Blossoms

I'm glad I took time to enjoy the Old Timey pear tree in full bloom on Thursday morning.

Rain and wind in the afternoon and evening dashed blossoms from the top-most branches.

The pear blossoms are so lovely.

I walk around the tree, low-spreading branches catching at my hair, trying different camera settings, never quite captuing the intricate details.

The tree hasn't been pruned within anyone's memory.

There are many dead branches toward the top.

On the bottom half of the tree slender branches clamber across each other, all in flower.

Seen from a little distance the venerable tree is mis-shapen and guant.

This is typical of this variety of pear, known in the neighborhood as 'old timey pear', more properly designated as Kieffer Pear.

From Nature Hills Nursery website:

The Pear, Kieffer, Pyrus communis, has a crisp, juicy, white flesh that has a coarse texture.

It is a consistent, heavy bearer that ripens late September-October, and it is highly resistant to fire blight.
Kieffer Pear is very hardy and tolerates hot climates.
It is a medium to large rich-yellow pear, and since the pulp of the Kieffer pear is rather coarse and hard, it is preferable for pear preserves, and freshly cooked pear sauce.
Fruit should be picked hard-ripe and allowed to reach its flavor peak stored in a cool place. Kieffer Pear trees are easy to grow, and adapt to most conditions.
 

Dwarf peach trees, planted in 2010.

Last season the fruit trees came into bloom during an expansive early warm spell, set fruit which was blasted by a late frost.

We remember that disappointment even as we admire the blossoms.

Gardeners are every hopeful!

Cats Before Rain

Thursday morning, outside early to work in the garden.

Lowering skies, kittens in a wild and wooly frame of mind.

Nellie in the sweet gum tree.

Nellie walks as far out on a branch as he can go, then teeters before carefully reversing.

Bobby is intent on sub-terranean scrabblings in a mole's run.

Nellie watches, ready to lend a helpful paw.

Nellie, Edward and Willis strolled with me across the north pasture to admire the ancient pear tree in full bloom. The cats are very attentive to the buzzing and zooming of bees.

Nellie climbs for a better look at the bees and discovers the deep cleft in the trunk of the pear tree.

Nellie has gone head first into the tree trunk.

I don't know how deep the hollow extends.

For a moment all that is visible of Nellie is his fluffy tail.

Nellie, right side up again, peers reassuringly from the slit in the tree trunk.

Meanwhile, Edward nibbles the prickly tip of a wild rose bush.

Nellie climbs higher to inspect  the hovering bees--but the mist of rain is turning into a drizzle.

I trudge back up the slope, calling cats, who decide that perhaps its time to go inside, find a soft clean bedspread--the better to dry one's feet, my dear!

Favorite Salads

Denise of Mrs. Nesbitt's Space asked for the Broccoli Salad Recipe.

I was introduced to this crunchy salad by my daughter's Korean friend, Tuk.

I'm also including Layered Salad.

I was asked to bring layered salad to a potluck meal at our church--had to learn about it on the internet!

Both of these 'recipes' are more about a 'process' or 'method' than a list of exact measurements.

They are flexible in quantites.

Simply make more--or less--to suit your gathering.

When I make Broccoli Salad to share at a family or potluck meal these are the proportions I use.

Start with two large fresh broccoli crowns.

Trim off and discard the lower stalks.

Finely chop the broccoli.

Add chopped onion to taste.

My family doesn't care for a strong raw onion addition to salads.

I chopped a thick slice from  a sweet onion--on the right of the cutting board--about 3-4 Tablespoons, chopped fine.

Add about 1 cup chopped nuts--I used a combination of pecans and almonds.

[What I had on hand.]

Add a sprinkle of either bacon bits or a vegetarian bacon substitute.

I often contribute to meals for friends and relatives who are vegetarians--in which case I use the 'bacos.'

We don't eat pork, so I was pleased to find packaged turkey bacon bits.

 

The dressing is created from a good quality mayonnaise.

I prefer one that is olive oil based.

I scooped about 1 cup of mayo into a bowl, added 2 Tablespoons of sugar and 3 Tablespoons of cider vinegar, freshly ground pepper blend and a pinch of salt.

Whisk until smooth and stir into the broccoli mixture.

I think that a bottled seasoned dressing such as a creamy cole-slaw dressing could be substituted for homemade.

This salad can be made several hours ahead of meal time.

Leftovers are still crisp and appealing the next day.

Broccoli Salad, ready to serve.

G.'s photo, taken when I brought the salad for a company meal at her home.

