Two Days Without Rain

My upper flower garden on Saturday morning, pummeled and shattered with days and nights of rain.

The rain has meant that my plantation of coneflower seedlings hasn’t suffered transplanting shock.  The forest of twigs was meant to keep the boy-cats from enthusiastic rooting and digging.

A wet rose—’Wise Portia’--but at least not raddled by Japanese beetles.
We have been battling them on the blackberries and on the second flush of roses.

Both pink and white cleome have blossomed.  I raised these from seed and transplanted them into the new strip of garden near the clothesline.  A channel of water from the heavy rains cut through the edge of this plot, racing down the slight incline of the back field.
I spent hours weeding here on Wednesday and set out small signet marigolds as edging.  they were swept away in the rush of rain.  I found several of them washed up at the foot of the elder bush and, poking into the muddy soil jabbed them back in place. Only two of them are still where they belong.  I’m considering I may have to relocate the perennials in this strip. We haven’t experienced such persistent spells of rain the three years we’ve lived here, although several times in a season there may be a spate of rain that does damage.

Lily ‘Tiny Ghost.’ I purchased this thinking, from the name, that it would be a white lily. When I googled for info on this series of lilies I learned that the white variety is called ‘Tiny Nanna.’ A plant to keep in mind for a future purchase.

A watermelon vine in the upper veg garden—note the muddy ground.

I spent some time trying to catch a decent photo of this busy hummingbird hawk moth. It moved so quickly that most of the photos were a blur.
Sheets and towels have dried on the lines yesterday and today—and the dark clouds which rode the sky to the north moved on without dumping more rain.  The lawn is still spongy with wet, but J. managed to mow the grass. I tackled floors, sweeping, hoovering and finally mopping. The garden is providing us with wonderful Yukon Gold potatoes, cucumbers, crisp green peppers and the first of the green beans. When the garden goes into production, we eat without a great variety in our meals—fresh food tastes so good!
My PC is behaving very badly—much overdue for service. I thought to take it to the repair shop today, but realized I’ve some work to do this week which must be printed, so I’m hoping to nurse this along for a few more days rather than needing to install the printer software in my laptop.
Nothing like a balky computer for creating frustration!  I’ve resorted to Live Writer to create this post after two attempts with the usual blogger window which keeps ‘freezing up’ or giving out error alerts.
Surely no one’s world will be diminished if I can’t post for a few days.  I must say that using blogger as a journal has become a habit.

Rain: Go Away!

Yesterday afternoon, another overcast day, found me again on the front porch messing

about with my plants.

The largest rosemary now has a deep new pot.  All three rosemarys had pushed their  roots down to the bottoms of their containers and made those matted clumps which can't be unraveled and must be gently removed.  With the soil left in the sack which I purchased on Sunday, I potted on tiny lavender seedlings.

I don't know that I needed more lavender plants--although I did lose one in the herb garden, presumably to late winter damp and chill.

I attempted growing lavender from seed years ago in Vermont.  Usually the germination was poor, although I did once achieve nearly a dozen plants of Lavender, Lady.

Last spring I had lavenders to tuck in the herb garden and several to give away.

In the April exuberance of stopping by a rack of seed packets I purchased lavender seeds which came mixed with a starting medium, the plan being that one dumped the whole on top of a pot of soil.

I did just that, and suspect that every seed 'took.'

I now have more than two dozen lavender seedlings growing on in an assortment of recycled plastic pots.

[And I steeled myself to toss out half a dozen that were spindly!]

Above you can see two flourishing rosemarys that I started from seed in 2012 and wintered under a flourescent light in the basement.

Two small achillea need a home somewhere in the garden.

The nasturtiums aren't looking hardy--some voracious bug chomped them nearly to death before I bought a new shaker of rotenone to drive them away.

I plonked a few of my remaining signet marigolds in pots, then traipsed out to the clothesline flower strip to pull up encroaching grass and distribute the remaining marigolds along the front edge, pulling out the dried stems of poppies to make room.

I inched my way around one long and one short side of the small plot before sprinkles of rain began to spatter. Casting a baleful eye on the sky I yanked out several large grass clumps on the far side of the patch before deciding that I didn't wish to be rained upon.

