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!

 

Passing Through

Last week, from Sunday through Wednesday, four young wild turkeys paraded across the meadow above the garden, down the wooded edges of the north ravine and out into the shady area at the west end of the property. There they pecked and meandered for some time before straggling up the south edge of the grassed-over lane and back into the hay of the upper meadow. When one of us stepped outside, the sound of the door opening and closing sent them into an awkward long-legged scramble for cover, no matter that they are already at a distance. 

Turkeys are common in the area and we often see them in various stages of growth; in the spring several hen turkeys usher  groups of youngsters about; only occasionally do we spot a mature tom.

Attempting to get photos of these visitors is a matter of using the zoom feature on my small camera, the results usually being a blurred rush of  fleeing forms.

The photos below are not of last week's group.

I am, perhaps unfairly, blaming the recent perambulations of the turkeys for the nasty little bites on my feet and ankles. Chiggers? Turkey mites? 

I should have remembered this isn't the season to stroll through the meadow without socks and a slathering of insect repellant!

During the winter of 2022 this small flock of guineas were frequent visitors. Guineas are noted for wandering habits. At the time we hadn't seen any in neighboring barnyards.

The guineas announced their presence with wittering conversations amongst themselves which always alerted our cats, who rushed to the windowsills to watch them stroll by.

During the course of the winter the group lost a few members, notably one of the two white ones. On their last appearance there were only five remaining. they faded away with no trace.

Raccoons are regular visitors, most often in late winter when food is scarce and in early summer when they are raising cubs. 

The raccoons pay little attention when we turn on the porch light.

The barn cats, Willis and Sally ignore them, often lounging a few feet away while the coons scrabble for leftover kibble.

If more than one raccoon appears on the porch there is often a scuffle, shoving, squealing.

Possums are likewise frequent visitors, unwelcome with their shuffling movements and their messy ways.

We haven't seen deer as often this summer as usual. that doesn't mean they haven't been around.

Usually there is a doe with twin fawns, once in awhile  young buck.

Deer have been known to invade the garden but their damage is minimal. They enjoy a nibble at green bean plants but are mostly content to enjoy the lush grass of the meadow.

This is [was?] Herman. Where ever we have lived feral toms have appeared. 

Herman was unique in that although he visited for nearly three years we could never approach him. His ramblings took him away for several days at a time, but until mid July he always reappeared.  His presence instigated what I call 'pissing wars' with Robert and Willis, both neutered, but inspired to retaliate when Herman anointed the front door or the steps--which he did with tiresome regularity.

He was a beautifully marked spotted tabby; I attempted to befriend him, coaxing, talking cajolingly, approaching slowly. His reaction was always to dart away, lurking behind a tub of flowers, eyes rolling warily. I thought of attempting to trap him, haul him to the vet clinic for neutering, but his demeanor was so offish I couldn't imagine him becoming less than feral.

It has been a month since his last visit; sadly, he is not missed. Our cats with outdoor privileges have settled down, there has been no more 'marking' of territory. 

During our second summer here a family of foxes had a den somewhere in the south ravine. The cubs were often brought to frolic in the shaded area around the small barn. One memorable morning I stepped to the bedroom window before sunrise to see the youngsters rolling and pouncing in the grass a few yards from the house. It has now been several years since we've seen a solitary fox crossing the meadow or trotting down the lane.

One winter a gimpy-legged skunk hobbled about in the snow near the barn. Although a waft of skunk perfume sometimes drifts in an open window at night I've not seen another on the property.

Last autumn grey squirrels were busy under the black walnut tree across from the garden, or gleaning acorns in the grove of trees near the small barn.

They seem scarce this summer. Jim suspects they may have become dinner for the pair of redtail hawks who hover over the yard. 

Scarcely a bluebird in residence this spring in spite of the messy hoard of them 2 years ago.

The sighting of any of these creatures can be random--we may not happen to be looking at the exact moment they ramble through. 

Visits from wildlife can bring challenges, some of them messy and annoying.

Sometimes I need to remind myself that most of them were here before we moved in and built a house!

 

An Unnecessary Quilt

After finishing two super-queen quilts in January it seemed a good time to do some sorting of fabric. Both large quilts were designed using yardage that had appeared in other quilts over the past decade. I don't do 'scrapy' in the sense of random; I select fabrics from my considerable 'stash'  that have common colorways and themes. 

In the sorting process I pressed and neatly folded fabrics I thought two quilter friends might enjoy. 

I took my lines of now vintage Moda fabrics from the stacks in the drawers, smoothed and admired them, put them neatly away again.

The final sorting involved true 'scraps,' partially sewn units, and some surplus blocks for other projects long since completed.

Some of these 'leftovers' were from a quilt started years ago in an attempt to replicate blocks pieced by my g-grandmother. During our years in WY I salvaged the best of g-grandmother Eliza's hand-stitched blocks from a worn quilt, hand-quilted them onto a soft muslin backing and had several professionally framed. 

For her quilt, Eliza used pieces cut from worn shirts and aprons.

Inspired by this I gathered cotton shirts from the local charity shop and began the rather tedious process of cutting them into appropriately sized pieces.

