and even added a little wild area detached from the main garden. I may add another one this fall. To be honest, I was stunned by the vast variety of flowers and grasses that just grow naturally in the area. And every year God adds a few new ones. Last year, for example, my gardening angels planted spiderwort and prairie coneflowers in the wildness. I suppose I'm strange but I delight in such surprises. It's a fascinating spot to spend some idle time year around. What? Yep, you caught me. I have added some flowers of my own and usually throw a bag or so of wild flower seed in there every late fall or early winter. You do know that the best time to throw in those seeds is after the first snow? They then go through the natural sequence of cold and wet that they go through in nature. The only unnatural things I've planted in here are hundreds of daffodils and a few hyacinth. The deer and other creatures ignore them, and they are not intimidated by the battle with the natural stuff already out there. Competition does not scare them. I expect that in a few years Wordsworth or one of his disciples will want to come, stand on the top of my hill, and write a poem about them.
I have added two other areas to the back acres in the last few years. One, despite the fear of deer, I put a flower bed in the back. It's made out of old cement blocks I found on the property. I hope all you Better and Homes and Garden folks aren't too aghast at my choice of material. And I did hedge my bets by putting it right up near the tree line--a hop, skip, and a jump from the back of the house. Well, I can't hop, skip, or jump anymore, but you get the picture. Close. I think if I ran at full speed, I could get there in a day or two. Only once have I caught deer starting to nibble, and I fired my .22 in the air and away they fled. Now, they're hop, skip, and jump experts. And a rabbit was chewing on my phlox in there last summer. He is no longer among the living, and it appears he did not pass on the information in the genetic code of his ancestor. He, too, is no longer with us--the tulip muncher has met his end. Nope, not a single regret. It's a lovely bed by the way: daffodils, iris (of course), phlox, coneflowers, lilies, tulips, corydalis, monkshood. Beauty from early spring to frost.
The other new addition is the Rock Pile. It, too, is gorgeous, especially right now in early spring. The thrift and the creeping phlox are spreading like crazy carpeting the area. And there are some daffodils, iris, lilies, balloon flowers, and coneflowers as well as other stuff in here as well. I enjoy it immensely. Even if in the winter it is just a pile of rocks.
The main thing I would like to do back here is add some decent size trees--not many, just a few. I've tried small ones but they don't last long. Dinner for the deer and ground hogs. Thus, the need to get some trees a little more developed than the sapling stage. Time will tell. As for now, I just spend some quiet time sitting on the green throne at the top of the hill, taking in the beauty and the silence, feeling the breeze, and dreaming of what the next few years will add to the History of Iten's Acres.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The View from Iten's Acres, Spring 2012
We have lots of little idioms connected with spring in the American vernacular. You know: "spring forward"--when we "want" to give up an hour's sleep to have more daylight even though the days are already getting longer all by themselves. Or "he has a spring to his step" implying energy, bounce, elation. (Not to be used of anyone the morning they "spring forward.") Monetarily, we are often encouraged to "spring for it," pick up the tab so to speak. Deplete the extra bank account. (This is rarely said by the person expected to do the "springing.") And then there is always the "spring fling"--a time of joyous celebration. Anyway, the word "spring" has a lot of connotations attached to it, and such is the case for me as I walk Iten's Acres here in the spring of 2012. For me, it's a time of mixed emotions.
Actually it all started with the winter. Only one good snow, not much cold, not really a winter. Proof? I had daffodils coming up in early January. I had a fern that lived through the entire winter. Yep, the entire winter. Never died. Poor thing must be more addled than I am. The calender looked normal; the weather was bizarre.
And then things really heated up. Long before spring officially arrived, the warmth of spring swooped in. Ohio has been rehearsing for summer for over a month. Seventies and even the low eighties. Thunderstorms. High humidity. Peepers. Flowers blooming a month early.
