Tag Archive | flowers

Preparing to Freeze

Apr17

I baked a sourdough focaccia yesterday thinking I would freeze some portions for later. It was delicious even though I forgot to spread it in the pan before going to bed so it overflowed the bowl overnight. I worried that it wouldn’t rise enough in the pan to be soft. It wasn’t perfect but it was perfectly fine.

After today’s cheese sandwich I’ve got enough for three more lunches. I didn’t need to worry about freezing any.

We took a short slow walk yesterday afternoon to check out the early flowers, knowing they might freeze back in the next couple of nights. Did I mention that I thought I heard the first hummingbird a few days ago? I quick went inside to start nectar water on the stove, pulled out the box of feeders and cleaned one with dilute bleach and let it dry while the nectar cooled, and put it out a couple hours later. This morning I saw the first male black-chinned hummingbird at the feeder. Time to get the other feeders ready to go out Saturday morning. I did bring in the one feeder for tonight with the freeze forecast.

Wren checked out the numerous Townsendia scattered along the sides of the trail. I played with Hipsta Impressionist again to see what I could get with its random filter. I especially like the second one, how it smeared a petal like impasto. But I prefer the original unfiltered photo below over all the variations.

Wren had run ahead of me and Topaz and I heard the sharp alarm call of a critter, but I couldn’t find it. She was running back and forth near this tree, and it sounded like the cry came from the canopy. I listened from all angles, as Wren was doing; it sounded high, it sounded low, it sounded even as though it came from another tree. Then there was a buzz to it. We finally narrowed it down to a hollow in the base of the trunk, and Wren seemed determined to tear it apart. I barked at her to leave it, and aimed the camera in but couldn’t tell much, so set it to 5x zoom with flash. Right as I snapped the picture Topaz shot out of nowhere hissing at Wren and startling me. Thankfully Wren cowered instead of attacking. But then they were both obsessed with the trunk and I discerned it was best to hurry us off. Only after I got them both well away from the trunk did I check my hasty image:

Today’s adventure took a different turn. There’s a freeze warning for tonight, and a hard freeze warning for tomorrow night. The garden is so far along I worry I’ll lose a lot. The cherry tree! I’m grateful that I caught some of As the Worm Turns on my drive home from my annual checkup yesterday.

The gardeners were discussing ways to protect fruit trees from freezing. The valley orchards will be at high risk tomorrow night, and I feel for the fruit growers. I wish for all their orchard-warming techniques to succeed. One way they mentioned is to spray foliage with kelp spray, which strengthens cell walls among other things. I didn’t catch the details, but did drive up to the Hitchin’ Post this afternoon to pick up a bottle of FoxFarm Kelp Me Kelp You seaweed plant food. I mixed the kelp with water in my pump sprayer and saturated the cherry tree foliage and pretty much everything else I’m concerned about. If it doesn’t help protect them from the freeze at least they’ll be well fed when they come back.

I spent the entire work day preparing to freeze. It started when I decided to make lilac scones. The second round of lilacs were only half open and I expect to lost most of them tomorrow night. I brought in some more blooms for the vases, and harvested a basketful to make lilac sugar. I couldn’t find the recipe I used some years ago, when I just plucked the flowers off the stems and incorporated them into the dough, so I looked up recipes again. That’s where I learned about lilac sugar and lilac syrup. I’m not sure whose recipe I’ll use for the scones whenever I get around to baking them, but making sugar and syrup I’ll have lilacs preserved for months to come and many uses.

I decided to make the syrup first, but after rinsing, drying, and plucking petals for an hour I didn’t think I had enough for syrup, so I opted for the sugar. It calls for 1 cup lightly packed petals to 1 cup sugar. By the time my packed petals met an equal volume of sugar I realized I had packed them too tightly and probably could have pulled off the two cups for syrup, but by then it was too late. They were all shook up.

I had to add more sugar to achieve an equal ratio. Now the petals steep in the sugar for three days, and I’m supposed to sift them out, but I think I’ll just make a batch of scones including petals first. Then we’ll see what happens with the rest of it. So, the lilacs are prepared to freeze, I’ve done all I can to preserve them.

Then I set about recycling the distilled water bottles from the mechanical room, which I save for just this purpose as I fill the solar batteries through the year. I cut the bottoms off them, and in late afternoon as it clouded up and the temperature dropped, I set them over all the new perennials I’ve planted in the south border and in patio pots.