Layered Salad.

This one is fun to make, very versatile, looks attractive at a buffet or festive dinner.

Place a thick layer of your favorite salad greens in the bottom of a glass bowl.

Add, in layers, diced tomato, cucumber, red or yellow peppers, chopped red onion or sliced scallions, sliced mushrooms, crumbled cheddar---the possible combinations can be tailored to your preference.

A favorite addition is a layer of green peas.

I buy them frozen and defrost overnight in the fridge [if I remember] or dump them into a collander and run hot water over them to thaw.

I like to add sliced black olives as a top layer.

Other possible additions are chopped hard-boiled egg, cold diced meat such as turkey, 'real' or veggie bacon bits.

I make a thick creamy dressing with olive oil mayo as a base.

Into this I whisk plain yogurt, or a bit of milk or cream to make a smooth consistency.

Dried or fresh herbs can be added to the dressing along with sea salt and freshly ground pepper.

Spread the dressing over the salad, sealing it to the edges of the bowl.

At serving time set out the salad to be admired.

At the last minute, fold the dressing into the salad.

This salad can be prepared and refridgerated for several hours prior to a meal.

This salad presents beautifully and merits compliments to the chef!

Tuesday, Where Did You Go?

Dandelions have been popping up here and there since January with a concentration of them behind the garage in the pile of rubble that was meant to turn into a greenhouse.

The greenhouse is on hold due to Jim's injured shoulder.

Last spring I juggled flats and pots of seedlings on the shelves along the south windows of the garage/shop--getting in J.'s way, constantly watering and turning seedlings that leaned toward the glass.

As the weather warmed I carried them to the front porch, where the damp-bottomed pots attracted large clans of woodlice.

As well as being a time-consuming process, it became a bit pricey, as I lugged home bag after bag of potting soil.

We've done some thinking this season as to how much garden we need--and how much energy we can summon to take care of the plantings we so enthusiastically envision.

We have canned tomatoes, green beans and pears [Oh, the PEARS!] left from last season.

Our three summers in KY have taught us that early spring plantings and late summer-into-fall plantings are the most productive.

The heat of July and early August is good for cucumbers, corn and melons--when they have enough moisture.  Lettuces bolt and 'greens' can get tough.

Fall plantings of cabbage and broccoli have carried us well into December.

Some of our tastiest green beans were planted in late August and produced until frost. Swiss chard falls to the first hard frost, kale becomes sweet and tender in colder weather.

Tomato blight is a problem early and mid-season and squash borers are a pest.

Edward inspects a mole's run at the edge of the garden.

Today we went off to buy seed potatoes. The local seed and fertilizer company has changed owners and they no longer carry potatoes.

An ag store the other side of town had only a few left, languishing in a big box. They were Yukon Gold--our favorites--and we took the lot--29.something pounds, which I cut into chunks for planting as soon as we returned home.

I pawed through my seeds, intending to plant lettuce, beets, greens, even willing to risk a hill or two of cucumbers and melons.

Coming into the kitchen to scrub my sticky hands I took note of the time and decided I would be wise to prepare lunch--something that would be ready when I fell through the door in exhaustion after my labors.

I chopped onion and garlic, set them to sizzling, added a qt of canned tomatoes, a handful of tiny pasta, pinches of seasoning.

As the kitchen bloomed with the odor of simmering soup, I brought out the ingredients for skillet cornbread.

I pressed the button to start the oven.

Nothing happened.

No 'beep' to indicate functioning, no numbers for selecting temperature.

I glared at the display which showed a strange code: 5A6.

I tried various ploys, nothing worked.

The oven was not heating up, but I was!

J. came in the back door.

"What are you baking?"

"It would appear that I'm not baking anything," I snapped.

J. suggested unplugging the stove, then reconnecting it.

Up popped 5A6.

I dug the owner's manual from a cupboard, began paging through.  None of the 'trouble-shooting' suggestions seemed to fit.

I don't like to be defeated by technology.

Neither would I like to summon a repairman only to find that there was some silly glitch I should have been able to manage.

A quick internet search informed me that 5A6 is a universal code on electronic/computerized ranges of recent manufacture.

It indicates--of all things--'Sabbath Mode.'

Continuing incredulously to read about this feature, I learned that it can be used to prevent using the oven for 72 [!] hours although the stove top will function!

My blasted oven had put itself into "Sabbath mode!"

