Seasonal

Jim and Matt were away for the day on Thursday, which gave me a good opportunity to drive to the South Fork shops. 

I needed a bit of fabric from The Quilters' Trunk so braved the steeply winding road to that destination first. 

In theory at least, it should be possible to meet and pass another vehicle on those roads without plunging into a ravine or heading for the ditch, but I always fervently pray that I won't have to deal with that challenge. It is a matter of choosing the least tortuous of several 'short cuts' and chugging cautiously around the hairpin bends. I usually take one road in and another on the way back to the main route.

I allowed myself a few minutes to appreciate the new fabrics shelved at the quilt store and to note the sample projects displayed. The store is also a Bernina dealership offering the latest models of sleek machines. A look at the price tags reassures me that I am very content with my 20 year old Elna and my newer Janome Memory Craft! 

Winding down the steep hill past Cat Hollow Farm I found a few useful items at Sunny Valley Salvage, then stopped at Laverne's Produce Market.

I can't resist taking photos at Laverne's although the early spring display of bedding plants and the autumn offerings are the same each year.

If I was to buy a potted 'mum' it wouldn't be one in full bloom.

Many Amish/Mennonite families in S. Fork specialize in growing mums for market. Throughout the summer we can watch the process as we drive by a yard dedicated to mums. The pots are arranged in rows on an expanse of landscape barrier cloth and water lines are laid to each pot. The plants are judiciously snipped and pruned to achieve the full and rounded shape they will display at maturity.

The rough benches which in springtime hold small pots of annual flowers and herbs are now heaped with pumpkins of every possible shape and color.

Most of these are sold as fall decorations. 

I didn't check whether humble 'pie' pumpkins were available, although a shaded table displayed large stripey cushaws. 

A bin of warty gourds.

I hadn't seen this decorative offering before.

The tag reads 'Straw bale and pumpkin combo: $40.

My own seasonal effort involves the apples that Howard brought back from his recent stay in Vermont.

During our years in Kentucky we have tried most of the locally available apples, those brought in from the Carolinas, some raised in Pennsylvania, a few from local orchards.

The names of the varieties are familiar: Cortlands; Winesaps; Red Delicious; MacIntosh. 

Sadly, the tart/sweet flavor and crisp texture of New England apples isn't equaled in those grown farther south.

I hadn't thought of making pies today, having spent much of the day outdoors.

Jim parked himself in front of his TV with a colander full of Cortland apples, a paring knife and a container for peelings, announced that pies were in order.

Pies made for a household of two using standard sized 'pie plates' [ usually 9 inch or larger] aren't consumed quickly enough.

I recently ordered 7 inch glass pie plates from Amazon [where else?] and they are a perfect size for a pie to be eaten while fresh.

Flaky pastry, flavorful apple slices that kept their shape while baking, a sprinkling of brown sugar and cinnamon. 

The pies came out of the oven just before we went out to walk the meadow loop in the quickly fading daylight; one pie has been put away for Howard to retrieve tomorrow; another has been tucked, unbaked, in the freezer .

And one, the first from the oven, has been tested and pronounced nearly perfect!

 

October Walks

I loaded these photos on October 2nd--a week ago--and didn't return to caption or write about the walk.

These were noted on the almost daily trudge around the mowed half mile loop of our property.

There have been changes in only a week.

Wild Ageratum

When we bought this property in the fall of 2018 several years of neglect had allowed underbrush and native plants to crowd in from the wooded edges of the north and south ravines. 

In addition to clumps of blue ageratum, there were banks of jewelweed, shaggy heads of Joy Pye weed, goldenrod, frost asters. 

Seven summers of mowing and bush-hogging have tidied the perimeter edges of the meadow and the area below the house.

There are still wildflowers, weeds, invasive tangles of wild rose and honeysuckle.

Each year the groupings of plants are a bit different.

In late September I noticed a few stalks of deep purple ironweed, one of my favorite fall wildlings. 

I forgot to take my camera on my walks for several days; the rains came on and when I walked that way again the ironweed was long past its brilliance. 

Time and weather don't wait for us.