Then I fluffed old hay over all the garden beds filled with tender pea shoots, strawberry plants, nascent rhubarb, delicate carrot tops, baby kale, flower sprouts, and garlic leaves. I also covered a few areas with an old blanket and black plastic. As I moved through the day I clipped any remaining tulips, jonquils, and the flowers from the new perennials since they’ll freeze Friday night anyway, and gathered them all in a couple of vases. I am now finished preparing to freeze.

The Week in Flowers

Apr12

I’m grateful that the little cherry tree is doing so well in its second year, filling up with blossoms like a grownup tree. This was taken early in the week. (Where’s Wren?) And grateful that the tulips are opening all over the yarden. Though I’m a little disappointed to realize, as I’ve noticed over time, that tulips don’t actually do much for native pollinators. So I’m not going to buy any more, but I will nurture these that grow here now. Next fall maybe I’ll look into native bulbs that might actually nourish our regional bees.

It’s been a joy to plant the little perennials I bought last week, in a couple of south-facing borders, and in some patio pots. This creeping hummingbird mint will grow low and spread, and should be more successful in this climate than the various others I’ve tried over the years, which just don’t tolerate our cold winters.

More of the native wildflowers are blooming in the woods this week.

Here’s the cherry tree today, with a little bit of iPhone “cleanup” to remove the distraction of the stabilizing posts and cords. If you don’t look too closely you hardly know it’s been altered.

It’s hard to capture the full effect since the tree is so small, but it’s magical to see in real life, its delicate blossoms like sunlit lace, and tiny native bees darting among them. And I’m grateful for my little kitchen light stand with succulents, and bonsai rosemary, lavender, geranium, and bitter orange, with a sprig of lilac in an ancestral bud vase. I’m grateful for flowers.

And I’m grateful for some contributions from friends after my post about the wild cost of war, including this from the NYT which should be available without a paywall: A ‘Silent Victim’: How Nature Becomes a Casualty of War; and this incredible video of an Iranian spider-tailed horned viper, unique among snakes with its astonishing adaptation to lure prey. Virginia shared the photo below of 168 Pairs of Shoes in their current rainbow configuration at the Grand Mesa Arts and Events Center in Cedaredge.

It hurt to hear from my dear accountant that I need to pay the feds something by next Wednesday, but fortunately not a lot. At least I can share my displeasure later by participating in May Day Strong, “Workers Over Billionaires,” by not working, not spending, and joining in some kind of resistance action. You’re all invited to the party!

Joyful Surprises

Nov2

Related to gratitude and grief, joy is an essential quality to cultivate for mental, emotional, and physical wellbeing. Big joy had come for a friend who dropped by the other day, and I shared her excitement experiencing empathetic joy, a felt sense of happiness in her joy. I made sure to notice how my joy for her great happiness felt in my body, and savor the tingles and my big smile, and her big smile: Savoring a good feeling for twenty seconds cultivates neural pathways and stimulates beneficial neurochemicals. That empathetic joy came on top of my pure joy at her surprise visit. We walked to the canyon, which gave Wren joy, and took a dose of forest medicine hugging an ancient juniper.

The view from the tree hug

The next day several more joyful surprises came my way. I dedicated myself to fully experiencing them all, opening my heart and my mind. The first was three volunteers who came from North Fork Senior Connections to help with yarden work for an hour, and we got so much done. All were seniors themselves, and from the larger neighborhood surrounding our small town. The program sent a dozen volunteers out into the community to lend hands to five seniors who had requested assistance. I had actually asked for help more than a year ago when I could barely move, but this was the first time they called and though I’m pretty capable by now, I can still use an extra hand with some chores. I baked a big batch of molasses ginger cookies to thank them.

While they did some of the more physical projects, I bent over and pulled a frost-killed sweet potato vine out of the patio planter and dropped my jaw when two fat little sweet potatoes came out with it. After sharing that surprise with Garden Buddy, who had persuaded me to try rooting and growing one two summers ago just for the beauty of the vine, I dug gently into the planter and discovered a handful more small tubers. Not a huge crop, but enough for a few meals, and a strong motivation to try a whole bed of them next year. Amazingly, the grasshoppers didn’t fancy the leaves.

