Wildflowers

I've been walking the meadow loop with my camera during the past two weeks.

Some of these wildlings I can identify, others, not sure.

The term 'ephemerals' surely applies to spring flowering plants--many have quietly faded away when I look for them a few days later.

I pause often in my walks trying to pinpoint the elusive sweet flowery scents diffused by the hot sun.

Wild rose and honeysuckle are unmistakable, but there is a more delicate blending of scent that seems a combination of grasses, green leaves and half hidden clumps of blooming plants..

Wild blue phlox.

Spiderwort [tradescantia] The flowers range from clear blue to this deeper rose/purple.

Lyre-leaf Sage

Woodland anemone--maybe?

Wild blackberry

Mayapple. 

Capturing a photo of these is an exercise in attempting to get the camera under the low-growing plant.

Phacelia

Star of Bethlehem

These are a tiny bulb flower that has sprung up near my peonies. 

Oxalis

I find these growing in clumps in the shady wooded edges along the rim of the north and south ravines on the property.

I haven't seen this previously and can't identify.

It is growing in a tangle of under-story plants. 

Common wild mustard--invasive!

Wild Honeysuckle.

Considered an invasive nuisance as it climbs trees and shrubs, clambers over fallen logs and fenceposts.

The sweet perfume is unmistakable.

Stump of an oak that grew at the far end of the lower meadow--damaged in the fire that leveled a former owner's house.

The oak became shaky and J. took it down several years ago.

Wild rose briars are tangled at the base, along with woodbine and other small plants.

The stump is being used as a picnic table by the resident squirrel families.

If you look closely you can see bits of hickory nut shells.

 

Mid-April

Native dogwood in bloom during first week of April.

Petals were drifting on the wind as I walked down the lane this morning.

The first male hummingbirds arrived April 7th; I caught a very fleeting glimpse of a female yesterday. 

I've seen only a few bluebirds this year, a few robins, a male goldfinch wearing summer plumage.

Wild turkeys have strolled the edges of the meadow, squirrel families are cavorting in overhead branches and [unwisely] in the grass beneath the black walnut trees.

Woodpeckers are busily drilling in the trees along the ravines.

Clematis 'Samaritan Jo.'

Clematis Dr. Ruppel

Dr. Ruppel is the closet variety I could find locally to replace vintage Nelly Moser which didn't transplant from our first Kentucky property.

Duchess of Edinburgh

This is the most delicate of my clematis varieties, very frost tender and the stems easily broken during pruning or tying in. 

The full ruffled blooms make up for the plant's finicky nature.

Clematis Edita is being slowly smothered by her neighbor, 'Samaritan Jo.'

A feeble unnamed clematis succumbed to the late winter ice and snow. I considered buying a new plant, but have decided to move Edita to the vacant spot after blooming.

Delicate but thriving, 'Arabella'.

My favorite, Candida, always rushes into bloom, often having the first buds nipped with frost.

A delightful vintage variety, I've not seen it for sale locally, but apparently available from online sources.

Peonies in bud in the messy rough strip of garden by the lane.

No doubt our much needed rain will finally move in about the time the peonies bloom.

Two varieties of wiry-stemmed perennial pinks grown from seed. I used them to edge the wall of the south-west garden. As a few die out I find others sprung from seed in the grass below or beyond the planted strip.

First flower stalks appearing on foxglove. Note the dryness of the soil.

Achillea/yarrow originally grown from seed, moved to the corner of the greenhouse when two raised beds near the house were dismantled to accommodate the new front porch. 

The lean-to greenhouse was a casualty of the garage/shop fire. Strangely these plants were almost untouched. I'm planning to move them to a safe spot before the clean-up effort takes place in that area.

It is a delight to find that seeds of Lauren's Grape poppies landed in nearly every clump of perennials moved from the two raised beds near the porch. Some are nearly ready to bloom, others are tiny emerging plants. Several of the poppies have appeared in my daughter's garden, the seeds lying dormant in a clump of deep pink yarrow she transplanted late last summer. 

Billowing clouds moving in from the west at noon, but still no rain. 

