The Domestic Scene

I slept poorly last night, but woke at the usual time to lie still for a few moments,

wedged about with cats. 

The daylight slotting through the shutters has a grey quality and I hear a swhooshing of wind.

The cats have an uncanny ability to register the exact moment when I shift from slumber mode to the first blinks of wakefullness.

A human awake is a human who should be tending cats!

While I stretch creakily beneath the covers and contemplate the ordering of the day, the cats tread heavily upon me; they meow; they purr. Furry paws reach from the bedside stand to prod, gently but insistantly. Mima plods across my pillow, pulling my long hair.

 Charlie, sitting on the floor, reaches up to whack Mrs. Beasley, who growls. 

Teasel brings her beautiful face close to mine, making throaty sounds of encouragement.

Lingering in bed is not an option.

In the livingroom I open the curtains and stand gazing out at the cloudy morning. Cats mill about my ankles, pleading for breakfast.  They make meaningful dashes toward the kitchen, returning to herd me in the right direction.  I fend them off long enough to heave two chunks of dry maple into the embers of last nights fire, then follow them to the kitchen.

This morning performance is not about lack of food or imminent deprivation of any sort.

It is a ritual as firmly established as our morning cup of coffee, and until that spoonful each of tinned food is doled out, there is no peace.

The weather report didn't call for rain, the air was warmish and it seemed a good day in spite of the clouds  to wash sheets and let them flap dry in the wind. 

Fallen leaves were scudding about the driveway and into the carport. When I opened the sliding door into the cat enclosure the curtains billowed and surged.

With the cats sorted I took my coffee in by the fire, opened my laptop to check email and skim through my favorite blogs.

Gusts of wind shrieked down the chimney. Cats hurtled in and out the sliding door, tangling in the blowing curtain, colliding with each other, hissing and snarling testily.

Catching their restlessness, I put on my wellies and a tattered hoodie. I stood at the edge of the carport watching Willis and Co as they chased whirling leaves and wrestled each other in the gravel of the driveway.

Pebbles spotted me and trumpeted from the edge of her pasture.

As I started up the path she pounded toward the barn, whirled, kicked out her back legs, and plunged back down the fence line, snorting.

J. emerged, drove the lawn mower out of the barn and began circling the dooryard, chewed up leaves and short grass spewing in his wake.

While bed linens churned in the washer, I dealt with litter boxes.

Approaching my litter dump at the far end of the back pasture I was startled by the sharp warning coughs of deer and looked into the woods in time to see three whitetails plunging into the dark stand of trees.

There was an undercurrent of disturbance to the morning--animals all acting twitchy as grey clouds billowed across the sky.

The air smelled of woodsmoke and woodpiles, of cut grass and decaying leaves.

I fetched a collander and snipped Swiss chard from the late summer planting.

As I pegged out the flannel sheets and the pillowcases the first tentative drops of rain

pelted the back of my neck.

"You said it wouldn't rain!" I accused J. as he trundled past with a wheelbarrow load of wood.

"I only read you the weather report," he retorted, "I didn't research it!"

Rain blew on gusts of wind, faltered, began again. The sheets grew sodden, hanging limply, then straining at the wooden clothes pegs as the wind veered round from the north.

Pebbles eyed us from the door to her lean-to--likely calculating the possibility that J. would unwittingly serve up a second breakfast of grain.

I headed for the house, to a hot shower and dry clothes.

The rain quit, leaving damp grass and a slick of wet in the driveway.

From the front window I noted a convocation of robins, perhaps two dozen of them, bustling and picking.

A half-hearted sun played hide and seek, glowing through the branches of the burning bush.

The cats found the yard too damp for their liking and sought warm places in the house to nap.

I kneaded a batch of bread, started supper.  J. went to help G. construct a pet yard.

I fetched in the still damp sheets and bundled them into the dryer, put the kettle on for tea.

Evening draws in so early now, the days shortening toward the solstice, little more than a month away.

Twilight stained the sky with lavender behind the lingering grey clouds. The branches of the maples, bare now of their leaves, moved soundlessly.

In the east, the moon rode a sky of palest apricot.

I seldom take photos of the moon as the night time setting for my camera produces an effect darker than the reality.

I am intrigued by the tracery of bare branches and the moon caught in their frame.

Inside to stay as darkness falls.

The loaves are pulled from the oven, the kitchen is cozy with the smell of baking.

J. cuts a thick slab of bread while it is still warm.

I slice one for myself, turn the kettle on again.

We shut doors, draw curtains, settle into the house for the night.

Mid-August Week in Photos

 The weather sulked a bit last week--partly over-cast skies brought welcome respite from the intense heat and humidity of July and the earlier August days.

A few showers, all too brief, at least 'laid the dust.'

I pulled out spent vines of cucumber and squash, uprooted the sorry remnants of tomato plants,

and J. turned the soil afresh using both the large tractor-pulled rotavator

and the Troybilt tiller.

Matt and Gina have labored at the garden space being resurrected at their house

and came up to take advantage of a sunnier strip here for a few things.

The late garden is pretty much in place and we have only to weed, water, monitor for insect pests and

hope for autumn weather that will give us a harvest.