Obviously Tuesday is not "Sabbath" by anyone's reckoning! After an hour of reading the owner's manual and internet 'help' sites, pushing a variety of button combinations on the touch pad--the d----d oven came on! I am scrupulous about wiping down the stovetop, the oven door and the control panel after each session of cooking--my swipes with the dishcloth must have triggered the 5A6 command [??]

At that point I was ready to jump on my broomstick and roar around over the treetops! Whatever happened to a sleek white kitchen range, an oven with an off/on clicker dial,

another dial for temperature settings?

As the oven heated, I used the momentary adrenelin of temper to beat up a batch of cornbread!

Cornbread, hot and crusty.

J. was expecting a couple from Tennessee who were interested in buying our Chrysler.

Knowing they would need to come in the house, I hastily swept the kitchen floor, tided my seed packets away.  I remembered that the registration and insurance cards were still in the glove box of the car and whisked out to get them.

There were oily looking spots on the interior door panels which I had cleaned as part of my 'detailing' efforts on Friday.

Stomping into the garage I demanded of J. "Did you spray anything on the car door panels?"

He had sprayed Armor-all--a vinyl 'dressing' best applied with a soft cloth.

Feeling very harassed, knowing if I said anything it would be too much, I fetched a towel and a cleaner which would remove the Armor-all.

J. poked his head--unwisely--through the opposite door of the car.

"It looks," I snarled, "as though someone had fried chicken in front of the doors!"

With the car interior once more immaculate, I dove through the kitchen door which snapped to with a twang that nearly beheaded me.

J. with a cautious glance at me--I'm sure I appeared combustible--reached up to adjust the spring-thing above the door.

I ladeled soup, cut a wedge of cornbread and lavished it with butter.

I glowered about, daring anyone--any inanimate device--to interfere with my need for nourishment.

The car shopping couple drove in just as I finished washing dishes and [very carefully] wiping down the stove.  I gathered up the cats who were making welcoming gestures, summoned a smile and small talk, then left J. and the very pleasant couple to get on with the delicate art of 'wheelin' and dealin.'

It took an hour, but they bought the car, intended for their 17 year old daughter.

It was nearly dusk when I finished typing and handing over the appropriate documents and we waved the couple on their way.

I thought of the tasks I intended to accomplish during the day.

J.  planted the potatoes while I was raging over my cold stove.

What had I done?

Shopped for seed potatoes.

Prepared two simple meals.

Pegged out a wash, folded and put away when wind-dried.

Wrestled with the wretched oven!

{ I did at least solve the problem!}

Fed cats, cleaned litter boxes, performed the minimal tasks which keep bathrooms, kitchen and bedroom fresh and clean.

I retreated at last to my desk, bringing with me a slice of G.'s banana-cranberry bread [almost cake-like] and a large mug of green tea.

I have recorded the frustrations of the day!

I didn't have time to admire the old pear tree in nearly full bloom or to sit in my rocking chair with a comforting lapful of cat.

I wonder--how will Wednesday and I get on?

Garden Chores

We have had several mild, mostly sunny spring days in succession!

J. pronounced that the ground had dried enough to 'turn'--as tilling the garden is termed in

our part of Kentucky.

Pebbles the Horse being securely pastured inside her double fence and placidly munching grass,  we could finally concentrate on other needs.

[Thank you for all the comments regarding the horse tales!]

 

Jim is proud of this tractor, one of his most recent restorations.

He remembers a similar model from his teen years on the Vermont farm.

I think his happy grin attests to his pleasure in putt-putting along the garden rows, turning in the green cover crop, laying bare the bands of rich brown loam.

A light wind frisked about all day, carrying the scent of damp soil, pear blossoms, and fresh-cut grass.

I tackled the strip that borders the front porch.

It was clogged with purple lamium--an invasive wildling that is prevalent here.

Locals call it 'hen-bit'.

This plant can blossom and flourish throughout the winter months, taking over, as in this case, a strip of garden weeded clean in autumn.

Driving around the county, we see great swaths of the red-purple blossoms in fields that have not yet been cultivated.  The slender juicy stems of the weed pull up easily--the fine mat of roots clings to the soil and has to be dug out with a trowel.

I worked steadily, clearing the area around the daylilies planted last year.

When we came here, grass and weeds crowded up to the foundation of the porch with a sad and tattered clump of sedum flanking each side of the steps. I rooted out the sedum last spring, along with a variagated grassy plant whose name I forget.

I was given a gift card for my birthday and spent some of it on daylily roots and two peonies.

The daylily roots have been added to the cleared strip--with much assistance from the boy cats.

