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!

August Mornings

Mornings have been steamy with mist and shimmering heat.

Most of the early summer birds have fallen silent, but the hummingbirds still zoom and whir around the front porch, tireless in their mock battles.

Mist billows up from Big Creek across the road;

The newly mowed front meadow is heavy with dew.

August is the month for spider webs.

Those draped on the nandina shrubs by the garden spiders [argiope aurantia] are quite visible.

Smaller spiders reel out their sticky silk in unexpected places.

There's nothing quite like walking into a spider's web as a beginning to my day!

An intricate web repaired overnight.

This is probably the largest web I've ever seen.

A close-up of the web, outlined in silvery dew.

Spider webs on the trellis which supports the clematis.

The garden spider rests in the center of her creation, deep in the tangle of mint and roses.

Dew shimmers on the whiskery petals of a cleome.

Morning glory clings to a honeysuckle vine.

At 8 A.M. the heat is already stifling, sucking  color and freshness from the morning.

I lumber through my chores and return to the house, glad to shower and stay inside.

Tuesday

I was out of bed a few minutes after 6 this morning, having been quietly awake since 4:45. 

[Had I been less than quiet not only would I have disturbed J. the cats would have pounced, happily insistent that they were starving and needed immediate attention.]

The air was heavy with mist and the sound of a horse's hooves was loud as I stepped into the car port.

Several Amish men have been riding to work together all summer--not in a buggy but hunched on the seat of a buckboard--rain or shine.

Perhaps the wife didn't need the buggy today and the men drove to work in comfort, red LED lights flashing. 

The buddleia has put out a few fresh blooms.

The butterflies who hover on them have a tired shabby appearance.

They flit about and as I press the shutter I'm never sure what the image will capture.

This was a lucky shot!

A bee drowsing on a sunflower.

Tiny insects on a cosmos.

These have flourished in the cool damp weather.

Sunflowers are interesting at every stage of development.

The cabbages and broccoli set out yesterday have appreciated the heavy dew overnight.

Grapes!  Dear me, the grapes.

The former owner, Mr. Rogers planted grapes, two varieties.

We have snipped and pruned each year trying to tame the tangle of vines which had fallen off the arbor and clambered through the honeysuckle.

This is the year of reward--instead of heat and drought shriveled raisins we have grapes.

J. cut these last night.

I've spent most of the day leaning against the kitchen sink stemming grapes.

I have stewed up three kettles full.

I've pressed one batch through cheesecloth--a messy affair needing 4 hands--the others are cooling and awaiting the same treatment.

In theory the grape pulp is meant to drip slowly.

Fruit flies were already congregating in the kitchen and I didn't wish to encourage their reproductive tendencies with sticky kettles of juice sitting about.

When the two remaining kettles cool enough to handle, we'll strain the remainder. In the morning I'll give it a second straining to filter out some of the pulp

I suppose I'll be bottling juice.

J. made noises about grape jelly, but I reminded him that we have jelly and jam on the storage shelves that hasn't been consumed.

[You can tell I'm balking about jelly-making!]

There are still more grapes ripening in the shade of the arbor.

Oh, help!