The Call of Irises

The fancy irises in the oak field have been begging me to move them out of their original bed to somewhere less weed-choked. Their plaintive cries can be heard even when I'm inside the house with the windows shut, in mid-winter.

The former owners here planted the specialty irises, about twenty feet by four feet of them. Ten years ago, they were a magnificent sight.The thick grasses wanted the field back. I've done what I could to dig some of the rhizomes up, divide them and replant them elsewhere.

It's like having a tiny gold mine not too far under the ground. The problem is finding spots to replant them. The front yard is the sunniest and most level, but has some really nasty invasive grasses that I've written about before. Also, the yard is close to the road and in the fallout zone of the road dust, not a pleasure to work in. I keep having to rush into the house when I hear big trucks coming.

Even irises that I transplanted and looked after now need to be moved again, the ingrates.

My grandma Belle had gorgeous iris beds in her yard. I guess I love irises because they remind me of her. Now I understand why she seemed to always be working in them.

Giving up on irises is not an option for me. Their beauty keeps me caring for them as best as I can.

Just looking at last year's pic of the silver white ones takes my breath away.

One day, I hope to read the glad news that some determined iris-breeder has perfected irises that know how to hold their ground against encroaching weeds. In addition, the irises will have learned how to be not so prone to crowed themselves out of bloom. I await the news with breathless anticipation.

In the meantime, this year, I plan to move some of  them to the garden hillside, where the grasses are not so dominant. Unfortunately, the English Plantains are the invaders there. Sigh.

We Were Expecting Something More Like Spring

These out-of-town arrivals were promised by their tour group that Missouri would be a great destination for spring dining experiences. Daytime highs in the forties could be guaranteed. Yesterday, the snow and a large flock of Robins arrived at the same time. The birds, fluffed up against the cold, couldn't get to even frozen worms. They seemed  to be hanging around the bird feeders wishing they were seed-eaters, perhaps thinking of converting to Vegetarianism.

Groundhog Day dawned bright and sunny but cold and windy. The next day, portending spring despite the groundhog, it was in the 50's. The dive down to five below was admittedly a jolt. Highs in the following days didn't get above freezing.

My seed order from Pinetree Seeds arrived. It's time for me to move the yarn stash off the shelves and lower the grow lights for the cabbages and early annuals. Well, almost time for them. Since moving north, I've learned that February 20 works better than my old February 9 date for starting seeds. I learned the hard way that Spring moves north ten miles a day and will not be hurried.

This year, I did well to get through January with a modicum of complaining about winter. I walked  to the river and environs. A mink streaked across my solitary path as I walked my path above the cow pond. That  was very exciting.

It was fun watching the  myriad birds that came to the feeders: Cardinals, Bluejays, Goldfinches, Chickadees, Nuthatches, Woodpeckers, Purple Finches, Juncos and Sparrows.  None of them held still for photographs.

A Forsythia bush out front kept knocking against the house, begging to be let in. In two weeks, the branches I put in water bloomed, with a later batch thinking about it soon. Here they are posing on the cleared part of the kitchen table. The rest of the table is garden catalogs.

As for the Robins, I believe they flew on south and met up for coffee at Denney's, where they made plans to settle in a more hospitable area. At least they are no longer seen here, despite today's melting snow and dazzling sunshine.