Running Out of April

Clematis Candida, an heirloom variety moved from our first Kentucky property. This plant intrigues me at every season, from tiny flower buds through the display of blooms and then the fluffy seed heads.

I take more photos of this than any plant in my gardens.

This photo was taken last week, the flowers are now past their prime, the edges turning brown.

Duchess of Edinburgh is slower to bloom.

One last blossom on 'Jane' after frost caught her in full bloom late in March.

We woke to soggy wet snow on April 20th--the sun came out mid-morning and the snow melted quietly into the green grass.

After the snow.

Already the leaves of the Knock-Out roses have been attacked by sawfly larvae. 

Mayapple lines the edges of the south ravine. I clambered clumsily about in the rain trying for a decent photo. The flowers lurk under the shelter of the large leaves; sliding about on a muddy slope didn't seem a wise move just now.

Dogwood blossoms blown to the ground by rain and wind.

The season of dogwood and redbud bloom is fleeting--redbuds are already receding into anonymity, only a faint rusty tinge remaining to define their place. Dogwoods sheltered by larger trees still have the look of floating white petticoats; those nearer the edges of hedgerows or fields are bedraggled.

J. planted my new clematis, one on each side of the trellis. 

I used some slender fence poles to guide them, tying them in with soft garden string.

I bought pots of thyme to plant around the edges, both English and variegated lemon scented varieties. 

Violas, self-sown clumps of nigella and salvia officinalis spilling over the edge of a raised bed.

More self-sown violas, these in the raised bed near the front porch.

I planted several large pots to nasturtiums last spring; as blossoms went to seed I let some of them fall into the soil, providing a second flowering in autumn. The pots lived in the greenhouse over the winter and the fallen seeds germinated there.  J. has moved this pot to the front walk--two others, slower starters, are still in the greenhouse.

Yesterday I moved rosemarys to the east porch. Today I clipped off lank trailing growth.

Shelby-the-kitten has decided that the railings of the east porch are her personal gym.

The railings are inside screening.

Last year we cut a slit in the screen to reach through and hang the hummingbird feeders.

Our other cats are aware of the hummers, but not particularly interested.

Shelby watches them avidly, balancing on the railing on her hind legs, swatting at the screen with her front paws. This doesn't bode well for the screen, the hummingbirds or for Shelby, so we think she can only be on the porch when a human is there to restrain her birding efforts.

We think that Shelby will never be a large cat. She is long-legged and slender with dainty paws and a long tail.

J. has been working in the veg garden, setting out tomato and pepper plants. The beets and Swiss chard have emerged. Today he sowed carrots and butternut squash, several hills of cucumbers.  I'm remembering the mid-May frosts of last year which severely damaged tomato and cucumber plants, but J. is optimistic that May weather this year will be favorable to his efforts.

Hands and knees gardening, whacking about with a hoe, turfing up weeds and sod with my trusty garden fork, are not possible for me this year. [I've been warned that pain in my left leg from the DVT will likely be ongoing for quite some time.] 

I'm trying to be careful, to balance being 'on my feet' with resting--not an easy proposition for someone who never learned to tackle work 'in moderation.'

I've worked in the greenhouse for short bursts of time, transplanting the tiny starts of New England aster, yellow coneflower, blue sage, lemon catnip--originally intended for the planned extension of the garden at the west end of the house.  I don't see that happening this year. I also planned for a raised bed and extension of the patio bricks near the front door--to balance the planter created last year.

J. is balking a bit--he has plenty of things to do--but I've pointed out that the brave little plants in the greenhouse need a place to thrive. If nothing else, extending the paved area would allow for some large containers. I'm not overly fond of nursery 'bedding plants'--perhaps because I worked for a number of season decades ago as a 'transplanter' in a big retail greenhouse. Too many petunias and large gaudy marigolds! 

My interest for many years has been growing perennials from seed. I enjoy collecting seeds to start more plants of my favorites, or transplanting the 'babies' that volunteer around 'mother' plants. 

Seeds collected last autumn from 'blackberry Lilies [grown from purchased seed] have produced 13 new plants thus far. By mid-summer they will be sturdy enough to set out--thus a space must be provided. 

Next on my agenda: finding a way to weed without compromising my recovery!

 

Spring Progress; Journal Post, 13 April, 2021

A clump of violas established when seeds fell from a pot of them that held up all winter under frost and snow.

'Jane' magnolias were in full bloom when several nights of frost hit late in March.

My favorite clematis was in tight bud at the time of the cold nights. I feared the blooms would be damaged but the first three have opened this week.

