The Shabby Garden

It was a slow morning, overcast and quiet.

It was nearly 7 before the cats managed to coax me from bed.

The air outside was grey and still, no birds singing and calling from the trees.

Even the hummingbirds seemed less frantic in their swoops and swirls about the syrup feeder.

A look at the dull skies convinced me that it wasn't a day for hanging out laundry.

I put fresh sheets on the bed, greatly assisted by Edward the Cat, who several times rolled himself up like a sausage and had to be extracted before the bed could be spread up neat and smooth.

I could have done the laundry and used the electric dryer, but there was no particular urgency, so I'll wait and see if the sun shines forth before the weekend.

J. had errands to do, so we made a hasty breakfast of dry cereal with bananas.

I put a dollop of Greek yogurt on mine.

I have new boots--a gift from J.--so I hauled them on and strode grandly through the damp grass, carrying cat litter up to the dump at the far edge of the back meadow.

Pebbles the old horse poked her head out of her stable and trumpeted a greeting.

The boy cats escorted me back to the house and then out for an inspection of the lower garden.

[I am meant to be doing some much dreaded and necessary book keeping, but found myself inventing reasons to procrastinate before heading indoors to my stack of papers, invoices and checkbook registers!]

Nellie is a most companionable boy. He and his brother Bobby have an unflagging interest in the mole tunnels which undermine the lawn. They dig into them with great determination, coming up for air with dirt on their furry faces and paws. 

Bobby crouches on the big rock, thinking himself hidden by the screen of the cleome.

From here he can observe me watering the container plants on the porch.

He can bounce out at me ['Aha!] as I trek toward the mailbox.

Trailing cats, I stop to admire the Michaelmas daisies. 

I have resisted buying the vivid pink variety, Alma Potschke, but am coveting several I've seen pictured in  softer pinks and lavenders. 

Several of my seed grown achileas are making a brave fall showing after a ruthless pruning.

I fear I have lost the one called 'Paprika' and the 'Coronation Gold' is looking feeble.

Achilleas are sturdy plants, but they didn't enjoy the long spell of soggy weather in July and early August.

A clump of echinacea [coneflower] in a deep apricot color is holding its own, though not spreading as vigorously as I hoped.

The common rose-colored coneflowers are spent now and their seed heads are stiff and bristly.

The cosmos have been a joy and a delight this year in spite of being blown about, rained upon, crashed into by the sunflowers that went down in the fierce storms of July.

I had a large quantity of saved seed which I sowed quite thickly.

The cosmos are tumbled and tangled but it hasn't hindered their exuberant bloom.

About a week ago I discovered one stem of white flowers among the profusion of pink.

I brought out a length of garden twine and fastened it around that stalk so that I could collect and save that seed separately.

Today, though I spent perhaps 15 minutes searching [with Nellie pouncing helpfully through the undergrowth]

I couldn't find the string marked stem!

Such things frustrate me--I know I'll be back out there peering through the green tangle, gently lifting the stems aside, hoping to find that seed head.

Another seed started achillea. 

There are several cultivars of veronica in this end of the strip.

Somehow this froth of blue flowers [which looks like an ageratum] isn't something I recall planting.

Any plant which survived the rainy summer is welcome--if it behaves.

The zinnias, usually staunchly brilliant until frost, have not been at their best.

The leaves have been spotted with mildew and the blooms have quickly gone shabby after opening.

From across the dooryard they are still colorful, but don't bear closer inspection.

I have been ripping out morning glory vines each summer.

They rampaged freely for so many seasons previously that I expect we will never be without them. 

This one has clambered up one of the leaning sunflower stalks.

One clump of marigolds glowing bravely from a tangle of weeds, zinnias, and morning glories.

Nellie has trudged patiently behind me, stopping to bat at the odd butterfly or bee.

I am often dismayed when I see the damage [digging!] wrought by the boy cats who have dooryard privileges. I will continue to scold them, keep on barricading my seedlings with a surround of twigs, placing weighty stones in the potted plants on the porch to deter inquisitive paws.