After the helpers went merrily on up the road to another yard, I dug the last potatoes, the red potatoes I had protected under straw mulch until I could set up to save them in sand. The quantity and size of these tubers was another joyful surprise. The grasshoppers had hammered the foliage to the point that the plants never bloomed, and I was not expecting much when I dug my hands down into the cold dirt. I savored that activity so much I can still feel the cold in my finger bones and the rough dry soil in my cracked fingertips.

I love these wire baskets I bought online which no longer appear to be available. The garden hose made quick work of washing all the tubers outside, in the basket, and then they air dried before I brought them in the house.

While I waited for the potatoes to dry, I cut back the dead dahlias and salvias that had filled some of the garden pots, and was met with this delightful surprise of small orange flowers. The plant had died back in summer heat but emerged again a month ago, and was secretly blooming beneath the big red salvia. A honeybee was sipping from it but fled to a snapdragon when I pulled out my camera.

While the potatoes continued to dry outside I washed myself off and dressed to go to a patio party down the road. A friend invited me as her plus one and came to pick me up. It was at the home of a newish neighbor whom I’d been meaning to take a plate of cookies to for a couple of years but… being a reclusive hermit, I hadn’t gotten to yet. I had saved enough cookies to bring him some, and found I was warmly welcomed. Another gathering of neighbors I mostly didn’t know! I listened, and laughed, shared a few baking tips, and met another knitter. I was grateful the party was outside, the weather was beautiful, and the company easy and engaging. The host had asked that guests bring something for his compost pile, which struck me as both creative and courageous. I took a bucket full of the dead annuals I had trimmed in the morning, so that even if something sprouts from my offering it will be a lovely flower and not a weed.

Once home, I packed the red potatoes in play sand in a cardboard box. I still have two bags of the gold potatoes in the fridge I need to cook and eat or freeze in the next couple of weeks. They are more delicate, and probably wouldn’t keep well, but I’m optimistic about these hardy red potatoes. I spread a layer of sand, covered it with potatoes, poured in another layer of sand… and made a three layer sand and potato lasagna, which I then closed and tucked under a chair in the mudroom where it will stay cold but not freezing (I hope) so I can eat homegrown potatoes through the winter. Maybe when it gets real cold I’ll have to bring the box with whatever’s left into the pantry. We’ll know more later. One potato at a time.

And the last joyful surprise is the fragrant orchid that hadn’t bloomed for a couple of years, for so long I had forgotten it’s fragrant. It’s been in this hanger near my desk for more than a week, I’ve walked past it dozens of times a day, when suddenly one midday an exquisite perfume stopped me mid stride. I inhaled deeply, exhaled completely, and breathed deep again. I savored this intoxicating scent for more than twenty seconds, until my scent buds acclimated and could hold no more. It continues to release its sweet aroma a for an hour or two in the middle of the day, and then goes quiet. Each time I pass during one of those fleeting floral exhalations is another joyful surprise that captivates me for several lingering breaths.

Communication

Jun7

I spent a lot of time in the garden today, spraying vinegar on the ground to kill grass and weeds popping up through the chips we put down to mitigate grasshoppers; pulling weeds, spraying a neem/soap mix on the cabbages, onions, potatoes, carrots and more to drive grasshoppers away; and burning some scrap wood since it was finally calm enough and damp enough to not pose a wildfire risk. And I also found time to take Husband Camera for a few strolls around the yarden to capture the love between flowers and their pollinators.

The little orchard bee first caught my eye in the top picture, and as she moved down the Gaillardia blossom I saw the spider. But she did not.

I serendipitously caught the moment when the two insects communicated: as though the spider said “I am here” by gently reaching a leg toward the bee’s antenna.

Then the bee courteously said “Pardon me!” and flew back to the top of the flower. And the spider smiled her thanks with her eyes.

I’m grateful for this gorgeous day, for the communication I witnessed among many beings, for communication with several friends, for the health, energy, and stamina to spend the day working and playing in the yarden.

More Claret Cups

May27

We just missed the last light again on this one though we went straight to it after my Monday evening meeting. But there was still plenty of light filtering through trees on other claret cups as we picked our way south through the woods.

This sighting led to a patch of them, and the light kept shifting on this largest one as we angled around for different views.