I'm pleased to see that the lilies planted last year have fattened into sturdy clumps.

I raked up dried leaves--the wind whisked them back.

The gaunt old pear tree is coming into bloom.

Two of the three seasons we've lived here have seen the ancient tree producing a heavy crop of pears.

Mr. Rogers who is nearing the century mark, tells us that this tree was of bearing size when he moved to the neighborhood as a young boy.

Pear blossoms on the lower branches of the old tree.

The goat willow tree at the bottom of the front yard is in that lovely stage of transition from pussywillows to golden catkins. The whole tree has a soft glow about it even when the sun hides behind a cloud.

I worked until dusk, firmly ignoring the protests of my aging knees.

The small strip beyond the clothesline presented some challenges.

Although I removed sod when I started that bed last spring, there were still matted roots that made weeding difficult. I dug out more of the omnipresent lamium, pried out clumps of other perennial weeds whose names I haven't researched.

I tossed clods of earth at the boy cats who were determined to roll on frail emerging  peonies and dig madly around the clumps of pinks.

As the ache in my back grew I questioned my own sanity in trying to maintain so many plantings.

I should have had the sense to put down landscape fabric before setting in my flowers!

I've thought that the mulch we used in the upper perennial strip along the drive hasn't been very effective in keeping down weeds.

After grubbing in the strip by the clothesline where no mulch was used, I can appreciate that the mulch has kept the soil more mellow and easier to work in the other planting.

I didn't garden today.

I cooked a substantial mid-morning meal, tidied the kitchen, made several dozen molasses/spice cookies.

I wrote letters, responded to phone calls, applied lotion to my stiff and roughened hands.

This evening I wandered the dooryard, collected cats, visited Pebbles the Horse, marveled at the scent of pear blossom and the sound of the frog peeper's chorus ringing from the creek across the road.

I watered the daylily roots planted yesterday, tucked some strands of clematis around the wires of the trellis, noting the fat flower buds.

A seed catalog is open on the table, and visions of peonies and roses dance in my head.

The Rampages of an Elderly Horse

Pebbles sometimes escapes from her fenced area. We blame the deer if the fence is toppled.

When Pebs went walk-about early last week, the fence was upright, no post knocked over, no wire sagging. She has always been a biddable horse, meekly coming to J.'s whistle and

following where he leads.

We were surprised to see her strolling in the back lot only a few hours after J.

had returned her to her enclosure.

As the week progressed, the stealthy exits from her pasture became a routine.

During most of the year there is no charge on the electric fence, as Pebbles respects it.

After the second day of rounding up a straying horse, J. lugged over a battery and set the fence charger to ticking.  Finding Pebbles 'out' again within the hour, he began to be irritated.

By this time, she had wandered into the field of winter oats and was chomping greedily.

"She has to be jumping the fence," J. declared testily.

Thinking of her stiff and often hobbling gait this winter I protested that she couldn't possibly.

I went round the fence again.  J. raised the electric wire several inches.

The wretched horse got out yet again--but we never caught her in the act of 'getting out.'

Pebbles has had issues in the past with foundering--one of the reasons that J. keeps her in a relatively small grazing area.  All the fresh green grass and tasty oats couldn't be good for her.

By Friday the situation was aggravating.

J. put a fresh battery on the fence charger.

The third time that Pebbles escaped on Friday afternoon, J. was out of patience.

He had been back in the house less than 15 minutes when, looking out the north window I had to report, "Your horse is out--again!"

Pebbles resisted being caught. J. strode after her.  She walked faster.

He doesn't put a halter on her, merely loops a plaited lead rope around her neck.

This time he shooed her into the stall area and roped off the entrance..

I got out her brush and curry comb, hoping that I could brush out some of her

winter-tangled and muddy coat.

We settled her in the stall where she stayed for the night, good hay and water provided.

On Saturday morning, things came to a head.

J. released Pebs from her stall, checked to be sure the electric fence was ON.

Grandson D. drove in to share our breakfast.

We went out to admire the dried mud on his vehicle--evidence of his Friday night adventures with friends.

We discovered that Pebbles was OUT.

J. got on the 4 wheeler and rounded her up. Hurrying her into the stall he dragged metal door panels across the opening and with a flourish, nailed them in place.

"There!" he said, with satisfaction. "See how you like that!"

D. finished breakfast in several gulps and left us to linger over French toast with

applesauce and maple syrup.

As I pushed the last bite of toast around my plate, soaking up the puddle of syrup I became aware of a drumming sound coming from the back yard.  My first thought was that D. had decided to clean the mud off his Tracker and had the water hose going full blast.