Now as a flower addict that should be viewed as a good thing. Right? There should be a "spring in my step" as I traverse the Acres. As I walk each day, the blooms of late April and May are already here en masse. Usually in mid-March there are a few early crocus scattered here and there, snow drops, and perhaps the dwarf daffodils in, where else, the Spring Bed. This March? The willow trees are already "leafed out," and the ancient maple is ready to follow suit. I have gorgeous daffodils everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. All the beds except the Blue Bed have a host of them. (Horticulturists have not yet "invented" a blue daffodil.) The pond is surrounded--hundreds of yellows, whites, and pinks gracing the shore line. All the places I've "naturalized"--I love naturalizing--are bursting with blooms. You can't stand anywhere on my property without seeing a host of daffodils. Stunning. In a couple weeks I expect to have a thousand daffodil blooms on Iten's Acres. The crocus for the most part have already bloomed and faded away until next year. A few of the traditionalists are still popping up daily. They refused to be enticed by the weather and are adhering to the calendar. And hyacinth are everywhere. You can find them blindfolded. Ahhhh, the common scents of spring. There are corydalis, grape hyacinth in all their colors, dwarf iris, even the tulips are joining the parade. It's a joyous, beautiful walk.
But it's a month early. And being human, I struggle with embracing my "spring fling," the "good" of the beautiful landscape without expecting a disaster soon to come. Why are we humans like that? Okay, why is this human like this. Instead of being content and fully embracing the good times of blessing, I keep thinking some "evil" payback must be on the way. Sigh. If only I could be content and fully embrace the joys without those fears ricocheting around my mind. I mean, the "frost free" date for Ohio is May 1st. That's almost two months away. The forsythia just bloomed. FAS says I have three snows yet to come. (If you have seven forsythia does that mean 21 snows? By the way, thanks Mom and Chloe for the forsythia starts. They've done well.)
Anyway spring is here in full force. My walks are lovely. But . . . What's that old verse we use to say as kids: "Spring is here, the grass is ris" I wonder where the flower is? Oh, there you are you blooming idiot." Ahhh, if only this idiot would enjoy his "spring fling," walk with a spring in his steps in the full confidence that a real winter isn't lurking behind the jet stream waiting to spring forward and make me spring for it.
Actually it all started with the winter. Only one good snow, not much cold, not really a winter. Proof? I had daffodils coming up in early January. I had a fern that lived through the entire winter. Yep, the entire winter. Never died. Poor thing must be more addled than I am. The calender looked normal; the weather was bizarre.
And then things really heated up. Long before spring officially arrived, the warmth of spring swooped in. Ohio has been rehearsing for summer for over a month. Seventies and even the low eighties. Thunderstorms. High humidity. Peepers. Flowers blooming a month early.
Now as a flower addict that should be viewed as a good thing. Right? There should be a "spring in my step" as I traverse the Acres. As I walk each day, the blooms of late April and May are already here en masse. Usually in mid-March there are a few early crocus scattered here and there, snow drops, and perhaps the dwarf daffodils in, where else, the Spring Bed. This March? The willow trees are already "leafed out," and the ancient maple is ready to follow suit. I have gorgeous daffodils everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. All the beds except the Blue Bed have a host of them. (Horticulturists have not yet "invented" a blue daffodil.) The pond is surrounded--hundreds of yellows, whites, and pinks gracing the shore line. All the places I've "naturalized"--I love naturalizing--are bursting with blooms. You can't stand anywhere on my property without seeing a host of daffodils. Stunning. In a couple weeks I expect to have a thousand daffodil blooms on Iten's Acres. The crocus for the most part have already bloomed and faded away until next year. A few of the traditionalists are still popping up daily. They refused to be enticed by the weather and are adhering to the calendar. And hyacinth are everywhere. You can find them blindfolded. Ahhhh, the common scents of spring. There are corydalis, grape hyacinth in all their colors, dwarf iris, even the tulips are joining the parade. It's a joyous, beautiful walk.
But it's a month early. And being human, I struggle with embracing my "spring fling," the "good" of the beautiful landscape without expecting a disaster soon to come. Why are we humans like that? Okay, why is this human like this. Instead of being content and fully embracing the good times of blessing, I keep thinking some "evil" payback must be on the way. Sigh. If only I could be content and fully embrace the joys without those fears ricocheting around my mind. I mean, the "frost free" date for Ohio is May 1st. That's almost two months away. The forsythia just bloomed. FAS says I have three snows yet to come. (If you have seven forsythia does that mean 21 snows? By the way, thanks Mom and Chloe for the forsythia starts. They've done well.)