I’m so grateful for spring, and sunshine, and having the mobility to be able to wander aimlessly for an hour in the evening. Pain is so terribly constricting; the absence of pain is utterly liberating.

Little Thrills

May17

I slept late and lingered in a sweet dream where my mother, my grandmother, and Auntie Rita were all waiting for me in a hotel lobby. It was wonderful to hug them each again, and then gather them all into a loving group hug. The rosebuds I’ve been watching unfurl in super slow motion for two weeks had burst open by the time I checked around ten this morning. It’s the first cultivated rose I’ve had in twenty-five years since my rose bonsai met its demise with a housesitter’s neglect. I picked this Sheila’s Perfume cultivar from the rose tent at Afton’s largely for its extraordinary aroma; a big bonus was the colors.

The next thrill arrived down at the pond where equally suddenly a huge ball of frogs’ eggs showed up this morning. I’m pretty sure they weren’t there yesterday. A mama frog in the rushes right above the nest may have just finished laying them.

The potato leaves have been working their way up through the soil for a week now, but it’s still a thrill to see how much they’ve grown. I also spotted a tattered Mourning Cloak butterfly and a Western Tiger Swallowtail in the fading lilacs, through the kitchen window.

We went back down to check on the frogs’ eggs this evening and mama was nowhere near them. I must have seen frogs’ eggs before but I don’t remember it; I don’t think I’ve ever seen them here. My curiosity piqued, I looked up the life cycle so I’d know when to expect tadpoles. Nine days is the average, according to one article, so I know how I’ll be spending my Memorial Day. I’m grateful for all the little thrills this Saturday offered.

Balance

Apr28

It’s been an emotional week. I’m sad the benevolent pope died, adding one more layer of global uncertainty. I learned of the death of a significant ex and through his obituary of the prior deaths of two of his siblings I was fond of. The DOGE disaster continues to wreak havoc on the country. Friends are suffering various losses in ways I can’t ameliorate. The mental/emotional tension before, during and after a couple of fraught conversations with neighbors sapped more of my energy and attention than I would have wished—but certainly far less than it would have before developing mindfulness skills.

There’s a big stew of suffering swirling inside. Finding peace in the yarden has been extra important. Most mornings I’ve sat at the pond for coffee after meditation, and enjoyed the blossoming crabapple, the frogs, and the tiny dingo’s delight in following her nose and her whims around. Sitting quietly for awhile each day with water burbling and leopard frogs gurgling keeps things in perspective. There are at least six fat, happy frogs in the pond. I’m grateful for this sanctuary and all the conditions that allow me to savor moments of peace and joy.

I’m grateful for making time to finally cook this so simple, so delicious chicken florentine that came together in about half an hour.

I made myself eat only one portion last night so I can enjoy leftovers for three more meals, which I did for lunch today: In the next-to-last giant spinach tortilla, I rolled up lettuce, chicken florentine, avocado and mayo for a yummy wrap.

As I wrestle with my personal patriarchal demons, Mother Nature nurtures me. Is there a more feminine shrub than the lovely lilac? I think not. You’d think I’d have learnt by now to be comfortable with aggressively assertive men, having grown up under the Colonel’s temper. But maybe that’s why it’s still so hard. And the National Abusive Relationship we’re all in is a constant low-grade trigger that I keep trying to write about and shying away from. One of these days I’ll find the words…

Other good things that kept me in balance this week included some wonderful connections with old friends, being ready for the first hummingbird who arrived just after noon, and seeing the little cherry tree in full bloom. And satire:

ROME (The Borowitz Report)—A man who fell asleep during Pope Francis’s funeral was “already going to Hell,” God clarified on Sunday.

Although snoozing during the pontiff’s funeral was “beyond rude,” the Almighty said that the man clinched his place in the netherworld “decades ago.”

“If I hadn’t already made up My mind, the last hundred days would have made him a slam dunk for eternal damnation,” He said. “I mean, deporting a two-year-old? Come on.”

The Heavenly Father said the man’s decision to wear a blue suit at the funeral “wasn’t a factor” in his going to Hell, but was nevertheless “incredibly assholic.”

In another observation from the funeral, God noted, “Interestingly, Sleepy Joe Biden managed to stay awake.”

Wren’s Very Big Day

Apr14

We both had a big day. At seven months post surgery this was the first day that I ventured out into the world without a cane or walking pole. Our morning started with coffee and frog patrol at the pond, and we were graced with at least four leopard frogs and one delicate butterfly.

