Reviewing the Week Thus Far

Lemon balm, coming up fresh at the base of a plant in the small herb garden.

The weather is still so mild for December that on Sunday I found myself wondering if it would be timely to do a bit of weeding and moving things about in my perennial beds.

I decided against this as the ground is too damp and chilly.

Poking about in the herb garden near the carport I noticed these new leaves on the lemon balm.

As I brushed twigs and faded maple leaves away I pondered why this has been for so many years

a favorite plant.

The delicate lemon scent is a big part of the appeal. The leaves have a delightful crinkled texture and the green is a fresh and appealing color.

More than that, I can only explain my attachment as something my rather whimsical imagination conjures.

Going down on my knees to weed and tend a clump of lemon balm, immediately gives me a sense of connectedness to something very old, as though I had been whisked off to a medieval herb garden or to Brother Cadfael's workshop.

When we moved to this small Kentucky farm, the first springtime was a time of happy discoveries, for the former owners had been gardeners.

I found a clump or two of lemon balm emerging in the section where iris roots jostled each other for space.

I soon picked out the familiar rumpled leaves of several more plants nestled in the thick grass near the overgrown bulb bed. I removed them tenderly, placing several in a partially shaded strip near the garage.

Lemon balm is a companionable plant, well worth the moment it takes to stop and ruffle the stems to release the fragrance or to snip off a leaf or two to sniff.

Rain held off on Sunday, but the wind blew steadily.

A load of laundry flapped itself dry on the clothesline.

The cats were terribly inspired. They collided with each other rushing in and out of the sliding door to their yard, whirled in to skitter across the hardwood floors, tails puffed, nails clicking as they 

careened around corners.

Generations of my cats have done this, where-ever we have lived--ushering in changes of weather, possessed by wildness.

Rain began sometime before daylight Monday morning. The air was warm and heavy with mist.

We spotted these turkeys striding across the upper pastture toward the woods.

I used the zoom on the camera to capture their leggy progress.

Wilbur remains very leary of humans.  His sister, Willow, has settled into domesticity and has accepted humans as a welcome part of her life. While Willow knows how to charm, Wilbur seems to regard us as a threat to his very existence.  It it rare to surprise him into being picked up. I caught him on Sunday and asked J. to take this photo.

When we can corner him we talk to him cajolingly, stroke his tabby coat, hold him on our laps.

Thus far he refuses to be won over.  He eyes us warily, poised to run. He doesn't purr. He holds his ears in a horizontal mode of displeasure.

When I spied Wilbur and Willow on the sofa this everning they were cuddled close and Willow was washing her brother's ears.  I managed to stroke Wilbur before he realized that a detested human

had invaded his space. Seconds after I snapped this photo he disappeared behind the sofa.

Teasel

We have been away for most of two days.

Too many miles for me!

J. is still in his 'wheeling and dealing' mode.

I have the option of course of not going along for the ride on these forays of his to buy and sell tractors and such.  Its not as though I do any of the driving.

I think of a day on my own--housework quickly done and then time [and quiet!] to sew, read, write.

When grandson D. is not in school I figure that he is the one to go--an adventure and a chance for him to see more of the countryside--and besides--he can intelligently talk tractors and motors!

In the end, both yesterday and today, I hastily packed a tote with the items I consider necessary for such trips: books, magazines, a notebook, camera, bottled water.

Yesterday's run took us to the northern part of the state and briefly into Ohio.

We drove through bluegrass horse country, then out on winding country roads with impossible 'hairpin' bends.  J. was given vague directions and wasted over an hour locating a tractor that was so battered he said it looked like a tree had fallen on it.

Miles later we reconnected with a main highway and decided it was time for a hot meal.

It was after 2 by the time we were back on our way and the grey drizzly day was already sinking toward early darkness. We rumbled past beautiful old houses surrounded by miles of white-painted fence, passed other venerable houses which had fallen into sad neglect.

J. found the next stop on his list and made a 'deal.'

On across the Ohio river in pitch dark to a meeting point with a man who had a wood splitter for sale.

Coming back J. missed a turn onto the route he wanted and we found ourselves on a road that followed the contortions of a winding creek. Great patches of fog billowed in the headlights, the windshield wipers clacked.  J. sputtered. We roared on through small hamlets where little houses festooned in holiday lights crouched close to the road.

It was a few minutes before 10 when we came out on the desired route. We located a Subway and ordered sandwiches, even as the shop was closing for the night. Back in the truck, under the street lights, we enjoyed our food before pulling out again onto the rain-slicked highway.

