Rainy Day Cats

A soft peach-tinted dawn gave way to mist and rain.

Trees along the road are nearly bare, tawny leaves clinging to a few along the way.

In the back yard the silver maple is realeasing her leaves.

They drift damply down to rest in a wide circle of pale gold.

A small maple nearest the house was the first to drop its leaves, back in September.

They have drifted into the herb garden, settling amongst thyme and sage.

The leaves of the sweet gum are mostly still green.

A few have colored and fallen to lie like brilliant red stars.

Teasel has chosen one of the linen shelves as a snug hideaway for a rainy day.

Teasel, being my 'darling', will not be hustled out of the towels--I'll have to remember that using the pink one will result in a face full of fluff!

Dear old Eggnog loves to watch the flicker of flames. She dreams by the hour in front of which ever

fire is burning.

Wilbur and Willow have stationed themselves by the sliding door, intent on the patter of rain drops and

 whirling leaves just beyond their noses.

Willis and his cohorts, Sadie and Sally, were on the side porch/carport promptly at 7:15

to claim their breakfast.

The tortie girls sensibly retreated to the barn when the rain blew in.

The outside felines have the choice of the 'tobacco barn' which is stacked to the rafters with this seasons' hay crop, or the nearer barn.  Devin contrived a snug house for the cats there in the loft, stacking hay bales to create a roomy covered 'cave' lined with old sleeping bags.

Willis, the contrary cat, has lodged on the wicker loveseat on the front porch.

Unfazed by the drizzle beyond the porch, he snuggles into a tattered sheepskin rug.

I've watched him from the window inside noting how his ears twitch as a current of air whisks dry leaves across the porch floor.

Two of the livingroom chairs are occupied by dozing cats.  Looking for an item J. wanted I found Mima sweetly curled in the storage closet off the outside basement stairs.

There is a cat on the bed, another on the plant table in the basement, huddled beneath the gro-light.

Charlie has curled his hairy self on the bench by the sliding doors, im-periling the already

cat-battered begonia.

I've moved an apple pie from the freezer to the oven where its spicy aroma will greet J. when he returns from installing a wood stove at G.'s house.

I made rash promises earlier this week that on the next rainy day I would [errrr!] betake myself downstairs to the family room to finish sorting my books and sewing paraphernalia.

All this observation of drowsy cats has me thinking it would be just the thing to curl up with a book--there is a comfy rocking chair alongside both the fireplace and the downstairs fire.

But [errr--again] I promised myself.

So, bolstered with a mug of tea, I'm off to the sorting

Edited to add that I was headed downstairs to my sorting, full of tea and good intentions, when J. returned and suggested that we make doughnuts--something we haven't done during the heat of spring and summer.

A cozy, sugary treat for a rainy day.

Good intentions will now resume.

Storm Colors

We sat on the front porch as day slid into evening. Quietly at first a breeze flitted through, bringing cooler air. The leaves of the magnolia tree began to toss fretfully and a bank of dark grey clouds loomed to the north.

Thunder and lightning were mild and distant, a gentle shower pattered on leaves and grass.

The scent of honeysuckle was heavy and sweet.

A double rainbow made two perfect hoops in the strange light--the sky now almost coffee-colored, then muting to grey.

I tried several camera settings hoping to capture the quickly changing hues of the sky.

None of the photos are quite color perfect.

The rain ceased, leaving a cool breath of sweetness as dusk wrapped the valley.

J. and tribe strolled to the lower garden, came back to indignantly announce that since morning inspection four [!] tomato plants had been toppled by cutworms!

Tomorrow morning cutworm war will be launched.

Rain, Rain---GO AWAY!

J. brought in the first two ripe strawberries yesterday.

We are wondering at what point the crop may give up in the face of sunless days.

Pounding rain began again in the early morning.

Drenched iris hold brave wet heads upright in the green gloom.

Occupation for a rainy day.

Willis is a natural ham!

Stormy Green Twilight

It has rained intermittantly for the past 24 hours.

[As if we needed more rain!]

