Tag Archive | Iris reticulata

The Wisdom to Know the Difference

Spring inside the house includes tropical orchids and jasmine blooming, and far fewer fires in the woodstove. Yesterday when I realized it was DST I heard myself say I hate daylight saving time! which has been my feeling about it forever. But I decided to try to adapt instead of continuing to resist, in hopes that it will make this transition smoother and faster. Last year I never did quite adjust, because I was too busy hating that it was the way it was. DST is gonna be with us unless it’s eliminated by royal decree, so I’m going to shift my perspective. My plan is to spend that extra hour of light in the evening simply sitting and enjoying it, with a cup of tea or a cocktail, spending time on the deck or in the garden savoring that sweet evening hour before sunset.

Just because it’s spring doesn’t mean every day is balmy forty-something sunshine. We enjoyed a few blustery snowy days last week, and though it was cold overnight the snow melted each day, watering the mini irises. The dark purple are always first to bloom, and as the first patches withdraw more patches blossom, dark purple, dark blue, and these special frilly ones whose name I don’t recall. Last year, these were eaten by deer before they even opened, so I’m especially delighted to see them in full flower this year. I did remember to cover all the bulbs as they pop up with wire cloches to protect them from marauders.

I read a provocative post the other day comparing “patrimonialism” with “authoritarianism” which used the genius of AI to explore the differences. That got me to wondering, when Truth fails us in human discourse, will AI be more, or less, reliable? Then the hopeful notion popped up that maybe the Singularity will save us after all: Perhaps when AI takes over the world, it will know how to discern fact from fiction and will hold to a higher standard of Truth than human beings.

I used to spend one to two hours a week resisting the authoritarian agenda, back in the first regime; even less time politically active during those honey days of the Biden/Harris administration. Now I spend one to two hours a day engaged in some form of action to save America from the MAGA racist-misogynist-white nationalist agenda. It’s a lot. So I’m pretty protective of my down time, and once I have completed my political engagement for the day, I let it go and turn my attention to other things: the beauty that surrounds me, that new recipe for triple chocolate biscotti, a fresh loaf of bread, the latest sprouts in the garden.

After yesterday’s calls to congress, I potted up the cabbage sprouts. I’ve gotten pretty clear on what I can and cannot control, and cultivated the wisdom to see the difference (thanks, Fred, for the reminder of Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer). Healthy boundaries and proactive self-care are essential for as long as I have the wherewithal to engage in those also.

“The best thing you can do to stay mentally healthy is to lean into the fight, be a leader (if possible), surround yourself with like-minded people, and rest when appropriate. We are in for a long fight, so we must pace ourselves while remaining nimble.”

Robert Hubbell

I’ve found the 5 Calls App to be exceptionally easy and user friendly to voice my concerns to the legislators allegedly representing my interests. In all the calls I’ve made in the past month I’ve only once reached an actual human aide. The rest of the time I’ve left voicemails, and I’ve started them off this past week speaking directly to the person taking the message. It goes something like this: “I’d like to leave a message for the congressman, but first I’d like to speak directly to you, and invite you to ask your parents or grandparents if they receive social security benefits, Medicare, or VA healthcare, and see how they feel about potentially losing those benefits in exchange for tax cuts for billionaires. And then explain to them how your boss justifies his support of these policies….” Then I go on to leave my message about how the executive order to increase timber logging will affect the watershed where I live, or how abolishing the Department of Education will devastate public schools and strip civil rights protections for millions of students, and so on. Another good way to share your dissent with the status quo is with Resistbot.

And then it’s mealtime again. Whew! My precious mealtime rituals, moments of dedicated peace and pleasure. This week’s Sandwich of the Week was an impromptu indulgence. When I was growing up the Colonel occasionally brought Brie and baguettes home from the grocery store. I don’t think good Brie was as readily available back then, and it was always a special occasion when he found triple cream. I loved it, but he was austere even in luxuries. He scolded me more than once for putting too much Brie on a piece of bread. His admonition shamed me, but it also puzzled me. Was there such a thing as too much Brie? Somehow I internalized that limitation. I’d occasionally run across a sandwich at a restaurant that included Brie, and always ordered it with a little frisson of in your face to the Colonel; but it never occurred to me that I could make a Brie sandwich at home until recently. The other day, with half a small wedge of triple cream Brie in danger of turning, I sliced it thick and laid it between buttered toasts, one slice with raspberry jam and the other with maple cream. OMG. It was positively divine.

Today’s lunch was another indulgence. Farm fresh eggs are back after winter’s pause. Best eggs here are $8 a dozen at the store, so I rejoiced to learn that the Bad Dog hens are laying once again, and celebrated with two fried eggs this morning, a few bacon crisps, and the heel of today’s warm loaf, with butter and jam.

Clean hankies on the line in today’s abundant sunshine.

Local Seeds

The first mini irises have been up for a few days. I’m so grateful to see them!
I’m always grateful for a simple cheese sandwich.
…and always grateful for a little hug.

I made it to town finally to buy peas. I’m grateful that our local store, the Hitching Post, carries local seeds from the fabulous High Desert Seed & Gardens. “We’re done with Burpee,” said Sherri, “they don’t care where you live.”

High Desert seeds are tested and grown for high altitude and dry conditions right down the highway in Paonia now, after starting a few years ago outside Montrose. During a mild break in a day of chaotic skies, I got the pea trellis assembled and a whole package of Magnolia Blossom snap peas planted, just in time for more moisture to soak them into their bed.

And after a cold and busy day, a bowl of warming cod with butternut squash sauce was the perfect comfort food. Mine doesn’t look like the recipe, because I started with puréed squash and the fish fell apart, but it was so simple, so delicious.