Anyway spring is here in full force. My walks are lovely. But . . . What's that old verse we use to say as kids: "Spring is here, the grass is ris" I wonder where the flower is? Oh, there you are you blooming idiot." Ahhh, if only this idiot would enjoy his "spring fling," walk with a spring in his steps in the full confidence that a real winter isn't lurking behind the jet stream waiting to spring forward and make me spring for it.
Monday, February 6, 2012
The Dead of Winter
Sounds ominous: "the dead of winter." To be honest, I'm not quite sure what that idiom means. I assume that it refers to the middle of the winter season, time wise. I don't think it applies to the flora since everyone knows they're just dormant, waiting for mid-March to spring back into life. But again, I'm not sure. Maybe the "dormant of winter" just doesn't sound so chilling. Who knows? Someone I'm sure, but not me. So, assuming that it is a time appellation, everyday now--early February--I walk the Acres in "the dead of winter."
This winter, however, hasn't been quite so dead in many ways. So far. It hasn't been terribly cold--only one day in the single digits. We've had some snow here in Morrow County, but it hasn't lasted very long, unlike last winter when it snowed before Thanksgiving, and I think the ground was white until April. We even had a tremendous ice storm. And cold. This winter, however, has been, and is currently, not very cold or flaky. But, of course, we have six weeks to go officially. And I can remember significant snow as late as April and cold snaps in the first weeks of May. So the final "verdict" is not in yet.
As I walk this time of year, though, snow-cold or dry-warm, I enjoy my treks. Just walking the Acres is good exercise for my old arthritic bones and aging heart I'm sure. It always takes awhile. Remember: "walk slowly" is the Acres' motto. And this time of year has it's uniqueness. The ground, even though it's been rather warm (less cold anyway), is quite frozen. Hard as cement at times. It's also easy to see what things need to be accomplished before spring arrives and where new shrubs or trees would fit nicely for next year's improvements. In addition, the snow we have had has "pushed down" much of the old growth; I can see all the way through my neighbor's pine "forest" by this time of year. I am tempted to sneak over there for a peak. Okay. I confess. I'm guilty of trespassing. It is so quiet and calm under those trees even on the windiest days. I can see why the deer enjoy it there.
Jobs that need to be done before spring? I have several trees--small--that have to give way to the saw. Some small trees have to go that are coming up in the rock garden right next to the house. I cut those down every winter, but they return for another "battle." I have a couple of scraggly pine trees that I want to remove so the flower beds next to them can get more light. There are also a number of trees coming up in the midst of the huge conifer in the front of the property. I want to get rid of the competition. Wish I had a chain saw, but I don't, so Iten power will have to do. The exercise won't hurt me, and I'd probably lose a hand or a foot to a chain saw being the oaf that I am with tools. Another pre-spring chore is hauling all the fallen limbs back to the brush pile in the wild area. Eventually, the pile will be large enough to provide shelter in the winter for the creatures that make their home here. I have some holes to fill as well. A muskrat has made my pond his home this winter, and my canine friends have been eagerly digging holes in hopes of having that elusive muskrat meal. Muskrat love it is not. If I don't fill the holes, my lawn mower will get stuck come spring and summer. The outlaw gang has been very persistent in their pursuit. You would think that they were dogs or something. . . oh, wait. . .
And this winter as I walk I have kept an apprehensive eye on the flower beds and other areas where I know flowers have been planted--naturalized. The poor things have been befuddled by the warm weather. Now the pussy willow is always full of buds, so I don't worry about it--at least the monster bush by the pond. And there are other plants that stay green all winter as well: Lenten roses, mountain laurel, dwarf conifers, iris, rhododendron, azalea (more red than green), and primrose to name a few. But as early as January this year, I have had daffodils coming up. And now, tulips, hyacinth, lilies--particularly the pink ladies, and the crocus are emerging. I suppose that's normal for the crocus, but still I fret. Oh me of little faith. I'm sure such winters have occurred countless times over the years and all has been well. But . . . Anyway, such things occupy my searching eyes as I walk. And, of course, the sin of anticipation has already set in as I imagine what new things will pop up this spring in the places where I planted them last fall. The old mind churns as the old feet walk. Oh, and winter lovers (like myself) don't worry: no forsythia yet so according to the old legends we have at least three snows to come!