March and April have typically been chilly wet months here.

Several years ago a hard frost in early May stripped new leaves from the trees and blighted the early garden.

Jim planted potatoes a few days before the fire with the idea of making another planting.

The extra seed potatoes were stored in the greenhouse along with small gardening tools, sprayers and such. 

There has been no time during the massive and grimy clean-up to consider more gardening.

I have about two dozen tomato plants started under lights in the basement; those have been transplanted to larger pots and crowded back under the lights, but my usual sowing of flower and veg seeds to be  grown on in the greenhouse isn't possible. 

I've been poking about in the large planters near the front steps--finding a few more poppy seedlings and a few self-sown pansies. I found a pkt of dwarf nasturtium seeds left from last season and prodded them into the soil of a large, rather battered pot. 

Willis-the-cat has been much interested in my efforts; he has always supervised my tasks in the greenhouse, resulting in trays of seedlings barricaded with plastic cutlery and twigs.

Deprived of the greenhouse, it will be interesting to see how he--and I--proceed this spring with gardening. 

Clean-up progress.

Jim and the friendly salvage man, D.B. have labored to remove the larger hulks of charred tool chests, tools and equipment, which have been hauled away

Salvage guy didn't show up today as expected, so Jim went to work removing the warped metal siding of the barn.

This is the view from the long north side of the structure.

It is dirty work. My only contribution is laundering grimy clothes.

We completed our inventory of tools and personal property lost, handed it to the insurance agent on Monday.

Now we wait for them to review, process and offer a settlement.

It is part of the insurance scheme that while we pay in for years, usually a claim is hard won.

We have acquired a MF tractor, a 2013 Honda Odyssey, a zero-turn mower, essential tools from Harbor Freight.

Jim has suggested we need an outing to one of the nearby farm supply stores to purchase garden tools.

I'm hoping this summer's garden might be of a more manageable size than previous years. That would be one good result from the unexpected devastation of the fire!

 

A Week Out From The Fire

My heart has always hurt for those who lose a home or their belongings to fire, flood or tornado. 

It was Jim's workshop/garage that went up in flames last Sunday, thankfully not our house.

It was a horrifying moment to look out the window and see this, only a half hour after Jim came in from using one of the tractors to 'turn' a strip of the garden. 

He always shuts off the gas line after using one of his vintage tractors; we have no idea how the fire started but it was immediately unmanageable.

Car and pickup had been filled with gas on the Thursday, there were three tractors, the zero turn mower, chain saws, all containing gas.

The explosions as the fire enveloped each one were deafening--much as I imagine bombs going off. 

My hands shook as I used the landline phone to dial 911; I had trouble stating our address to the dispatcher. It was as though my brain was working very slowly.

The loss of the building, our vehicles, all of Jim's tools and equipment, his tractors, difficult to process.

Family members have been wonderful, driving at speed to arrive here as fire trucks from several local volunteer brigades came roaring in. 

Neighbors assembled, I learned later that two of the utility trucks on the scene belonged to the power company and the forestry service respectively--the forestry people because our acreage is surrounded on three sides by wooded ravines.

The wind was blowing, as it has for days, hurling heat and flames toward the house. 

As I stood in wordless fear, the wind suddenly changed--and I believe in nothing less than a miraculous intervention.

Our elderly cat, Willis, often naps in the lean-to greenhouse so I feared for him.

After the fire trucks left and the flames died down, he appeared from under the front porch and with great aplomb strolled to the remains of the garage, pausing at each bay to gaze at the wreckage.

I have detailed on Facebook the fire and the tremendous job of cleanup and replacement that is underway.

I find I don't want to write more at present of the ordeal.

We are beyond thankful for the help from family, the kindly outreach of friends and church members. 

We have the loan of grandson D's truck; there is the vintage Ram Charger that was safely stored in son H's garage. 

Our daughter loaned a car that intimidated me--my Honda CR-V was 13 years old and I never did use all its capabilities--G's Denali has a bewildering array of gadgets [apps?]

 The burned out vehicles have gone away.

