Yesterday, it was a Sunday, and we didn't have to worry about coordinating our activities with the Hospice folks, so I took Mom on a trek into the backroads of Morrow County--we even slipped into Knox County for a little while. It was a bit of a struggle getting her into the car but well worth the effort. As we travel, she comments about everything: the crops in the fields, the animals, each little country burgh we pass through, the weather, the sky--everything. A running commentary for our hour or so of meandering. She loves to cherish each moment of the present tense. And, of course, each present tense moment brings something from her memories into play. Sometimes I can see the connection; sometimes not. But they're good memories. She loves to relive moments from her past. After all, a vast portion of her life resides there. One of our family heirlooms is the time (many of them) when one of the kids would ask Pop something, and he would say, "I don't know. Go ask your mother. If she doesn't know, she'll make something up." She observes, comments, rests confidently in her conclusions. I nod, occasionally throw in an "un huh," and smile a lot. Wouldn't have it any other way. Drive on.
We encountered an Amish horse and wagon at the very outset of our journey. I've never seen one this far away from their communities. He was a long, long way from home. And no gas stations between here and there.
I'm not a farmer but despite having so little rainfall the crops look marvelous to me. The corn is ten, twelve feet high, tasseled. The soy beans look lush; one big five, ten acre bush. The fields resonate green. Farm animals are out and about. Cows, roving chickens (they're all free range out here), horses--what a regal animal, sheep with their guard llama. The sheep, at times, don't appear to be too bright. I've seen them on days when it was a zillion degrees with humidity to match all huddled together next to the barn. How can that not be suffocating? (I better understand God referring to us as sheep--not too bright at times. I speak only for myself.) The llama has it all together. He likes to stand right in the middle of the creek under the shade of some small trees. He may be their protector and champion, but I get the idea that they're not exactly good friends. Unless he's trying to pull the wool over my eyes again. Today, it was cooler and the sheep were scattered, I couldn't even see security.
We saw the biggest flock of barn swallows I have ever seen. Had to be at least fifty perched on the telephone wires, on the road, flying over the fields. Amazing. I wanted to race home, get my riding mower, and come back, and mow the field. Can you imagine be surrounded by four or more dozen of gorgeous, acrobatic, velvet blue, dive bombers? Just thinking about the glory of it makes me laugh out-loud for joy, makes my heart race at the wonder of it. Undoubtedly it would be better than any out of body experience. I have never seen so many! It's either been a good year for barn swallows or they're flocking together for a trip South sooner than I would have expected. We had summer in winter; maybe a blizzard is coming in mid-August? They wouldn't say. Maybe one of my ornithologist friends can educate me. Saw another flock about half that size no more than a mile further down the road.
Anyway, it was a good trip. No destination required. Just meander aimlessly. Mom enjoying each moment, "educating" like good moms always too, soaking in the beauty of the day. She shared one of her favorite anecdotes of a woman walking down the street and calling out to her, "Heaven is my Home, but I'm not Homesick yet." To be perfectly honest, I rather think she actually is at least a little Homesick. Lots of old friends to see again, Pop is waiting, myriads of people she introduced to Jesus, the One she's been carrying on a conversation with for decades but has yet to meet face to face.
All roads lead Home. Travel on.
Monday, July 30, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
Odds and Ends--Mostly Odds
There were no encounters of a third kind at Iten's Acres this week--unless you count the mouse that was on the riding mower when I went to get it out early in the week. He was not happy to see me. And I didn't think he was planning on mowing the lawn for me. He panicked and ran under the mower. I'm surprised that he didn't have a mouse heart attack when I turned it on. Luckily for him I don't turn on the blades until I get out into the yard. The little rascals like to build a nest in the motor. Time to get out the d-con. Emmm, tasty. I don't bother in the winter. Dave the lawnmower guy always cleans out the nest when he gives me my spring tuneup.
I mowed the front of the Acres. Even though we haven't had much rain, the grass has still been growing. Well, actually it's the buck thorn. If you don't know what buck thorn is, count your blessings, name them one by one. Number one: not knowing what buck thorn is. Ugly, invasive weed. I think if I ever had a lawn company put something down that kills dandelions and buck thorn, I might not have much lawn left out front. Yep, I know, a bit of an exaggeration. But exaggeration can be therapeutic at times.
There are flowers blooming everywhere. Each bed has beauty. Hibiscus and rose of Sharon are scattered here and there in odd places. The pond has a bouquet of yellow water lilies. The wild area still has a zillion (exaggeration) Queen Anne's Lace, a couple kinds of coneflowers, some lingering day lilies, and black-eyed Susans. But the star of the show is the phlox. I brought up a couple of plants from Mom's South Carolina home when I first moved to the Acres. They are now everywhere. You can't keep them in the flower beds. Not that I would want to. Sun or shade makes no difference to them either. Every year there's a new bunch or two, or three, or four, or . . . You get the picture. They have a marvelous scent. Hummingbirds and butterfly love them. Bumble bees get inebriated on them. They just sit on them for hours. (I wonder if they have to get de-phloxed when they get back to the hive?) They also change colors as they spread. I must have a dozen different shades by now, and I started out with just two: pinks, reds, purples, lilacs, white, greens, two-tones. And they all bunch together. You can have four or five different colors in one small group. They are huge as well--six, seven feet tall. If you get a chance, flock to the nursery and get some phlox. They will bloom until the first frost as well.