All is forgiven for the pleasure of catly companionship in the garden!

Clear September Skies

A thunderstorm rolled in late on Thursday--nothing dramatic--a bit of rain, a few rumbles.

Still, when I collected the cats and shut the sliding door at bedtime I noted that the air seemed fresher.

After a few false starts on Friday morning, the sun broke through the mist along the creek.

We stepped outside to a day of clean crisp air, dew-sparkled grass, and temperatures 25 degrees lower than they've been in weeks.

There was a brisk wind from the northeast that pushed puffy white clouds across the blue sky, creating shifting patterns of sunshine and shadow over the rippling grass of the  meadow.

I opened all the windows, pegged a large wash on the lines where shirts and shorts and towels jiggled and bobbed, quickly dry.

Gone was the heavy humidity that has wrapped us for days, stifling ambition.

I dragged out the vacuum cleaner--which the cats detest--and followed my 'hoovering' with

a quick mopping.

With this virtuous bit of housekeeping accomplished I felt justified in devoting several hours to the current quilt in progress.

I laid out and stitched together half the blocks.

No photos yet--I hope to finish the other half tomorrow.

 The cosmos are still pretty--a thick tangle of wiry stems and pink petals dancing in the wind.

I took out a piece of string to mark the one white-flowered plant so that I can save its seed separately.

This grasshopper-creature was sunning itself on a fading zinnia.

The boy cats pounce on such things as they made their short buzzy flights, landing in the grass.

It seems to me that butterflies have been less plentiful this season--perhaps because because my flower garden has been less than flourishing. 

Those still hovering over the zinnias seem tired and tattered.

The Michaelmas Daisies are coming into their full glory.

These are very similar to the widely naturalized New England Asters.

This clump of pink phlox is a winner. It withstood the very hot and dry summer of 2012 and has continued to put forth fresh bloom during the humid rainy months which have been our lot in 2013.

I will be browsing plant catalogs come spring for other varieties of phlox to plant in the bare spots in the perennial strips.

Bobby McGee enjoys making the rounds of the dooryard with me.

He likes this humped rock which is surrounded by pink cleome.

I imagine that when he and his brother Nellie scamper over the rock, chasing and staging mock battles, the rock becomes their play fort.

M. sat on the porch last evening patiently aiming my camera at the hummingbirds as they whirred from the maple tree to the syrup feeder, zinged past us on the porch.

They go quiet for a few moments, then the pattern of feeding and zooming, looping past each other, 

begins again.

Edward is mischievous, fat and quite lazy. 

He is content to loll on the porch in the sunshine while his brothers tear about in the yard. 

At the moment he--and four other cats--are curled on the bed which shares the room with my desk.

There is a half bath off this room and before the weather turned, I discovered that Edward was favoring the sink basin as a cool place to keep me company when I was at the computer.

It was cool last night--only in the low 60's F when I stepped outside this morning.

We slept under a quilt all night with the window partly open to crisp air.

When I half woke at 4:15 and attempted to roll over, I found I was tucked in with a bevy of snuggling cats!

We've had a rare lazy day. After a late breakfast we moved onto the front porch, each with a book.

For the first time in weeks we dressed in jeans and warm shirts.

As the sun moved around the side of the house we moved our chairs to follow it.

Various of the cats came to sit with us awhile.

We enjoyed the antics of the hummingbirds, listened to the cries of  hawks as they wheeled above the front meadow, their shadows floating over the grass. 

The sun moved behind the fringe of woods that marks our western boundary and the air struck chill--unfamiliar, but welcome.

A half moon rides the night sky--a red moon.

The cicadas still rasp out their nocturnal songs, the cry of a coyote drifts down from the ridge.

There will be warm days yet and a harvest moon--but summer has passed for another year.

Plodding

I had 8 days on my own--Aug 27-Sept 4--while J. was away with his brothers, their spouses, and his younger sister.

I never dread time on my own. I quite often take on some momentous task such as painting a room or rearranging furniture.