Anyway, all of this is just to say that walks in "the dead of winter" are actually quite lively. Things to see. Work to imagine. (I may even do some of it.) Fears to assuage. Exercise for the mind, the body, and even the soul.
This winter, however, hasn't been quite so dead in many ways. So far. It hasn't been terribly cold--only one day in the single digits. We've had some snow here in Morrow County, but it hasn't lasted very long, unlike last winter when it snowed before Thanksgiving, and I think the ground was white until April. We even had a tremendous ice storm. And cold. This winter, however, has been, and is currently, not very cold or flaky. But, of course, we have six weeks to go officially. And I can remember significant snow as late as April and cold snaps in the first weeks of May. So the final "verdict" is not in yet.
As I walk this time of year, though, snow-cold or dry-warm, I enjoy my treks. Just walking the Acres is good exercise for my old arthritic bones and aging heart I'm sure. It always takes awhile. Remember: "walk slowly" is the Acres' motto. And this time of year has it's uniqueness. The ground, even though it's been rather warm (less cold anyway), is quite frozen. Hard as cement at times. It's also easy to see what things need to be accomplished before spring arrives and where new shrubs or trees would fit nicely for next year's improvements. In addition, the snow we have had has "pushed down" much of the old growth; I can see all the way through my neighbor's pine "forest" by this time of year. I am tempted to sneak over there for a peak. Okay. I confess. I'm guilty of trespassing. It is so quiet and calm under those trees even on the windiest days. I can see why the deer enjoy it there.
Jobs that need to be done before spring? I have several trees--small--that have to give way to the saw. Some small trees have to go that are coming up in the rock garden right next to the house. I cut those down every winter, but they return for another "battle." I have a couple of scraggly pine trees that I want to remove so the flower beds next to them can get more light. There are also a number of trees coming up in the midst of the huge conifer in the front of the property. I want to get rid of the competition. Wish I had a chain saw, but I don't, so Iten power will have to do. The exercise won't hurt me, and I'd probably lose a hand or a foot to a chain saw being the oaf that I am with tools. Another pre-spring chore is hauling all the fallen limbs back to the brush pile in the wild area. Eventually, the pile will be large enough to provide shelter in the winter for the creatures that make their home here. I have some holes to fill as well. A muskrat has made my pond his home this winter, and my canine friends have been eagerly digging holes in hopes of having that elusive muskrat meal. Muskrat love it is not. If I don't fill the holes, my lawn mower will get stuck come spring and summer. The outlaw gang has been very persistent in their pursuit. You would think that they were dogs or something. . . oh, wait. . .
And this winter as I walk I have kept an apprehensive eye on the flower beds and other areas where I know flowers have been planted--naturalized. The poor things have been befuddled by the warm weather. Now the pussy willow is always full of buds, so I don't worry about it--at least the monster bush by the pond. And there are other plants that stay green all winter as well: Lenten roses, mountain laurel, dwarf conifers, iris, rhododendron, azalea (more red than green), and primrose to name a few. But as early as January this year, I have had daffodils coming up. And now, tulips, hyacinth, lilies--particularly the pink ladies, and the crocus are emerging. I suppose that's normal for the crocus, but still I fret. Oh me of little faith. I'm sure such winters have occurred countless times over the years and all has been well. But . . . Anyway, such things occupy my searching eyes as I walk. And, of course, the sin of anticipation has already set in as I imagine what new things will pop up this spring in the places where I planted them last fall. The old mind churns as the old feet walk. Oh, and winter lovers (like myself) don't worry: no forsythia yet so according to the old legends we have at least three snows to come!
Anyway, all of this is just to say that walks in "the dead of winter" are actually quite lively. Things to see. Work to imagine. (I may even do some of it.) Fears to assuage. Exercise for the mind, the body, and even the soul.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Chapter 16: A Lark in the Meadow
"Lark": "a merry or hilarious adventure."
The "history" of the back of Iten's Acres is more involved than the front of the property. Out front, I just picked a spot I liked, put in a flower bed, added flowers, and started looking for another spot. No big deal.
