Barking Frenzy

My coon hound, Beau, is adding greatly to my health by ensuring that I get plenty of exercise.

He usually waits for me to take him on a long walk of an evening. He comes to the garden fence to give me that look that means finish up and let's go to the river.

Last night, a frost was on the way, which was a bummer after the extra-hot summer.  I was in the garden digging up these sweet potatoes. With the drought slowing their growth, it was amazing I got any sweet patooties at all.

Hearing Beau barking off in the direction of the river, I realized that he'd gone off without me and had something cornered.  Fetching the choke chain and leash, I headed toward the incessant yapping.  There is still enough poison ivy around that I can't just crash through the underbrush at will.  It has, however, turned a beautiful red, like warning flags.

He wasn't up at the old fishing shack, where a feral cat was once trapped, nor the old barn, ditto for yet another feral cat.  Beau lives with three cats, but regards any others as de trop and chases them.  There was a white cat on the back deck the other night, calmly eating from the cat food bowl.  Beau went berserk but was not allowed outside.

So, I thought maybe he had tracked it down.  Now I was above the sound but the bank was steep and full of  red flags.  That caused me to have to backtrack down to the path to Fishing Beach.  Coming from downriver was the unabated barking.

Beau was almost to the big bridge, circling the huge tree that had wound up there in the spring flood. He looked up when I shouted, "Leave it!" but was unable to tear himself away. He's a coon hound; that's what they do.

The shoreline is too steep for walking, so I had to go up through the sapling trees, then scramble down to the beach, then back up and over the driftwood to reach him.

As soon as  I slipped the chain around his neck, Beau switched off his frantic barking .  Whatever he was after had gone inside the tree; I never did see it.  The choke chain is not a thing I yank on to control him.  Just putting it on him calms him down and he doesn't tug on it.

It might have been possible for me to climb the steep bank above the tree, but trying to lead him seemed like a bad idea.  I envisioned us tumbling downhill together like a big six-legged snowball.

Petting  him and talking calmly, I led him down over some driftwood. Down at the water, I let him have a drink.  When he has something cornered, I fear he will never stop his frenzied barking and will pass out or worse.

Coming back was the real adventure, because we had to make our way through  stands of young maple trees growing close together on the steep bank.  It was tricky because we didn't always choose the same ones to go between, plus the branches were low and the footing unsure. I am always careful to hold the leash lightly so that it can't hurt my fingers.  Beau is not fond of my accordion playing, howling if I don't shut the bedroom door, but  he wouldn't deliberately seize the moment because he is a dog and can't think that far ahead.

Slipping on the dry silt, I landed on my side close to a five-inch sapling spike left by the beavers.  It's always fun until someone gets impaled on a spike.

We walked peacefully back up to the house.  My only discomfort was caused by wearing two sweatshirts, which had been a good choice before I got snared into a rescue operation. Despite the cool evening,  I was dripping sweat.

There was another time with yet another feral cat up in a tree in the field.  Beau apparently was too wild to notice me putting the chain on, because he suddenly ran.  For a few seconds, I had the exhilarating  experience of flying through the air.  As I landed on the mercifully soft long grass, I wondered how far I'd let him drag me before I let go.  He noticed the extra weight at that point, and that episode was over.

Sometimes, I see parallels in the outer things that are happening in my life.  An internet offer earlier in the day from one of my yarn sources offered FREE SHIPPING.  Loading up my online cart with enough yarn to qualify for the freebie, I found it hard to drag myself away from all the goodies.  Like Beau, I was transfixed and found it hard to Leave It!  Perhaps I can train him to gently tug me away from the computer when he sees me with a glazed expression triggered by wild offers.

A Thousand Pardons

Of course, I talk to my plants.  Mostly, I apologize. That's why I work on my knees.

When I dug up these daffodil bulbs last evening, I found the former owners had left a treasure trove of goodies.  "Look at all you beauties," I gushed.  "I had no idea there were so many of you here."

They snorted, "Well, we sent up plenty of leaves and NO flowers these last FOUR years!  Any fool could have seen--"

I mumbled something about too dry or too wet fall weather.  I said I was sorry. "I thought you'd be puny bulbs," I admitted.

