Monthly Archives: July 2015

Comfort in stormy weathers

July started with the “thunder moon”. Every storm that visits here brings rain, sometimes just a dust settling drizzle, other times it’s a big wash. But always we are grateful for the rains. While we live near a city reservoir, out own precious water comes from our well.

The rains have brought luxuriant growth to garden plant and weed. Every time I think I have gotten control of a bed – rains come, hidden seeds sprout and I start over. My progress in garden weeding is slow.

With every pending storm, the air stirs the tree tops into a frenzy and when the wildness stops, I am again surprised at how much dead wood has been held in the tree tops, waiting for the shaking down for my exercise routine.

The glorious show of daylily bloom is slowly giving way to green again but these blooms, while few, are stunning – and in the background, the Butterfly Bush is beginning its season.

The other week, I mentioned the wild dogwood – cornus alternifolia – Pagoda Dogwood – is my id of it. I neglected to show this bird treat tree in that post. The seedling planted itself under a maple tree many years ago. I thought it was a Flowering Dogwood as we have many planted by birds and squirrels. Only as the years went by, I realized the leaves were a bit different. Early, I tried to straighten it, but it chooses to grow leaning out from under a maple to face into the morning sun.

All the quiet, slow, solitary activity of summer days allows me time to tidy my soul as well. Reminiscence and introspection seem to go round with me as peaceable companions in my chores and I learn from them.

My favorite thing to have with early morning wonder time is iced coffee. I’ve been using the Pioneer Woman’s recipe for several years now, Perfect!

Unexpected visitors in the garden

It was oppressively hot for several days so I had good excuse for not being outside. Strolling the internet, I came to Martha’s place and found her hints on cleaning shears and knives with white vinegar. It is embarrassing to admit how grungy my tools get, but here is the sad truth just a small photo; they are so badly in need. I put on an apron and gathered my supplies and the results were gratifying. A rinse, dry in the sun and lube in the old “joints” and they are ready for work again.

There is no photo to prove it but I would not make up this terrible news. I was sitting at the kitchen table when something caught my eye and I was so glad the door was closed as the now resident groundhog brushed up against the screen. I think he was not expecting to see me and he turned and run down the path, across the yard and back to the shed, where he perched on the wall and I was glad I could not hear him ranting his displeasure. We are sure he lives underneath the shed and while he does, I don’t go back there. Do you know that Groundhogs can climb trees? And if trees, why not to the top of sheds with trees around them? My nephew said he saw them in trees on his property a few years ago, I hoped he was just joking, but not. If you have an interest in them, here is fascinating information – the thought of them having homes like a mine under my yard is disconcerting.

And now, . This may not look like much, but that is a tunnel crafted along the rock path. Now there is one down the other side and more branching off in all directions. Moles.

One of our first years here, we caught one. I thought it was cute. I was the ignorant city girl who grew up with story book animals. I would not let my husband kill it, I thought if he just took it to the very back of our three acres, it would wander happily into the field beyond. It probably did. Where in the way of storybook moles, it was hailed as a returning hero by its brethren who followed him in a great pioneering contingent to fully invade the yard several days later.

Add these to the daily deer who huff at me when I am bold enough to step outside.

To console myself, each day of the heat wave I brought in day lilies for the table. Soothing consolation in each bloom. Distraction too from the pending war on the invaders.

The old dark and stormy night routine

Loud, disturbing storms rolled slowly through my long restless night. After dawn, the sun came slowly through the lingering clouds and there was the lovely lush green glow of this rainy summer.

Fortunately the power held and I could proceed with the days work of pickling. A kind neighbor had called with an offer of cucumbers and zucchini. Since we did not plant a vegetable garden this year, this was a real gift.

First, I made the Zucchini into soup from a recipe given to me a number of years ago. It is very similar to this one. We love the curry seasoning and usually have it warm. I’m so pleased to have several containers in the freezer.

