Tag Archive | lilacs

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.

Morning Joy

Jun3

Perfect timing this morning making coffee. There I stood at the counter, idly looking out the window at the lilacs and noticing it’s time to cut them back, when a rustling underneath caught my attention. Then a clumsy flutter from the left and a baby scrub jay landed on the stick.

In flew mama with a grasshopper! Screaming ensued. Two more babies emerged from under the lilacs. Within ten minutes they had all flown away… but what a fun ten minutes for me.

Good Neighbors

May13

The lilacs keep on giving. I’m trying this simple recipe for lilac cordial. One cup of lilac blossoms, juice of one lemon, half a cup of honey, and a liter of distilled water, shaken daily for a week. I put it together last night. We’ll know more later.

I’m exploring with some friends if there’s a distinction between gratitude, and living gratefully. We met tonight to discuss that, among other things. It may be as simple as the difference between a noun and a verb, but it deserves some unpacking. One thing I was grateful for this morning was being able to call my good neighbors and ask 1) for an asparagus refill, and 2) to borrow their garage and tools so I could fix my car. Though probably any of my neighbors would help any other in a pinch, I’ve had unpleasant encounters with a couple of them recently. So I was doubly grateful that I could call and leave a message with those requests, and it was my lucky day. Mary called me back in three minutes, having just come in from collecting wild asparagus along the fenceline, and Fred was already moving his truck out of the shop.

Why I needed to fix my car is another story, but the under-bumper-guard was ripped off and dragging. Fred examined it first, but I wanted to fix it myself. The Trans Handy-Ma’am always says, “You’re worth the time it takes to learn a new skill.” And now that I can get down on the ground I want to do so at every opportunity. And, as I heard a drag queen say the other night, “Of all the opportunities I’ve had in my life, this one is by far the most recent.” So with Mary handing me bolts and Fred’s new socket set and Wren supervising, we got ‘er done: the car is now safe to drive to Phil’s for a professional opinion and long-term solution.

I returned home with a pound of fresh wild asparagus, blistered it some in olive oil, laid it gently over sliced cheddar in a warmed spinach tortilla, and drizzled it with my new secret sauce: mayo, Grey Poupon, and balsamic vinegar. Then I piled on some chopped romaine, and some heirloom arugula that’s colonized the flagstone patio, rolled it up, and toasted it.

Despite the wind, I enjoyed lunch on the patio with a new Kindle book, and then played ‘Wren catch’ with the crunchy asparagus and romaine ends. It really was my lucky day. Things didn’t go quite as planned, but under the circumstances they couldn’t have gone better. I’ve felt waves of warm fuzzies wash through me all day, for having good neighbors, good communities, and good conversations. As well as a good dog, and a promising science experiment in the windowsill.

(Click or double click to play video)

Lilac Therapy

May12

There’ve been years when I didn’t spend a moment with the lilac patch; when I was too busy moving too fast from one thing to another to do more than snip a flower cluster to bring inside once or twice during the fleeting bloom season. One year the weather was cold, wet, muddy and the season was so short I missed it completely. What was I thinking? All that time I wasted…

This year, I’ve been grateful to be able to spend hours a day for days in a row doing Lilac Therapy. This is a scientifically proven approach to calming the fuck down. I move the folding chair into whatever patch of shade is available for the time of day, and sit. I read a little, write a little, text someone now and then, do a Wordle… get up now and then and move a sprinkler, refill my water bottle, return to the chair. Mostly, though, I just spend a lot of time breathing. I wish I could smell on the exhale as well as the inhale.

When I hear a big enough buzz I’ll pick up the Husband Camera and capture a few high speed shots. The Holy Grail for the Husband Camera is a hummingbird sipping lilac nectar, but I’m happy for a butterfly, or even a bumblebee. I reflect on my sadness that I’ve seen only one or two honeybees, that there’s a paucity of bumblebees as well, but comfort myself that there are lots of smaller native bees. I try not to be attached to outcome. That’s not the point of Lilac Therapy.