The oddest events of this week at Iten's Acres: three days in a row of rain. I couldn't believe it. And the rain was followed by much cooler temperatures. Thank you, Lord. I pray you will send some of the stuff to Iowa, Indiana, Illinois, Texas, and any other place in need of it. Aren't you glad that He sends rain on the just and the unjust? Otherwise the whole world might be a desert.
I mowed the front of the Acres. Even though we haven't had much rain, the grass has still been growing. Well, actually it's the buck thorn. If you don't know what buck thorn is, count your blessings, name them one by one. Number one: not knowing what buck thorn is. Ugly, invasive weed. I think if I ever had a lawn company put something down that kills dandelions and buck thorn, I might not have much lawn left out front. Yep, I know, a bit of an exaggeration. But exaggeration can be therapeutic at times.
There are flowers blooming everywhere. Each bed has beauty. Hibiscus and rose of Sharon are scattered here and there in odd places. The pond has a bouquet of yellow water lilies. The wild area still has a zillion (exaggeration) Queen Anne's Lace, a couple kinds of coneflowers, some lingering day lilies, and black-eyed Susans. But the star of the show is the phlox. I brought up a couple of plants from Mom's South Carolina home when I first moved to the Acres. They are now everywhere. You can't keep them in the flower beds. Not that I would want to. Sun or shade makes no difference to them either. Every year there's a new bunch or two, or three, or four, or . . . You get the picture. They have a marvelous scent. Hummingbirds and butterfly love them. Bumble bees get inebriated on them. They just sit on them for hours. (I wonder if they have to get de-phloxed when they get back to the hive?) They also change colors as they spread. I must have a dozen different shades by now, and I started out with just two: pinks, reds, purples, lilacs, white, greens, two-tones. And they all bunch together. You can have four or five different colors in one small group. They are huge as well--six, seven feet tall. If you get a chance, flock to the nursery and get some phlox. They will bloom until the first frost as well.
The oddest events of this week at Iten's Acres: three days in a row of rain. I couldn't believe it. And the rain was followed by much cooler temperatures. Thank you, Lord. I pray you will send some of the stuff to Iowa, Indiana, Illinois, Texas, and any other place in need of it. Aren't you glad that He sends rain on the just and the unjust? Otherwise the whole world might be a desert.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Encounters
There were two encounters at Iten's Acres last week. The first came at about mid-morning when the matriarch called out from her throne, "What's this big animal walking down the driveway?" I couldn't imagine. What would be out there that she wouldn't recognize? I rose from my blue leather chair at the back of the house where I was, no doubt, doing nothing of significance, and walked to the front of the abode. Was it a lost elk from upper Michigan? Was it a bear from who knows where? Was it just a large coyote? I've seen one or two of them lately, but she's seen one of them before. We had a storm the day before (thanks again, Kathy), but I don't think it was a thunder of Hippos. Before I could even reach a viewing area--the kitchen window--I heard, "Oh, it's a deer." And behold it was. I admit it was the biggest deer by far that I have ever seen on the Acres. Huge. Beautiful creature, strolling down the driveway as if he owned it. Why is it that beautiful things can be so destructive? Anyway, as protector of the Acres, I grabbed the old trusty .22 and headed out the door. By the time I got out there, he was past the turn in the driveway and wandering by the flower beds, and I'm sure, looking hungrily at the hibiscus and lilies. When he saw me coming, his first response was a deer smirk. He just looked at me, did a deer shrug, and looked away. But, ahhhhh, when I fired the gun, he sprang into action, veered right into Dennis' thicket, and disappeared. I hope he kept going across 25, through the swamp, and into the woods on the other side. No, animal lovers, I did not shoot at the creature. I shot at the ground and hoped for the fear effect. It has worked before, and it worked again. Goodbye, beautiful devourer of beauty. Don't come back.
I wish we could talk to the animals. I really wouldn't mind their presence if they weren't so voracious. In fact, as I said, this deer was gorgeous. What would I tell him? "Say, dear deer, let's make a deal. You can cross my property any time unmolested by this chubby old bald guy. Just promise not to eat the flowers. I'll tell you what. I'll even buy you a huge bale of hay in the winter. I'll put out a salt block, too. And in hunting season you and yours can use my place for a sanctuary. I'll put up 'No Hunting' signs, wrap ribbons around you with a sign that says 'Pet Deer, don't shoot,' open up the shed so you can sleep inside safely. Just don't eat the daisies or anything else. Deal?" Wouldn't that be good? Sigh. Not going to happen. Sorry, if I see you again, I'll come gunning.
