Month: April 2013

Dog Heaven

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As I’m sitting at the computer writing this Chester is curled up in his bed beside me.  This is typical for a Monday, we refer to it as the hangover.

Brush was burned this past Saturday with our three dogs and Malcolm all there to make the most of the greening grass and sunshine.  There is nothing they like more than to be in the back forty doing whatever they find to do.  It is always more fun if their people are out their with them. There’s always the chance there will be a game of fetch.

It wasn’t so long ago that none of these dogs got along.  We were always on alert for the next sign of a fight.  The fights were ugly, blood was always drawn, always over a stick or toy.  The blood didn’t necessarily belong to a dog either.  This past weekend was one of those weekends where everyone got along.  There is nothing they love more than being free to go anywhere without a leash. They just ran and ran and ran. They all took a dip in the swamp – Chester more than once.  Malcolm had to have a bath  and the burdock picked out of his fur before he could get into the car to head back to Boston.

A lot was accomplished – we are all feeling it today.  Unfortunately Chester is the only one who gets to sleep it off.

 

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The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely, or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quiet, alone with the heavens, nature and God.  Because only then does one feel that all is as it should be and that God wishes to see people happy, amidst the simple beauty of nature. As long as this exists, and it certainly always will, I know that then there will always be comfort for every sorrow, whatever the circumstances may be.  And I firmly believe that nature brings solace in all troubles.

Anne Frank wrote those words when she was 14 years old.  She must have been an old soul, so much wisdom, so young.

It’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been to Rowe.  I need to see the stars and get away from traffic, take a walk in the woods.

The pear tree needs trimming although it’s later to do it than it should be, it still needs to be done.  The raspberries need trimming, the beds need to be semi cleaned out, mulched.  There are brush piles to be burned, wood to be split, gardens to be spruced up.  I need to check into what I have for seed potatoes and get some onion sets.  The Ball jars need to be inventoried.  Just the beginning of the busiest time of the year – now until October.  Always too much to do and just enough.  I love having an outdoor to do list.  There’s always an excuse to be out there.

So even though I will be working I will also be alone with the heavens, nature and God.  I will return to my work week renewed and refreshed.

Counting Seedlings

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130424 Seedlings

 

Our yard has 6 very large maple trees in it, all varieties.  Each spring I do battle with the seedlings that emerge from the ground.  I have a large perennial garden in that yard that is an oasis for these little saplings.  It doesn’t matter how much I rake the seeds out these are always popping up in the spring.  Right now they are the bane of my existence.

I have a bit of an OCD with counting and a few years ago I turned pulling these up into a counting thing.  Every morning when I take the dogs out I go into that garden and pull up no fewer than 25 of theses little trees.  They are only about 4″ tall and are surprisingly difficult to pull out of the ground.  Honestly it’ll probably take a couple of weeks to get them all out of the garden at that rate.  The consequences of not pulling them up now manifest themselves fully by fall when I have to go out with my shears and cut them to the ground because they’ve grown up in the center of my phlox unnoticed.

Counting my way through this garden every morning also gives me the opportunity to visit the plants that are coming up now (and the weeds).  I visit and revisit certain spots to see who made it through the winter or where they’ve moved from last season.  It’s a getting to know you thing every spring.  I guess if it wasn’t for pulling those saplings I could potentially visit an unfamiliar garden come June.

Gas Plant

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Gas Plant

 

When I walked the dogs this morning in Enfield there were so many different birds singing away in our back yard I was amazed.  There were cardinals, robins, nuthatches and even a yellow bellied sapsucker.  I love spring.  I was looking for a photograph of one of my gardens in Enfield and failed to find one but happened upon this photo of my gas plant which is popping out of the ground right now.

I have moved this plant three times despite all of the nay sayers and books saying how difficult they are to transplant.  The first time I acquired it the move was made under the cloak of darkness (well, maybe moonlight).  We lived on a dead end road at the time, there were only three houses on my side of the street – on the other side was an abandoned garden center.  We were friends with the owners niece and I spent many hours photographing my girls in that area.  It was beautiful, just a bit overgrown.  Each spring I would walk down and look at the gas plant as it came up and visit it while it blossomed.  The  Gas Plant’s (Dictamnus albus ‘Purpureus’)  flowers give off a flammable gas, which is the source of its common name. It has a wonderful heavy, sweet fragrance.  I have never tried lighting it on fire.