This is the heirloom variety 'Candida' a root taken from an old vine at our first Kentucky property and planted at the Amish farm. When we sold the farm in autumn, 2018, I dug up part of the clematis and wintered it in a huge pot.

I've had other clematis varieties, and three new ones to be set out; this is my cherished favorite.

Fresh growth of a decorative oregano and a bushy thyme spilling out of the raised bed by the front steps. The thyme grew from a seed that fell into a potted plant set along the cement walk at our Amish farm.

This is a dry and difficult corner between the house wall and the front porch. I've tried several plants there that didn't flourish. Roots of vinca contributed by Gina have settled happily and established a colony that may have to be restrained.

Foxglove babies that were lifted from the west wall garden and potted up in late February.

Howard moved them to the front walk where they are growing on. In one pot a poppy seedling has popped up.

Other small containers of seedlings were placed in a black plastic flat to harden off. The wind blew all day Sunday and late in the afternoon I looked out to see that the flat had been blown down the lawn and the little pots of seedlings scattered, I was able to scoop up and salvage several containers but two were completely overturned and the tiny plants lost.

Jim acquired another Massey Ferguson tractor yesterday and the cultivator was part of the deal.

He is liking this tiller better than the other one he owns, so this may be a 'keeper.'

The veg garden was plowed in November and enlarged from its original space.

It seems that gardens must be reimagined every season. We're thinking smaller, more frequent sowings of things we enjoy fresh.

I was summoned to admire the depth and texture of the freshly tilled plot.

Each season shows improvement as stones are removed and sod broken down.

Willis feels duty bound to plod through the soil and offer his opinion.

Jim went to Wal Mart to replace his broken wrist watch. This bouquet of miniature carnations came home with him.  They are worthy of a more formal arrangement, but pretty even as they fell into the vase. I think they must spend the night in the sunroom to be safe from Shelby the Kitten,

I've been side-lined from my usual projects since the last weekend in March.

The short version of the story is that a blood clot [DVT] landed me in the ER and I was admitted to hospital and remained there for 48 hours tethered to an IV drip of heperin.

I was discharged home on medication and remanded to days in Jim's big recliner with my leg boosted on cushions.

Beyond the windows the redbud and dogwood flowered, leaves filled out on trees along the lane; emerging perennials poked through drifts of old leaves--and the weeds I'd been battling rampaged without restraint.

Jim has been competently at the helm, family and good friends have supplied good food, prayers and kindly encouragement.

I am now allowed to move about with frequent returns to my chair.

I am not allowed to crawl about on my knees weeding the garden!  All other tasks are to be undertaken in MODERATION!

At long last I may be ready to concede that moderation is a healthier place than determination to plow through in spite of fatigue.

The hummingbirds have returned, clematis are blooming, wild violets lurk in the grass. I don't yet know how I'll manage weeds or whether I'll have the stamina to create the new garden under the bedroom window.

I do know I'm blessed to be here, recovering, and with much to enjoy.

 

A Project Too Long in the Doing! Done!

It seemed an interesting project at the time--to replicate the quilt my g-grandmother fashioned from worn bits of aprons, shirts, house dresses. 

I had rescued some of the blocks from her quilt, hand-stitched them to muslin backing so that they could be framed as wall art.

In a rush of enthusiasm I collected a number of shirts from charity shops at less than a dollar apiece. 

Between more sophisticated projects I salvaged usable chunks of fabric from each shirt and paired likely colors to construct triangle/squares using the grid method which though tedious [trimming to size] results in very accurately pieced units.

 I put away the project, took it out several times over a decade of moving, refurbishing houses, finally settling into the present house built from the ground up.

I considered scrapping the half-completed quilt blocks but reminded myself that I'd put in enough time I should finish.

During January and February I've pottered downstairs, slowly sorting fabric, books, notions, arranging things in the workspace Jim and Howard set up with ample cupboards and a large L-shaped counter.

Inevitably, the neglected 'shirt-tail' quilt blocks resurfaced.

I finished trimming units to size, stitched until I had 40 finished blocks which I sashed into larger units of four, using 36 of the blocks.

I've felt I should try the method termed 'quilt as you go'--but didn't want to risk spoiling a 'good' quilt top in such an experiment.

I read various instructions, watched a few you tube tutorials, coming up with a plan that was a hybrid of several methods.

If you are a quilt-maker who has felt inspired to finish a quilt in this manner--don't--unless you are prepared for aching shoulders, a kink in your neck, hours of shoving unwieldy wads of fabric through your sewing machine!

However one goes about this process there comes that point where the wodge of fabric, batting and backing is not cooperative.