SIZEIST!

Several hydrangea bushes were languishing leggily down by one of the outbuildings.  It was too shady for them down there, so I brought them to a choice location on the west side of the house.  There, they would get morning and afternoon shade.  They, at least, had the good grace to not scold their rescuer.

"You'll be so much happier here," I reassured them.  "Also, everyone can see your beautiful blooms in springtime here in your new home."

As I was watering them in with jugs of rainwater, the nearby hibiscus piped up.  WHAT ABOUT US?  WE'VE BEEN OUT HERE IN THE HOT SUN ALL SUMMER.

I understand this has been a shameful year for the hibiscus, but they never have been appreciative of all I've done for them.  I raised these Southern Belles from seed.  When I transplanted them from their too-shady original location I said I was sorry for choosing that spot.  Watering these wetlands shrubs all summer, I felt bad that these once proud beauties were so miserable.  Usually four feet tall and filled with jumbo flowers, they were reduced to these scrawny two foot tall specimens.  Not a word of thanks for their new location in full sun next to the downspout extension, nor the fortuitous water meter leak that gushed over them for several days in early spring.

They have started to recover from the drought.  They are experiencing great re-leaf.  They got this lovely grass mulch just as soon as some grew long enough to mow.  And yes, I watered them some more.

The Drought Dries Up

After I got the new tier in place, I rushed to sneak in a fall garden.  There is a brief moment when the soil is moist enough to till but not too wet.  To call it a window, in addition to using an overworked metaphor, would be a wild exaggeration.  No, it's more like the clicking of a camera shutter.  Too bad if you blinked and missed it.

                                                        The Fabled Fall Garden

The gamble with a fall garden is you plant things that do well in cool fall weather and can even stand a little frost.  Here in Missouri, we get a definite break from the heat in October, if we're lucky.

Although it will be too late to harvest beans planted now, I've found they make a good, cheap, ground cover for winter. Last year, I planted an ordinary package of dried beans.  They did a fine job holding the soil.  They had the good grace to not keep growing in the spring, unlike some oats I could mention.

With gathering dark clouds spurring me on, I tilled up three plots.  I had the seeds in ground before you could say Heatstroke.  Despite wearing my usual wet-frozen bandanna, the sweat dropped off my face like rain.  I believe sweat droplets falling on seeds are their greatest incentive to grow.  The seeds actually feel sorry for me and do their best to sprout.  After all, sweat is honest; tears may be faked.

The seeds were tucked in in the morning and in the early afternoon, it rained.  Did I mention it was a Blue Moon?

It was a lovely, gentle rain that continued overnight.  Raindrops on the windows were like a half-forgotten pleasant memory.  Two inches showed up in the rain gauge, a respectable total.

Three days later, we had yet another heat advisory.  Since the seedlings were too tiny to bolt, they had no choice but to grow out of the hot ground.

Since the end of this bed was still under construction, I blocked the soil with materials at hand. The wide row of turnips are up a week later, and some of the beans and lettuces.   In the foreground is the poor cantaloupe that tried so hard to grow all summer.

This plot was the site for some cabbages that were bitter about the drought.  However, there were some nice new potatoes and onions.  Two enthusiastic chard plants provided greens from last fall's planting.  They overwintered and bore me dinners all summer.  I made a chard quiche that was fabulous.  The big thing on the right is a Romanesco broccoli that I watered all summer. It's rather beautiful but shows no sign of producing the interesting head shown on the Burpee seed packet.  Behind that are some sweet potatoes that may or may not bear tubers.  The ground was too hard to dig them up earlier.  Now that we've had some rains, they have put on new leaves and may yet amount to something.  Here, I planted the beans to hold the fort and a few French Breakfast radishes.  Never actually to be eaten before noon, they do make a delicious radish sammy.

In this top tier, I did get a fairly good crop of Long Season beets.  Some scrawny carrots wound up in the compost. After tilling in more cow manure, I planted two rows of spinach, some kohl rabi, more carrots and the beans.  Still growing are some parsnips whose prognosis is not good.  We'll see, come spring.

The grasses, Gardener's Enemy Number One, revived with the rains.  I hate to admit it, but I was glad to see them greening up.