The project was interrupted by our retirement move to Kentucky and lay abandoned through several house renovations and finally the construction of our present house.

It was during the winter of covid lockdown that I resurrected the completed blocks and constructed a quilt using the quilt-as-you-go method. 

Daughter G. admired the finished quilt and it went to live at her house.

Fast forward to the past January when my rummaging turned up four completed quilt blocks and a neat assortment of already cut to size components.

I was struck with the notion to do something with the bits and pieces, even to the point of gathering a few more charity shop shirts. 

Halfway through this salvage project I was 'over' it--asking myself why--with a collection of beautiful new fabrics--was I committing hours to a quilt that was going to be rather random and  gaudy.

Having determined that I wouldn't buy any new fabric to finish the thing, I sliced up a beige sheet for the sashing and a dark blue one for borders. 

It was machine quilted by the woman who does all my 'everyday' quilts. I bound it, folded it and dumped it unceremoniously on a stack of winter bedding in the guest room.

Several weeks later when J. had a respiratory flu, he was shivering one evening and I brought up the 'shirt-tail' quilt.

J. who almost never comments on my quilting projects, was intrigued by the patterns I had achieved with salvaged materials.

So, there it is. Its the sort of quilt one might consign to a cabin, summer camp or camper [none of which we now own] or throw over a porch chair or bench. 

I noted that in the decade or more since I started the first quilt the quality of used cotton shirts has declined.

Here is the one that I began in 2009 and [finally] finished in 2021..

A close-up of my rather cobbled quilt-as-you-go effort. 

Below are the links to the original vintage blocks and my efforts to replicate them; I've attached them to this post mostly so that I can find them if I want to look back at my efforts.

The woman who does my utility quilting is happy to accept fabric scraps, leftover finished blocks, even components of blocks that have been cut to size but not used. Several of her clients pounce on these, adding them to their own projects.

I ruthlessly gathered up such as had been too long on my cupboard shelf and they have gone away for someone else to utilize.

https://wwwmorningsminion.blogspot.com/2009/08/salvaged-treasures.html

https://wwwmorningsminion.blogspot.com/2021/03/a-project-too-long-in-doing-done.html

 

Long Hot Summer

Every summer I complain that July is my least favorite month of the year; this has been true of July's relentless heat in every location where we've lived.

July as experienced in our 12 Wyoming years at least offered cool nights even though daytime temps often moved into 3 digits F.

Hot and too dry has been the pattern of July 2025 as recorded each day on my calendar. 

Jim continued to labor in the garden, waging a battle with loops of electric fencing meant to deter the raccoons who were determined to munch on sweet corn.

These efforts cost him dearly--dehydration and several hours in the local hospital's ER while 3 bags of fluids were dripped into him. He followed this with a bout of respiratory flu. 

It took nearly a week for the virus to hit me and I still have an annoying scratchy cough.

Enough about that unpleasant experience!

My outdoor activities have been mostly limited to taking out kitchen scraps, watering the container flowers ranged around the front porch, emptying cat litter. 

Sewing and reading have occupied me indoors.

Weather, gardens, flu, the tedium of long hot days, all faded from importance when we learned that a dear friend had died as the result of an accident.

It has been a July that we won't remember with pleasure. 

August now, and a few days when temps were 'only' in the 80's F. 

Resident hummingbirds are consuming more than a quart of sugar syrup per day.

Tomato harvest is ongoing; cantaloupe/muskmelons are ripening all at once;

There are 9 huge ones ranged on the kitchen counters!

We plod along, doing what comes to hand, grateful for air conditioning in the vehicles and in the house.

We hope for rain to ease the drought, cooling breezes to refresh us both physically and spiritually. 

 Trampled cornstalks and barricades of electric fence.

The corn salvaged from the raccoons has been delicious.

A glut of pole beans needed picking while we under the influence of the flu. 

It wasn't an easy task, but we worked together to harvest them and next day to prepare them for canning. Yield: 9] 1 1/2  pt jars, 12] pints and one that refused to seal.

There have no doubt been more beans ripening--I have refused to go near them!

On Sunday afternoon I processed 4 1/2 qts of tomatoes--not even a full canner load.

 My enthusiasm for the garden and for 'putting up' food is lacking this year.

Coneflowers near the clematis fence.

Coneflowers have overtaken the planting along the south/east retaining wall.

Somewhere amongst them are the Knock-Out roses.

Achillea sprawling outside the greenhouse. It is appealing at every stage of bloom.

Monarda, 'Jacob Kline' another invader in the back yard bed.

One plant of clary sage. I'm hoping to gather seeds for another crop.

It is a biennial, so there is a waiting year for the blossoms.

I have lost all but one of my mature rosemary plants. I repotted them last fall as I usually do. I can only guess that the potting mix used wasn't compatible.

Today I moved in 14 seed-grown rosemarys. 

Germination was greater than usual; I lost 4 or 5 after the first transplanting, but put these into a soil mix that I hope will see them growing on. 

Willis and I gardened along the west retaining wall on Sunday when it was overcast and cooler. 

I pruned clematis, yanked out weeds, clipped back the dry stalks of foxglove.

So much wants done!

Maybe as cooler weather moves in I'll find the energy to tackle at least some of it.