We woke to rain and to evidence that rain had fallen during most of the night.

The boy cats insisted on charging outside as usual, milling about in the wet yard and returning, sodden-furred, to collapse on the nearest bed.

Edward landed damply on my lap, purring winsomely.

I patted him, which encouraged him to climb onto the desk where he stomped, purring, in front of the computer screen.

My services were commandeered by J. who wanted an assortment of items posted on craigslist.

I complain when asked to do this, as craigslist is terribly balky, 'timing out' when the photos are meant to be loading. The system was especially slow and irritating today, making it necessary to reattempt loading the photos several times.

Flowers hang heavy with rain.

Puddles stand in the driveway and in the back yard.

J.'s rain gauge shows a fall of about 2 inches since last evening with more rain in the forecast for at least three days to come.

J. ventured out to inspect the garden and snatch a handful of green beans, a crisp green pepper and several cucumbers.

I went downstairs, thinking that a bit of fire wouldn't go amiss to thwart the damp chill

seeping into the house.

This lead to the not surprising discovery that the drain in the outside basement stairwell was clogged and water running over the floor in the back hallway of the basement.

J. used plunger and rods to lift out the usual leaves and such which manage to get through the drain cover.

I made soup--an unusual meal for the 4th of July!

There has been no hint of sunshine, just green darkness.

I try not to think of the winter wheat standing in the squelching field--grain that was ready for the combine two weeks ago--our cash crop for this season.

We lease our large north field to a local crop farmer on shares--the wet summer has delayed the planting of soybeans, the harvest of wheat, the fertilizing of corn which stands yellowing in the wet in fields around the county.

J. quoted grimly this morning the old adage, "A dry year will scare you to death and a wet year will starve you to death!"

Matilda the Flying Pig [an anniversary gift from friends] stands guard on her metal stake, overloking the herb plot.

I've dashed out with debris for the garbage heap, dumped tins in the recycling bin.

I've put a load of laundry through the washer and dryer, knowing that a 'drying day' is not in the forecast.

I've made a mug of green tea to fortify myself.

Time to tip Edward's black and white furry bulk from my lap and trudge downstairs

to my sewing machine.

I can always make quilts when it is too wet to tend the garden.

Garden Chores

During the recent two weeks when we had family staying a good deal of the time, I didn't work in my flower gardens.

The weather has been on a roll of partially cloudy/overcast with brief, but torrential late afternoon showers which give way to shimmering misty evenings.

Clumps of grass and weeds have burgeoned in the perennial strips.

Seedlings in small pots on the front porch have crowded out of their space, badly in need of settling into the garden.

The lower perennial strip alongside the driveway has had less attention than the upper strip.

I started it in the summer of 2010 primarily as a place for rugosas and other shrub roses.

I have relied on seed-started perennials and a very few nursery plants to 'fill in' between the roses.

This has resulted in quite a ragged appearance.

Gina purchased a number of potted plants at the Amish auction when she and her family arrived in April, 2011. As the weeks went by before they could move into their own home, most of the plants were stuck into the lower strip. The lupines, which I admired, languished and didn't reappear the following spring.

Several pots of verbena rigida managed to take over about 10 feet of the garden, pushing up around the roses, rooting into the lawn, threatening to crowd out all other plants.

On Friday I decided the verbena needed to go away--all of it!

I began loosening colonies of it only to find that tough, stringy, yellow roots ran in all directions.

Its capacity for sending out runners would rival the mints, as verbena rigida sends roots down as well as outward from the main plant.

Often I would seize the exposed portion of a root, yank on it and find that it extended several feet, entangled with the tidy roots of coneflower and monarda lambada.

I dug, pulled, unraveled, dug some more. I used a sharp-pointed slender trowel to root out plants which had spread into the grass strip between the perennial borders.

Several hours later, with a heap of wilting stems and wiry roots to dispose of, I realized that my forearms were welted with stinging scratches.

Googling the plant later, I discovered that a common name is 'sandpaper verbena!' 