The second encounter is actually becoming a regular occurrence. If it's a cool time of day, I begin my walk by helping Mom into a chair on the front patio. She puts on her sun glasses, the pillow goes behind her, I give her her phone so she can call me while I'm out back if she needs me, and the old baseball hat goes on her head. She loves it, surrounded by flowers, birds, and the activity of a country yard. Then, I'm off to traverse the meadow and wild area, trudge around the pond, or wander by all the gardens out front. On occasion, I'm fortunate enough to run into Dennis out back, and we can have a neighborly chat. The encounter occurs when I come back to sit with Mom, and there, sitting happily by her side is one of the outlaws--Bonnie or Gus. They have discovered that if Mom is out there, they can get all the petting they want. Dog Heaven. It's a lovely sight. I am a little surprised because Mom is more of a cat person and actually has a little fear of dogs, but she has found two friends here, and love casts out fear as you all know. I am allowed to join the party and do some petting of my own, but Mom is the star. And she knows it. And revels in it. And yes, reveling is good.
Walking Iten's Acres you just never know what you might encounter. But encounters are good--even those with beautiful dangers.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
The WIA Dictionary
Prologue: I know. Dictionaries don't have prologues, but convention is not a theme at Iten's Acres. This should have probably been like the second or third entry in this developing blog, but I'm a little random so here it is now. And, of course, the WIA Dictionary will not be alphabetized. Random must rule!
Walking Iten's Acres: the process of ricocheting from flower bed to flower bed until one finds oneself in the back meadow. The process then becomes more of a meander until the wild area is reached. Then? Back to the ricocheting on the various paths. Backtracking is required. Stopping is also a necessity in order to walk properly. Sitting in the green throne on the top of the hill may also come into play. Yes, sitting quietly and observing is an integral part of Walking Iten's Acres.
Opera (literally "willing work"): Everything done on Iten's Acres is opera. The singing is provided by my feathered friends. Totally random of course. Barking dogs may also be part of the melodic symphony that accompanies my willing work.
Discombobulate: The feeling I have this year since the weather has messed up all my meticulous note keeping about what should bloom when and where. There is a feeling that I'm going to miss something. Beauty is a terrible thing to miss.
Feeding the Bluebirds: The mowing of the front of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you stop, turn off the mower, and sit quietly. Then, the bluebirds come and reap the bug harvest stirred up by the mowing. The longer you sit, the more birds join the party. Robins, goldfinch, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, catbirds, sparrows of all kinds. Makes a nice lunch break, even if I'm not the one eating.
Feeding the Swallows: The mowing of the back of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you not stop. These velvet acrobats enjoy circling the mower, flying right at you, coming from all sides, feasting on the fleeing insects. It is, believe it or not Ripley, a source of joy.
Serenity: 1) walking and being totally ignored by the bluebirds as they roam the Acres. I have been accepted as a non-threatening aspect of their lives 2) standing in the back meadow on a clear night overwhelmed by the majesty of a starlit sky 3) lying on the floor upstairs listening to the rain dance on the roof 4) the moment when one is surprised by beauty. 5) The sound of two little children calling out "Hi Al" (The list goes on, but I'll stop for now.)
Plague: A bad mosquito time: see spring of 2012
Expectation: The time spent from December to March wondering what bulbs that were planted in the fall will come to life in the spring.
Anticipation: The sense that today as you walk some new beauty will be blooming that was not blooming yesterday--or even this morning.
Gardening Angels: Those responsible for secretly planting new species each year at the Acres or for moving flowers to a new place that they've never been before. (Responsible this year already for a new elderberry bush, a columbine in a new place, an unknown wild flower in Bed 1 (The Morning Glory Bed), a Bronze Dutch iris in the Red and White Bed. More to come! I hope.
Outlaws: My two furry friends--Bonnie and Gus (No, I still haven't convinced Aaron to rename Gus Clyde). Walking companions at times. Work supervisors at times. Fertilizers at times. Skunk, rabbit, and ground hog exterminators at times (one of those activities is not appreciated). Occasional rascals--they do like to dig at times. Always more than happy to be petted and loved on.
Mulch: That practice that is used sparingly in order to ensure a new crop of larkspur, cosmos, snapdragons, etc. Yes, my gardens are "weedy." But it's worth the laziness. For example, the Rainbow Bed outside Mom's window, at one time had one balloon flower. This year there are over fifty.
Weeds: Plants that if we found them in the wild area would produce "oohs" and "aahhs" but in a flower bed are called "weeds" and summarily hated. Dandelions and buck thorn are, however, weeds and deserve to be despised.
Peace: When worries evaporate as one walks the Acres and breathes in the loveliness.
Compost: The leftovers that the Outlaws munch on if I toss them out back.
Varmints: Rabbits, deer, groundhogs. Walnut trees. Mosquitoes and ticks. Not even Iten's Acres is perfect.
Meadow: The open expanse at the back of the property. Great place for star gazing, feeding swallows, chatting over the fence with a good neighbor, sitting on a green throne.