Snakeroot

A clump of white snakeroot growing in the shade just off the meadow path.

From wikipedia: White snakeroot contains the toxin tremetol; when the plants are consumed by cattle, the meat and milk become contaminated with the toxin. When milk or meat containing the toxin is consumed, the poison is passed on to humans.

During the early 19th century, when large numbers of European Americans from the East, who were unfamiliar with snakeroot, began settling in the plant's habitat of the Midwest and Upper South, many thousands were killed by milk sickness. Notably, milk sickness was possibly the cause of death in 1818 of Nancy Hanks Lincoln, mother of Abraham Lincoln

New England asters aka Michaelmas daisies--a variety grown several years ago from seed purchased from Prairie Moon Nursery. The asters have appeared in several shades of lavender, dusty purple and rose, spreading vigorously. This clump has since been dug up and moved to over-winter in one of the large black tubs. My efforts at wildflower gardening need an overhaul.

Jim mowed the veg garden on September 1st after harvesting what the drought had spared. 

There seemed no point in attempting the usual fall crops after weeks of watering while heat and drought prevailed. 

Showers during the last full week of September prompted the seeds from rotted cucumbers and melons to burst through the soil. Sadly, no growing season left for the plants to flower and set fruit.

We aren't big fans of cherry tomatoes although judging by the prices on a small carton in the supermarkets they are to be considered a gourmet item.

Several plants volunteered at the edge of one of the black bins and J. allowed them to grow. 

They have sprawled and clambered in a tangle of branches, setting hundreds of bite-sized tomatoes.

I eat a few when I walk past the bins, have smashed at least a dozen plump green hornworms discovered chomping their way along the stems. 

It seems that once planted a garden will never be without them.

Heads of dwarf sunflowers were picked clean by goldfinches before the rains came. Jim mowed through the stalks when he cut grass earlier this week.

Early in September I tunked some strangled roots of spearmint from a pot and poked them into the dirt outside the greenhouse door, spared a bit of water to settle them in. 

Surprisingly, there is fresh growth and the stirring up of the soil encouraged catnip to spring up.

 A healthy clump of catnip by the barn door.

I must remember to cut and dry some for the winter entertainment of our house cats.

Clematis Jackmanii has made an effort at fall bloom.

Dr. Ruppel on the opposite side of the trellis has put forth fresh leaf growth but only a few late blossoms.

The time of year has arrived when blooming plants, wild or cultivated, are cherished as days grow shorter and the nights take on autumn chill.

 

Project Update

After several mornings and evenings of enjoying the uncovered deck, Jim decided it really would be improved by a roof.

Mid-morning on the 22nd we headed to the lumberyard for supplies, then stopped at Dutchman Metals to order roofing to match the house.

These are both thriving Amish/Mennonite businesses. I don't know the background of the families involved except that many in the area are related by marriage. Nor do I recognize the finer points which would specify the exact denominations of 'Plain People' who live in the area.

The businesses all use computer technology and often it is young women who do the office work.

At the metal shop we were informed it would be half an hour or more before the roofing was measured and cut, a good excuse to putter a few miles up the narrow winding road to Sunny Valley and enjoy a serving of soft ice cream.

Later as we headed for home the sky grew purple-black, lightning zipped through the clouds.

By the time we reached our house, a mere 15 minute drive, the heavens had opened and rain was pounding down. 

The rocking chairs left on the deck were soaked; when tilted to bring inside rain water streamed from the cushions.

There was first of all the rank tired smell of ground too long dry, then as rain continued to pelt down  the scent of refreshment and renewal hung on the damp air.

Showers continued through Wednesday evening, temperatures slightly cooler.

It was astonishing to note how quickly the meadow grass turned to green again, while seemingly exhausted container annuals pushed out gangly-stemmed blooms.

Jim went directly to work on Tuesday and on Friday the 'deck' became a 'front porch' when the roofing metal went on. 

An experienced helper would have made the task easier and though Howard offered his assistance his days have been long with building for clients.

I suspect Jim rather liked the challenge of devising ways to work over head.

I was called at the end of work days to gather tools into the wheelbarrow so that everything could be put under cover for the night.