Resting in open awareness of senses is the point. Mindful of breath, scent, sound, colors, textures, shapes, warm sun, cool shade, the caress of the breeze, cool fine powdery clay under my soles, frogs calling down at the pond, jays cawing, finches singing, and swallows silently zipping overhead; clouds streaming, gathering, spreading in bluebird sky and bluebirds dropping to the ground for bugs. Breathing. Aware of thoughts, feelings, sensations arising, flowing, ceasing. Resting.

Wren digs herself a spot in the sunshine and rests there. Then she gets up and digs a little spot in the shade and rests there. Then she moves back to the sun. We are constantly thermoregulating. Sometimes she hears or smells something and leaves the fenced enclosure to chase it down, then returns when she’s ready.

Topaz slips through the spaces between wires, coming and going as the mood moves her, also moving from shade to sun to shade; mostly shade. There’s an occasional frisson when she wants on my lap, but Wren’s envy response is calming after three years so Topaz sneaks in some lap time.

As a culture, we do not value true relaxation. (Not the way cats do.) We value vacations, adventures, competing, fun, collecting experiences of the world, but we don’t really value doing nothing, simply being. The more I sit in the ephemeral scent of these flowers, the deeper the layers of tension slowly melt. I repeatedly give myself permission to stay here.

A clearwing hummingbird moth vies for the blooms with various bees, beeflies, and flies.

Just when I think Okay, I guess I’ll go inside and wash some dishes, another waft of sweet scent washes over me, or a tiger swallowtail flits by so close to landing, that I decide to stay just a little while longer. Surely she will land on her next pass.

An orchard bee buzzes a digger bee. There’s more excitement than one might expect, sitting with lilacs; more attacks, near misses, and midair collisions. Every now and then the Husband Camera catches one.

The tiger swallowtail never lands, but a checkerspot shows up and leads me on a merry pursuit around the patch, wanting to land high in the center where it’s hard to catch her. But we do. Even with the help of Audubon, Kaufman, iNaturalist, and the World Wide Web, I can’t determine whether she is a Variable Checkerspot or Edith’s Checkerspot. It doesn’t matter. Either way it’s a great way to wrap up an exciting, restful day.

Hanging Out with the Lilacs

May8

After a full, good day of work we made time to hang out with the lilacs this evening. All the right conditions have come together this spring to cause lots of blooms at all levels of the shrubs: tall older growth, short slender new shoots, and everything in between.

I set up a folding chair in the southwest corner of the exclosure and simply sat and smelled. There wasn’t much insect action at that hour. The breeze was soft and sweet, and the little mammals each enjoyed the time in their different ways. Wren snoofled and snuffled around, while Topaz sat, stretched, rolled, a little apart in a last patch of sun.

Lilac bloom doesn’t last long: this annual phenomenon embodies the essence of impermanence. I make a point to savor it as much as possible while it’s happening.

Where’s Wren?

Lilacs, Again

May20
Six different native bees — a taste of images to come…

I’m grateful I’ve found time to sit with the lilacs again as they wind down. Grateful for rain all day yesterday though it kept me inside, and grateful for meaningful work that kept me in most of today; but especially grateful for an hour on Monday simply sitting with lilacs full of native bees. At times there was a veritable traffic jam, and I actually witnessed a couple of collisions. Who doesn’t love a lilac? Apparently all of Crawford does: there are so many that driving through town last Saturday, even on the highway, the breeze carried the sweet scent of lilacs through my open windows.

Lilacs

May16
Where’s Wren?
Digging under the lilac, whilst I simply sit and savor the scent. Warmth, finally, has released the incomparable aroma into the air.

Lilacs

May16

Lilacs and forsythia in full bloom at the same time… a silver lining to the long cold spring. A few bees partake of their flowers now. May that number increase. Like many others, I hold lilacs especially dear among flowering shrubs. I’m grateful for their fleeting season.

42+

Jun7
The most perfect western tiger swallowtail I have ever seen. She must have just emerged from her cocoon. Not a tear or tatter on her as she feeds on the perennial onions in full bloom the past couple of weeks.

