Walking Into The Moon

Sundown and the simultaneous rising of the full moon nearly caught us unaware. The autumn week when clocks turn back to standard time always feels off-kilter.

Sunlight was already retreating from the east meadow when Jim remarked, 'If we're going to walk this evening we'd better get out there.'

I hastily stacked and rinsed supper dishes; Jim was waiting in the yard as I stood yanking at the recalcitrant zipper on my jacket. He reached out a gloved hand and began towing me up the gravel drive.  I scuffed along trying to avoid stepping on the spill of black walnuts that spread like yellow tennis balls waiting to roll under my feet.

Intent on my feet I nearly missed the emergence of the moon, huge, smokey red-gold, the super 'Beaver Moon.'

In a vaguely academic way I know that planet earth revolves around the sun, the moon rides a slightly elliptical path around the earth, the two mysteriously wonderful functions creating an endless cycle of daylight and night time, seasons of sunlit growth and the fallow time of winter. 

Jim tries to give me a simplified textbook explanation while I stubbornly persist in the sense of the moon rapidly changing position, moving with us as we walk up the slope of the pasture.

The sun falls into the southwest edge of the ravine, the moon, sailing upward, escapes the treetops that bound the northeast edge of our long meadow. 

 Hickory nuts crunch under our shoes, pressed into the coarse grass to mingle with the broken shells of last fall's crop. 

It is cooling rapidly as the sun goes down, a damp chill creeping out from the tangled trees as we round the eastern property line.

I rock back on my heels to avoid stepping on a dark 'wooly bear' caterpillar trundling weightlessly through the roughly cropped verge of the path.

The outdoor cats, Willis and Shelby, have taken a short cut from the garden to meet us as we stride down the slope. They follow erratically, halting to sniff and fuss over things we cannot smell or see. Willis 'marks' the shed door, tail twitching with the effort. Shelby skitters between our moving feet, flings herself down to roll, white belly fur bright in the fading light 

A squirrel dashes in front of us, races across the mossy incline to fling himself up the trunk of a leaning maple, bouncing from there to the higher branches of the hickory tree that glows bronze and gold in the setting sun.

Jim is ready to go inside after the half mile loop brings us back to the front dooryard; I can't bear to go in and shut myself away from the colors sweeping across the sky. 

The sun has plunged into the ravine leaving behind a wash of pale saffron. Hands in jacket pockets I walk back up the path. The moon is huge, riding a low arc. Walking toward it I am surprised to notice that my shadow, crazily thinned and elongated walks before me. The slender fruit trees our neighbor has planted to line the gravel lane likewise are casting shadows, thin leafless stick-shadows of deeper green against the rough grass. Turning I am awed by the flush of color in the western sky: pale yellow, ochre, coral, rose-gold, flaring, shifting and fading as I watch. 

Walking parallel to the boundary fence I stoop to pick up a bird's nest lying beneath the large hickory. How did I not see it on the first round of our walk?

Examining the nest in the light of morning I discover the inside is lined with long silver hairs

Are they mine? There are coarser hairs woven into the rim, perhaps from the neighbor's elderly white mule.

I consider how I push a dustmop around the floors nearly every morning going out into the yard to shake off the gathered fluff--cat hair--always cat hair--strands of my long hair, miniscule particles of whatever has landed on the floor during the day.

There is a tiny curl of thread in the bottom of the nest--the same bland shade of thread I use in my sewing machine. A fuzzy white oval of what might be quilt batting--or a seed head--is embedded in the side of the nest. I'm curious, but don't want to risk deconstructing this little creation by prodding at the components.

Willis, walking with us each evening.

The moon, a day past full splendor, did not rise until well after dark this evening. 

We walked under a sky still sharply blue as the sun slid behind the hills. 

The day has been breezy, more leaves have drifted from the maples and tulip poplars. The sycamores are nearly bare, their huge leaves lying like crumpled paper on the ground. Hickories are still russet-gold, here and there a frail dogwood is a splash of deep crimson. 

Frost Moon is another name for this November moon, but as yet we've had no killing frost. 

The earth will continue to turn, the waning gibbous moon will move toward its dark monthly phase. 

Evening walks will soon become afternoon strolls with weeks of weather that call for warm jackets, scarves, gloves, sturdy boots.

In a world that seems so fraught and uncertain the timeless turning of the seasons is a comfort.

 

First Frosty Morning

Friday morning, 35 F at 7:45 a.m.--just before the sun put in an appearance, moving past the barn.

The meadow had a silvery sheen,, but in spite of several nights of frost warnings, thus far no damage. 

Mid-day warmth lured me outdoors with my little camera. 

There are still a few flowers blooming in the containers near the front steps and in the raised beds near the greenhouse.

Most of the plants are well past prime, but I won't clear them away until hard frost has blackened them.

Walk with me around the dooryard and enjoy these last treasures.

The buddleias in the high bed along the greenhouse wall were tagged as 'dwarf' when I bought them several years ago. They have done well in spite of the summer's long drought.

I dead-headed them several times and there are still fragrant panicles.

These are no longer attracting butterflies, only a few tiny moth-like browsers.

 

A ragged cosmos almost over-powered by the butterfly bush.

Cosmos seed this season didn't flourish. This plant has needed propping up all summer.

Nasturtiums, considered almost tropical in nature, sulked through the summer months, then revived to produce a few colorful blooms.

A landscape rose, 'Pink Cupcake.'

Verbena [?]

Signet marigolds, grown from seed.

Pots of pansies.

Lemon monarda, started from seed in the greenhouse.

It has the attributes of a sturdy spreader.

As the blooms go to seed they resemble a tidy pincushion.

Heat and drought prevented a fall flowering of foxglove, but the mature plants have revived with recent rain and there are numerous new seedlings. 

Heirloom clematis 'Candida' didn't produce a fall flowering.

I've done some careful pruning of all the clematis plants, but left a few fluffy seedheads.

Jim has made some repairs to the greenhouse roof, I've tidied the benches and we've moved in the winter 'coops' for the elderly barn cats. 

Our evening walks around the loop of the meadow are taking place earlier; the path of the sun is becoming shallow and it sinks quickly in the southwest. 

'To everything there is a season...'

 

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!