I did occasionally hold a level or hand out wood screws; mainly I kept a pitcher full of raspberry iced tea on tap.

I kept an appointment at the eye clinic, made bread, roasted a chicken, steamed the excellent green beans Matt bought at the Speck Ridge auction.

A question was posed on the facebook page devoted to Jim's maternal line, so I happily went down various rabbit holes to discover and type a report of the relevant data. 

I can interrupt most any scheduled work when family research calls.

The porch roof has diminished the amount of light streaming into the east-facing kitchen. I don't think this is a problem as during sunny weather the reflection of light on the counters and appliances sometimes made the work area too bright.

My half mug of milky coffee seems to taste better when sipped on the porch. I raise my face to the slant of the morning sun as it shimmers on the heavy dew clinging to the meadow grass. 

In early evening the distant barking of dogs, the clatter and groan of a combine in the soybean field up the road, the shushing whisper of dried leaves falling from the trees along the north ravine are a peaceful accompaniment to the book I'm reading.

Jim comes out, sits in his rocker for a few minutes, then reminds me that if we're going to walk our evening loop around the meadows we'd best get moving as darkness now comes earlier. 

 

Mid-September

The main work of deck construction is finished!

Jim has mentioned possibly putting a roof over it, but for now has turned his attention to tinkering several of his tractors.

There are steps off the right hand edge--where I thought a ramp might be built. That may happen later as well. 

The 'beds' for the outdoor cats remain tucked against the left hand rail of the original porch, an eyesore, but the two old cats, Willis and Sally, are accustomed to them.

I'm hoping to see brick pavers laid along the front edge of the deck, but have been told that the ground there is packed so hard it would take some vigorous work with a shovel, a layer of weed barrier, and sand to provide a stable base for the bricks.

We drove to Glasgow on Monday thinking that Rural King or Lowes might have patio furniture. The websites of both stores showed a selection in stock and on sale. When we got there we were told that the furniture had all been removed from the sales floors in early August.

I admit to being annoyed--if an item isn't for sale, remove the details from the stores' websites!

For our first morning using the deck we dragged out some folding camp chairs; on the second day Jim carried out our Amish-made bentwood rockers, purchased when we were living at the Amish farmhouse with its large wrap-around porch.  These have been in the east sunroom. Unless/until there is a roof over the deck we'll be hauling the chairs inside during rainy weather. [Rain would be a novelty at this point! We are back in drought mode.]

We seem to have collected an assortment of chairs: a pair of faux wicker cushioned armchairs that live in the west sunroom [seldom used] a very comfortable wicker rocker with cushion presented by our niece, and a huge wooden Cracker Barrel rocker donated by her daughter. 

Jim quite regularly decides he isn't comfortable with the chair in his room where he watches TV, so there is a grand shuffling of furniture. The wicker rocker has moved to the east sunroom, as has the Cracker Barrel rocker. A dilapidated leather rocker/recliner is now back in Jim's space.

The resident cats enjoy checking out these changes !

New retaining wall for the sloping area below the porch. I debated how I wanted to handle this; there is no depth of decent soil there, nor is the 'bed' wide enough to allow for shrubs, even of a dwarf variety. I thought of dwarf hydrangeas or such in large tubs, but a discussion with the owner of my favorite nursery discouraged that. 

Jim laid some of the extra pavers over the relocated 'dirt' and plunked the various planters there. The plants in them have struggled during the prolonged heat and drought, with little in the way of bloom to show at the end of the season. 

This is the area where my Lauren's Grape poppies have self-sown each year. Hopefully those which have sprung up the past two seasons around the side door to the shop will do so in the spring and I will have seeds to scatter elsewhere.

I need to grub out some iris and invasive lemon balm which have tangled in the space below the downstairs window--always another job to consider, another area to refurbish and maintain.

 I bought 8 pansy plants at my favorite nursery last Friday, potted them up last evening.

Persian Carpet zinnias raised from seed. They've grown lanky in their container but have survived this arduous summer.

I had no idea the Michaelmas daisies /wild asters would be as invasive as they've become. 

