Thank You!

Nellie, on a catnip high.

Thank you for your words of comfort re the passing of Nellie-cat.

He was a dear boy.

The love of animals is a common bond.

 

Early July Weather/Garden Journal

The pall of smoke from Canadian wildfires kept our weather unusually cool and damp through June. Nights have mostly been moonless.

Tipping into July, summer has asserted itself. Early mornings register a scant 70 F, but the air is heavy and moist, forecasting noon heat in the high 80's F.

Stepping into the greenhouse to water a few remaining seedlings I am nearly flattened by a wall of heat.

J. runs the A/C in his shop, it is turned on in the house by mid-morning.

T-storms and wind have torn through during several nights causing area damage and power outages. 

We have been safe here though sleep-deprived by unsettled nights.

I pull the bedroom curtains during a thunder storm, sometimes turn on a bedside light to read. 

The cats are upset by the storms, piling onto my bed, twitching with each loud thunderclap.

When the sun breaks through the haze we slog into the muddy garden, picking cucumbers, tomatoes, up-earthing a few hills of potatoes. 

Meals have been haphazardly timed; I keep freshly brewed iced tea in the fridge. 

When it is overcast but not raining I've managed to move volunteer coneflowers from one area to another, pull a few of the lushly proliferating weeds. 

Sometimes the evening is cool enough to take a book to the east screened porch. Often the book rests in my lap as I watch the antics of the hummingbirds. I've counted 6 at one time thronging the two hanging feeders; possibly there is at least one more. Both feeders need refilling daily--and my sugar canister is getting low!

Monday was happily busy. A friend dropped by to practice music for a church service later this month. She and her husband were headed home to make pickles, and after sampling a jar of last year's Dilly Beans decided to add that recipe to their pickling venture.

G. and M. breezed in for a rest stop between produce auctions. The big one in Casey County gets underway noon-ish [Eastern time] and can run for several hours at peak produce season. The smaller auction at Speck Ridge advertises their starting time at 4:30 Central time.

I was reading at my desk late yesterday afternoon when J. buzzed in and announced that I needed to drive to Speck Ridge to collect a share of the sweet corn Matt had purchased. That auction usually winds down rather quickly  so I flung myself into the car, and while mindful of the stretches of road that wind up and down the ridges, I have to say that I made good time.  The auction was still in full swing.

Matt and Gina will be canning for the rest of the week:

Photo from Gina of the auction bounty unloaded onto their dining room table.

I came home with 2 dozen ears of corn and 3 dozen eggs, generosity of Matt.

Matt also acquired these beauties but had no room left in the truck to safely carry them home.

We installed them gently in the cargo area of my Honda and they are gracing the east porch until they can be retrieved.

Gina delights in 'selfies' and in photos of unwitting family members.

I dislike having my 'picture' taken, but here I am, protesting, caught in my torn garden shirt and grubby jeans. 

New potatoes scrubbed and ready to boil in their skins.

Monday morning's harvest of tomatoes and cucumbers. We are already at the point of offering cucumbers to anyone who stops by.

Tuesday morning, first harvest of Tenderette green beans.

Monarda 'Raspberry Wine' and a tangle of coneflowers. 

Still color in the western sky at nearly 9:30 P.M.

 

Missing Nellie-Cat

Tomorrow marks 7 weeks since Nellie was put to sleep. Still, this morning as the wind picked up and rain began to spatter against the kitchen window, I glanced out, for a half second expecting to see him hovering at the edge of the barn or woodshed, waiting to be called in.

Nellie would have run--he always ran, a long-bodied scamper, his rope of a tail floating behind him.

Nellie was a love of a cat--mellow, amiable, companionable. 

He was impartial in his affections, inclined to gravitate from one bedroom to another, one lap to another--cheerful, inquisitive and amusing.

Nellie loved to sprawl, legs in the air, often sleeping that way for hours.

Helping me weed on the south wall.

That cunning moggie face, beloved even when he was in the way!

This was a habit not appreciated by the master of the house. 

The roof of any vehicle in the dooryard provided a lookout post. The easiest way back to the ground  was a slide down the windshield leaving a trail of paw prints.

Nellie's only other 'bad' habit was waking us in the wee hours by beating on the inside of a bedroom window. If that didn't rouse someone from slumber he could resort to pounding on a closet door with those fat white paws. 