But when I bought the Acres, I didn't have the slightest idea what was in the back. No clue. From the trees right behind the house to the back of the property--and I wasn't even sure where that was--it was an overgrown tangle. My first weekend here I forged my way through the tangle to see what I could find. A lark in the meadow so to speak, though it wasn't really a meadow yet--just wild. Yet, my first trek didn't uncover anything amazing--no trees of significance, no hidden pond, no Eldorado, no cool giant huge boulders, nothing to conquer. My dreams of being the next conquistador quashed. Not that anyone with a conscience would want to be a conquistador. All I found was a small hill--the property slopes down toward the back of the Acres, and a wire fence that I assumed was the line between my land and the neighbor's land behind me. I also discovered that it was a haven for the neighborhood deer herd. They fled like bouncing super balls when I came thrashing through the wilderness. It was fairly obvious that they were not very brave. I mean, they had me outnumbered a dozen to one, but away they bounced. Obviously, this was not the "home of the brave" (at least not for the last two centuries anyway). So the first foray into the wildness, though enjoyable, uncovered nothing mind-boggling, except that the deer obviously considered it their home, not mine.
After Daniel Boone-ing my way back up to the house, the next course of action was obvious. Clear away the tangles. I asked my neighbor Aaron if he thought I could just mow it down with my old riding mower. He told me not to try because the land was probably covered with large stones. That did not prove to be true. The stones out there proved no threat to my riding mower. I honestly doubt, however, if my old mower could have handled all that brush. Not to mention that it probably would have disappeared into one of the myriad of groundhog holes that were uncovered once the area was mowed. So, good advice. Wrong reasoning, but good advice. I wonder how many times I've been guilty of that!
Anyway, the solution to clearing away the tangles was to hire someone with a bush hog. It took me a month, until September, to find someone. It took him several hours to clear it. For some reason he left two small circular areas claiming that he had seen evidence of birds there. Really? Birds living in a thicket in the country. Who knew? He also started to cut into my trees behind the house even though I had specifically told him not to do that. Fortunately, I had gone out to check on his progress and caught him in the act before too much damage was done. "It's hard to find good help these days." I guess the power of the machine went to his head?
Once cleared, the next step was to decide what to do with the area. It was undeniably a much bigger space than out front. There was the hill. There was the deer herd and the groundhogs who would no doubt appreciate me planting flowers and small trees that they could munch on. (And they have done that on occasion, but not all the things I've planted. Some they eat. Some they ignore. A matter of taste I guess.) Anyway, decisions to be made. I knew I wanted a wild flower area. I knew I wanted to begin an orchard. As mentioned, I was leery of putting actual flower beds out there because of the beasts. Although, at Mom's suggestion I was considering a rock garden on a barren hill side. In addition, I wanted to put some larger trees in the area. Decisions. Decisions.
So that's a little introduction to the history of the back acres. I wish I could tell you that the meadow larks have moved in each spring to nest. They haven't. They nest down the road a little bit. Beautiful birds with a beautiful song. What I have done with my "meadow"? I'll tell you next time--fill in the details. That will probably be the last chapter in the History of Iten's Acres. Hope the journey through the last six years of this little patch of the world hasn't been too boring. But for these six years of eternity this has been my place on earth, loaned to me by the God who created it all. And it has indeed been a lark.
The "history" of the back of Iten's Acres is more involved than the front of the property. Out front, I just picked a spot I liked, put in a flower bed, added flowers, and started looking for another spot. No big deal.
But when I bought the Acres, I didn't have the slightest idea what was in the back. No clue. From the trees right behind the house to the back of the property--and I wasn't even sure where that was--it was an overgrown tangle. My first weekend here I forged my way through the tangle to see what I could find. A lark in the meadow so to speak, though it wasn't really a meadow yet--just wild. Yet, my first trek didn't uncover anything amazing--no trees of significance, no hidden pond, no Eldorado, no cool giant huge boulders, nothing to conquer. My dreams of being the next conquistador quashed. Not that anyone with a conscience would want to be a conquistador. All I found was a small hill--the property slopes down toward the back of the Acres, and a wire fence that I assumed was the line between my land and the neighbor's land behind me. I also discovered that it was a haven for the neighborhood deer herd. They fled like bouncing super balls when I came thrashing through the wilderness. It was fairly obvious that they were not very brave. I mean, they had me outnumbered a dozen to one, but away they bounced. Obviously, this was not the "home of the brave" (at least not for the last two centuries anyway). So the first foray into the wildness, though enjoyable, uncovered nothing mind-boggling, except that the deer obviously considered it their home, not mine.