Jim works a few hours at a time to pile crumpled metal, shovel debris [borrowed shovel and wheelbarrow!] and the cheerful salvage guy will be back this week to start hauling away the mess and pulling down the scorched shell of the building.

We are weary, but we have our home--a bit grubby with tracked in soot--but safe over our heads. 

I will remember that I used to drive confidently any vehicle available and can likely manage until we find the right replacement for my car.

Given the price of gas we were already consolidating our errands.

We are over-tired, brain-fogged, we are in the elderly category, but we've never been quitters!

Lord willing, we will get through this unexpected dilemma!

Jim walking stoically past the smoldering remains.

The dismal view on Monday morning.

A replacement tractor located nearby and purchased on Tuesday. A tractor is a necessity!

The vintage Ram Charger delivered by Howard and Shannon.

Matt arrived early Tuesday morning with a Troybilt tiller--and a fresh donut for Jim from the bakery in town.

Yard tools, carpentry tools from Howard's stash.

A lilac has bloomed--its sweet scent on the breeze brings me assurance that the rubble and the sour stench of fire will  be cleared away.

 

Typical March Weather

First showing of redbud, barely visible through evening rain.

We've had a weather mix, to be expected in a Kentucky spring; the spring season most anywhere is one of fits and starts--balmy warmth, rain, wind and chilly evenings. 

Most days thus far have offered a mixture of clouds and sun with brief showers.

Daytime temps have risen to the mid-high 70's F, causing the meadow to green and the wild daffodils to rush into their prime.

Driving today on the Dunneville RD I noted that the south-facing curve in the road that presents the first yellow blooms is now bare of flowers.

I have prowled about outside, clipped back the plants in the raised beds, counted 6 foxgloves that seem to have survived the late fall planting. Several more poppies have emerged along the edge of the raised bed by the front steps and three are growing in a huddle inside the newest bed. No sign of the lemon monarda that I expected would be perennial. Achillea raised from seed is flourishing in one of the black bins and will need a permanent home.

Signs of life have [amazingly!] emerged on all three of the buddleia. 

The resident squirrels are busy; phoebes are investigating nesting spots in the open alleyways each side of the shop.

Asian lady beetles have squeezed through the window casings in the sun porches in such numbers that vacuuming them seems the only way to remove them, with the result that the vacuum cleaner emits a rank odor whenever it is used.

My thoughts are as unsettled as the weather--decisions to make about my gardens; family concerns. Like many others I am distressed by the uproar caused by war and by the conflicting reports regarding it; how is it possible to trust a government controlled by unstable personalities.

Edgy, restless, distrustful, I'm waiting for the other shoe to fall.

I work outdoors as much as I can. If the afternoon is sunny, I brew a mug of tea, take a snack of sliced apple and cheese, sit in a rocking chair in the south-east sunroom, cats companionably sprawled on the floor--or in the case of Thimble--perched on a windowsill to watch the swooping of birds, the dashing of a squirrel under the trees.

So much is beyond what we can influence or control, in the greater world, and in our own small sphere,

Que sera, sera!

The fire-damaged magnolia in the lower pasture, still robustly blooming.

This photo gives an idea of the damaged stumps of the trunk that have been cut away.

Note that the remaining portion of the trunk is also compromised.

Two small clumps of wild daffodils growing in the underbrush above the south ravine.

I've thought of moving them to join a rescued clump near the east retaining wall of our house.

The lower magnolia is the hybrid, "Jane" coming into full bloom always a few days earlier than the nearer one, "Susan." Below are my two lilacs, not perfectly happy in our humid summers, but providing a nostalgic memory of springtime in New England.

"Susan."

Forsythia, where the curve of our upper drive joins the communal lane.

Clematis "Candida" rushing the season as usual.

All my clematis are showing some degree of fresh growth.

I planted common and lemon thyme at the base of the two growing on the large trellis in the back garden. The thyme has spread--which is good--the usual weeds, henbit/dead nettle, the other green and juicy ones that I haven't named are growing rankly.

This morning I wrestled with matted wiry stems trying to bring some order to the untidy clumps. 

Wind and rain this evening tearing petals from the magnolias.