I love butterfly names. Checking the National Wildlife Federation butterfly guide app, I entered habitat, region, and the colors orange, white, gray. I might as well have typed ‘orange-tipped wings’ because her name is Sara Orangetip. Our Telesangha morning meditation was about Amazement, and I looked at the world this whole day through that lens. It was delightful, and Sara Orangetip was just one of many amazing bits of the day.

Wren rested in the sun on her handmade rug (she didn’t make it, Garden Buddy made it for her), while I watered some of the garden and took stock of today’s new blossoms, including the wild plum which has burst open over the past three days…

… and the little red tulips which started opening yesterday.

After our grueling morning at work, we set off for the audiologist to get my annual hearing exam and update hearing aids. I wouldn’t normally have brought her in, but didn’t want to leave her in the car wearing the donut for safety reasons, or not wearing the donut for certain she’d lick her leg raw again. She was such a good little girl! Mostly sat quietly in my lap until we were checking out, when she sat quietly on the floor hearing treat crinkles as the Dove chocolates jar on the counter was refilled. She did not get one of those treats, but I did.

The drive to the audiologist was amazing: through greening fields with snow-capped mountains ringing the north and east horizons, abundant sunshine, and not a single other car along the rolling fifteen mile country road between the highway and the outskirts of town. After our appointment we drove the second leg of the triangle that connects our tri-village valley, and to the end of Rogers Mesa for a little retail therapy. I felt almost carefree: no pain, no cane, and no mask, and that was amazing.

I know. So much for No-Buy New Year. I fell off that wheelbarrow at Afton’s Garden Center where Wren and I filled a cart with herbs, annuals, and perennials. This time of year, I simply cannot resist. And since this year has gone so much worse than anyone could have hoped, I allowed myself this afternoon retreat. Local readers, this is a wonderful family-owned small business; I’m proud to support them instead of a mail-order conglomerate.

There, with only a handful of other customers, I was amazed and grateful to encounter an old friend and her daughter and we enjoyed a long and meaningful catchup in the shade pavilion. In passing, we bemoaned last year’s grasshopper plague, and they assured me that the pest control guy had assured them that it won’t be nearly so bad this year. It was the wet spring, he said, and it’s been so dry this year; sadly, he said the brutal cold winter has nothing to do with limiting grasshopper population.

Back home, I was amazed by the vibrant forsythia in blazing bloom in the late afternoon sun. Thirsty and tired from our excursion, we both drank a lot of cool, clear water, and polished off the last of a pint of mint chip ice cream. Here in our little world, it was a lovely day, and that felt amazing.

The Cherry Tree

Apr13

We ran errands yesterday. I had to run to the post office, and thought while I was out I might as well go buy some dirt and red salvias at the garden center. I was grateful for the company of my little friend, who charmed everyone at Afton’s, and I was grateful for Afton herself, who runs the ‘new’ garden center on the west end of Rogers Mesa. And run she did, running herself ragged making sure I and other customers found everything we wanted. I was also looking for rosemary, and a cherry tree, and came home with all those things and a few more: strawberries and columbines as well.

I’d had my heart set on one kind of sour cherry tree for no reason other than that someone had recommended that variety; but while we were at Afton’s we found a different cultivar called North Star. I’m grateful I was able to support a local business owned and run by a young woman putting her heart into it, rather than order a tree online. I was grateful that we managed to fit everything in my hardy little Honda and still have room for Wren.

Then I fell last night. It got so windy before bedtime that I went out in the dark (with a headlamp) to move the cherry tree up against something, so it wouldn’t blow over in its pot and get damaged. Instead I got a little damaged: but I’m grateful it wasn’t worse. It could have been so much worse. As it was, I bruised a hip and scraped an ankle, tripping on the wire edging as I stepped over it holding the pot; but the cherry tree was unscathed, which is what really mattered. Oh, and that I didn’t break a hip or anything else.

In the morning the mini-tulip had opened, as well as the first yellow tulip in My Own Private Netherlands bed (below). I can hardly wait for these rows of tulips to bloom all together; but I don’t know that they will, and even if they do they won’t last long, so I’m not hanging my happiness on this stimulus-driven pleasure. Instead, my happiness lies in the satisfaction and fun I derive from the idea of color-blocking tulips; from working in the dirt, from spending time outside in the garden appreciating the transient beauty of each blossom as it opens; from simply being out in and belonging to nature.