He might have wanted to be let out to explore the mysteries of the night; he could merely have wanted someone awake to appreciate his company.

Enjoying a bit of fresh air on the front porch.

By late winter Nellie was noticeably thinner, though not diminished in energy or appetite.

He was a 'mighty hunter,' prowling the meadow with his brother Robert or trolling the edge of the ravine intent on the movement of chipmunks or squirrels.

Late in November Nellie supervised my pruning efforts, burrowing into the load of trimmings heaped in the wheelbarrow.

Only weeks before his decline accelerated, popping in and out of a cardboard box. 

The wide-eyed 'owlish' expression below his large tufty ears is unforgettable.

A kitchen shelf provided a frequent indoor vantage point. This wasn't a maneuver I encouraged, particularly after Nellie strolled across the adjoining corner shelf and sent a favorite jug smashing onto the counter below.

I could never stay annoyed with Nellie for long.

The last weeks became increasingly difficult. His symptoms were those of his brother Edward who wasted away in September, most likely a shared genetic fault.

Nellie continued asking to go outside, though he didn't go along the lane or into the meadow. His place of choice was under the Jane magnolia, drowsing in a clump of daylilies.

Several times in his last days he tottered toward the north ravine, perhaps with the animal instinct of going off to die alone.

We couldn't bear that for him, so scooped him up, made him a nest of thick rugs and fleecy blankets on the living room sofa.

I began to hope that I would find him there in his final sleep, wishing to avoid the trauma of the 20 minute ride to the vet's office, the always uncomfortable wait in an area smelling of disinfectant and other animals.

This is always the most difficult part. I wish there was a way to painlessly end the life of an ailing or aged pet at home. I talked quietly to Nellie on the drive, poking the fingers of my right hand through the bars of the carrier to stroke his nose, his paws.

I held his frail body on the vet's examining table, cupped my hand gently under his chin as the needle slipped into the shaved area on his front leg, felt life sigh out of him.

We buried Nellie in the tree-shade a little way down the slope of the north ravine, in company with the 4 other cats who were with us when we came to this homeplace in 2019.

Seven weeks--and it still hurts to write this.

I have to believe that we gave Nellie a good life--and that he knew he was loved.

 

The Flowers of May

May is the season of bloom in south-central Kentucky. By early June perennials are past their prime, languishing as hot and humid weather begins to announce the arrival of summer.

There were enough chilly nights throughout April and early May to blight buds which had rushed the season. The show of peonies was sparse compared to other years; one of my favorite roses, Hawkeye Belle has blossomed but the petals show the blight of frost.

The stand of self-sown poppies along-side the front door have been spectacular, nearly obliterating the dwarf monarda.

Foxglove persists in the west wall garden along with the edging of 'pinks' raised from seed.

'Queen of Sweden' and 'The Poet's Wife' have supplied fragrant blooms for my collection of small vases. 

I discovered the first of the Japanese beetles lurking yesterday.

My energies have gone into digging up and transplanting coneflowers which are trying to take over the east wall plantings--my own fault as I have allowed the drying seed heads to remain over the winter rather than scrupulously removing them. 

The battle with weeds is never-ending, one I can't possibly win.

I love gardening, but there is no denying that it, along with the usual household chores, leaves me rather witless by the end of the day, too foggy-minded to comment on the blogs I continue to read, much less to order my thoughts into coherent posts.

Thus, a week into the new month, I offer the photos uploaded days ago as a 'draft'--- small record of an all too fleeting season of lovely blooms.

Lauren's Grape poppies at their best.

Poppies are stunning, in bud, in every stage of opening, as seed pods.

Clematis Jackmanii in first flush of bloom.

Samaritan Jo and Edita scrambling for space on the trellis.

Having once planted nigella I will apparently never be without it. The common name, 'Love-in-a Mist,' suits its frothy profusion.

Bees and butterflies enjoy the clumps of nepeta that edge the east wall.

Queen of Sweden.

The nameless late-blooming white clematis, only survivor of Spring Hill's 'bargain assortment.'

This small landscape rose is hardy and non-fussy.

Miniature lily, gift of a friend, which has made several moves with me.

Foxgloves, pinks, and the little rose.

 

First Day of June

Mist hovered over the meadow, the air heavy with moist heat--harbinger of summer weather.

The waxing gibbous moon climbed a sky still cast in daytime hues. 

