Dog Days Slay Cats

We are full of energy now that the temperatures are above ninety and the ground is once more hard as rock. The cats, Oreo and Bogie, look like still life paintings or roadkill but prefer to stay outside. The other cat and the dog stay in the AC like big sissies.

July and August are not for planting, I remind myself. They are for watering. Time for me to sit next to the OTL's in the evening shade and enjoy their lovely perfume. Sitting out in a shady spot with a good book and iced coffee makes for a wonderful mini-vacation.

The front flower bed is starting to fill in with the zinnias just coming into bloom. Painter's Palette Gaillardias are getting established, and the pincushion plant in the upper left has broken out in flowers again. They all know how hard I worked to make the ground free of grasses and are putting on a lovely show in gratitude.

These are Will Rogers Zinnias. The primrose marigolds, my favorites, are going to be quite showy. Behind them are the Prairie Sun Rudbeckias. The transplanted hollyhock has straightened up and agreed to be in the picture this time.

Peeking out from the annuals are the orange butterfly weed plants. This is their first year, so they are small, but they surprised me by bravely putting on blooms.

I found this butterfly weed plant growing in the far field when I mowed the path up the hill on Rosie. It was so bright and beautiful that I hiked back up with the camera later.

The sun is intense even early in the morning. Since I am a shade-tree gardener, I moved to the hot but shady workshop. Yesterday, I gave a coat of white paint to a shelf. However, today it objected to a second coat, saying it was much too hot.

My Quiet Fireworks

It's time for the city folks to come to the country to make a lot of noise. I always pray for a rainy Fourth of July, but rarely get it. This year, at least  it's  not on a weekend. It probably never occurs to the invaders of peace that some of us live in the country because we love quiet.

No pyrotechnics for me, but I do have rather a colorful display here on Independence Day.

These beauties cause me to have a sharp intake of breath.  Oooh, ahh!

These Asiatic Lilies always bloom on the Fourth. This year, they are a little smaller because I transplanted them last fall and they haven't gotten as tall or bushy as they will get. The one in the foreground is a daylily that didn't want to be left out of the picture. Daylilies are getting to be the answer to the grassy weeds problem here and I no doubt will be planting more.

This clump of daylilies left by the former owners will be divided in the fall and planted with the ones along the cow fence in the garden. They are prettier than fireworks.

Red, white and blue, so patriotic.

These are flowering tobacco, Nicotiana sylvestris, called Only the Lonely in some catalogs. This is a triumph for me, because my efforts to start them here for the last several years have not been successful. Once they get going, they will self-sow. Since I am a short woman, I'm impressed with tall flowers. They look like fireworks displays to me, and last a lot longer. They will bloom until frost. A much better value for the dollar and forty-five cents that I spent on seed.

Some of us really know how to celebrate the Fourth of July, although there are people who would argue that I didn't get a lot of bang for my buck.

P.S. The fireworks display from a town twenty miles away was awesome when viewed through my 4-inch telescope. The booms arrived later and only sounded like distant thunder.

Living Off the Land

Years and years ago, my then husband and I were bitten by the wilderness bug. After I supported him while he got his teaching degree, we packed up the VW van and our six-month-old baby, Isabelle, and drove the Al-Can to Fairbanks, Alaska for his first teaching job.

There, we lived in a big apartment and lived off the canned veggies I put up before leaving Washington. Unless we could have lived on snow, the thing was a bust as far as self-sufficiency went. The four hours of daylight in winter was interesting but not something I cared to repeat. I don't like to complain, but sixty below zero was really too cold.

Some years and two more children later, we lived in Southeast Alaska. He taught school in Hoonah, a Tlingit (pronounced, inexplicably, Klinkit) fishing village on Chichagof Island. To this day I cannot eat fresh salmon or halibut, which we ate four times a week. I still love King Crab, which was a big treat up there.

Even though I spent two winters in Alaska and therefore am a genuine Sourdough, Alaska wasn't for me. The joke there was a Sourdough was someone who was sour on Alaska but didn't have the dough to get out.

Years later, I was a single mom when I found a better way to live off the land. I bought a farm in Missouri. Before long I married again. We raised chickens, bees and dairy goats and had an enormous garden. It was truly a land of milk and honey. My husband was raised on a farm in Iowa and had the kids and I baling hay and straw for the goats. It was all a tremendous amount of work.

