Caught By Mistake

Visiting the peach trees in the field to see if there were any left, I saw that not a single peach remained. Also, there were no rotten peaches on the ground, but plenty of clean peach pits everywhere. That seemed to be proof that a raccoon platoon had cleaned out the remains of the crop.

When the cat water on the deck got all muddy the other night, I realized a raccoon was visiting for an after-hours snack of cat food.  I don't mind feeding the elusive tan feral cat that I'm trying to tame, or the possums, but draw the line at the raccoons. No possums had been seen on the deck in a long while, so I concluded that they had gotten tired of being carried around by Beau.

Last night, I baited the trap with a banana and sunflower seeds. This morning, I found I'd caught the possum. Even before I had my morning coffee (heroic action in my case)  I propped open the door to the trap and went back inside the house. Some time later, the possum was still in there.  Apparently it was comfortable in the grass lining the cage.

I knew Beau would go berserk when I let him out, so I gently dumped the possum out. Another time, I lured a possum out of the trap with a peach, only to find it had gotten the peach and taken it back into the cage to enjoy.

This time, I shut the trap door to block an unstrategic retreat. An hour later, the crazy critter was still lying by the trap. Even a small bowl of cat food didn't rouse it. It wasn't exactly playing dead, since it was looking at me, but it held so still that it let a yellow-jacket explore its tongue. Talk about nerves of steel.

At last, it moved on and I let Beau out. Too bad he's nearly useless at patrolling for raccoons. In the ten years I've been here, he's only caught one. They are fierce fighters and he isn't, despite being a Coon Hound.
The possums think that's all to the good.

Rain and Weeds

In late June, thunderstorms brought a tornado warning and these mamattus clouds. They always seem to urge me to go down to the fruit cellar and read a book. There was a lot of rain, five inches in my rain gauge and more than six upriver.


The Grand came over the road on the far side of the bridge and flowed unimpeded through the newly-planted bottomland acres, closing the road for two days.

There was another gully-washer last Wednesday night, over six inches here. The road stayed open. The result of all the rains has been rampant weed growth in all my flower and veggie beds. I did manage to pull up lots of chicory and Queen Anne's Lace while the ground was sodden.

I believe the weeds just bide their time, knowing they will soon present a united front, overwhelming my efforts to keep things reasonably tidy. Once again, I realize I can plant lots more than I can keep weeded.
Their ally in the campaign is the extreme humidity that has descended upon the land like a clammy blanket. Coupled with daily temperatures over ninety and blazing sunshine, I have retreated into the cool, eighty-degree house during the heat of the day.

Molly was here for a few days and dyed some yarn, started knitting a hat and knitted some washcloths. Fortunately, I had lots of good geology and astronomy videos checked out from the library. We also worked two puzzles and baked brownies in the Sun Oven. A couple of nights were clear enough for stargazing until the moon rose. All the while, I knew the weeds were out there gaining strength.

In the mornings and evenings, I give it my best shot, reclaiming small bits of ground. One evening, I pulled five big tubs before surrendering, sweat drenching my clothes and dripping down my glasses.

Even if weeding was all I had to do, I couldn't keep up. Now, the field peach trees, which have never had more than a few miserable peaches, suddenly are producing bushels of the good stuff. Here is last night's harvest, just the start of peach processing season. Molly has gone home, but Lis may come next weekend to help me with them.

Chris fixed my car the other day, but gardening is a supposed fun thing I do because I love growing things. If I even asked for help weeding, I would find everyone had other plans. Serves me right. If all else fails in keeping ahead of the weeds, there is always frost at the end.

In Love with Daylilies

What a happy time it is for me when the daylilies are in bloom! In the mornings, I wander from plant to plant, dead-heading yesterday's faded blooms and exclaiming over today's bouquets. Fabulous.

It's so easy to propagate them, it's easy to see why people wind up with daylily gardens.

All these gorgeous clear yellow blooms are from one plant I dug up, hacked apart mercilessly with a shovel and replanted years ago. I've bragged about them before. Were it not for special fencing, the cows would  have loved to gobble them up. Yesterday, I saw one calf with her tongue poking through in an effort to have just one taste. She almost succeeded, poor thing.

These beauties are in the front lily bed, fenced both from the cows and chickens. I'm so enraptured by daylilies, I almost want to join the American Homerocallis Society.

 

Tiger Lilies have been planted on the weedy hillside with orders to take over and advance steadily downhill..

These Ebb Tide daylilies are my biggest and brightest, but I love them all. My admiration knows no bounds.