Sandhill Cranes

There they are: the first sandhill cranes I’ve heard this season. Their grekking, trekking cry suddenly falls on your ears from thin air, and you look up, seeking the source of the call. You see nothing but sky… and then! Their spiral turns under sun, from invisible silver they flow into a hundred shadows, sound made manifest.

I’m grateful for the first sandhill cranes this season ~ the first I’ve noticed anyway, they may have been flying over for days, but not while I was outside. This afternoon walking up the driveway I heard them, searched the sky ~ and found them, circling slowly, high. I’m grateful each migration season to recognize their unmistakeable ancient traveling call as they soar or circle overhead. One forgets. They pass through, fleeting, for a few weeks each spring and fall, then vanish to their breeding range north of here, or their winter refuge south, and one forgets. But then, out of the blue one afternoon, there it is, that sudden certain signal sound, of spring officially sprung. The sandhill cranes are back!

Years ago, closer. I anticipate many more opportunities to admire them this spring.
I’m grateful this week for little blue Iris reticulata, blooming as the snow melts.

Mud

I’m grateful for this thing

I’m grateful for mud, as I’ve mentioned before, because in the desert, mud=life. We’re in such an extreme drought cycle that we can’t afford to complain about mud season anymore, probably ever. Let’s surrender to gratitude: we need every drop of water the skies can deliver – we always have in this region, it’s just more apparent recently. Topaz is too young to understand this, and she prefers to avoid mud. I’m grateful to have this cat who walks with us like another dog; I’m grateful for all the cats who’ve happily walked with me like dogs in this forest.

Here’s another reason to be grateful for crusty snow. It gives an alternative path to ice or mud. Stellar enjoys it too. Stellar also enjoys mud. He enjoys walking anywhere, anytime. He’s always been such a happy boy.
Where now shine crocuses there was recently just … you guessed it, mud. I’m grateful for ants. For some ecological reasons, but also, when I bent down on elbows and knees to examine a few little specks rushing in and out and around the petals, I discovered to my surprise…
… that crocuses have a compelling fragrance. I don’t think I’ve ever stuck my nose close enough to notice before. Thanks, ants.
Soon the south border will fill with color. I’m grateful for the first one open of all the little naturalizing irises.
I’m grateful for her agility.
I’m grateful for lunch, chicken and rice with ginger-scallion sauce. So simple, so delicious!
I’m grateful for another beautiful day with Stellar, for sitting with him in peaceful silence under the apricot tree, for walking with him in the mud…
…and I’m also grateful for this thing. After our morning walk I pulled it out of the mudroom, filled it two-thirds full of warm water, and plunged each of Stellar’s mud-clad feet into it one at a time, lifting them gently up and down for a few swishes til they were -sort of- clean, before I let him back in the house. I’m grateful he’s patient and good enough to let me do this. I’m grateful to Suzi for sharing her exciting discovery of this ‘right tool for the job.’ It’s truly a remarkable mud season accessory for the high desert dog owner.

Cultivating Joy in a Dark Spring

How is it that with all this extra time on my hands I still can’t unclutter my house? Oh yeah… the garden is waking up.

First to bloom in early March, purple dwarf iris.
As the purples fade, these new Iris reticulata ‘Eye Catcher’ bloom for the first time.
Then the first native bees take advantage of grape hyacinths…
… including Muscaria azureum, a delightful surprise this year, which only grows to a couple of inches tall.
Here they are just sprouting from bulbs planted last fall in my Blue Bed.
The first butterflies come to these early spring bulbs.
And also the first bumblebees!
Last week European pasqueflowers began opening, attracting an early digger bee…
… and one happy spider with a not-so-lucky little sweat bee.
This one fares better on a little yellow tulip.
This tulip is an accidental hybrid between Tulipa tarda, the ground-hugging wild tulip, and a tall coral-colored cultivar I planted many years ago. Told I should name it after myself, I just did: Tulipa ritala.
Meanwhile, Stellar wobbles along on his last legs, filling my heart and breaking it at the same time.

I simply don’t have words to convey the maelstrom of emotions that swirl within like March winds this spring. Above all there is gratitude for the many blessings this life has given me so far. I’m grateful to be an introvert who works from home anyway. I’m grateful that I have a reasonably healthy body, though my immune system is not robust and neither is my right lung, which never quite fills all the way. I consider myself to be fairly high risk, and so I’m grateful I have friends willing to shop for me and deliver necessities. I’m grateful I’ve worked hard for nearly thirty years to create this beautiful refuge, which now offers solace and peace amid global turmoil, and I’ll be grateful when I am again able to share it with people.

Other emotions may be less healthy but are also valid: rage at the rampant greed and graft manifesting at the highest levels of government during this pandemic when all humans should be working together to stave off despair and death; disgust at the ignorant response by trump cult believers that is causing so many more Americans to sicken and die; despair that the dying petroleum industry and the politicians that subsidize and profit from it take advantage of our distraction to rape and pillage even more egregiously our fragile planet. If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention: Broaden your information horizons.

Meanwhile, the Say’s phoebes are back shoring up at least two nests around the house. A day after they first fluttered into the yard, I took last year’s nest off the top of the ladder leaning against the north wall, and lay it down so I could use it this summer if I needed to. The next day I felt so bad that I gathered scrap wood, tools, and screws to build a little shelf in the same spot where I could replace the nest. But once I stood there with all the materials I realized it would be way too complicated, so I propped up the ladder against a joist to provide corner stability, and tucked the old nest securely back into place. It’s one small thing I can do…

Like Biko emerging from hibernation, I take advantage of every sunny day to appreciate the rich beauty of this particular spring.