Only a few sites which picture and describe the plant advise that is is 'invasive!'

With the area cleared [I hope] and raked, I began fetching small plants from my stock on the front porch: Achillea, Spanish Foxglove, several varieties of Coneflower.

Given the enthusiasm of my feline 'helpers' I have hedged my seedlings with a forest of protective sticks broken from the slender water maple branches which litter the back lawn after each heavy rain.

 

I have two coneflowers bought as potted plants, both in sunset hues. Most of my coneflowers, such as this one, have been started from seeds.

They are hardy, surviving heat and drought, remaining upright in all but the fiercest of wind and rain.

My flower gardening is increasingly about sturdy plants which I can start from seed and divide when they become established.

The achillea in the foreground was candy pink as it opened and has faded to a softer shade.

It is from a seed mixture labeled as 'pastels.'  Others in the mix have proved to be creamy yellow,

buff, pale salmon.

The Shasta daisies were also started from seed last season.

The pink phlox was from a mail order nursery and is so pleasing that I'm considering ordering

other colors.

The ground on this side of the drive slopes slightly to the south  and would have been a good place for terraced beds.

In my most improbable horticultural daydreams I think of building raised beds here with gravel walks between.  [Not a likely happening!]

 

The combination of phlox, daisies and several shades of achillea is so pleasing that I walk about  taking photos from all angles.

Friends from our church attended our anniversary party armed with a potted tree lily called 'Tiny Hope.'

The label shows a dark red flower and specifies that the lily will mature to 15 inches.

On Sunday morning--with a gift card burning a hole in my wallet--I walked through the so-called garden center at the local Wal Mart, not really expecting to find anything appealing.

What I discovered was 3 pots of 'Tiny Ghost' a white lily in the miniature series.

They have joined  the dark red one in the garden space so laboriously cleared on Friday.

It isn't often that I appear in photos [which is just as well, I think!]

A brief hard rain accompanied by crashing thunder, Monday afternoon, left us with clear skies and much cooler temperatures for the evening. During most of the storm I sheltered on the front porch, repotting two of my large rosemarys which have been looking rather sad.

The poor things had sent a tangle of roots into the bottoms of their pots.

They have been gently re-homed in larger pots with some coarse sand mixed into potting soil.

After the storm, SIL Matt walked up from home and borrowed my camera to zoom in on a heron that circled the dooryard and then went to rest in a treetop near the creek.

I didn't know that he was zooming in on me as well!

This photo, taken as he walked up the drive, gives a strangely fore-shortened view of the big rock near the long drive and makes the garage appear much closer than in reality.

I rooted clumps of grass and violets from around the big rock and put in signet marigolds and a few other rather wispy seedlings.

As I bent to pick up my muddy weeds, M. called out that only children play in mud!

As you can see my patched jeans are soaked to above the knees.

My feet in flip-flop sandals were wet and cold.

Bobby McGee, my helper was wet to his furry armpits.

               My fingernails have required much scrubbing and my hands are not those of a lady!

Carting off my muddy debris, quite chilled and ready for a hot shower and a mug of tea.

It was near dark by the time I  put away my tools, lined up seedling pots on the porch and swept away the litter of soil and greenery which I had created.

Oddly, the sky shows brighter in the photo than it was and the mauve and coral of the sunset is diminished.

Pebbles, the old horse, stands outlined against the sky and the barn is a stark outline.

My cold feet were slipping in my soaked sandals, the legs of my muddy jeans were clinging unpleasantly.

It was time to call it quits for the day!

Catnip Capers

Settling back into routine after two weeks of family visits has been a bit difficult.

Greeting friends and loved ones is always easier than the emotional experience of partings.

Friday was the first day with only the two of us here.

The sky was partially overcast, the air was cool and refreshing.

I looked at the housework that needed attention, then turned my back on all but the essentials and retreated to my flower garden.

The recent rains have encouraged fast growth of weeds and flowers alike.

A huge catnip plant had matured into a shrub with deep roots and thick stalks.

It had managed to envelope a nearby Yellow Simplicity rose.

A couple of good heaves with my shovel brought it free of the soil, and I swung it onto the concrete edge of the driveway, where it immediately became a feline attraction.