They are so aggressive that some have to be weeded out, but the variety of purple, lavender, rose and dusty pink means that some of each color are keepers.

Monarda Lemon Bergamot, raised from seed is a winner.

I gave a plant or two to daughter Gina for her color-coordinated raised beds and she now has a thriving clump of it.

Bees and butterflies are much attracted to it.

Ragged cosmos in the raised bed along the greenhouse wall. Limited watering there, but they have survived, pushing through the branches of buddleia.

Cosmos in the newest raised bed.

The soil mix purchased for that bed hasn't been really satisfactory--it has settled and compacted, not enough humous to retain moisture.

Poor germination of the achillea seeds purchased this spring. They were designated as 'shades of red.' 

Six seedlings made it to the transplanting stage--one languished and died. The remaining five are thriving in one of the black bin-beds and this lovely blossom is rewarding. 

No break in the heat forecast until next week--and still no rain!

 

The Heavy Looking-On

Grampa Mac had a designation for a person who didn't quite pull their weight at a given task: according to him that man--whether hired or volunteer 'help'--was 

'doing the heavy looking-on.' 

The term could also apply to a female who stood, arms wrapped in her apron, and instructed the menfolk how best to do what they were already doing.

When Jim and I work together on a project, I often feel that while he is doing the 'skilled labor' I am merely holding the end of a board to be sawn, trotting off to fetch something, sweeping up the debris.

The current project is no different.

I do take credit for the grand idea! 

The raised bed plantings I hoped to maintain near the front door have not worked out as I imagined.

Howard and Jim obliged me several years ago by laying out pressure-treated timbers and hauling dirt. I raised plants from seed, bought a few more at my favorite nursery. The seedlings of Michaelmas daisies [aka asters] blue prairie flax, achillea, and blackberry lilies planted in the east-facing bed under the kitchen window immediately leaned into the light, grew rankly into a colorful but untidy tangle. The planting at the side of the steps fared little better. A nursery plant of common sage [salvia officinalis] became a sprawling shrub spilling onto the walkway, obliterating lavender, thyme and germander set in nearby. 

Extra seedlings of coneflower and the asters in shades of purple, rose and dusty pink were bunged into the smaller strip for want of any other place to put them. 

They took over!

During this long hot summer I began making noises to the effect that a deck at the side of the house would be an upgrade in curb appeal, eliminating plantings that were clearly out of control.

Jim said, 'Why do you want a deck? You wouldn't sit on it!'

Jim, prodded toward an idea that didn't originate with him, can turn balky, so I let the suggestion rest for a bit.

[Jim's Mom always maintained that if a woman can drop the seed of an idea into the male brain, let it germinate and take root until he believes the plan originated with him, then the woman in question can respond with delighted enthusiasm and praise if the man 'comes up' with the desired project! It is a delicate balancing act!]

Early this week Jim announced that he 'guessed' we might as well get on with building a deck.

He instructed me that if I wanted to save any of my plants I'd best be moving them to temporary quarters.

I began on the side bed Tuesday evening, cutting back bristling gone-to-seed stalks of coneflower and the Michaelmas daisies, some of which were still in full bloom. I carried the plants one by one to the black bins near the greenhouse and tucked them into the soil. 

Jim, finishing a bowl of ice cream, poked his head out the door to ask, 'Why don't you pile them all into the wheelbarrow instead of making so many trips?' 

The wheelbarrow is old and wobbling; I usually manage to overturn it. 

Besides--I didn't think of that solution!

Having worked my way along the bed to the sage bush I began prodding around it with my garden fork. The soil seemed the consistency of cement. I exchanged the fork for a spade, at which point Jim emerged from the house and took over. He crashed about in the tangle of branches, the air redolent with the smell of bruised sage. I whipped in with the pruning clippers trying to remove dead branches.

'Get the big pruners from the shop, ' Jim directed tersely, prying at stubborn roots.

The sage bush came free finally in a welter of pruned and broken branches, dead brush and crushed leaves. 

I've given it an entire planter bin, watered it in, will do some judicious pruning and hope that it recovers.