My list of possibilities this time included such boring tasks as cleaning two closets and disposing of the excess clobber in them--not attempted.

I considered a full scale housecleaning--the weather was much too hot, and it occurred to me that with J. on a vacation I didn't need to entertain the martyrdom of grueling labor.

J. drove the van to Nashville, TN to leave at airport parking, which left me the big red Dodge diesel truck for my errands.

The morning he departed I clambered into the truck and drove off to deliver a quilt top to the local quilter.

On the way home I bought a roasting chicken to pop in the oven nicely seasoned with herbs.

M. and G. invited me for several meals next door, but the roast chicken served me well.

I also tried out a chocolate cookie recipe I had been eyeing.

I put half of the cookies away in the freezer and the rest in the cookie jar.

Very rich--almost too sweet.

The weather has been [and still is] horrendously hot and humid.

On the second evening of my 'home alone' week I waited til sundown to arm myself with the big loppers and attack the over-grown nandina shrubs around the porch.

At sundown it was still nearly 90 F.

I clipped and trimmed, stood back to assess my progress, trimmed some more, creating a huge pile of cuttings.  The boy cats sprawled panting in the grass, then began the laborious treks with me back and forth to the trash pile. 

Coming inside to a cool shower and an iced drink I decided that there would be no outside work until the weather cooled down.

Next day my neighbor, Gracie, invited me to ride along as her husband had an errand in Campbellsville and could allow time for Gracie and me to browse in Joanns--a fabric and craft store.

I indulged  myself with the purchase of two quilting books--they were on sale!

I started a king sized quilt--yet another Log Cabin pattern.

I stayed up well past midnight every night, squinting at archival newspapers online and discovered newly published vital statistics at ancestry.com.

I had thought of cleaning my desk--instead I scribbled notes on paper and created still more of a tipple!

G.'s camera has 'died' and she asked me to bring mine along when I came for my grandson's birthday lunch.

The birthday boy [19!] disappeared with friends soon after the meal and G. and I strolled around her shady yard. She despairs of keeping up with her venerable spider plant!

When she moved here I spent nearly an hour gently teasing apart  tangled roots and helping to re-pot the divisions. Each visitor to G.'s home is urged to take away a spider plant--they keep out-growing their containers.

A strange plant with a pumpkin-like vine has been festooning itself through the shrubbery and trees which border M. and G.'s property.

They think it had its genesis in kitchen waste which was dumped there last winter.

The huge vine is producing strange hybrid fruit with a pumpkin shape and the dark skin of an acorn squash!

Ironweed grows rankly in the un-mowed field next to M. and G.'s house.

I grew these rosemarys from seed in the spring of 2012.

I gave away many of the seedlings--a few didn't winter.

These two were more than ready for fresh soil and bigger pots.

I mixed coarse builders sand with potting soil and settled it around the roots.

The rosemarys immediately appeared happier in their larger quarters.

Interestingly, the two plants have slightly different growth habits. 

The one on the left resembles the prostrate rosemary which I've been growing on for the past three years.

There was a day when the temperature and humidity dropped slightly.

There had been rain enough to loosen the soil.

I decided to weed the upper perennial strip which has suffered from too much rain and too many weeds.

You can see the bare places where various plants were overwhelmed by the frequent rains.

Lemon thyme had galloped through the center of the strip in previous years. 

It was necessary to trim away mounds of  tangled dead stems.

I think the plants will revive as the weather cools as they now have breathing room.

I worked for 6 hours, taking a couple of short breaks for a cold drink.

The last hour or so was punishing, but I was determined to keep going.

I don't know how to garden in moderation.

Once I'm down on my creaky knees, grubby and sweating, it seems that I must continue until 

the task is finished.

I was glad to hobble into the house--refreshing shower, clean clothing, a mug of tea and a chicken sandwich.

Oh, the bliss of falling into my rocking chair with a book!

These pale Michaelmas Daisies resemble the 'frost asters' of New England.