I lopped off the nicest of the branches, bundled them indoors and onto baking trays, put them into a warm oven to dry.

Nellie was first to discover the catnip 'stump' and fell over himself in appreciation of the heady scent.

Brother Bobby joined Nellie, who didn't really want to share.

Charlie was next to sample the goodies.

By this time Nellie was a bit tottery.

Bobby, higher than a kite, mixes it up with Willis in a tussle of thumps, growls and flailing paws.

Indoors, Nellie has taken over the first trays of catnip to be removed from the oven.

Breathe it in, have a nibble, wallow in the stuff!

Nellie--quite over-dosed and approaching a state of blissful lethargy!

Jubilee

June 22, 1963

Jubilee

A specially celebrated anniversary, especially a 50th anniversary.

                                         The celebration of such an anniversary.
                                     A season or an occasion of joyful celebration.

June 23, 2013

Any homily I could compose regarding marriage would be filled with cliche phrases.

We all know that 'happily ever after' is a myth!

An enduring relationship calls for large doses of patience, tolerance, forgiveness, cooperation.

There will be sickness, anxiety, financial crisis, family troubles.

There will be fun, laughter, love-making, the good moments to remember.

Thank you to the family, friends, and neighbors who made our jubilee an occasion of happy memories!

Flowers for Mid-Summer

We have had rain showers, mostly at night or early morning, nearly each day since the weekend.

My white tree lilies began to open as the huge orange ones faded.

The fragile poppies delight me.

I photograph them quickly as a few hours can spoil their beauty.

Monarda lambada.

I grew this from seed our first summer in Kentucky. The plants reappear each season in slightly altered groupings.

Elderflower.

So lovely and so quickly over.

The elderberry bush near the clothesline.

One of the few deeper hued poppies.

Achillea raised from seed in 2012.

Shasta daisy, also from seed, in its first season of bloom.

My seed-raised clumps of coneflower are a joy, sturdy and vivid.

Another seed-grown achillea. This opens as a soft yellow, fades to cream and finally an off-white.

This achillea, "Paprika" was puchased at a local nursery. I divided it into two clumps last year.

It is not as vigorous a spreader as some.

Trumpet vine runs rampant.  This one grows from a thick trunk and reaches to embrace a nearby crabapple.

 In spite of the cheerful note of color it adds to the dooryard, trumpet vine has to be restrained.

In this zone 6 climate, it romps over everything, stretching out ever more tendrils.

Two shades of pink achillea in the shadow of the elder bush.

The elderflowers have rained tiny white petals onto the ferny foliage.

This is a fine season for the hydrangeas at the west side of the house.

Last year frost blighted the emerging buds and we had no flowers.

This blossom has a hint of lavender.

Two leaning stalks of yucca have blossomed this week in the shade near the carport.

A view of the unidentified vine which has twirled its way up the yucca stalk.

The above photos were taken during the past few days.

A 10 minute torrent of rain and whipping winds this afternoon has altered the garden landscape.

View from the carport toward the backyard during the fury of the brief storm.

The heavy rain and wind which rode in from the north, knocked over our two rows of sweet corn.

As soon as the rain quit, I hauled on my boots at J.'s request and we slogged to the upper garden.

Gathering the wet stalks in bunches I held them upright while J. used a hoe to pull the muddy loam around the roots, mounding it at the base of the plants to firm the stalks into a standing position.

Melon plants sprawled in pools of muddy water.

I was glad we had picked berries early this morning.

In the lower garden strips, squash vines, potato plants and my stalwart rows of sunflowers had been thrashed about.

I attempted to shore up leaning stems of cosmos, but the mud was too slippery.

I will go out tomorrow with the hoe [providing there is no more rain tonight] and resettle the cosmos, pull a bit more soil around the sunflower stalks.

The yuccas by the carport are keeled over, a sunflower which seeded itself at the edge of the front porch was snapped off at the base; clumps of achillea have been whipped and hang heavy with water.

It doesn't rate as anything like loss or devastation--merely some minor messes to tidy up when the storm front is safely passed.