Way too much 'help' with my photo op--and I should have paid more attention to lighting in the room.

It is done. The overall look of the quilt is cheerful, homespun, vintage.

I can imagine this quilt in the setting of a summer cottage, spread over a bed in a simple room; it would serve well to soften a porch chair, a warm wrap for an early morning mug of tea or coffee--a blanket to accompany a book late in the evening.

The backing doesn't please me; there are some tucks here and there.  I experimented with several ways of finishing the back seams after the units were put together in rows. Not up to my standards, although sturdy enough.

A look at the quilt back.

This earlier photo of the work in progress gives a better sense of the colors.

Its a cheerful thing, if a bit gaudy.

I doubt I will use this method again on anything larger than a cushion.

Gina has asked to adopt the quilt and it will go to her house tomorrow.

 

Jolted into March

Photo Credit: H. L. Whitehurst

I loaded these photos on 4 March, then other things commandeered my time and energy.

Out of date, now, but will serve as a reminder of our plunge from February to March.

Rain began on the afternoon of the 28th--the kind of torrential downpour that rapidly swells normally placid creeks, creates runnels and streams where there is usually dry ground.  Many area homes--like that of our son and his wife--are accessed across a creek bed and at the height of a deluge and for 24-48 hours may be cut off.

Above you see water roaring down the not so aptly named Dry Creek, rearranging the gravel bed, shifting rocks, and in this case, carrying along a large dead tree. Not discernable until the next day when Howard began to cautiously assess damage are two large plastic trash bins lodged beneath the bridge and with the tree trunk, backing up the flow of water.

Neighboring fields were flooded, roads disappeared under fast-moving muddy water. 

By Tuesday morning Jim and Howard tackled the mess with chainsaw [for the tree trunk] and two of their tractors to rearrange gravel.

One benefit for my projects is the large flat chunks of slate rock uncovered.  Howard corralled some likely pieces and suggested we come up on Thursday to collect more for the extension to the west garden--a planting that thus far exists only in my fertile mind.

Here at our place water streamed down the drive and raced along the edge of the south ravine.

The resident lame skunk has not been sighted since Friday, before the rains.

He/she may be still around; perhaps if it's den was in one of the ravines it has been flooded out.

The ground remained squelchy for several days. I put on my boots and walked the perimeter of the open property. Several dead trees were toppled in the storm. This is one of those damaged by the fire [of suspicious origin?] which destroyed the house belonging to previous owners.

During the winter of construction our two campers were situated across from this tree and near the rubble left from the fire--a bleak view. All that now remains is a cement 'pad' which fronted the former house and the fire-dead trees which come down one by one.

Along the edge of the south ravine a 'woodpecker' tree lost its precarious hold on the wet slope.

Muddy trail left by the running water.

My walk-abouts are companioned by cats--here is our good-natured Nellie-Boy.

Willis has always been determined to plod along on my outdoor ramblings.

Jim unloading the first assortment of rocks for my garden extension.

Does he look enthused?

Rocks neatly stacked on a pallet.

These often split apart. I'm OK with that; I know where to find replacements should a path need to be re-laid.

Shelby--much interested in the rock piling outside my bedroom window.

In heavy rains the gravel lane washes out.  Our neighbor seems to enjoy using his tractor to smooth out the ruts after a fierce storm.

I've been able to do a bit of pruning and poking about in the west wall garden. Afternoon temperatures approached 60F once the rains passed, although mornings were frosty and the light wind had a sharpish bite.

Willis chooses a large sun-warmed rock for comfort.

Willis wears well his nearly eleven years.

Fresh cookies and a mug of tea as reward for outdoor work.

Loaves of bread nearly ready to exit the oven.

Baking, housework, sewing, reading--the usual round of things that brought me through February.

Mornings come earlier even on overcast days and the season moves forward, more or less on schedule, unmoved by the uproar and turmoil of humanity.

 

February Thaw: Weather Journal; 23 January, 2021

By Friday the snow of the week had stopped, leaving us with a landscape that sparkled under a returning sun. The rather perilous walk up the lane to the mailbox in freezing temperatures gave me a few minutes of exercise and bitingly fresh air, but no mail, as once again our rural route was considered too hazardous for the carrier to make his rounds.

Regardless of the weather faithful Willis trudges with me to where our curving driveway meets the lane. He waits to escort me back to the house.

Near the head of the lane overlooking our neighbor's barn.

On Friday evening, switching off my bedside lamp at about 10, it took a moment for me to realize what I was seeing--a spill of moonlight across my bed, stars in the night sky. 