After Daniel Boone-ing my way back up to the house, the next course of action was obvious. Clear away the tangles. I asked my neighbor Aaron if he thought I could just mow it down with my old riding mower. He told me not to try because the land was probably covered with large stones. That did not prove to be true. The stones out there proved no threat to my riding mower. I honestly doubt, however, if my old mower could have handled all that brush. Not to mention that it probably would have disappeared into one of the myriad of groundhog holes that were uncovered once the area was mowed. So, good advice. Wrong reasoning, but good advice. I wonder how many times I've been guilty of that!
Anyway, the solution to clearing away the tangles was to hire someone with a bush hog. It took me a month, until September, to find someone. It took him several hours to clear it. For some reason he left two small circular areas claiming that he had seen evidence of birds there. Really? Birds living in a thicket in the country. Who knew? He also started to cut into my trees behind the house even though I had specifically told him not to do that. Fortunately, I had gone out to check on his progress and caught him in the act before too much damage was done. "It's hard to find good help these days." I guess the power of the machine went to his head?
Once cleared, the next step was to decide what to do with the area. It was undeniably a much bigger space than out front. There was the hill. There was the deer herd and the groundhogs who would no doubt appreciate me planting flowers and small trees that they could munch on. (And they have done that on occasion, but not all the things I've planted. Some they eat. Some they ignore. A matter of taste I guess.) Anyway, decisions to be made. I knew I wanted a wild flower area. I knew I wanted to begin an orchard. As mentioned, I was leery of putting actual flower beds out there because of the beasts. Although, at Mom's suggestion I was considering a rock garden on a barren hill side. In addition, I wanted to put some larger trees in the area. Decisions. Decisions.
So that's a little introduction to the history of the back acres. I wish I could tell you that the meadow larks have moved in each spring to nest. They haven't. They nest down the road a little bit. Beautiful birds with a beautiful song. What I have done with my "meadow"? I'll tell you next time--fill in the details. That will probably be the last chapter in the History of Iten's Acres. Hope the journey through the last six years of this little patch of the world hasn't been too boring. But for these six years of eternity this has been my place on earth, loaned to me by the God who created it all. And it has indeed been a lark.
Friday, January 13, 2012
First Snowfall
On a day like today--a beautiful snowfall--I always think of a poem I used to teach in my American Literature classes. It's not a poetic masterpiece in a technical sense, but I don't worry about that stuff anyway. I suppose that as someone who taught literature for thirty years that those things should matter to me, but they don't. Not at all. I don't care if it's iambic pentameter or whatever it is. I don't care what the rhyme scheme is or even if it has one. I prize a poem if I can see the imagery and if I can feel the emotion of the poet. So, here's a poem for you. Stand by my window with me, watch the falling snow on the trees and field, read, and feel the pathos--the moments in our lives when beauty, sorrow, and love are intertwined. (If it doesn't, that's fine. I'll enjoy it for you.)
The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails softened to swan's-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snowbirds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
And I told of the good All-Father
Who cares for us here below.
Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.
I remember the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar that renewed our woe.
And again to the child I whispered,
"The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!"
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded deep under deepening snow.
The First Snowfall by James Russell Lowell
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night
Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine and fir and hemlock
Wore ermine too dear for an earl,
And the poorest twig on the elm tree
Was ridged inch deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roofed with Carrara
Came Chanticleer's muffled crow,
The stiff rails softened to swan's-down,
And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky,
And the sudden flurries of snowbirds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn
Where a little headstone stood;
How the flakes were folding it gently,
As did robins the babes in the wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, "Father, who makes it snow?"
And I told of the good All-Father
Who cares for us here below.
Again I looked at the snowfall,
And thought of the leaden sky
That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.
I remember the gradual patience
That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding
The scar that renewed our woe.
And again to the child I whispered,
"The snow that husheth all,
Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!"
Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her
And she, kissing back, could not know
That my kiss was given to her sister,
Folded deep under deepening snow.
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