In the greenhouse I filled six small pots with soil, poked in seeds of miniature zinnias, three seeds to a pot. I've not found a permanent spot for my newly purchased clematis, so disinterred it from its nursery pot to larger quarters, noting that it is in climbing mode and needing a trellis taller than the foot high plastic structure in the original container.

A fifteen minute downpour in late afternoon, a few distant mutterings of thunder, air so heavily moist it seemed one could reach up and squeeze a handful as one would wring out a sponge.

Each day I think we've seen the last of the grape poppies, but a few more stretch upwards and bloom. 

This one is actually a few inches under the steps; I've watched it grow in this inhospitable location thinking it might give up and die. Almost overnight the stem twisted outward and this morning the top bud opened. Most of the others in bloom were shattered by the force of the rain.

Watching the storm from the partial shelter of the porch. 

Robert-cat went out after 'tea' and knowing his fear of storms I stood on the steps calling him. When he didn't immediately appear I decided he had taken shelter in one of the long roofed aisles that run either side of the shop. As the rain increased I again ventured out to call him and he popped out from under the steps, happy to dash inside and shake the rain from his coat. When Jim arrived home a few minutes later Robert demanded his attention seemingly complaining about his ordeal of being caught in the storm.

The rain hit several hours earlier when I was doing errands in town at the other end of the county. I was standing in the checkout line at Wal Mart when I heard the battering of rain on the roof. Approaching the outer doors I could see the parking lot awash; shoppers huddled under the metal awning, one man puffing on a cigarette, adding the odor of tobacco to the scent of wet asphalt and exhaust fumes.

My tolerance for Wal Mart is very limited. It had taken nearly an hour to gather the items on my list, I had two more errands to accomplish, I wanted out.

Accordingly, I plunged into the rain, shoving my laden shopping cart through streaming water, feeling it seep coldly into my shoes. By the time I reached my car rain was streaming from my hair onto my spectacles, drizzling down my neck. I had sacks of cat kibble, cat litter, a large Rubbermade bin, two bags of potatoes, sundry small items which seemed to take forever to stow in the car.

At last, shivering, I flung myself into the driver's seat, snatched off my blurred glasses, peeled off my sodden outer shirt, A glance in the mirror was not encouraging. 

I looked like the proverbial drowned rat!

I had earlier picked up several sets of cotton pillowcases at Good Will [I have a thing about pillowcases!] so I snatched one from the carrier bag on the seat and began rubbing at my dripping hair.  Before I had finished mopping myself up the deluge ceased as quickly as though someone had turned off a faucet; the sun came out, the parking lot steamed.

I drove the short distance to the bank, trudged in to cash a check. 

"My goodness, your shirt is soaked, " exclaimed the white-haired cashier.

"Yes," I responded, "It was a matter of remaining in Wal Mart for another 15 minutes or getting wet!"

She nodded sagely, "Oh, I quite understand. Summer showers--its that time of year."

Next stop, the post office. Entering the airconditioned lobby, icy air knifed through my wet T-shirt, plastered my damp hair against my neck. That kind of chill isn't good for what ails me.

A few blocks away is The Shepherd Shop--for less than a dollar I could have a dry shirt. Daughter Gina was there, poking about in the racks of second-hand clothing. She was astonished to learn that there had been a cloudburst two miles away, but agreed that a half hour's drive home in soaked clothing was bound to be miserable. 

I quickly found and paid for a soft long-sleeved pullover and back at the car managed to peel off my clinging T-shirt and haul the 'new' one over my head. I was still clammily damp in terms of jeans, socks, shoes, but the feel of warm dry fabric settling onto my shoulders was comforting.

Sunshine all the way home, sunshine as I hauled in the still dripping plastic shopping bags.

I gave the cats their 'tea', stuck a slice of homemade bread in the toaster, heated left-over soup. Dry clothes from the skin out, dry shoes. 

When the storm broke here an hour later I was settled and snug, an observer rather than victim of the elements.

 

Gentle Rain

Raindrops spatter on the last blooms of Lauren's Grape poppies.

I woke early to the kind of green darkness that accompanies a rainy morning on the edge of summer. 

A chilly breeze stirred the curtains at my open bedroom window bringing in the cool scent of damp earth.