J. took this photo Saturday evening when sunset reflected orange against

billowing clouds to the east.

Moments later, as twilight approached, a thunderstorm moved in with a pounding of welcome rain

and pleasant showers during the night.

A cool and misty morning; looking south down the Big Creek Valley.

Payne Janes Hill is wrapped in grey mist which obliterates the view of farm buildings and familiar landmarks.

The ancient pear tree [not fruit-laden this season] stands sentinel over the green and dripping landscape.

Mist rolls along above Big Creek as we sit on the east-facing porch.

The second planting of beans.

We are hovering over the melon vines awaiting the first of the cantalope.

Last year we had them by the wheelbarrow full by the first week of July.

Our early planting this year coincided with a cold and wet spell of weather---no early melons!

Green peppers have been great this year--I've been chopping them for the freezer.

No idea of the variety of grapes. The vine had gone rampant with neglect, even putting out branches which rambled along the top of the ground and then rooted in.

J. experimented on Friday with home made grape juice.

The field corn in the 15 acres J. leased to a neighbor.

It was a late planting due to the cold wet May, but is thriving.

Clusters of elderberries hang in shiny purple-black heads.

I expect I should be manufacturing jelly from them.

An elderly friend in our church during the Vermont years produced a much-anticipated elderberry pie each summer for a pot luck dinner.

Profligate and prolific trumpet vine.

The main vine has clambered up a crabapple tree, rampaged over the wood pile, cast out new plants within

an astonishing radius.

A sunflower sporting rain drops from a shower early on Sunday morning.

Bees hum in the sunflowers.

The 'hot' colors aren't my favorites, but when it comes to sunflowers

nothing is too gaudy.

Although the old apple tree at the edge of the back yard doesn't provide us with fruit,

it creates a welcome circle of shade for Pebbles and her water tub.

J. took this photo after the morning mist 'burned off.'

The sun is capricious today, the air sweet and cool.

Teasel stalks a 'bug" in the cat yard.

The kittens are uproarious at night.

When I shut down my computer and close the door on this room

we hear thumps and bumps as we prepare for bed.

This is the sight which greeted me when I came in this morning with bowls of 'poultry platter'

for the kittens.

Wilbur appears astonished that I don't appreciate his ingenuity with a roll of toilet paper!

Willow has learned that looking pretty has a mitigating effect when one has been a naughty cat!

She sprawls innocently on a bin of the genealogy materials which I've been sorting in odd moments.

The kittens and I say 'thank-you' for commiseration about fleas and suggestions for managing them.

I'm still finding a few on the kittens' tummies when I do a twice daily flea search, but the numbers are declining.  I augmented the Zodiac 'spot treatment' with a very cautious spritz of flea spray in furry armpits.

Brewer's yeast isn't available in our local market [think Wal-Mart--sigh] but I plan to get some on our next trip to the whole foods store.

I think it would be a good nutritional supplement for all the resident felines.

Season By Season

At top left in the photo collage of the pussywillow tree [goat willow] is the silky grey kittens as they appeared

on March 22, 2010, a photo taken the day after our arrival in Kentucky a year ago.

The other photos were all taken March 22, 2011.

Note that the early spring has fast-forwarded the goat willow  to fully developed catkins.

The whole tree has a fuzzy yellow haze.

Top left is the clump of peonies--my delighted discovery made on March 22, 2010.

Like the goat willow tree, the peonies are far ahead of last spring in emerging.

From my photo archives I learned that it was April 1st in 2010 before the peonies shoots were as tall as they are now.

At bottom left is the tree peony which I planted a year ago.

Photos of the vintage Kieffer pear tree, all taken  March 22, 2011.

Last year my first photo of pear blossom is dated April 3rd.

It seems incredible that the century old tree survived another winter of harsh winds and heavier than usual snow.

It is even more crone-like in appearance having lost heavily fruit-laden branches last summer and autumn.

As you can see, part of the trunk is hollow. Daylight can be seen from one side to the other.

There is another open wound nearer the top of the tree.

During the winter I created a photo story of the venerable pear tree which was featured in our local online publication, Columbia Magazine.

I researched the "old-timey pear" which is the name locally given to trees of this variety.

I was able to determine that the pear is more correctly labeled Kieffer pear.

Several southern nurseries offer this hardy, blight and heat resistant pear.

I have ordered two on semi-dwarf stock.

I began preparing this post on March 23rd.

Our weather turned that evening with a thunderstorm, wind and hail.  It has since  been chilly with intermittant showers. Leaves are emerging on the old pear tree although the blossoming seems to have been halted, whether by the cooler weather or because the tree is stressed, I don't know.

I grew up in a family for whom seasons and weather were vital matters.

This is hardly unusual since country people have always been keen observers of weather as it affects seedtime, cultivation and harvest.

Folks didn't hesitate to prophesy regarding imminent weather patterns; they had, after all, been observing the signs for years. 

My father, who relied on "The Old Farmer's Almanac" as well as his common sense, prefaced many of his weather predictions with----"I'm afraid we're in for a_____"--fill in the blank with storm; dry spell;

an early winter.