Margins: The sides of the meadow that are allowed to grow wild. Home to a variety of birds. The goldfinch in particular like to nest in the margins. Every year they get just a tad wider.
Back Forty: The very back of the property, past the wild flower area, the place to stand and look back up at the house. When one arrives here, it is time to turn around and begin the meandering back. No, it is not forty of anything.
Iris--iris
Pepsi--Pepsi is the tree of life; coke came after the fall. (I just had to include that, sorry.)
Walking Iten's Acres: the process of ricocheting from flower bed to flower bed until one finds oneself in the back meadow. The process then becomes more of a meander until the wild area is reached. Then? Back to the ricocheting on the various paths. Backtracking is required. Stopping is also a necessity in order to walk properly. Sitting in the green throne on the top of the hill may also come into play. Yes, sitting quietly and observing is an integral part of Walking Iten's Acres.
Opera (literally "willing work"): Everything done on Iten's Acres is opera. The singing is provided by my feathered friends. Totally random of course. Barking dogs may also be part of the melodic symphony that accompanies my willing work.
Discombobulate: The feeling I have this year since the weather has messed up all my meticulous note keeping about what should bloom when and where. There is a feeling that I'm going to miss something. Beauty is a terrible thing to miss.
Feeding the Bluebirds: The mowing of the front of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you stop, turn off the mower, and sit quietly. Then, the bluebirds come and reap the bug harvest stirred up by the mowing. The longer you sit, the more birds join the party. Robins, goldfinch, cardinals, red-winged blackbirds, catbirds, sparrows of all kinds. Makes a nice lunch break, even if I'm not the one eating.
Feeding the Swallows: The mowing of the back of the Acres. It is absolutely essential that you not stop. These velvet acrobats enjoy circling the mower, flying right at you, coming from all sides, feasting on the fleeing insects. It is, believe it or not Ripley, a source of joy.
Serenity: 1) walking and being totally ignored by the bluebirds as they roam the Acres. I have been accepted as a non-threatening aspect of their lives 2) standing in the back meadow on a clear night overwhelmed by the majesty of a starlit sky 3) lying on the floor upstairs listening to the rain dance on the roof 4) the moment when one is surprised by beauty. 5) The sound of two little children calling out "Hi Al" (The list goes on, but I'll stop for now.)
Plague: A bad mosquito time: see spring of 2012
Expectation: The time spent from December to March wondering what bulbs that were planted in the fall will come to life in the spring.
Anticipation: The sense that today as you walk some new beauty will be blooming that was not blooming yesterday--or even this morning.
Gardening Angels: Those responsible for secretly planting new species each year at the Acres or for moving flowers to a new place that they've never been before. (Responsible this year already for a new elderberry bush, a columbine in a new place, an unknown wild flower in Bed 1 (The Morning Glory Bed), a Bronze Dutch iris in the Red and White Bed. More to come! I hope.
Outlaws: My two furry friends--Bonnie and Gus (No, I still haven't convinced Aaron to rename Gus Clyde). Walking companions at times. Work supervisors at times. Fertilizers at times. Skunk, rabbit, and ground hog exterminators at times (one of those activities is not appreciated). Occasional rascals--they do like to dig at times. Always more than happy to be petted and loved on.
Mulch: That practice that is used sparingly in order to ensure a new crop of larkspur, cosmos, snapdragons, etc. Yes, my gardens are "weedy." But it's worth the laziness. For example, the Rainbow Bed outside Mom's window, at one time had one balloon flower. This year there are over fifty.
Weeds: Plants that if we found them in the wild area would produce "oohs" and "aahhs" but in a flower bed are called "weeds" and summarily hated. Dandelions and buck thorn are, however, weeds and deserve to be despised.
Peace: When worries evaporate as one walks the Acres and breathes in the loveliness.
Compost: The leftovers that the Outlaws munch on if I toss them out back.
Varmints: Rabbits, deer, groundhogs. Walnut trees. Mosquitoes and ticks. Not even Iten's Acres is perfect.
Meadow: The open expanse at the back of the property. Great place for star gazing, feeding swallows, chatting over the fence with a good neighbor, sitting on a green throne.
Margins: The sides of the meadow that are allowed to grow wild. Home to a variety of birds. The goldfinch in particular like to nest in the margins. Every year they get just a tad wider.
Back Forty: The very back of the property, past the wild flower area, the place to stand and look back up at the house. When one arrives here, it is time to turn around and begin the meandering back. No, it is not forty of anything.
Iris--iris
Pepsi--Pepsi is the tree of life; coke came after the fall. (I just had to include that, sorry.)
Friday, May 18, 2012
The Ides of May
The Ides of May have passed. Safe. Safe at last. The one thing--the only thing--the weather geniuses have gotten right every year since I made Iten Acres my home is the frost date. No more frost after May 15th (at least until late fall anyway). What does that mean for the labor force at the Acres? No more covering things at night for one thing. But more importantly in the beauty department--I can now plant annuals. All my poor pots that have been sitting waiting to play their role in the loveliness of the grounds now get their chance. I think I may have about fifty of them--all different sizes and even a few different colors. Now, they are decorated.