We have needed this rain as it has been a dry month. Several brisk T-storms have occurred with the brief deluge that hammers against the ground, then quickly steams and dries; there have been overcast mornings that gave us hope of rain, but it has 'gone around' us.

The rain today has been slow and gentle. We could almost see the garden growing.

I started a fire in the wood stove and we've kept it smoldering all day to ward off the chill of temperatures that stayed just below 60 F.

The cats abandoned their favorite rocking chairs  on the screened porch, preferring the cozy comfort of quilt-covered beds.

The rain slowed to mist as evening approached. The sun made a five minute appearance just before disappearing into the western edge of the ravine.

The rain, although gentle, has bruised the petals of clematis, caused roses to hang their heads with the weight of moisture. 

This season of bloom and growth moves along too quickly.

 

Wind!

Three days of gusty and chilly winds--or is it four days? Five days?

It was cool this morning, 47 F. at 7:30, but the sun was up and the sky blue with billows of white clouds.

Standing at my bedroom window to assess the weather I watched as an opossum lumbered around the corner of the house and trundled off to disappear in the south ravine.

A female by the look of the bulging pouch.  Another generation of possums to pillage the garden, scuttle onto the front porch to snatch at cat kibble.

I find nothing appealing about the creatures!

During breakfast I dared to remark that the wind had subsided. 

A hummingbird appeared at the feeder, reassuring after days when I haven't seen them. Still no females have arrived. 

I sipped the half cup of coffee I allow myself, glanced at news headlines. [Reading the news is not a cheery start to the day.]

Outside with my tattered down vest snapped close over a flannel shirt, to tend the small daily chores: dumping cat litter, taking out the container of eggshells and grapefruit rinds.

Into the greenhouse with Willis-cat strutting at my heels, meowing for attention.

Two seedlings of lavender vera have poked up, a few of the pinks sown last week have emerged.

Nothing else. Careful stirring of soil exposes pelleted seeds of thyme, of other tiny seeds there is no trace. This is strange. None of the nasturtium seeds poked into several large pots both outside and in the greenhouse have sprouted. 

Weather? Soil? 

I'm at a loss!

I wasn't inspired to set out my nursery plants with a cold wind tugging at my hair, sending chills down my neck.

By noon the early blue of the sky was overlaid with pewter colored banks of cloud and the prevailing wind was once again blasting in from the west.

I spent several hours searching online for printable music, plonked out a few hymns on the piano.

I bestirred myself to try yet another recipe for Lemon Sugar Cookies, trying to duplicate the ones Dawn used to bring from the Publix bakery in Tennessee.

This batch came closest in taste and texture, although I was annoyed that they spread out of shape in the baking process.

J. with his mouth full of cookie declared that the shape of a cookie doesn't matter!

Out in the windy twilight to record the day's blossoms.

Otherwise, a rather desultory day which has left me mildly out of sorts.

Duchess of Edinburgh coming into bloom. This clematis was the most damaged by the March frosts, but has revived with a judicious pruning.

The last flowers of Candida have been rain-spattered and wind-blown. 

Fluffy seed heads have formed.

A tiny bell-like bloom on the newest low-growing clematis.

Samaritan Jo is in lush bloom. The lavender shading on the flowers seems pale in contrast to other years.

Dr. Ruppel in extravagant full bloom.

Jackmanii put its early energies into climbing. It is spreading across the top of the sturdy arched trellis, a gift several seasons ago from Matt and Gina. Long tendrils were swaying in the wind, so I used garden twine to tether them gently to the arch.

Last week I wove twine between the middle bars of the trellis; already the vines have clambered and clung to the string, nearly obscuring it. 

Jackmani is a late bloomer, its deep purple flowers appearing as the other clematis take a summer break.

Pink carnations, the only survivor of three plants purchased in 2019. 

The dainty perennial pinks were grown from seed and are joyfully spreading into a welcome mat of brilliant color.

A flowering thyme in the edge of the front raised bed. My seed-grown thymes planted along the raised bed in the west garden didn't survive their first winter. 

I can't remember if this sturdy plant came from the nursery or from the division of an older plant.

A much twisted and branching thyme near the front steps died in the severe Christmas weather.

Gardens change from season to season, perhaps echoing the subtle changes in our own lives.

One of the pots of pansies and smaller violas near the front steps. these have flourished in the chilly weather, revived by alternating rain and sunshine.

Tomorrow is another day--perhaps the wind will subside and I can garden!