My maternal grandfather kept diaries for many years. There was nothing literary or elaborate about his entries.  He recorded the weather, the amount of milk produced by the cows.  He noted when potatoes were planted, when wild berries ripened, when mud season turned the country dirt roads to a sticky rutted mess.

Sometimes I would comment that the weather seemed too cold for spring break from school--or that snow had come early, the lilacs were late in blooming.

Grampa's response was to take down half a dozen or so of the diaries from the cupboard and we would compare the weather for a random assortment of years.

We noted that indeed there were seasons when temperatures were out of kilter or storms came unexpectedly, but taken as a whole, the turn of the seasons from year to year was reassuringly predictable.

Spring always arrived, no matter how long the winter.

The photo folders on my PC, automatically dated, serve much the same purpose as my grandfather's diaries, noting the weather and the small details and interests of our days--projects, pets,

scenes from home or travel.

My blog expands  this process and I'm already finding that it serves as a helpful journal recording our first year of gardening in a new home.

In the past I have started many a garden with the good intentions of keeping a garden plan or chart.

Somehow the roll of paper was unwittingly left outside in the rain or blown away across the field.  Other times I just didn't stay organized and complete the chart with notes on harvest dates or which varities of tomatoes or corn gave the best yields.

As we pondered aloud last week over the forward season it was gratifying to refer to the photo archives and

verify that the first flush of spring did indeed come early.

Pellets of hail rattled down as wind and thunder ushered in the Wednesday evening storm.

Within moments the hail gave way to rain and an eerie dark green dusk enveloped the dooryard.

Pebbles galloped dementedly about in her pasture during the hail and rain while J. with his head out the window urged her to "go to the barn."

Here she is, wet and indignant in the pale evening sunlight which followed the storm.

The temperature dropped about 20 degrees during the hour of the storm.

When the rain ceased and the thunder had rolled off, I walked in a shimmering golden sunset, barn kittens skittering at my heels.

Warmer Weather

Days of balmy sunshine here.

We've had windows open and the sliding glass door as well.

Teasel sprawls luxuriously under a bench enjoying the the warm pool of sunshine.

I have scattered poppy seeds [papaver sommniferum] over the bare spots in my middle flower border.

I have "Lauren's Grape", "Pink Peony", "Black Swan," and "Heirloom"--all from Select Seeds.

A strange dog has appeared twice this week.

No collar but somehow she doesn't seem like a stray.

I  think she has had puppies a number of times.

She is friendly and loving, but immediately carries off the cat dishes.

Within moments she leaves.

The old mother dog belongs to neighbors just down the road.

The lady of the house has taken to late afternoon walks accompanied by the yellow dog and a young boy who pushes an old-fashioned scooter.

Apparently the dog likes to make a little detour to see if we have any interesting tidbits available.

The wind has been brisk all day, sending huge billowing clouds across the sky, blotting out the sun, then parting to let it through again.

Laundry snapped and flapped on the clotheslines as we worked outside.

Several times we heard the cronking of the sand hill cranes swirling overhead.

Red-winged blackbirds appeared to pick up the seeds that fall from the bird feeder in the maple tree.

Their shoulder patches are pale, not yet flaunting the scarlet of the courting season.

Inside the cats have skittered about, inflating their tails and huffing over nothing we can see.

I tried several settings to take photos of the moon as it rode the swift-moving clouds.

None of the photos do justice to the wild and lovely night.

J. heard the spring "peepers" singing from the low ground by the creek across the road.

I listened, but my hearing is no longer sharp enough to pick up that welcome trill when the wind is whistling and the wind chimes clanging.

Willis and Sadie furled themselves about my ankles as I walked about in the glow of the yard light.

Willis has a "thing" about bowling Sadie over.

Change in the Weather

Sunshine on Friday after several days of cold and snow.

The birds continued to appreciate the three feeders.

I suppose it was inevitable:  Willis the Cat got his jaws around an unwary junco.

I didn't find a pathetic heap of feathers or other remains so just maybe the junco lived to tell about it.

J. promptly got on the scene with some heavy fence wire left over from his sturdy garden enclosure.

Willis and "the girls" were dismayed that their access to the bird feeders has been curtailed.

Think disgruntled catlets sitting on the cement curbing of the basement bulkhead, tails and whiskers twitching in indignation.

What's a cat to do?

A peachy sunset on Friday evening.

The snow melted swiftly all through Saturday and by early this morning it held on only in little hollows and on the north sides of the buildings.

I walked up through the pasture and crossed down to the road at about 8 a.m.--there was a wind that sang in my ears and ground softening to mud under my wellies.

I made many excuses to be outside today.

I hung laundry on the line, where it flapped and billowed and got dry!

I picked up twigs and small branches that littered the ground underneath the maples and the redbuds.

At suppertime I noticed these daffodils standing sturdily on short stems.

This one had opened in spite of being blanketed with snow for several days.

Our local on-line magazine has published the photos under a banner announcing the first daffodil of the season. Daffs are referred to locally as "March lilies."

And on Friday I was presented with a box of Hershey's best--which I am sharing with the presenter, J.

I made him a pan of very fudge-y brownies.