Being naturally paranoid, I usually wait until about the 20th to go flower shopping. My favorite place is Baker's Acres, but I have not been able to go there since Mom arrived. They're just too far away. I couldn't leave her alone for as long as it would take to go there, shop, and come home--at least five hours round trip with the meandering through their flowers. They have more variety by far than anyone else around here. Ahhh well, perhaps another spring unless Mom outlives me. You never know. Anyway, second choice is Oakland Park Nursery in Delaware. It takes a couple of hours to go there even, shop, and return.
First priority is the "container garden" outside Mom's window on the patio where she loves to spend her mornings. Her favorites are marigolds, geraniums, lantana, and petunias. She already had several glorious containers of dianthus and pinks that had survived the warm winter--red, white, and pink everywhere. I also had already planted some pansies for her and a knockout red rose. Now, she has the entire "painting." Naturally, I added a few of my favorites: snapdragons, verbena, dahlias, begonia. In a couple of weeks, it will be gorgeous. Not that Mom isn't easy to please. She even thinks dandelions are beautiful. If only we all could see beauty everywhere we look--even at the weeds of life. I also planted a couple of "surprises" in her garden--calla lilies. I like surprises. I can't wait until they come up! (But I guess I'll have to.)
I also have "gardens" on the back patio, by the canopy, by the bird bath in The Conifer Bed. And I have pots scattered everywhere--by the pond, by the "doghouse," by the treeline, and, would you believe it, in the trees, in the meadow, and even in the wild area. "You can't have too much beauty" is the motto of Iten's Acres. Well, one of them anyway.
The nice thing about annuals is that once you plant them they bloom the rest of the spring, summer, and fall. They have no season like the perennials that have a "time" for blooming and then stop. And they keep getting larger and larger as the year goes on; more and more lovely. And many of them are propagators. They seed themselves and come back next year all on their own. (That's one of the reasons I don't mulch much. I'll endure some weedy gardens for more flowers.) I don't even have to plant cosmos, morning glories, or larkspur anymore if I can help it. (I can't always help it.) They have become annual perennials.
"Solomon in all his glory is not arrayed like one of these."
Aren't you glad you worship a God who loves the beautiful?
The Ides of May have passed. Safe. Safe at last. The one thing--the only thing--the weather geniuses have gotten right every year since I made Iten Acres my home is the frost date. No more frost after May 15th (at least until late fall anyway). What does that mean for the labor force at the Acres? No more covering things at night for one thing. But more importantly in the beauty department--I can now plant annuals. All my poor pots that have been sitting waiting to play their role in the loveliness of the grounds now get their chance. I think I may have about fifty of them--all different sizes and even a few different colors. Now, they are decorated.
Being naturally paranoid, I usually wait until about the 20th to go flower shopping. My favorite place is Baker's Acres, but I have not been able to go there since Mom arrived. They're just too far away. I couldn't leave her alone for as long as it would take to go there, shop, and come home--at least five hours round trip with the meandering through their flowers. They have more variety by far than anyone else around here. Ahhh well, perhaps another spring unless Mom outlives me. You never know. Anyway, second choice is Oakland Park Nursery in Delaware. It takes a couple of hours to go there even, shop, and return.
First priority is the "container garden" outside Mom's window on the patio where she loves to spend her mornings. Her favorites are marigolds, geraniums, lantana, and petunias. She already had several glorious containers of dianthus and pinks that had survived the warm winter--red, white, and pink everywhere. I also had already planted some pansies for her and a knockout red rose. Now, she has the entire "painting." Naturally, I added a few of my favorites: snapdragons, verbena, dahlias, begonia. In a couple of weeks, it will be gorgeous. Not that Mom isn't easy to please. She even thinks dandelions are beautiful. If only we all could see beauty everywhere we look--even at the weeds of life. I also planted a couple of "surprises" in her garden--calla lilies. I like surprises. I can't wait until they come up! (But I guess I'll have to.)
I also have "gardens" on the back patio, by the canopy, by the bird bath in The Conifer Bed. And I have pots scattered everywhere--by the pond, by the "doghouse," by the treeline, and, would you believe it, in the trees, in the meadow, and even in the wild area. "You can't have too much beauty" is the motto of Iten's Acres. Well, one of them anyway.
The nice thing about annuals is that once you plant them they bloom the rest of the spring, summer, and fall. They have no season like the perennials that have a "time" for blooming and then stop. And they keep getting larger and larger as the year goes on; more and more lovely. And many of them are propagators. They seed themselves and come back next year all on their own. (That's one of the reasons I don't mulch much. I'll endure some weedy gardens for more flowers.) I don't even have to plant cosmos, morning glories, or larkspur anymore if I can help it. (I can't always help it.) They have become annual perennials.
"Solomon in all his glory is not arrayed like one of these."