He and I had parted company before the flood filled the house with water to the tops of the doors.

Self-sufficiency eludes me here, but a person could live on the deer that currently are leaving deep tracks in the Remote Garden. There are wild turkeys in the woods. If a person could develop a taste for raccoon they could turn the tables on those destructive varmints.

There are big catfish in the river. A neighbor stopped by to show me this one he got on a trot line a few days ago.

When I was little, my Grandma Belle grew strawberries for us "lil choldrun," so that's what I do.  My granddaughter Molly picked the last of this season's crop when she was up for a visit last week. She helped me make ice cream in the Donvier ice cream maker.

Molly and I also grazed on mulberries growing on trees along the road.

Sometimes, I am able to grow enough of a few veggies to last a year. I've made plenty of peach, grape and strawberry jams. Now, there are eggs from the hen. This year, there will be apples, pears and peaches from the trees. I still am eating hickory nuts from the huge harvest in 2010.

Black-caps do well here. I have tamed some of the wild things out behind the workshop. Last year, the hungry raccoons broke down the canes and didn't leave me any of the tasty wild raspberries. This year, the coon hound has roused himself to chase them off. Just starting to ripen, the berries are bigger and juicier than ever.

What can I say? Some of us love the idea of foraging.  We eat dock leaves in early spring and lamb's quarter in summer. We garden and enjoy canning and dehydrating food. We never will be truly self-sufficient or really be living off the land, but when we snack on black-caps, we think we are.

It's a Jungle Out There

When I was down at the bridge the other day, I happened to notice how many plants were vying for a place in the sun. This is the ground that slopes down to the river.

Several of these are invasive plants, but apparently none more than others. Wild roses, wild grapes and several different trees are co-existing with poison ivy.

Crown vetch dominates the roadside, along with chicory.

My front yard is mostly chicory, so I am considering changing the name from Hickory Acres to Chicory Acres.

After last summer's drought, conditions seem to be favorable for the return of everyone's least favorite weed, the thistle.

They are everywhere here in the country. Soon, their seeds will be floating hither and yon. The flowers are soft and fragrant but the plant is all stickers that make the other invasive plants look benign.

Years ago, there was a big outbreak of these pasture spoilers. There was  a weevil that attacked them and destroyed the roots. I'm hoping for a recurrence of that scenario. However, so far, I see no weevil, hear no weevil and can only speak about the weevil.

In the Company of Reptiles

It's nice to have company while I work in the flowers. This little toad hopped onto the shears yesterday when I went into the house for a drink of water. I hated to disturb it, so I left it to watch me with its beautiful golden eyes.

Once, a yellow-bellied racer snake was stretched out on the concrete. I offered it a little dead shrew, but it declined to accept it. I kept weeding nearby while it sunned itself. Then the silly dog started chasing a bumblebee. The dog hopped over the snake repeatedly until the snake got out of the way. That showed me why they are called racers. It zipped down the steps of the nearby fruit cellar, which was fine until that night when a tornado warning sent me down there.

For the record, the worst fruit cellar experience was sharing the storm cellar with three wet dogs who had been recently skunked. Gasp.

There was a beautiful red garter snake in the strawberry patch, watching me weed and doing beneficial work.

People keep asking me if I've seen any rattlesnakes here. I have not, but I know the reason why. There is a big black snake that lives in the big oak tree. Lissa noticed it stretched out on a limb one summer as we walked by underneath. I gave it to understand that I would not appreciate it falling on me. It's over five feet long.

Whenever I hear a lot of agitated bird squawks high in a tree, I go out and see the snake has gotten into a nest. Once, the birds were driving it out and several other birds had gathered on nearby branches to watch the neighborhood disturbance.

There were lots of mice here when I first moved in, but the racer lives under the house and now the cats have a hard time finding a single mouse.

When I was digging in the garden last fall, I came upon a clutch of empty snake eggs. That made me glad, because the more of the black snakes on my land, the better. I see them around and know all is well.

Even the poisonous snakes do no harm if you don't mess with them. A reptile presentation I saw when working at the library featured boa constrictors. The herpetologist said, "Whenever people are bitten by snakes, alcohol is involved, and it's not the snake that has been drinking."