J. looked up, his mouth full of toast and beef bacon.

Recognition dawned for both of us and we pushed back our chairs and made for the back door.

Pebbles was kicking the metal panels.

 I watched from the edge of the garden, astonished, as she managed to poke one leg around the edge of the panel, pushed, pawed, withdrew her leg and struck the panel another blow with her hoof.

As we walked up the path to the barn, Pebbles continued to hammer the metal panels.

She tossed her head, snorted, plunged.

The dooryard rang with the clashing of her hooves against the metal.

The cats who had followed us up the path, skittered away in fright.

I was reminded of a naughty child who, sent to her room for 'time out,' pitches a fit!

J. hauled over a sturdy half-round beam and nailed it above the metal panel with heavy spikes.

A second beam was positioned near the bottom of the panel, a substantial barricade.

I protested, "Its a beautiful day, the first one that's warm with sunshine.  How can you make Pebbles stay in her dark stall?"

"She can stay there," J. announced, "until I can go to town and get a heavier fence charger!  She can't roam the property and she's obviously not getting enough of a zap from the fence to impress her. This has gone on long enough!"

He made solicitous visits during the day, carrying fresh water in a bucket, fluffing up a helping of good hay.

Pebbles spent the night in her stall.

This morning, J. checked the fence charger once more, prepared to drive to Tractor Supply on the other side of town and purchase a new one.

"I think that charger is working just fine," he pronounced. "I'm going to string a double fence."

When he had finished, he took down the barriers and let Pebbles walk out of her stall.

She appeared to thoughtfully inspect the new fencing.

She didn't offer to put it to the test.

We have worked outside in the mild warmth most of the day.

Each time we glanced toward the horse pasture, Pebbles was calmly grazing, or standing still, looking meditatively out over the field of oats.

At times she retreated to her stall, munched hay, lounged in the shadows at the back of the stall.

Sheer greediness would seem to have been the motivating factor in her determined escapes. She discovered she could get out, and she discovered the succulent young green oats.

Her tantrums, in retropsect, are amusing.

Her return to docility is appreciated!

After the Whirlwind

For the past three weeks our home and that of our daughter and her family, a mile down the road, have been a reunion point for family and friends.

There is great joy in welcoming those we love.

Celebratory meals have been prepared and shared.

At times the cacaphony of laughter, talk, voices tumbling one over the other, have been almost over-whelming.  There have been tears choked back at partings, hugs, the wrench of leave-taking, the blessings for safe journeys.

With the dust now settling, I find, not surprisingly that I have a lot to process, words to remember, faces, familiar gestures, stories to be sorted and stored away rather in the manner of the laundered sheets which have been whisked from beds to clothesline to linen cupboard.

With the last guests waved off on Wednesday morning J. and I drove to the next county for the discount shopping offered one day per month to those over 60.

We spoke little during the drive, the silence settling about us like dust motes that rearrange after one passes through a room.

Home again, lunch eaten and the groceries put away, I wandered outside while J. betook himself to an appointment with the chiropractor [an appointment long deferred--stubborn man!]

I was surprised to note that in spite of the chilly days and nights of a reluctant spring, blossoms are opening on the two young pear trees.

These are a semi-dwarf variety of the vintage Kieffer Pear which has stood for over a century in our north meadow.

Pebbles the Old Horse, who has seemed to languish unhappily these past months, has been finding ways to get out of her fenced area.

J. has tightened the fence, ramped up the voltage.

He has returned her to her enclosure.

She follows him willingly enough and is out again almost before he has returned to the house.

I feel that all this green feed can't be good for her, but what is one to do?

I decided to walk the fence-line looking for a sagging wire or a place where she had knocked out a post.

Charlie and Bobby McGee paced along with me.

As I trudged around the back of the barn Pebbles watched, looking over her shoulder.

Near the top garden, Nellie crouched over a mole's tunnel, his 'arms' stretched downward into the soft earth which he had excavated.  This morning he brought us a huge dead mole which has been left just beyond the sliding doors, going soggy in the desultory rain of the day.

We have had another quiet day, spent mostly inside--J. by the living-room fire watching TV and nursing his sore shoulder.

I kindled a fire downstairs and made good use of the afternoon stitching down quilt bindings.

We are tired. a bit 'let-down,' waiting for the normal pattern of our days to re-emerge; hoping for warmer, drier weather, and the enthusiasm of gardening to revive us.