Aren't you glad you worship a God who loves the beautiful?
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Chapter 17: The End of History
Okay. It's not actually the end of history; just the end of the "History of Iten's Acres" segment of this blog. As you remember (right?), the back of the property had just been bush hogged and now I had to decide what to do with all that space. Decisions, decisions, decisions. Three things had already been decided: a "show stopper" as one entered the "expanse," an orchard, and a wildflower area. Lots of things were still to be decided, and the make up of the area has changed over the years. Things added. Things removed. I'm sure there are still some changes to come. I certainly have a few things I would like to do.
The "show stopper" ended up being a pair of crab apples: one deep red, one pinkish white. The show only goes on in the spring, but as you enter the back through the path through the trees in mid-May usually, the first thing that catches your eye--or at least is designed to catch your eye--are two trees ablaze in color. They catch my eye, of course, but I'm looking for them. They are still young so the color splash should only get bigger as the years pass by.
The orchard is still growing. Katie used to be Thompson helped me get it started that first fall. I guess I should name it after her. Immortalize her. If my memory serves me right, it was a cold even snowy (?) day when we planted those first saplings. But my memory is not to be trusted. The first two trees were two "cherry" trees. Unfortunately, they bloomed and had fruit last summer for the first time, and the fruit looked and tasted an awful lot like pears. I guess I need to add some real cherry trees to the orchard one of these days. Also in the orchard are apple trees, blueberry bushes, raspberry and blackberry bushes, some dying peach trees (Surely, there is a brand of Yankee peach trees somewhere. I love peaches!), and a hazel nut bush. I need another one of those in order for it to produce nuts I think. Only the pear cherry trees have produced so far. I would like to add some peaches that won't die, and I heard that there is a Northern plum tree out there somewhere. When they all mature, I can fight it out with the birds and wildlife for pie making rights.
The wildflower area was easy to do--just don't mow it and let it grow. I do mow paths through it so that I can meander between them and enjoy them up close. And I do mean meander. There's little I enjoy more than a slow trek through the wildflowers. I have, in fact, let the area expand over the years and even added a little wild area detached from the main garden. I may add another one this fall. To be honest, I was stunned by the vast variety of flowers and grasses that just grow naturally in the area. And every year God adds a few new ones. Last year, for example, my gardening angels planted spiderwort and prairie coneflowers in the wildness. I suppose I'm strange but I delight in such surprises. It's a fascinating spot to spend some idle time year around. What? Yep, you caught me. I have added some flowers of my own and usually throw a bag or so of wild flower seed in there every late fall or early winter. You do know that the best time to throw in those seeds is after the first snow? They then go through the natural sequence of cold and wet that they go through in nature. The only unnatural things I've planted in here are hundreds of daffodils and a few hyacinth. The deer and other creatures ignore them, and they are not intimidated by the battle with the natural stuff already out there. Competition does not scare them. I expect that in a few years Wordsworth or one of his disciples will want to come, stand on the top of my hill, and write a poem about them.
I have added two other areas to the back acres in the last few years. One, despite the fear of deer, I put a flower bed in the back. It's made out of old cement blocks I found on the property. I hope all you Better and Homes and Garden folks aren't too aghast at my choice of material. And I did hedge my bets by putting it right up near the tree line--a hop, skip, and a jump from the back of the house. Well, I can't hop, skip, or jump anymore, but you get the picture. Close. I think if I ran at full speed, I could get there in a day or two. Only once have I caught deer starting to nibble, and I fired my .22 in the air and away they fled. Now, they're hop, skip, and jump experts. And a rabbit was chewing on my phlox in there last summer. He is no longer among the living, and it appears he did not pass on the information in the genetic code of his ancestor. He, too, is no longer with us--the tulip muncher has met his end. Nope, not a single regret. It's a lovely bed by the way: daffodils, iris (of course), phlox, coneflowers, lilies, tulips, corydalis, monkshood. Beauty from early spring to frost.
The other new addition is the Rock Pile. It, too, is gorgeous, especially right now in early spring. The thrift and the creeping phlox are spreading like crazy carpeting the area. And there are some daffodils, iris, lilies, balloon flowers, and coneflowers as well as other stuff in here as well. I enjoy it immensely. Even if in the winter it is just a pile of rocks.
The main thing I would like to do back here is add some decent size trees--not many, just a few. I've tried small ones but they don't last long. Dinner for the deer and ground hogs. Thus, the need to get some trees a little more developed than the sapling stage. Time will tell. As for now, I just spend some quiet time sitting on the green throne at the top of the hill, taking in the beauty and the silence, feeling the breeze, and dreaming of what the next few years will add to the History of Iten's Acres.
The "show stopper" ended up being a pair of crab apples: one deep red, one pinkish white. The show only goes on in the spring, but as you enter the back through the path through the trees in mid-May usually, the first thing that catches your eye--or at least is designed to catch your eye--are two trees ablaze in color. They catch my eye, of course, but I'm looking for them. They are still young so the color splash should only get bigger as the years pass by.