It’s been a challenging few weeks. Between internal and external events, I’m tired all the time. It’s hard to rise to each occasion. But from this glum place, I’ve reached a conclusion: I need to return to my daily gratitude practice. And why bother with a thousand words, when a couple of numerals and some pictures can do the job? So, catching up for the past couple of weeks, here are just some of the things I’m grateful for…

Honeybee on the crabapple tree a couple of weeks ago.

42+ is a gratitude practice from the Active Hope course I just completed this evening. It’s freely available online, and one of these days I’ll probably facilitate a group engagement similar to the one that just ended, hosted by a friend. Today, I’m grateful for (4) having been given the opportunity to take the course, having made the commitment to take it and participated in it fully, and for the wonderful classmates I shared the eight-week journey with. I’m grateful to (2) Deborah Sussex for offering the course for free, and for her skillful and open-hearted facilitating of it through an increasingly difficult time in our country, when active hope is needed more than ever. The + part is how I will express my gratitude: right here, right now. Many thanks, Deb, Denali, Kes, Renee, and everyone else, for the inspiring experience of virtual connection.

I don’t know western bumblebees well enough to identify this one who was enjoying the lilacs in their glory. I also enjoyed them every single day of their bloom, snipping a couple of clusters each evening to bring inside for their fleeting, saturating scent.
I’m grateful for Zoom cooking with Amy a couple of weeks ago…
…grateful for Topaz and Wren getting along…
…for the claret cup blossoms…
…for garden asparagus from Kim, and for pesto with cashews and garden arugula, and for the Instagram inspiration to combine them…
I’m grateful that Garden Buddy had some extra plastic jugs after a well-meaning neighbor crushed all those I’d been saving to use for frost protection. Grateful to have all the little peppers and tomatoes in the ground, just in time for the last freeze–ha!–but saved by the jugs.
Grateful for Boyz Lunch again outside, with a fantastic frittata and orange chiffon cake…
… and for the silly pleasure of a successful latté stencil.
I’m grateful for daily Wordle laughs with cousin Melinda, and the gentle, mind-tickling competition between us.
Grateful for pea flowers a few days ago, and the first fragile pea pods just forming today.
Grateful for this bean sampler and a couple of extra treats from this small, fabulous heirloom bean company, and grateful to SB for turning me onto them. Looking forward to making many healthful meals with these dried goodies as the garden harvest comes in.
Grateful for time with this little old man who stayed with us the past week while his mama traveled. Almost fifteen, and I’ve known him since he was a pup. Dear old Rocky is grey and wobbly now, but still full of spunk in the morning. He’s teaching Wren some good habits, and we’re trying to preclude her learning some bad ones as well.
And finally, I’m grateful for this little cuddlebug, who softens my heart more and more each day with her irrepressible Piglet energy and her unconditional love.

Loving Photography

May15
Nuff said.
My friend Sean made this picture tonight in eastern Washington as it was just beginning to rain. He lay down on the flagstone and called me as he waited for the ground around him to get just wet enough to leave a dry impression of his body. How we met is a funny story for another time, perhaps. But we have a lot of the same interests and photography is one of them. This is not a great photograph. Nor are the images that follow that I shot tonight. But the beauty of loving photography is that it’s not necessarily the resulting image that matters; it’s the making of the image in the moments it’s created that carries the significance and fills the heart.
Early, I wondered if we’d get to see the eclipse here. But clouds cleared as night deepened.

The total lunar eclipse of the full flower supermoon tonight has been captured with super fancy cameras the world over and there’s no image I can add to those that will appear in the news tomorrow. But the joy I derived this evening from sharing life with my friend, then sitting on my deck for hours with a cold martini slowly warming as it waned, and a warm little dog zipped into my sweatshirt and my dear departed mother’s little Audubon Nikon binoculars, acquainting myself with my new husband-camera and his super special lens, at one with crickets and the universe, well… that’s priceless.