Two years ago, on the path to the river, I came upon a beautiful copperhead, one of our poisonous snakes. It was stretched out as if for me to admire it. At the moment, I was hauling a big snapping turtle in a wagon.

That day, I learned about those turtles. The dogs had encountered it in the yard and were barking their fool heads off. Trying to get to the tail end of the turtle to lift it up into the wagon with the scoop shovel, I was surprised to see how quickly it could turn and face me with its scary-looking mouth. Finally, I shoveled it head first and loaded it into the little wagon. It  rolled off the shovel and landed on its back, which I thought would be better until I could finish relocating it. Halfway down the hill, I got Surprise No. 2: they can right themselves.

The copperhead, having heard my words of appreciation for how pretty it was, moved off the path. I used the dump feature on the wagon and the jumbo turtle scurried off. Surprise No. 3, they can really move fast when they want to.

People ask, "Aren't you bored living out there in the country?"

Waiting on Chickens

Coming in from using my new Bolens weeder, after all those days of rain, wanting a shower or at least to get rid of the bits of grass down my shirt. It's nearly nine p.m. and I'm hungry. What I'm waiting on is for the chickens to get in their coop.

Betty and Rupert now have a nice fenced run, but they need to be tucked into Fort Flocks for the night. The sun is setting later and later and they stay out until it's nearly dark. I can chase them around the yard but it upsets them and frustrates me. Threats that I will leave the door open and let the raccoon bite off their heads doesn't seem to faze them.

Before I made their run, I tried to catch the rooster once to take him up to the garden U-Scratch cage. He squawked and flew around the coop hysterically. He's really too big for flight in close quarters.

Only once has he flown out of the run. I was able to leave the gate open and entice Betty back into the coop, so he strutted around and rejoined us there.

One night shortly after that I thought I heard him fly completely away, but it turned out to be a pair of Mourning Doves exiting the nearby tree.

                                       So, here they are  without the flash

and with the flash. My camera indicated it would be using Red-Eye Protection, which seemed pointless with chickens, who have red eyes. They never use the nice roost I built for them, preferring to cuddle in the corner.

I do have to go out later and feed the wild cat who comes after dark, but I can always do that in my nightgown and rubber boots. A plus of living in the country is I can hear cars coming for miles, and out back there are no houses, roads or people.

Once Again to the Remote Garden

A year ago February, my daughter Izzy gave me the idea to reclaim the garden that once existed here. She took this pic of me surveying the great clumps of grasses. The drawback was it was some distance from the house and  it had no water supply.

First, I mowed and then scalped the grass down with the weed-eater.

                             There were some sapling tree roots to dig out.

                                        Then I dug up half of it with a shovel.

                  Then I ran Tillie over it and planted some tomatoes up there.

 Then came the drought that finished off all that work.

So, last week, before the rains came, I went up there again and considered starting over. My kitchen garden has limited space now that the old strawberries are still there and grasses and weeds are fighting for control of the neighborhood.

My big old Troy-Bilt had been unused for about three years, on account of limited turning space in the kitchen garden. I wanted it up in the other garden but the path up through the woods was too steep.

It dawned on me that whatever work it took to get the Horse up there would be less effort than more digging with a shovel. Half of the garden had been tilled but the other half needed to be worked.

There was the possibility of taking the tiller along the road and down through the Yeller's abandoned place, but that would require disconnecting a chain link fence that had overgrown with enormous poison ivy vines.

My self-propelled mower, named Fearless, was called into service to mow up the steep hill, over the plot and adjacent to it. Then I mowed a path through the grass and poison ivy down past the old falling-down fishing shack, where a section of fallen tree had finally rotted enough to make passage possible. Then it was down the slope to the big hill back to the house.

With fresh gas, the big tiller surprised me by starting right up. I drove it up the hill (the place is all hills) to the house, where I gave it oil and grease and aired up the tires. We set off down the big hill and up the new path to the Remote Garden. It was like moving a house: all prep and a very slow journey.

For years at the farm, Izzy and I used that powerful tiller to have a wonderful 90x90 foot garden of fabulous loam. After that, I used it to create better soil for a garden at my house in town. Even though the tiller is now 35 years old, it is still a hard worker. That's the fishing shack in the distance.