This morning while Jim gathered tools I removed all the plants I decided to salvage from the bed along the house wall.

Using my garden fork I began lifting up the patio pavers that made a walkway along the bed. 

You'll have gathered that I do things the hard way! 

[Its undoubtedly why my back hurts constantly!]

Again, Jim had a better plan. I was told to fetch the 'dolly' stored in the shed. 

I hoiked it from behind a garden tiller and the wood splitter and trundled it out.

 I balanced the thing, Jim lifted the pavers with the point of a hoe and stacked them on the dolly.

While he moved soil, laid out timbers, I thrashed about in the wall garden, yanking out goldenrod, tangled smartweed, and a horrid prickly weed for which I haven't found a name.

I went inside and made a fresh pitcher of raspberry iced tea.

I pegged washing on the back porch lines.

I tackled an overgrowth of lemon balm by the porch corner, steadied the ends of timbers that were being leveled and screwed into place.

I haven't done much of importance to advance the project; I don't have the skills or the brawn to use the power tools or to place timbers and boards. 

I have to be content with the heavy looking on!

Bringing in the bucket loader to clear the soil from the dismantled raised bed.

Isn't it great to have a variety of tractors and equipment on hand!

Soil removed.

This is the area alongside the front walkway. 

The plants and old timbers have been removed.

 

A retaining wall going up.

 

Soil moved from one 'bed' to another.

Jim asked if I intended replanting the area now that it has been leveled. With some regret I've decided not to attempt that. 

The plan of the moment is to extend the paved area and line up my tubs there.

I would love to have decorative shrubs edging the walkway, but given my battles with weeds and over-growth it doesn't seem like something I can manage.

 Tubs dragged out of the way.

More planters and the patio pavers waiting to be repurposed.

This project is about using what we have, so the cost for materials will be minimal.

The effect of the finished deck will likely be more rustic than the elaborate decks Howard designs and builds for his customers. 

I've finished the day with various aches from my inefficient manner of moving things, along with the minor misery of a rash on both arms from pulling tall weeds and carrying them off to tip at the edge of the south ravine. 

No matter. Enthusiasm for the envisioned new look of the house front carries me along.

And the raspberry iced tea was a winner!

Teasel: September 2007, WY--26 August, 2025 KY

We've known this would be Teasel's last summer with us. She had grown thin, less active, no longer leaping gracefully to lie on the foot of my bed, moving more slowly to curl up in her favorite spots. 

Always intelligent and with an inner clock that daily told her it was 'time for tea' she made sure to seek me out and remind me that I needed to go to the kitchen, set out the little dishes and pop the top off a tin of 'pate' or 'mixed grill.'

She could be wily, coming to sit prettily by my desk chair an hour early, blue eyes innocent, patting at my leg for attention. 'No, Teasel, you have to wait.' 

She would patter off, returning at 10 minute intervals until I gave in and dished out 'tea.'

Conversational, companionable, the dearest of cats.

Fragile as she had become over the past month, she still greeted me each morning, nudged me to lift her and carry her from window to window.

We bought special food for her, doled out in half a dozen tiny meals each day. 

Yesterday Teasel stopped eating. She still followed me from room to room, her steps tottering, her voice muted and plaintive. 

I drove the short distant to the vet clinic this afternoon, the cat carrier on the seat beside me. 

The staff there are kind. A thick fleece blanket was laid on the examining table, tucked around Teasel's frail body.  I stroked her as the merciful needle went in.

She lies now in our cat cemetery at the edge of the woods.

Jim helped me arrange moss-covered stones over the grave I prepared several weeks ago.

We named the other grassy mounds there: Mima; Charlie; Edward; Chester; Nellie; 

I have buried pets in every place we have lived. It is never easy.

Teasel was truly a darling--18 years is a good life for a cat.

However long they are with us, it is never quite long enough.

We never learned where Teasel came from. She was there, outside a bedroom window on the last weekend of October as a Sabbath sunset flamed down from the Wind River Mountains and the wind blew cold around the house.

She skittered into the garage, hid behind a pile of lumber. The overhead doors had yet to be installed and I knew that I would need careful cunning to capture her.