After so many dark cold nights, the reappearance of these celestial familiars was so inspiring that I clambered back out of bed and navigated carefully around furniture to stand at the window, delighting in the glow of the half moon reflecting onto the unmarred white expanse of the west meadow.

Saturday was still cold, but the sun was a constant presence.

The small south-facing sunroom was warm enough for me to retreat there mid-afternoon with a mug of tea, a book, and Edward-cat to share the basket chair.

The heavy fringe of icicles along the roof edge began to melt and drip--slowly at first, increasing as the late afternoon sun beat against the house. 

Shelby-Kitten stationed herself on the windowsill behind the Norfolk Pine, smacking at the glass with her small paws, trying to catch the streams of water on the outer panes.

Every few minutes an icicle gave way with a tiny shatter of sound.

An encouraging sunrise on Sunday morning.

By early-afternoon the east meadow was clear of snow, but the ridges of turned earth in the vegetable garden still held the cold.

Edward-Cat who is lazy and dislikes to exert himself, made one of his infrequent forays outside, traipsing down to the old shed near the western end of our property.

During the long winter when our house was under construction, we lived in a camper/trailer parked across from the shed.  Edward, on warmish days, enjoyed basking on the concrete slab in front of the building. When we moved at last into the new home, Edward often wandered to the shed needing to be coaxed back in the evening.

By 3 p.m. the temperature had soared to 56 F. Rounding up Edward was a perfect excuse to be outside!

J. followed me down the meadow, heard Edward 'answering' our calls from under the building, but the silly cat refused to emerge.

Impatient, J. went inside and thumped on the floor, which caused Edward to rush from under the shed at full speed and hurtle down the ravine. 

[Had J. gone along about his business I expect Edward would eventually have responded to my coaxing and come out.  He is a cat of fuzzy wits and ponderous deliberation.] 

I decided to stay outside. 

The snow had lost its clean sparkle, was settling and rotting into slushy patches. 

On the west wall, plants that had been buried in snow for several days were visible again, browned and battered, but surviving.

 I was turning away from the garden when the slanting sun picked out this glow of purple--pansies lurking beneath the dwarf buddleia.

My feet were starting to feel cold in my wellies; coming inside to regroup I happened to glance through a west window. 

A furry black and white shape was crossing from just below the shed, headed toward the south ravine.

Edward?  Not Edward!

I went quietly out the back door, moved slowly past the edge of the wall garden, cautiously, because I recognized the visiting creature as a skunk!

It made its way with an uneven gait, favoring a rear foot. 

Moving resolutely it disappeared into the deep tangle of the ravine. 

 I waited a few minutes, noting how quickly the air was cooling as the sun slid behind the trees.

The footprints of the skunk lead from under the shed--where earlier Edward had gone into hiding.

I traced the skunk's progress to the edge of the ravine, realizing that the pawprints matched those which had puzzled me earlier in the week.

[This may be the skunk who connected with Dixie-the-dog earlier in the winter.]

It is mating season for skunks--perhaps a litter will be raised under the old shed--not a good thought.

I stayed outside, watching the sky change as the sun slid lower.

Contrails and feathery clouds.

A last molten blaze.

 The western sky still a deep blue.

Willis and I walked back up the meadow in the last glow of light, still intermittently calling for the recalcitrant Edward.

He appeared finally, at nearly dark, heaving himself over the east retaining wall, plodding to the front steps. I hoisted him inside, noting that his legs and belly were wet. His fur smelled of snow and dead leaves. I gave him a rub down with an old towel and served his 'tea'--the portion of tinned food reserved for him when the other cats were fed earlier.

This morning, Tuesday, I drove to the quilt shop at South Fork. The roads were clear with only a scrim of dirty snow along the edges where there is thick shade.

I planned to spend the afternoon downstairs, working again on the quilt in progress.

Sunshine and a temperature of 61 F. lured me outside.

I collected clippers and a large bucket, set about pruning the clumps of nepeta that have sprawled along the east wall garden.  Willis found me, wallowed in the nepeta, swatted at me for attention. 

Although the soil was wet and cold when I tugged at a few weeds, the concrete wall was warm, With the nepeta trimmed into order, I raked lank brown foliage away from the day lilies, admiring the tiny green shoots just above the surface of the soil.

Back out later to collect the sheets that had dried on the lines, and to admire the moon through the dark branches of a tulip poplar. 

With the camera on zoom I chanced a shot toward the east fence line--a strangely foreshortened view across the garden. A lavender/grey sky to mark twilight, and the scent of cold earth--cold, but with a freshness to suggest that soon there will be the new growth of spring.