It was not quite midnight when we lumbered into our own dooryard., a round trip of over 600 miles.

As I clambered stiffly from the truck Pebbles whickered from her pasture, the barn cats wound around our feet.  The old thermometer in the carport stood at 51 degrees [F] and I could hear the rushing of the

rain-swollen creek across the road.

Stepping inside the kitchen door, we were mobbed by the cats!

When we have been away for hours there is a definite routine to our return.

The cats first rush at us and there are complaints that they have starved in our absence;  they have been bored. They get underfoot, meow plaintively or demandingly according to their natures.

Then, there is a studied indifference, a "see if we care!" demonstration which involves stomping about the items we have brought in, pushing things off the table, general huffing. By the time we are ready for bed they decide we can all be friends again.

Being a glutton for this particular punishment, I went along today also, for tractor delivery and pick-up. Only 400 miles today! 

The tractor which J. 'swapped' is the one he acquired last week.  I have made noises indicating that perhaps this is enough trading for now.

I know that I've ridden enough miles to last for some time!

The cats have been clingy since we arrived home.

I was too tired to light the fire downstairs and work on the quilt in progress.

I am too witless to make intelligent comments on my favorite blogs.

My beloved Teasel is keeping me company as I rather blearily type this rambling post.

She is curled on the bed behind me, her striped tail wrapped over her nose.

Tomorrow will be a day to cherish my little house and its feline occupants, to make soup, and enjoy the smell of loaves baking in the oven.

Early Morning Frost--Firewood--and a Few Cat Photos

I was awake around 5 a.m. trying to be quiet. The cats, of course, knew that I was awake and I endured being lovingly stomped upon, kneaded through layers of quilts, purred at.

By 6: 15 daylight was seeping through the shutters.

I quietly gathered slippers and robe, and trailed by cats, tip-toed off to huddle in front of the fireplace.

The cats milled about and clamoured.

Right!  Dish out the tinned cat food and perhaps there will be a few moments of peace in which to contemplate the day!

The sun was just breaking over the ridge when I went outside, well bundled in warm clothes and boots, camera tucked in my pocket.

The frost-furred oak leaf caught my eye.  It lay on the grassy path across the back pasture--barely touched by the emerging sun.

I think this is a sycamore leaf--glossy and tawny.

I fed Pebbles her grain, then ambled down the edge of the front field and across the road to Big Creek.

Twisted vines make a natural wreath.

The recent rains made for squelchy walking along the creek. There is thick undergrowth, rotting tree stumps and tangles of vine.

Moss spread around the base of this stump, brilliantly green and fresh in the morning light.

Back across the road and up the boundary fence to where pasture meets the neighbor's woods.

The fence corner there is overgrown with wild rose canes, some stunted cedars and all manner of weeds.

In spring and summer stepping into the shady triangle is an invitation for ticks to hop aboard.

This small wild blackberry bramble glowed as the sun's rays fingered into the chilly shadows near the cedars.

Mullein, curled and folded like a cabbage, frost-furred.

I'm not sure of the identity of this leaf.  It may be a variety of cottonwood or a yellow poplar [tulip tree] We have both on the property.  I should have gathered some and brought them in to study, but--my fingers were getting cold!

Lichen shimmering grey-green on long-fallen branches at the edge of the woods.

Frost asters bent into whimsical contortions in the tall grass beneath the black walnut tree.

Friday was a beautiful day--sunny, crisply clear.

J. rounded up Gina and me to help load firewood in neighbor Ed's pasture.

The usual gathering of Jersey cattle assembled to observe.

Seconds after I snapped this photo, G. let out a startled shriek and dropped the piece of wood she had picked up.

Something furry had scuttled away as she disturbed the pile of wood.

"Furry" turned out to be a pair of voles or mice---short-tailed critters-- who had built a nest of dried grass under the teepee of limb wood.

I was reminded of the 'house' which Pooh and Piglet built for Eeyore at Pooh Corner.

One of the furries hastily trundled off to a nearby collection of twigs and branches.

This one darted here and there, stopping to burrow into the grass.

An added note:  Al pointed out that UK moles look different than the pictured rhodent.  In thinking about this I believe I have mis-called them. Although we have many true moles--or seem to, judging by the number of up-earthed runs in the dooryard--I suspect the creatures we disturbed may be VOLES or even a species of meadow mouse.