To paraphrase Shakespeare: 'Rough winds do shake the darling buds of--March!'

 

First Day of March

'Jane' magnolia, rushing the season.

Sunshine all day--a welcome change from too much gloomy weather in February.

I pegged sheets and towels on the back porch lines around noon where they flapped in the sun and wind, needing only a few minutes in the dryer when I brought them in at dusk. 

I peeled off my sweatshirt/hoodie and was comfortable in a long-sleeved jersey to work for several hours in the wall garden on the west side of the house.

I snipped dead stalks from the foxglove and gently pulled away winter-browned leaves to uncover the fresh green crowns. 

The foxgloves raised from seed last summer and belatedly set out in one of the black bins near the veg garden are looking far gone; I'm hoping a few will revive.

I did some cautious pruning of the clematis vines on the big trellis, likewise the wiry tangle of thyme at the base of the trellis.

Dead stems of monarda and purple coneflower cut away, then grubbing in the endless weeds that choke that bed. Henbit or the related dead nettle thrive through the winter along with various other evergreen and maliciously spreading ground cover weeds whose names I look up each spring and promptly forget. 

I labored over that small tiered garden for several years before a DVT in late March, 2021 put an end to my crawling about on the ground.

I can't call the area a success and don't know how to proceed to achieve something manageable that will preserve the foxglove and several roses along the wall. 

I suspect the large white-flowered butterfly bush will have succumbed to the weeks of bitter cold, as also the magenta -flowered pair in the raised bed alongside the greenhouse. 

I've replaced buddleia in three Kentucky gardens over our years here. When I grumbled to my favorite nurseryman at Homestead Gardens he suggested I consider dividing the initial cost of the shrub by the 3-5 years that it usually winters over, which makes for a modest investment against the pleasure of the luxurious blooms and the delight of visiting butterflies.

It will likely be another month before I can determine if any of the three bushes survived the cold.

Jim collected up more of the branches that were brought down by the weeks of ice and cold, used the chainsaw to remove some broken limbs over-hanging the lower lane.

I'm cautiously making a mental list of tasks I'd like to attempt in the coming week, the first in several that I've not had church duties for which to prepare.

I need to go through an accumulation of opened seed packets and speculate which may still be viable.

There are letters I should write, both as emails and to send out by regular mail.

Still a few more items in the pantry to be sorted and either culled or rearranged.

My bedroom wants tidying, as do the shelves to the left of my desk--and how about my clothes closet?

Given my puttering inefficiency at such things, add in the usual household chores of cleaning and cooking--maybe I'll just decide to go downstairs and take up my sewing!

Three seedlings of Lauren's Grape poppies have emerged at the edge of the old raised bed by the steps. 

Three more have braved the narrow rim of hard-packed soil along the south-facing barn door adjacent to the greenhouse. None have yet appeared in the graveled walkway just inside the door, but I can hope.

I had several lovely poppy varieties in my first Kentucky garden; only the one kind moved with us via seeds randomly shed in neighboring planters;  most years some lodge between the pavers near the front steps and bloom.

I've purchased fresh seeds each year but none have germinated. 

However: late last autumn I found a packet of seeds I had overlooked. and sprinkled them over some exposed soil. I'm hoping this is a poppy and not the winter-shriveled relative of a weed. 

Jane magnolia.

Jane

Monarda, holding its own in the mat of ground-cover weeks.

Coming home yesterday from lunch with Matt and Gina, Jim chose a meandering route, finally lumbering over a narrow dirt track that in three places crossed a shallow creek.

With no fear of oncoming traffic he stopped the car so I could record this profusion of wild daffodils.

[I refuse to call them by the local name of 'March lilies!']

Here I sit, an elderly woman, pondering how to make a garden, listing the tasks I want to accomplish--small personal things that have no import in any larger sense, a sort of self-absorbed plodding while [as my Dad would have remarked] the 'world goes to hell in a handbasket.' 

Ending on a pensive note: a scattering of red feathers just inside the greenhouse door and the soft body of a titmouse at the edge of the back porch: little deaths.