An Almost Balmy Day

When we woke this morning and opened the curtains we realized there had been rain in the night.

Lingering traces of roadside snow were washed away.

This was the temperature [F.] at about 11 a.m.

J. took the photo as the old thermometer is fastened high on the side wall in the carport.

There was a boisterously playful wind for much of the day.

The bird feeder bounced on its wire hanger.

Much of the remaining seed landed on the ground.

The juncos will enjoy picking it up.

Goldfinches found the mesh cylinder which holds niger seed.

They are beautiful birds, even in their winter olive-drab.

New growth of catnip flourishing at the edge of the wooden barrel planter.

The cats relished some, fresh-picked.

Is it our imagination, or has the lawn greened up from the snow and rain?

There is mildly squelchy mud in places and that earthy scent which I have before associated with early spring in New England.

I don't know the name of this wiry shrub which grows in the corner of the garden fence.

There are abundant crimson berries but the birds seem to take no notice.

It was so pleasant outside that I couldn't settle to inside chores [in spite of 'dust kitties' floating about]

so put on my wellies and tramped along the boundary fence and about the dooryard.

These twisted vines caught my eye. Not sure what they are as the honeysuckle is usually evergreen.  I'll have to remember to look when there are green leaves again.

This may be a dead cedar--there is white cedar scattered through the adjoining woodlot.

I was looking out today for interesting textures and shapes.

Goldenrod seed fluff.

This dooryard maple still has clinging leaves.

Their texture is not crisp, more like a stiffened fabric.

Sun slanting across the yard to the north.

Honeysuckle rampaging over a dormant shrub.

The ground under the magnolia tree is thick with fallen cones.

Pods on the redbud, black shapes against late afternoon sky.

Around the Farm

One of the redbud trees in sunlit glory.

Some of the blossoms open right along the trunk or the branches as well as in the more familiar manner.

My darling old Eggnog has decided that the bow window is her favorite place. Its the only window with a sill wide enough to make a cat comfortable.  I cleaned the grime of years from the panes yesterday--inside and out while Eggie kept watch.

An old apple tree coming into bloom with the weathered barns in the background. Part of this tree's stump lies along the ground.

There were ancient apple trees on my Grampa's farm, remnents of the orchard which was a common feature of most well established farms.  I remember an apple tree whose trunk had developed a thick horizontal branch a few feet above the ground--a wonderful place to sit with a book or merely to survey my kingdom.

Winged pods on a maple.  J.M. who sold us the place, calls this a water maple.  J. thinks it is what we recognized in New England as a "soft maple" or "swamp maple."

I'm thinking this is an apple tree, but the blossoms are a deeper pink than I've ever seen.  They have the classic apple blossom scent.  The new leaves are so glossy and fresh.

A brisk wind ruffled the grass and sang through the newly leafed tree branches this morning as we sat on the porch with our coffee.

I was sad to see that most of the petals on the pear tree were drifting to the ground. I hope the bees have done their work and there will be pears in the fall.

I encountered this wooly bear near the garage and moved it carefully out of the way.

Moments later I watched a yellow swallowtail butterfly drift on the wind currents and disappear above the roof of the house.

The three redbuds at the foot of the long drive.

Power lines run overhead here, a distraction when taking photos. 

Some of the 40 pounds of seed potatoes which I cut yesterday. All but a few are now tucked in the ground.

J. spent Monday afternoon trundling back and forth to the seed and fertilizer plant nearby.  J.M. had soil samples taken last fall and J. took the resulting maps to the fertilizer man who blended the fertilizer for each plot.

Today we went back for seed. I was given the task of dipping out seed from each of several sacks and mixing it in the five gallon bucket.

J. borrowed an ingenious seeder from J.M. It hooks into the battery of the 4-wheeler, a lever is pulled and off one goes with the seed spraying out.  J. devised the "drag" to cover the seed from several boards and a fence panel.

With my contribution to the seeding finished I walked up to the edge of the woods which form the boundary, but didn't climb over the fence as it is festooned with what I believe to be poison oak. I think these wildlings are called May apple--I need to ressurect my book on eastern wildflowers.