I stroked it with one cautious finger--soft fur like a rabbit--while G. scolded that it likely was a carrier of

something at least as dire as bubonic plague.

We unloaded wood, ate soup and cinnamon toast before hurrying to bring home yet more wood.

By 4 o'clock the daylight was slipping away.

D. arrived from after school errands to convey his Mom back to their house.

I folded myself gratefully into my rocking chair by the fire, a mug of tea wrapped in chilly hands.

I chuckled when I looked up at Willow asleep in J.'s recliner. Note the curled under toes of her back feet.

I have worked at quilt block construction several evenings this week.

Willis decided to 'help' by taking a nap on a bin of fabrics.

I needed to open the bin and prodded him awake, hence the sleepy-eyed stare.

He was disinclined to move.

I explained that he was in danger of having his toes mutilated by my rotary cutter.

I told him that he was in my way, that I needed to mark diagonal lines on the back of the red squares

and didn't feel he could be of assistance.

I mentioned that he was shedding tweedy hairs on my quilt-in-progress.

You can see that I was ignored.

Willis: inscrutable and immoveable!

Migration of the Sandhill Cranes

The slanting November sun had made short work of the afternoon and was already sliding toward the trees that mark the western boundary of the farm.

Jim and grandson Devin were stacking firewood while indoors I cleared a project from my desk. A shout from outside sent me flying to the back door where the men were pointing at the sky.

 

The rasping voices of sandhill cranes heralded their progress as they beat across the sky from the north in ever-shifting formations.

We gazed at them with the sense of primaeval wonder which such sights always inspire. The birds winged through cloud wisps and jet trails over Big Creek Valley, veering southwestward.

The last shush of beating wings passed overhead, the strident cries of the cranes fading as the sun withdrew behind the woods, leaving a blanket of red-gold and smokey lavender to briefly mark its descent.

The dooryard settled into the sudden stillness of a November evening, the cooling air rich with the scent of rising woodsmoke and the sharp tang of freshly split maple.

Added later:  I typed 'sandhill crane migration' into the Google search engine. It appears that southern Arizona is the destination for thousands of cranes who over-winter there. The birds are fairly common summer residents of the rural mid-west and the interior west--we've seen them there. The cranes begin traveling north early in the spring and the North Platte River Basin is a stop-over where they rest and feed for several weeks before completing their northern journey.

When we moved from Wyoming to Kentucky, it was at the time of the spring migration and our route took us for miles along the North Platte.  The sandhill cranes were present in the thousands, along with Canadian geese.  I've added the photo above, taken from the truck window which caught mostly geese, but will give you an idea of the terrain. The ground teemed with birds with more of them always swirling above.

Busy November Days

The week began with overcast skies and gusty winds.

November is a time to cherish warm days, as darkness comes earlier each night

and we know colder weather is inevitable.

I walked out into the back fields on Monday afternoon, camera dangling from its wrist strap.

J. had rearranged Pebbles' electric fence during the morning which she always finds interesting.

She doesn't miss anything that happens in the dooryard or in the fields beyond her pasture.

I walked across the harvested corn ground until I could zoom in on this old grey barn across the road.

In summer it is nearly invisible behind the trees.  We think that at one time a house may have stood just beyond the barn, snugged up against the hillside.

Although the cornstalks have been cut the splayed roots are still anchored in the soil.

The combine missed some ears of corn which are providing food for wild animals and birds.

As I walked along the edge of the field a neighbor's dogs noticed me and bounded toward me

with sociable woofs.

Pebbles immediately moved to the edge of her fenced area and stared fixedly at the trespassing dogs.

From time to time the sun has lightened the grey billowing clouds.

This shot was taken looking west up the cornfield toward the neighbor's woodlot.

J. roared up beside me on the 4-wheeler at this point and invited me to 'hop on.'

[My method of getting myself onto the seat behind J. is definitely not 'hopping'--more like 

clambering aboard.]

J. had dragged the trunk of the fallen maple off the line fence and wanted to know what our neighbor, T.L. would like done with the rest of the big tree.

[Turns out he doesn't have a fireplace or wood heater, so J. has been gifted with more firewood.]

T.'s wife raises miniature horses for show.

He delighted to tell us about them.  The dark filly is only a year old, but has placed in several

shows as a "promising" young mare.

Her coat was clipped when several strange lesions appeared during the summer.

The vet wasn't sure if the small circular wounds were caused by an insect or by a fungus infection.