The clumps diminished last year, but there is a hardy core of them which I hope will naturalize at the end of the perennial strip.

More Michaelmas Daisies--my favorites in the rich shade of warm purple.

[Surely there should be a more exotic color name than 'purple' to describe these!]

The lower strip where I have planted zinnias, sunflowers and cosmos these several years is looking very shabby. Although it doesn't show in the photo, the wet weather caused a plague of mildew on the zinnia leaves. The sunflowers, those few which remained upright after the battering winds and rain of July, are like tired skeletons.

I need to cut the largest heads to dry and collect seeds from the prettiest of the bi-colors.

My original cosmos seed was sown in 2010--a pink variety.

Subsequent sowings have been of saved seed.

I was surprised to see this maverick white cosmos, somewhat bug-riddled.

I need to mark it in some way and save the seed separately.

Willis the cat is a nearly constant companion when I work in the flower strips.

He fusses about until the heat drives him under the butterfly bush or into the fragrant thicket of the southernwood.

He pops out frequently to see that all is well in his domain.

Rain this afternoon--which hasn't done much to cool the heavy air.

Jim and I are resigned to the most undemanding of tasks until the promised arrival of more seasonal fall weather this weekend.

I have one more round of 'logs' to sew on a few of the 56 quilt blocks.

I have quilt bindings to finish.

Several family research projects have dragged on for too long and the details churn through my head at night.

There are always a few vital statistics that  elude me.

As the rain slowed just before dusk, we looked out to see the doe and her twin fawns 

walking along the road.

The second young one had plunged into the brush before I got outside with my camera.

I could hear a vehicle coming along the road as the deer watched me.

I was glad to recognize the truck belonging to a neighbor who instantly halted until the deer bounded off through the trees, headed for the creek bank.

I would like to think that I can be more focused for the remainder of the week.

Maybe I will even tidy my desk!

Surely as the autumnal equinox approaches this long spell of punishing heat will diminish.

I want to turn off the A/C [welcome as it has been] open the windows to a crisp fresh breeze.

I am ready to pull on jeans and cozy tops, to make soup, to pull a quilt over me at night.

Turning the Page to September

Ironweed grows unhindered in the pasture next door.

It is undoubtedly invasive, but an interesting plant.

I've noticed that wildflowers of springtime are delicate, pastel in coloring.

Summer brings vivid yellows, bright pink and fuchia.

With autumn come the deeper, richer colors which are my favorites:  burnished gold and bronze,

rich wine-y purples, darkest claret red, coppery russets.

I was born a few days before the vernal equinox, but autumn is the season in which I glory.

Mourning doves line up on the electrical wires that lead from the power pole in the meadow.

Each year I marvel that the ancient pear tree in the north meadow still stands.

These side branches are heavily weighted with fruit and leaning ground-wards.

J. packed last Monday for an 8 day vacation with his brothers, their wives, and his younger sister.

Bobby appropriated a suitcase and offered his help.

I've not accomplished much of the glorious list of tasks I had planned for myself while I have the luxury of 

'time to myself.'

It may be that the list was overly ambitious--it may be that I am getting lazy with advancing age!

Each summer here I've planted nasturtiums--one of my favorite annuals.

Each year they have failed to thrive.

During the month of August I was pleased to have a few blooms.

On Monday when I went out to water, this was the devastation that awaited me.

I snatched up the spray which J. uses on the worst garden pests and took a certain grim delight in watching the green caterpillars [offspring of the white cabbage butterfly] writhe.

I picked the last of the grapes on Monday, sweating, hot and cross before I finished.

Clambering about under the arbor, vines and twigs pulled swatches of hair loose from my braid. 

It immediately stuck damply to my face, hung in front of my glasses.

Inside, I pulled the grapes from the stems and plunged them into cool water in the sink while I retreated to the shower, having turned the A/C up a notch.

J. brought in a larger harvest of grapes the week previous, which I bottled in the time-honored method of stewing the grapes, straining off the juice and adding sugar to the hot liquid.