I’m grateful for enjoying morning coffee outside under the apricot tree bursting with popcorn blossoms, under a bluebird sky, buzzing with bees, while a meadowlark sings…

I’m grateful for meaningful conversation this morning about grief and guilt, life and death, meaning, laughter, and joy. And I’m grateful for help in the garden this afternoon. All the prep work we did enabled me to plant the cherry tree in a hole deep and wide, filled with fresh, nutritious, slightly acidic soil. Years ago I planted a cherry tree in this same location, and it died in its second year. I don’t know why. It had come from the equivalent of the tree orphanage, those straggly struggling trees that stand lonely outside City Market every year until the last of them dies; so I chalked it up to childhood trauma. But it could have been planter error.

Ever since it died, I have wanted to replace it, but for one reason or another it hadn’t happened. As I continue to age, I’m pondering how long I’ll be able to live here. Suddenly, replacing the cherry tree assumed paramount importance this season. I’ve done everything right with this one –so far– testing the surrounding soil for pH and nutrients, and then filling the hole accordingly; roughing up the rootball which was pretty compacted; leaving on the protective sheath to protect against sunburn. Tomorrow I’ll tie supports from the stakes to the trunk to stabilize it from wind. I’ll pay more attention to its water and fertilizer needs. I’m grateful for this cherry tree, and so I’ll tend to it tenderly, with exquisite care.

Above the Ground

Oct26
https://videopress.com/v/9FeANpTA?resizeToParent=true&cover=true&preloadContent=metadata&useAverageColor=true
Wren enjoys the cauliflower harvest… one for her, and one for me! (double click the image to start video)
…as though I’m about to steal it from her!

In a meditation group yesterday, the introductory inquiry was to share one thing about our bodies that we appreciate or are grateful for (this inquiry was followed by an ‘affectionate body scan’ meditation). Responses included among others the ability to see, hear, move around; to taste, breathe, stretch, and heal. I’m grateful for all those aspects of this living, breathing, largely functional body that I both am and inhabit: In short, I’m grateful my body is above the ground.

We all know there are infinite and unfathomable threats to the health and well-being of our precious physical bodies out there in the world, and also hiding quietly within our very selves. I am frequently astonished to learn of a new way some unanticipated internal event can potentially kill me. I remember to this day the first time I heard of an aneurysm when I was an early teen. I heard of a new way our bodies can betray us just the other day, but fortunately cannot remember what it was. So I’ve been thinking about health the past couple of days more than usual, and want to share two links that came to my inbox that made an impression.

I wanted to capture the last of the flowers and fruits before the deep freeze expected this weekend… Note the last of the prolific yellow pear tomatoes on the vine.

The first is an interview by Eric Topol, cardiologist and professor of molecular medicine, speaking with Chris Van Tulleken, an infectious disease physician-scientist in the UK’s National Health Service, about his staggering research into ultra-processed food (that isn’t food), its global health ramifications, and the political machinations that keep increasing its pernicious influence. It’s well worth the 47 minute listen.

Note the absence of yellow pear tomatoes after I gathered them all, pitching a few for Wren in the process.

The second is an article reporting compelling research that having Covid-19 increases CV risk, which is the risk of having heart attack, stroke, or death from cardiovascular disease. The virus “directly infects atherosclerotic plaques in the coronary arteries, producing a persistent inflammatory response.” This is big news, and another excellent reason to take this virus seriously and make a concerted effort to not get it.

Speaking of heart attacks, I really should take a break from the cheese sandwiches. Today I had to make an emergency veggie Philly cheesesteak. It’s my first ever and I didn’t have time to do it right, so I melted the cheese on the bottom half of the bun while I finished up sautéing onion, pepper, and mushrooms, and slathered the top bun with ranch dressing. It was delicious!

And we were blessed with another mild day and just enough sunshine to eat another lunch outside. I’m taking advantage of every opportunity. The sun shone on us as clouds rolled in to the south and darkened to the north. While I mourn the loss of lives in all the tragedies large and small across the globe today, I remain grateful for the thoughts, feelings, and sensations of another day above the ground for this body.