There have been frequent tornado watches this spring for several Kentucky  counties including the one where we live.   We've been told that it is rare for a tornado to touch down in this area, although "straight-line winds" can do damage.

Twilight tonight was painted in the strange eerie green hues that attend stormy weather.

I used several different camera settings for the following photos--none of them quite capture the reality of the rapidly shifting light and clouds.

The skyline looking south down Big Creek Valley.

The last rays of daylight struck up a shimmery haze.

Note the puddles in the grassy area of the back yard.

A wider "landscape" shot of the valley.

Rain-battered flowers hold their colors in the green dusk.

A final photo of the Big Creek Valley taken just as the rain broke again.

Daughter G. who is a decidedly dramatic personality, has been anxious about the possibility of a tornado

sweeping in and, as she puts it, "hurling a telephone pole through the front window of the motor home."

She, M. and their 2 dogs and 3 cats have been domiciled in the big motorhome which is parked just outside under the maple trees.

G. insists that the nightly wind and rain are buffeting the motorhome and keeping her awake with fears that she will be blown away to kingdom come~!

J. follows the progress of storms with an on-line doppler site, really monitors it during severe storms.

Rather than reassuring G. that all is likely to be safe, he has this evening been teasing her.

This has resulted in her moving the 3 cats into the spare bedroom to sleep with grandson D.

They have been keeping me company as I type.

G. has made herself a cozy space in the basement family room which she considers to be a safe refuge.

She has piled the daybed with a duvet, one of my woolen blankets, extra pillows.

She brought in her small radio and tuned it to a low-key all night station.

Her books are stacked invitingly by the rocking chair and the lamp is turned on.

Oh yes, since their mattresses and box springs have been stored in the family room she has laid down a mattress for M. and provided him with a quilt and two pillows.

J. is now teasing her that if the wind blows tonight we shall all move downstairs and sleep with her.

I daresay we could take down the kettle and make midnight tea!

I am not a person who enjoys storms.

In the year and a month that we have lived here there have been some torrential rains,

some wind, a very brief hail storm or two.

Each place we have lived--Vermont, Wyoming, and now Kentucky--has its own climate issues, spells of weather that call for a bit of planning ahead, dealing with whatever the elements bring us.

When we read of natural disasters in other places there is always the guilt-tinged relief that our own homes are spared. 

Tonight I can be thankful that the roof doesn't leak, the basement drain is unstopped

and we have room for everyone to sleep comfortably in this little house.

It Rained....And Rained; Now, Finally, Some Sun!

It has been a week of rainy weather--spring rain.

Sometimes a mist, deepening to steady rain, sometimes accompanied by wind and thunder.

There have been wet chilly days when the sun made no appearance.

This field of daffodils [photo taken March 9] stands slightly battered, but lovely, on the banks of Big Creek.

This is the area locally called "The Island"--a pasture with the creek looping through it and bounding it also at the edge of the road. Prior to the great flood of 1907, several homes stood in the area; homes [and lives] that were lost when the flash flood boiled over the creek banks.

A close-up of the daffs.  J. was waiting for me with the car and rain was drizzling icily down my neck, so I didn't linger.

The sun peeked out this morning, retreated shyly behind a bank of grey clouds to the north, then came out in full force.

J. is trying out the vintage "crawler" which he has been restoring.

Delila phoned me to come and photograph the finished quilt which has been our combined effort.

Her hand quilting is beautiful and precise.

Sadly, whatever the quilt brings at auction it will not be enough to repay the hours of labor.

Delila seemed down-hearted, said that she didn't recall having a quilt 'in the frame" this long during the 11 years of her marriage. Her young children need more of her attention, there is the housework--all done without electricity, a husband, the cow, the little store.

She feels that if I were to advertise her work and she found herself having to stitch to a deadline, she might be over-whelmed.

Delila and Joseph are planning a 3 day trip to friends in one of the Ohio Amish communities. The children will stay with an Amish neighbor, but they have been unable to draft anyone to milk the cow, so J. will have to go up the road to tend Dory. I think we will be having a surplus of milk!

Spring Rain

Raindrops made white balls of light in this photo taken at dusk.