The owner of the property where the gas plant lived died and his widow sold it to someone that subdivided it into building lots.  They cut down the trees that were hundreds of years old to make way for as many crackerbox ranches that could fit in what little acreage there was.  One night, after the bulldozers were starting to do their work I put my spade in my wheelbarrow and walked down to the bed where that gas plant was living and dug it up.  Mind you this was no small plant, it was work and I really was trying to do this unnoticed.  After struggling to get it into the wheelbarrow I filled in around it with some of the soil that was around the plant, I figured with more soil it might not be too shocked.  I wheeled it back to my yard and the next morning I planted it in a special spot in the garden.

We were renting the house my garden was in at the time.  The loss of the wooded areas that surrounded that house made us look for a house to buy that was in a neighborhood that was old and established.  I never wanted to feel that kind of loss again.  We moved a couple of years later in the spring and I once again dug up my gas plant and put it into the garden where it is now.  It’s been there for 15 years and apparently the haphazardly way I transplanted it the second time didn’t really phase it.

For the past couple of years I’ve thought about transplanting it to Rowe.  I’ve been scouting out spots to put it.  Sheltered but sunny.  I may have finally found the spot for it to go in my newest garden.  The info says it’s slow to establish.  I may divide it and leave half in Enfield and bring the other to Rowe, sort of having a backup plan.  I’d hate to lose it, we’ve been through so much together.

Thrive Where You’re Planted

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During the Blizzard of ’78 my sister was in the hospital for some emergency surgery.  Her later to be mother-in-law sent her a pot of daffodils – there were a dozen in the pot as I recall.  Once they had died back they were planted in a border garden around the patio.  Over the years they have naturalized to the point of hundreds.  They are all over New England at this point.  Everywhere I have had a garden they are now too numerous to count.  They have been given away to friends and family in  MA, VT, NH and CT.  They are now in full bloom in Enfield, around the front of the house, along the driveway, in the perennial garden in the back yard.  They are scattered all down the bank going into the back forty in Rowe.  These amuse me most of all.  For years my mother’s mulch pile was over that bank.  There was a stone wall there many years ago and it was completely grown in with trees.  She would dig up things that she no longer wanted or bulbs were perhaps pulled along with the weeds – over the bank they would all go.

I have planted many plants in a perennial garden only to watch them migrate to where they really want to be.  They will self seed in a sunnier or wetter spot and the original will die back.  It’s no use trying to get them to grow where you want them to, they just grow where they are happy.  That’s how I feel at times about being caught between Enfield and Rowe, suburban and rural, noisy and quiet.  I just want to be where it’s sunny and quiet.  Then I think about those daffodils. They speak volumes about thriving where you are.  It doesn’t mattered the soil type, the sunlight, the moisture – they all seem to like where they are and continue to multiply year after year.  In my head I know that’s how it should be – thrive where you are – but some days (especially sunny spring ones) I just want to be in a quiet spot.  Maybe transplanting daffodils.

Happy Earth Day – go dig in the dirt!

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Earth Day Coming Up

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Earth Day has evolved for me over the years.  I used to spend my time cleaning out my flower beds.  I’ve planted trees, shrubs, and flowers on this day.  This year I seem to be on a mission to augment as much of my food supply as I can with things that I’ve grown.  This Earth Day week will be spent in prep for the vegetable and fruit growing season.  Seeds will be started and although it seems late to some I can’t plant ANYTHING until Memorial Day in Rowe.  There is still snow on the ground and the entire back forty was completely frosted this morning.

I want everyone to know the feeling you have when you eat or serve a meal with food that you have grown.  You know everything about this food.  You may have nurtured it from seeds or have seen it eating grass on a sunny hill.  You have watered and fed and cooed over these plants and animals.  You have planned and brought these home grown ingredients together into something that is fabulously delicious in its own time.

Years ago (really not that many) people ate what was in season.  You didn’t eat tomatoes in January unless they were the “hot house” variety that completely lacked in both taste and nutrition.  Vegetables were not flown in from Argentina or California during the winter. The cycle of meals had everything to do with what was ripe at the time or food that you had put up and was in your cellar or freezer.  Growing up I remember my aunt and cousins staying with us when the garden was really beginning to produce.  For lunch each day there would be sandwiches made with the freshest of tomatoes, cucumbers and lettuce.  A platter just laid out with the bounty of summer, a taste that can not be replicated in any way other than to pick the produce, slice it up and eat it within minutes. I understand what it’s like to share the food that I have grown with the people I love.  Hard work goes into it but it’s worth it when you see the look on someones face that is eating a particular plant for the first time or an old familiar one that tastes completely different because it is so fresh.