J.'s Mom and his Aunt Dot put up grapes by packing two cups into a quart jar, adding sugar and boiling water, then processing in a water bath canner.

It is far less time-consuming and messy than making strained juice.

While I was 'putting up' the grapes, our Amish neighbor, Joe Yoder, came in with J.

He stated this is how his mother dealt with the grape harvest on their Ontario, Canada farm 

where he was raised.

The grapes were bottled in larger jars for his big family and he remembered that his mother 'watered down' the juice after pouring it out.

Another quilt finished during the endless hot days of August.

This is, predictably, a variation of Log Cabin blocks--stitched in a chevron.

Although these are quality fabrics from my 'stash' I wasn't pleased with the way the quilt was developing--not enough of the right fabrics to arrange a light to dark progression in each block.

G. arrived to look over my shoulder as I was debating whether to continue with the quilt.

She pounced upon it and claimed it for her own, so I finished it.

I had no suitable material for a border, but found the purple rose-printed yardage at the quilter's shop.

The manufacturer's logo on the selvage dated it to 1999, so you can tell that the stock in that shop 

is not current.

I finished the binding by machine and duly presented it to G. for her 'collection.'

A brave clump of golden gloriosa daisies--you can see the much lamented weedy growth surrounding them.

A swath of cosmos--they don't seem to mind the heat.

I'll be gathering seed pods soon.

Many of the sunflowers were laid low by wind and rain in July. I will leave a few standing seed heads for the gold finches, and gather seeds from the prettiest of the bi-colors.

Sunflower seed stays viable for a number of years.

I surely have enough seed to plant a huge plot.

The cats don't enjoy the heat any more than I do.

Willis and the 'boys' who have indoor/outdoor privileges, have been happy to loll about in the house for most of the day.

The curtains have been drawn and the A/C faithfully [and expensively!] laboring to keep the house at a bearable temperature.

The cats arise, stretch and demand 'out' as evening arrives.

Willis and Nellie sprawl on the big rock in the yard.

Asked to pose for a photo session, Willis becomes bored and testy.

Saturday evening brought suddenly darkening skies, a boom of thunder, and, finally, a twilight burst of rain.

I thought the rain had ceased when I went to bed a bit  before eleven.

I awoke early on Sunday to a sodden morning.

It had obviously rained quite heavily in the night, more rain than our easily clogged storm drain can handle.

Our basement is made of cement blocks and a downpour always brings some seepage.

The cat's litter boxes are lined along the north wall in the unfinished part of the basement.

They were quick to protest the damp floor.

I sighed, hauled on my boots, cleaned floor and freshened litter before going outside to poke at the 

storm drain.

I noted with surprise the large puddle behind where I had parked the truck.

The 'boys' were all having a good slurp from the puddle.

The rain has come too late, I fear, for the soybeans which were planted within days of the belated wheat harvest. The greater financial loss will be for the crop farmer who leases this field.

We didn't have a monetary investment in this crop--as we did in the wheat--but our share from a corn or soybean harvest is happily anticipated. This has been a capricious summer of weather.

The mist began to 'burn off' a bit toward noon, but the day--thankfully--remained about 10 degrees cooler than the temperatures of the past exhausting month.

Our Amish neighbors headed to 'church'--which is held turn-about in Amish homes.

Cleome by the big rock--sprawled after a night of rain.

Last Tuesday evening--with the thermometer stuck at a steamy 89 F, I brandished the loppers and trimmed down the nandina which borders the front porch.

The blossoms and the scarlet berries which brighten the winter months grow on new wood, so ideally pruning should be done in spring.

I missed the moment this year and the nandina have, like every other plant, flourished in the moist climate of June and July.  Those nearest the porch leaned inward, grasping at us as we walked along.

I was ruthless in my clipping, but there are berries left to redden and to cheer the winter landscape.

The morning has slipped away as I wrote and there are chores to be done before I shower and dress a bit more presentably.

Off to pull on my boots and pretend to efficiency!