Twice today I heard wild turkeys clucking and gobbling in the wood.

When we went after the seed a few minutes after first hearing them, I saw one toddling hastily up the next door pasture.

Evening Walk-About

I took this photo looking up into the redbud trees. The light was fading and the photo does no justice to the color of the blooms.  Will have to take more in the morning.  Redbud trees are a new experience for us.

I know this is a dogwood--but I expected the blossoms to be larger.

Is this perhaps hydrangea?  Thank you QC for helping with plant identities.  I think your growing area must be similar there in VA.

I've been eyeing two shrubs at the northwest end of the house.  Today these colorful buds are showing.  In town we saw blooming shrubs with brilliant orange flowers.  I suspect these may be the same.  For a wild guess--wiegalia?  [And I should doubtless check the spelling of that as well as look up a plant photo online!]

J. and I were intrigued, now that we've tuned in to redbuds, to see that they grow here and there in hedgerows and the edges of wooded places. This one is just across the road from the mailbox.  Note the leafy nest, maybe a squirrel's in the sapling behind the redbud.

A view of the old barns as the sun was setting.

The old pear tree as the day was fading. I am drawn to walk down the slope to stand under this tree. Bloom time is so fleeting and lovely and the tree has such a venerable feeling about it.

Cooling Shade

By cool Siloam's shady rill
How fair the lily grows!
How sweet the breath, beneath the hill,
Of Sharon's dewy rose!

Lo! such the child whose early feet
The paths of peace have trod,
Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,
Is upward drawn to God.

Reginald Heber, 1812

Our town in Wyoming has an elevation of 5,358 ft (1,633 m), more than a mile high, and as such is considered high desert. Trees do grow along the rivers and irrigation ditches: cottonwoods, Russian Olive, willow. There are no hardwoods. Within the limits of the very small city, trees set out decades ago along streets and in the parks are watered and provide green shade during the short, but usually fiercely hot summer. A few miles out of town, the landscape quickly reverts to the monotony of sagebrush and stubbly, coarse grass. Shade is scarce and the sun beats down on windblown dust.

We live less than two miles from the center of town and thanks to an irrigation ditch which loops and curves through the property we have trees--my husband is fond of stating that they are about the only trees between the city limits and the junction 8 miles away.

Driving into town on a summer's day I pass a horse pasture. For several years I noticed that on hot afternoons the horses would crowd into the lop-sided rectangle of shade thrown by a huge billboard. Early in January we endured a week of unusually high winds--and this is land where the wind blows famously. Limbs and branches crashed down and the tree service people were busy for days to come. We had our own clean up to do--part of a tree down just outside the dining room window, branches all over the driveway. At one point as I stood gazing up into the bare and creaking heights of a cottonwood, my husband suggested wryly, "Do you suppose maybe you should move out from under the trees while you stand and think?"

The metal billboard was also a casualty of the gales and no one has removed the twisted metal poles or the battered sign. Earlier this week I observed that the horses still gather close around the wreckage, still taking the available shelter from the sun in the heat of the day. They were most cordial and obliging when I stopped the truck and climbed out to take their pictures.

Mulling this, I recalled some of the old hymns of the church which mention shade, Bible verses which give thanks for a cooling stream or the blessing of relief from the beating and merciless sun. "Mighty rock in a weary land, cooling shade on the burning sand..."

These were the stories and songs of people whose heritage was desert heat at its worst; the rights to a well were defended in bloody combat; green grass, a clear running brook, a safe pasture with a grove of shade trees became the poetry of thanksgiving.

Eleven years ago I moved to the interior west leaving behind a lifetime of maple shaded dooryards, flowering hedgerows, acres of beech and oak, ash and hickory. I came to live in a place where dried tumbleweed mounded along the roadside fences, where the wind whipped coarse grit against my skin; where trash and dust rolled up the valley each afternoon driven by the relentless winds.

I cherish these willows around the pond, the cottonwoods and the Chinese elm, the Russian olives which straggle along the irrigation ditch. Our horse has shade where she can retreat to swish her tail during the heat of the day.

The Lord is your keeper;The Lord is your shade at your right hand.

Psalm 121:5