This year I think everyone should at least put a tomato plant in a pot of soil on their patio or steps or yard.  Throw in a few basil seeds for good measure.  This is sooo inexpensive to do and you will be paid back ten fold in something that you can not buy, the true taste of summer.

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Weaving Wednesday 5

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130414 LoomThis past weekend I finished putting the warp on the loom in Rowe and began to weave.  I love having it there so I can just weave any time I want.  I’d like to make short work of these towels (the same ones I had made in class). They are beautiful when they are finished but they are seriously boring to weave.  That’s the craft ADD talking.   I’m currently warping a 36″ loom for class with 2/8 Jaggerspun Maine Line wool yarn.  This is my first venture into wool weaving.  It will be an overshot throw in a Maltese Cross pattern.  I’m looking for some really nice colored wool for the weft, it needs to be a heavy worsted.  I love, love, love the feel of wool so winding this warp has been a pleasure.  Next week it goes onto the loom.  My thought is to finish the towels then warp the Rowe loom the same way and make throws for  Christmas presents.

130414 Summer & Winter FinishedThis is the Summer and Winter runner hemmed and washed.  The wool fulled beautifully and it was so soft once it dried.  Brought it down to sister Sue.  Maybe I can get her into weaving one of these days!

Boston

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I’m beginning to feel like I write an obituary for society about once a month.  I’m tired.

Once again it hit very close to home.  Amanda had to work last night and she left the city earlier than usual.  She said she was glad she had to work otherwise she and Yusuf might have gone to watch the marathon, hang out downtown, be part of a special tradition in Boston.  We had other relatives at Fenway.  Everyone is safe but maybe not sound at this point.  You begin to question so many choices when something like this happens.

A photographer friend of mine posted a quote from Boston Globe photographer John Tlumacki at the scene yesterday -“We use a camera as a defense but I was shaken when I got back…“.  That struck such a chord with me.   When I first read what he had said I knew exactly what he was talking about.  With a camera in front of me I am invincible, there is nothing that I fear, my shields are up.  I then looked at his photographs and understood how gripping and horrible it was all in the same moment.  I understood that he was doing his job, in the best way he knew how – he was on autopilot.  He composed his shots, he captured the emotion, he made it real for anyone that looks at them no matter where they are or what language they speak.  I understood in a second how he felt when he started going through his images – the nausea, the shaking to your core, that surreal feeling that it couldn’t possibly have happened yet there are those images.

When I worked as a photographer I was a different person – my personality changed when I did a job.  I was stronger, had a heightened sense of awareness through the viewfinder, I was focused.  When I reviewed my images later I saw them through different eyes.  I have no doubt that this happened to many people yesterday, not just photographers but bystanders, first responders, police.  They jumped into action to do what they could to help their fellow man and only later did they realize what they’d experienced.  My heart goes out to all of them.

Nest

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I plucked this robin’s nest (with egg) out of a small spruce tree in our backyard in Enfield after watching it for a number of weeks to make sure it was uninhabited.  I have a little collection of nests in a china cabinet in Rowe but this particular one is a beauty.  I placed it in a potted ivy that Amanda gave me when she was in 5th grade (it’s now huge).  I stuck 3 wooden skewers into the plant right after repotting it and placed the nest on top of them so it would rest in anything moist.  The ivy has grown all around it and almost hidden it from view, perfect.  It sits in the bay window at the end of the living room facing south.  I move it to a different place in May or so because the sun becomes too intense, but it is the perfect winter spot.

This morning I looked nest up and this was the definition they gave me “A nest is a place of refuge to hold an animal’s eggs or provide a place to live or raise offspring.”   I personally would put a comma after the word refuge because I have always thought of my home as a nest, a place of refuge, a place to raise offspring.  In the years since my children have left the nest in Enfield my intense interest in making it a “home” has waned.  It doesn’t have that soft lining anymore. I don’t decorate it for the holidays, I barely keep up the gardens.  The house in Rowe is a bit different because I’ve been trying to make it into more of a retreat for family and friends. A place where you can feel warm, safe and welcome, where you can spend some time discarding the worries of day to day life.  A place where you can walk in the grass in your bare feet, breath the fresh air, enjoy your morning coffee ourdoors sitting in quiet.

Spring is slowly approaching.  The birds are all feathering their new nests.  I am not so much feathering as regrouping, cleaning, organizing –  in a word nesting.