It has been quite a few years since I had enough cucumbers growing to make pickles or relish and I had to gather some fresh spices for them. The process is slow and I feel the connection with the long history of women in summer kitchens “putting up” from the bounty of the land when I get to do these things. It was a shock for me to look at the old cookbook and realize the first time I made Million-Dollar Pickles was July, 1975! Yes, I write in my cookbooks, leaving the date and a comment trail through my years in the kitchen.

Jars of pickles, jelly or jam cooling on the counter always bring a feeling of satisfaction, of blessing.

Visitors

Of course there is much chatter in the tree tops, fledglings I think, begging for food.

The wild dogwood trembles almost constantly from foraging squirrels who tumble down from its branches and bluebirds who flash from the greenery. Summer life!

Mending life – a story

Sometimes I see great parallels between life and my mending pile. I learned to darn and hem as a Girl Scout. I was never very good at either. My hems improved when I came to understand that those enormous stitches easily got snagged and pulled and snapped and had to be re-done. <sigh> In those days of skirts and dresses and uniforms and years of changing hem lines, I had lots of practice. But, I was never ~~a perfectionist~~ never skilled.

Fast forward to when I married into a family with a rich inheritance of needlewomen. I knew his aunt had taught needlework skills but I was not really interested in learning then. Aunt Dolly curtained my house with her skills at the machine I borrowed then dressed my little one in crochet and smocked dresses and warmed us with afghans. I still didn’t ask her to teach me. She was busy and I did not think I would be an apt pupil.

When I was growing up, my mom was quite particular with the few hand worked items that she had. The beautiful crocheted tablecloth crafted by my Grandmother was always covered by heavy plastic when on the dining room table. So I was quite shocked to take my toddler to dinner at my Mother-in-law’s home and find embroidered or appliqued tablecloths on the table – without protection. Nana never blinked at a spill, it was never a problem. (I wish I knew her cleaning secrets.) There was one tablecloth that captivated me. Just before she passed away, my precious sister-in-law gifted me with it. Just as pretty as I remembered, grown softer with wear and washing and with a small hole. You would always see the hole. The eye would see it immediately and the beauty of the whole would be ignored.

Sometimes it takes courage to mend a hole. I hesitated, did research, asked “experts”, got lots of different advice, but in the end, I’m the one who had to face the sad dilemma of poor darning skills to mend it. So a patch would be needed. I spent too much time searching my stash of misfit linens for a piece with the same look and feel. I thought about square vs. round – anything to keep from doing the work.

Sometimes life can be that way too. I inherit or create my own hole in the fabric of life… I try to figure out what to do to make it whole again… Knowing how clumsy and inept my efforts will be, I put it off…

The day finally came. I took courage, sized the patch, cut it and prepared it, stabilized the hole, oriented the grain line, threaded the needle and got to work making the tiniest stitches I am capable of sewing. Start to finish – 30 slow minutes. Yes, it’s a patch, yes, it shows, yes, it’s ok. In the grand beauty of Grandmom Weger’s applique and embroidery, no one will care and I think she would be happy to know we still treasure her work. I’m still captivated by it. And in real time and space, you won’t notice it – or maybe you would and realize how much someone cared to make it whole again.

Life is a captivating treasure. Wear and tear can happen. While I must consider well what to do, I must not wait long to repair, to mend so that the beauty of the whole can be seen. I’m looking to see what else is in the mending pile…

Little faith

Last September, I wrote about finding seed clusters in the spent Calla Lily blooms. I waited and on October 31, I gathered my harvest.

Tiny seeds sloughed from corn like coatings. One can find anything on-line but directions are not the same as in person tutoring to me and I was left with this small collection of seeds to protect till spring. I put them in a small cardboard box and while I didn’t forget them, I also didn’t plant them as directed. But on a putter-y kind of day in early June, I sprinkled them in a pot. My little seeds were faithful to their calling to live and sprang up!

They have been growing well and I’ve transplanted them into another pot. Rain and sun will nourish them well.

There are some areas of my life where seeds of faith lie scattered in the soil of my heart. I’m encouraged that like the Calla Lily seeds, these faith seeds are growing good roots.