The filly's back is healed now and her coat growing in time for winter.

This one seems to know he is a pretty boy!

On the way home J. stopped the 4-wheeler and scooped up two ears of corn for Pebbles who was watching for our return.

Rain began on Tuesday and continued through the night.

When it let up on Wednesday I put on my wellies and slogged about.

This poppy will surely not blossom before cold weather.

Several more poppies have germinated where the parent plants dropped seed before I gathered the

dried seed pods.

I hope most of the seeds will lie dormant til springtime.

The sweet gum tree is the only one in the dooryard still clinging to leaves.

[Note the 'gumballs.']

Blue sky today and crisp clear air.

J. cut down the shabby Redbud tree which overhung the carport.

Redbuds [also called Judas tree] grow untidly, dividing into several trunks a foot or so above the ground.

They tend to be brittle.

One trunk of this one was cut many years ago leaving a rotten stump.

Several branches have clattered down onto the roof.

The branches had tangled with the sweet gum tree, shading its growth on that side.

The sweet gum stands clear now, but quite lop-sided in shape.

I was possessed this morning to shift the bedroom furniture--no easy task to move that huge lodgepole bed!

J. moved it from one side of the room to the other, dragged dressers about, then hastily betook himself to his tree cutting, while I stood gazing in dismay at the disruption I had created.

The lodgepole bed was very much in keeping with the rustic lodge type houses J. built in Wyoming.

It looks rather silly and cumbersome in this small cottage.

Charlie is distressed by the disarranged furniture.

Teasel doesn't like the mirror and the cat basket dumped on the bed.

I phoned an SOS to G: "Help! I don't know where to put the bedroom furniture.  Nothing fits!"

G. and D. arrived.  Various suggestions were made.  J. and D.shooed us ladies out and firmly shut the bedroom door.

We listened in alarm to the sounds of heavy furniture being moved about.

When the door opened, the mammoth bed had been positioned in front of the double windows.

Not ideal, perhaps, but allowing for a more symetrical arrangement than previously and better access to both sides of the bed.

G. and I tweeked things; I rehung some pictures, removed some cluttery bits.

I have informed J. [who is trying not to hear me]

that he needs to hang the heavy mirror over the dresser.

The room is not photo ready at this point, but is looking better.

The cats are still suspicious, tip-toeing around, considering new routes.

I have ended up with a rocking chair and a small table which don't fit anywhere!

Buttery shortbread and some sinfully good 'chocolate ecstacies'

made yesterday afternoon filled the house with warm smells on a rainy day--and provided

a treat for tea today after our strenuous labors.

Autumn Afternoon Walk-About

There have been several days of 'Indian Summer' weather following the chilly days of rain last week.

By mid-morning today the temperature was 69-70 degrees F.  [My convertor gives that as 21 C.]

J. and D. have been cutting up the big dead maple which crashed over the fence into the edge of the cornfield.  The woods don't belong to us, so I haven't walked there.

As you can see, there is tangled under-growth and thick ropes of trumpet vine.

The leaves of this oak are a deep burgandy color, back-lit here by the late afternoon sun to a garnet red.

Deep shadows fall across the shorn cornfield and enfold the old barns.

Mute testimony to a death in the cornfield.

D. and J. suspect the wild turkey may have been a victim of a coyote.

The breastbone of the turkey as well as several heaps of featherws were strewn among the husks.

I mentally add turkeys to the list of wild creatures foraging in the corn before the combine arrived: deer, raccoons and possums all had their pickings.

Hawkeye Belle continues to bloom in spite of frosty nights.

The roses have opened in a jug of water--I cherish them in spite of the frost-seared edges.

The red one is Double Knock-Out.

In town today for errands we noticed that the planting of Double Knock-Out around the courthouse is in gorgeous bloom.  It appears that they were pruned back late in the summer and inspired to burst out in

response to autumn rain and sunshine.

Most of the golden leaves have fluttered down from the maple beyond the carport.

J. thinks this one is a "hard maple"--the sugar maple of New England.

While J. and D. were limbing the dead maple and carving up chunks for firewood, Devin called me out to see two sections of limb which had been stuffed with corn kernels, probably by an industrious squirrel.

Taking a closer look I realized some of the kernels are sprouting. I have always wondered if the squirrels remember in the cold of winter where they have created these well stocked larders. If that is the case, there will be a creature wandering along the cornfield come January, perplexed by the loss of his cache.