A saucer of tuna in the hav-a-hart trap lured her from behind the stack of boards. She dashed into the trap, snatched a mouthful, ducked warily out, her tiny body too light to trip the spring and bring down the door of the trap. I crept nearer the trap, made what I hoped were convincing mother cat noises.

She was hungry and the tuna was irresistible.

She darted in and out of the trap several more times, ignoring the fact that each time she retreated to the lumber pile I crept closer to the trap. 

I was within arm's reach the last time the kitten approached the saucer of tuna, and I knew I'd have only one chance to spring the door shut before she would flee into the night.

Carried into the warmth of the kitchen she hissed and spat, banged her tiny nose against the bars of the cage.

I called Matt and Devin from next door to see this baby cat we had trapped.

Matt took a pencil, poked the eraser end through the bars, began to rub it around the kitten's ears while making a soft 'tsk-tsk' sound.

The kitten stopped hissing; a tentative purr grew as Jim lifted her from the cage and handed her to me.

When our vet saw her a few days later he determined that she was eight weeks old, born during the early days of September.

From the first, Teasel was my cat, though always gracious to most members of the family.

Ready to help construct a quilt.

A lovely young cat.

I admired her stripy stockings!

Still beautiful a year ago.

What was this about? Eyes slightly crossed, tongue stuck out!

Teasel's beauty was gone in these last weeks, her coat matted, her eyes dimmed.

Choosing the time when a dear pet's life must close is never easy.

Teasel is one whose memory will be cherished.

Quilts: A Finish and Works In Progress

I have a 'library' of books on quilting, most published during the first decade of the 2000's.

I seldom make a quilt exactly as pictured in a pattern, and I may never make even one quilt from a particular book. Its all about mulling possibilities and enjoying what another quilter has created.

The above book, rather unique, was a birthday gift a year or two ago from J's cousin who takes quilt construction and finishing to a level well beyond my efforts. 

We share a dedication to meticulous workmanship and a love of fabrics in our chosen colors.

This particular book has a number of projects which require the use of templates. Will I venture one or merely admire?

The most traditional block in the above book is called 'Aunt Sukey.'

I knew I wanted to make this; when I pulled out my stash of Moda fabrics two coordinating 'lines' reminded me of a friend's lovely sunroom, decorated with vintage collectables and inviting fresh colors.

Several blocks were constructed in January and then put aside while laboring over the afore-mentioned large quilts.

The construction of each block is the same. Note how the color placements give different effects to the pattern.

There is special pleasure in making a quilt as a gift, hoping that it will bring as much delight to the recipient as to the creator.

I finished this one in June and sent it for the local long-arm machine quilter to work her magic. The best photos of the finished quilt are on my phone--which seems to lack compatibility with blogger.

Rummaging in my assortment of 'spare parts' revealed a stack of triangles sliced from larger units in another project. I chain-stitched the triangle pairs, trimmed to 2 1/2 inches and produced 4 inch pinwheels. I thought of making a table runner. I wrestled with the math for a diagonal setting with a neutral background fabric for the alternate blocks. 

Of course the quilt grew! By the time I decided on 8 rows across and 10 down I needed to quickly construct a few extra pinwheels.

The first 4 rows are stitched, the remainder laid out on the guest room bed. Depending on what I use for borders it will become a generous lap/throw size. 

I'm becoming rather fond of it.

I drafted this as a 9 inch block when blogger-friend Bovey Belle posted a photo from a quilting magazine.

Two blocks constructed and I'm anxious to work on this again. Due to my difficulties with 'mirror images' I need to lay the units out very carefully, one block at a time and make sure I don't turn them when moving the pieces the few inches from table to sewing machine.

Other fabrics in my large stash are begging to be turned into pretty quilts.

My 25  year old Elna machine made a visit this month to the local shop for cleaning and tune-up. I use the Elna for piecing; my larger/newer Janome is helpful for stitching on long rows, borders and for applying binding. 

No lack of fine fabrics, plenty of ideas for future projects. 

The house wants a fall cleaning--but making quilts is far more rewarding!