Probably the flash went off, but there was a drizzle down my neck and I didn't stop to play with camera settings.

Several claps of thunder woke me in the night and the day dawned softly grey and rainy.

We think the yard has grown greener with each passing hour.

There are weather advisories for flash-flooding along the many area creeks.  Big Creek below our road is rushing along in a churning of brown water.

It has been a day of small domestic chores for me--I was inspired to sort several kitchen cupboards!

The cats have been companionable and have had to be removed from cupboards.

They are such devoted help!

Our Time for Snow

Nearly balmy temperatures on Saturday morning gave way to clouds and wind by mid-afternoon; before dark the rain swirled in, pelting from a leaden sky which blurred into the grey murk of twilight .

We heard the rain faintly through the night, but woke to the silence and white light of falling snow.

The glossy leaves of the magnolia tree wore white edgings.

The red berries of the dogwood were dots of color in a grey-white landscape.

Willis greatly hampered my efforts to clump about in the snow and take photos, here inserting himself in the branches of the dogwood.

At the boundary of the woods the snow-fall added to a mysterious and gloomy setting fit for a winter's tale.

The one spot of color along the line of the boundary fence, a maple still clings to rusty leaves.

Sadie the barn kitten.

The three kittens have grown luxurious winter coats.

Sally in the barn ell where we have laid down old sleeping bags as cat beds.

Sometimes the kittens appear to prefer making their own beds in the hay.

Pebbles, hoping for a second breakfast.

Her hay is now served in the barn ell which is adjacent to her yard and shed.

Thyme, dark green and aromatic beneath a fluff of snow.

There were two dried blooms on this dark red achillia.

The ginger cat, here seen through the kitchen door is one of three known strays which we are, willy-nilly--feeding.  We have seen them at a distance in the yard or barn since we moved in last spring.

I don't begrudge them a morsel of kibble in this cold weather and I regularly put out warmed buttermilk or skimmed milk.

But....we don't have the means to spay/neuter yet more cats and I have a fear that at some point a feral female will deposit a litter in the barn.

J. arranged a covered carton against the warmth of the chimney which rises from the carport floor.

The girl kittens seem to prefer shelter in the barn, but Willis pops out of the cozy box whenever we open the kitchen door.

J. going out to get wood this evening informed me that one of the two ginger strays was in the box

with Willis.

[Sigh!]

I took this photo while trudging up from the mailbox about 11 a.m.

The mail was late and we have been told that this [to us] small amount of snow causes all sorts of delays and cancellations.

Granted, there was just enough snow and cold to make for some slushy spots on the road, but having lived for years in New England and then in Wyoming, the weather doesn't seem that daunting.

The little house looks snug and inviting on a cold day, with a stash of wood handy in the carport.

Snort'n Nort'n, the old Dodge, waiting for another day of wood hauling.

Juncos have been bouncing about the yard for about a month now.

Their heads are differently marked than the western juncos.

I spent about an hour, bundled head and foot, plodding about the yard, rummaging through some bins which J. moved to the barn, accompanied at every step by the kittens.

When I heard a harsh gabbling sound I looked at first toward the woods thinking that the wild turkeys might be feeding there.

The cronking voices ebbed and then strengthened, and I looked above to see two gatherings of sand hill cranes wheeling and swirling in the lowering sky.

The presence of sand hill cranes was familiar in Wyoming. Early last March as we drove between Wyoming and Kentucky we saw great flocks of the tall brown birds who were wintering, with Canadian geese all along the North Platte River in Nebraska.

I had not expected to see cranes here and I stood bemused, noting the stretched necks, the long bodies like attenuated strokes of black ink against a canvas of mottled grey.

I watched and listened until the two groups melded into a purposeful flock and headed southward, their

strident calls fading in the cold air.

We bought two bird feeders today and two sacks of  feed, one bulging with grey striped sunflower seed and the other a mixture of seeds which should appeal to many of our dooryard visitors.

J. suspended the feeder from a pole screwed to the trunk of the maple which is directly in line with the kitchen window.

We hope that the combination of birds and outdoor cats won't result in too many casualties amongst the bird-kind.