The orchard is still growing. Katie used to be Thompson helped me get it started that first fall. I guess I should name it after her. Immortalize her. If my memory serves me right, it was a cold even snowy (?) day when we planted those first saplings. But my memory is not to be trusted. The first two trees were two "cherry" trees. Unfortunately, they bloomed and had fruit last summer for the first time, and the fruit looked and tasted an awful lot like pears. I guess I need to add some real cherry trees to the orchard one of these days. Also in the orchard are apple trees, blueberry bushes, raspberry and blackberry bushes, some dying peach trees (Surely, there is a brand of Yankee peach trees somewhere. I love peaches!), and a hazel nut bush. I need another one of those in order for it to produce nuts I think. Only the pear cherry trees have produced so far. I would like to add some peaches that won't die, and I heard that there is a Northern plum tree out there somewhere. When they all mature, I can fight it out with the birds and wildlife for pie making rights.
The wildflower area was easy to do--just don't mow it and let it grow. I do mow paths through it so that I can meander between them and enjoy them up close. And I do mean meander. There's little I enjoy more than a slow trek through the wildflowers. I have, in fact, let the area expand over the years and even added a little wild area detached from the main garden. I may add another one this fall. To be honest, I was stunned by the vast variety of flowers and grasses that just grow naturally in the area. And every year God adds a few new ones. Last year, for example, my gardening angels planted spiderwort and prairie coneflowers in the wildness. I suppose I'm strange but I delight in such surprises. It's a fascinating spot to spend some idle time year around. What? Yep, you caught me. I have added some flowers of my own and usually throw a bag or so of wild flower seed in there every late fall or early winter. You do know that the best time to throw in those seeds is after the first snow? They then go through the natural sequence of cold and wet that they go through in nature. The only unnatural things I've planted in here are hundreds of daffodils and a few hyacinth. The deer and other creatures ignore them, and they are not intimidated by the battle with the natural stuff already out there. Competition does not scare them. I expect that in a few years Wordsworth or one of his disciples will want to come, stand on the top of my hill, and write a poem about them.
I have added two other areas to the back acres in the last few years. One, despite the fear of deer, I put a flower bed in the back. It's made out of old cement blocks I found on the property. I hope all you Better and Homes and Garden folks aren't too aghast at my choice of material. And I did hedge my bets by putting it right up near the tree line--a hop, skip, and a jump from the back of the house. Well, I can't hop, skip, or jump anymore, but you get the picture. Close. I think if I ran at full speed, I could get there in a day or two. Only once have I caught deer starting to nibble, and I fired my .22 in the air and away they fled. Now, they're hop, skip, and jump experts. And a rabbit was chewing on my phlox in there last summer. He is no longer among the living, and it appears he did not pass on the information in the genetic code of his ancestor. He, too, is no longer with us--the tulip muncher has met his end. Nope, not a single regret. It's a lovely bed by the way: daffodils, iris (of course), phlox, coneflowers, lilies, tulips, corydalis, monkshood. Beauty from early spring to frost.
The other new addition is the Rock Pile. It, too, is gorgeous, especially right now in early spring. The thrift and the creeping phlox are spreading like crazy carpeting the area. And there are some daffodils, iris, lilies, balloon flowers, and coneflowers as well as other stuff in here as well. I enjoy it immensely. Even if in the winter it is just a pile of rocks.
The main thing I would like to do back here is add some decent size trees--not many, just a few. I've tried small ones but they don't last long. Dinner for the deer and ground hogs. Thus, the need to get some trees a little more developed than the sapling stage. Time will tell. As for now, I just spend some quiet time sitting on the green throne at the top of the hill, taking in the beauty and the silence, feeling the breeze, and dreaming of what the next few years will add to the History of Iten's Acres.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
The View from Iten's Acres, Spring 2012
We have lots of little idioms connected with spring in the American vernacular. You know: "spring forward"--when we "want" to give up an hour's sleep to have more daylight even though the days are already getting longer all by themselves. Or "he has a spring to his step" implying energy, bounce, elation. (Not to be used of anyone the morning they "spring forward.") Monetarily, we are often encouraged to "spring for it," pick up the tab so to speak. Deplete the extra bank account. (This is rarely said by the person expected to do the "springing.") And then there is always the "spring fling"--a time of joyous celebration. Anyway, the word "spring" has a lot of connotations attached to it, and such is the case for me as I walk Iten's Acres here in the spring of 2012. For me, it's a time of mixed emotions.
Actually it all started with the winter. Only one good snow, not much cold, not really a winter. Proof? I had daffodils coming up in early January. I had a fern that lived through the entire winter. Yep, the entire winter. Never died. Poor thing must be more addled than I am. The calender looked normal; the weather was bizarre.
And then things really heated up. Long before spring officially arrived, the warmth of spring swooped in. Ohio has been rehearsing for summer for over a month. Seventies and even the low eighties. Thunderstorms. High humidity. Peepers. Flowers blooming a month early.
Now as a flower addict that should be viewed as a good thing. Right? There should be a "spring in my step" as I traverse the Acres. As I walk each day, the blooms of late April and May are already here en masse. Usually in mid-March there are a few early crocus scattered here and there, snow drops, and perhaps the dwarf daffodils in, where else, the Spring Bed. This March? The willow trees are already "leafed out," and the ancient maple is ready to follow suit. I have gorgeous daffodils everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. All the beds except the Blue Bed have a host of them. (Horticulturists have not yet "invented" a blue daffodil.) The pond is surrounded--hundreds of yellows, whites, and pinks gracing the shore line. All the places I've "naturalized"--I love naturalizing--are bursting with blooms. You can't stand anywhere on my property without seeing a host of daffodils. Stunning. In a couple weeks I expect to have a thousand daffodil blooms on Iten's Acres. The crocus for the most part have already bloomed and faded away until next year. A few of the traditionalists are still popping up daily. They refused to be enticed by the weather and are adhering to the calendar. And hyacinth are everywhere. You can find them blindfolded. Ahhhh, the common scents of spring. There are corydalis, grape hyacinth in all their colors, dwarf iris, even the tulips are joining the parade. It's a joyous, beautiful walk.
But it's a month early. And being human, I struggle with embracing my "spring fling," the "good" of the beautiful landscape without expecting a disaster soon to come. Why are we humans like that? Okay, why is this human like this. Instead of being content and fully embracing the good times of blessing, I keep thinking some "evil" payback must be on the way. Sigh. If only I could be content and fully embrace the joys without those fears ricocheting around my mind. I mean, the "frost free" date for Ohio is May 1st. That's almost two months away. The forsythia just bloomed. FAS says I have three snows yet to come. (If you have seven forsythia does that mean 21 snows? By the way, thanks Mom and Chloe for the forsythia starts. They've done well.)
Anyway spring is here in full force. My walks are lovely. But . . . What's that old verse we use to say as kids: "Spring is here, the grass is ris" I wonder where the flower is? Oh, there you are you blooming idiot." Ahhh, if only this idiot would enjoy his "spring fling," walk with a spring in his steps in the full confidence that a real winter isn't lurking behind the jet stream waiting to spring forward and make me spring for it.
Actually it all started with the winter. Only one good snow, not much cold, not really a winter. Proof? I had daffodils coming up in early January. I had a fern that lived through the entire winter. Yep, the entire winter. Never died. Poor thing must be more addled than I am. The calender looked normal; the weather was bizarre.
And then things really heated up. Long before spring officially arrived, the warmth of spring swooped in. Ohio has been rehearsing for summer for over a month. Seventies and even the low eighties. Thunderstorms. High humidity. Peepers. Flowers blooming a month early.
Now as a flower addict that should be viewed as a good thing. Right? There should be a "spring in my step" as I traverse the Acres. As I walk each day, the blooms of late April and May are already here en masse. Usually in mid-March there are a few early crocus scattered here and there, snow drops, and perhaps the dwarf daffodils in, where else, the Spring Bed. This March? The willow trees are already "leafed out," and the ancient maple is ready to follow suit. I have gorgeous daffodils everywhere. And I do mean everywhere. All the beds except the Blue Bed have a host of them. (Horticulturists have not yet "invented" a blue daffodil.) The pond is surrounded--hundreds of yellows, whites, and pinks gracing the shore line. All the places I've "naturalized"--I love naturalizing--are bursting with blooms. You can't stand anywhere on my property without seeing a host of daffodils. Stunning. In a couple weeks I expect to have a thousand daffodil blooms on Iten's Acres. The crocus for the most part have already bloomed and faded away until next year. A few of the traditionalists are still popping up daily. They refused to be enticed by the weather and are adhering to the calendar. And hyacinth are everywhere. You can find them blindfolded. Ahhhh, the common scents of spring. There are corydalis, grape hyacinth in all their colors, dwarf iris, even the tulips are joining the parade. It's a joyous, beautiful walk.
But it's a month early. And being human, I struggle with embracing my "spring fling," the "good" of the beautiful landscape without expecting a disaster soon to come. Why are we humans like that? Okay, why is this human like this. Instead of being content and fully embracing the good times of blessing, I keep thinking some "evil" payback must be on the way. Sigh. If only I could be content and fully embrace the joys without those fears ricocheting around my mind. I mean, the "frost free" date for Ohio is May 1st. That's almost two months away. The forsythia just bloomed. FAS says I have three snows yet to come. (If you have seven forsythia does that mean 21 snows? By the way, thanks Mom and Chloe for the forsythia starts. They've done well.)
Anyway spring is here in full force. My walks are lovely. But . . . What's that old verse we use to say as kids: "Spring is here, the grass is ris" I wonder where the flower is? Oh, there you are you blooming idiot." Ahhh, if only this idiot would enjoy his "spring fling," walk with a spring in his steps in the full confidence that a real winter isn't lurking behind the jet stream waiting to spring forward and make me spring for it.
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