Words for a November Day

We woke to a dreary, grey day after a night of gusty rain.

Pebbles, her coat dark with wet, waits in the end of the barn which has been designated as her shelter.

I squelched over sodden ground to the pear tree to collect treats for Pebbles.

Although I carried the camera in my jacket pocket the chilly drizzle meant spatters on the camera lens.

The old tobacco barn hunkers down in the misty and somber landscape.

The barn kittens are often in the carport by the time I enter the kitchen in the morning.

When I go out with their food they scamper up the path to the barn

dashing between Pebbles hooves, rushing back to make sure I really have their morning treats.

Today there was no sign of them until I was almost at the barn.

They appeared out of the dimness and waited, dry-footed, for me to arrange their dishes

and serve breakfast.

I waded through sopping grass toward the ancient  pear tree.

Stripped of its spring beauty of blossoms, with the summer gloss of green leaves rusted, and the bushels of golden fruit gathered in or abandoned to the wasps and small rodents, the tree shows its age.

On the left side are gaps where branches have broken in other years, on the right over-burdened limbs bow toward the ground.

Pears still lie in golden, softening heaps,

blotches of color in a day of somber, rain-dulled landscape.

A few pears still cling to the branches, out-of-reach

among the weathered foliage.

Skies are ashen, skeleton tree trunks are black with moisture.

Boundary line of the back field. The wood is shadowy, the light within crepuscular at mid-morning.

Only the areas of greenest grass seem alive in the rain-drenched gloom.

The garden is quiet, with no movement of foraging bird or vanished butterfly to recall the abundance

of earlier weeks.

Overhead a hawk sails the lowering sky, its voice sharply plaintive.

Pivoting full circle all I can see are leaden skies, dripping branches, frost-bleached pastures.

At lunch time a brassy sun broke free of the cloud overhang and

briefly relieved the gloom.

Cloud masses rampaged across a brilliant backdrop of blue, driven by a wuthering wind that clashed through bare branches.

Pebbles strides along the garden fence her coat rough-dried in the sharp wind.

Behind her to the north gunmetal clouds seeth.

Bathed momentarily in the harsh light, the pear tree appears greener, less haggard.

The sweet gum tree just beyond the carport flaunts a few coppery leaves.

Behind it the maple is a silver-etched silhouette.

Within moments the sun had vanished.

The afternoon dissolved into surly shadows.

Inside the house I listened to the moaning and keening of the wind, the occasional clatter of

objects knocked helter-skelter on the porch and in the car port.

The cats were twitchy, seeking warm dark corners, curling into circular mounds, noses tucked into paws, tails wrapped protectively over furry faces, shutting out the uncertainties of the weather.

Dusk came early.

J. who is responsible for milking Dory the Cow while the Yoders are away on a family visit,

declared that he had better go while he could still see.

He came back in the dark, stating that he was thankful for the windbreak of the small shed that Joseph constructed to shelter cow and milker in nasty weather.

The milk has been strained and put away to cool, except a bowlful taken to the barn kittens.

We have made stacks of toast and for me, a large mug of tea.

Both the big stove in the basement and the fireplace have been stuffed with wood.

Outside the harbingers of winter prevail in wind-driven rain

and falling temperatures.

The old barn provides hay-heaped nests for the kittens

and Pebbles can retreat to the dark shelter of the lean-to--if she will.

I have doubtless be-labored the exercise of finding colorful words for this day of wildly unsettled weather.
Stomping about this morning in my tall rubber boots, with wisps of mist-dampened hair straggling from under one of J.'s caps, I thought how cliched our descriptive terms become, perhaps because their very familiarity calls up the representative mental image.
Sodden: the sound of the word is heavy with wet and chill, a drenched garment cast off in distaste.
Dreary, dour, lowering:  I can see the greyness, feel it even--enfolding, dispiriting, compressing one into a small cold space.
Wuthering, gusting, howling: the wind has many voices, conjuring up old tales and ancient superstitions as it ushers in a storm.

How do you describe the weather in your corner of the world?