The far end does need more tilling, but the rest of the 8x20 plot was lovely loam after a few passes. I planted green and wax beans, onion sets, cucumbers, dill, butternut squash, sweet potato slips and zucchini in the best part. Some scraggly tomato plants were relegated to the turfy part, where they will probably not flourish.

There is a slight slope to the land there, but uphill there is lots of room for expansion. I left the Troy-Bilt there, carefully covered and ready to go. I just have to cut down a few more sapling trees with the chain saw and dig the roots out with a shovel. Big Red and I will make those grasses sorry they ever invaded our turf.

Who'll Stop the Rain?

Right after I watered the garden and flowers, there was a big thunderstorm. Four and a half inches of rain were dumped on my efforts.  The following night, we got another inch and a half, and last night another half inch. Seems a bit excessive and was no doubt caused by me watering.

So, with that in mind, I rushed to get the rain barrel in service. I'd put off drilling holes in the beautiful new barrel and the aluminum downspout out of fear of messing them up forever. I got this neat kit with everything I needed to get it done, except courage.                                                                                                                                                          

The old barrel was shoved aside as being too ugly to use and probably a dumb idea for a support. Sometimes, I have to think these things through for a couple of months before slowly getting into action. The old wash tub rain catcher was overflowing, so I dipped some of the water out of it to give the barrel enough weight that today's strong winds didn't budge it.

That should put an end to those nightly showers. Also questions about why I had a barrel in the living room.

Planting is Easy

When gardening is illustrated, the planting part is shown. By Gosh, it does look easy!

In the interest of truth in gardening, I feel obliged to expose what goes before the planting. It is not the work of an instant. Here is the bed that has gotten overgrown with  Bermuda grass. I thought that the yew shrub died from the drought, but perhaps it was the horrible weeds. The sage plant on the right looks fine.

The motivation for working the bed out front was two gift perennials and several more seedlings looking for a home.

Earlier, I had to rake up bushels of the hickory hulls because they made a terrible mulch.  Tossed them down an eroding hillside crevice.

Then, on a sunny day, I sprayed Roundup over the grasses. The first step in any exhausting project must always be quite effortless.  Drew up a plan for what to plant in the 5 by 10 foot plot.

Waited days for the foliage to die.  Occupied self with myriad other gardening chores.

Next: sliced open the places where the grass apparently died. Took small shovel bites. Resprayed any remaining green weeds with Roundup.

Following day: Ran small tiller over the dead grasses. Hand sorted clumps, saving as much dirt as possible. Lugged bushels of grass roots to a pile outside the yard, not the compost heap.

Working close to the fragrant sage plant, now in bloom, I was encouraged to make sage tea, a lovely sweetened tea with lemon.

Cleaned Tillie's tines with my favorite tool for the task, a cotter pin puller.

Used the shovel to slice the ground where the Roundup was still working. One of  my hidden talents is the ability to hop up on the shovel with both feet and then hop again, driving it into the thick turf layer and down as far as possible. It's quite a trick. Surprisingly, no one cares to see it.

Days later, ran Tillie over the mess yet again. Plucked out several more buckets of dead Bermuda grass. Added granulated gypsum and tilled some more. Planted the awaiting plants on a too-sunny, unseasonably hot 85 degree day, with every promise of rain. Much traffic on the nearby gravel road created billows of dust.

Last step: dragged the hoses around and watered the bed when the forecast rain failed to show up.

Posing for their first group photo are the pincushion plant,  gazanias  and gaillardias. Not shown: Mammoth Russian Sunflowers, which will be up later,  rudbeckias, perennial butterfly weed plants, purple and red big zinnias. Also, a small hollyhock that resented being transplanted and refused to be in the picture.

In the foreground are still more bits of the Bermuda grass for me to grapple with later.

Two-Fisted Weeding

All the recent rains have delayed planting, but given a great boost to weeds of all descriptions. While grabbing them by the handfuls, which they are,  I had plenty of time to consider the subject of weeding. First of all, I admitted that I will never win this battle. If a body cannot accept overwhelming odds, cruel disappointments and death of favorite plants, a person should not consider gardening.

Some grassy weeds can be pulled up by the roots. Unfortunately, it is only when they are full grown and have set seeds. Also, the soil has to be in the exact right condition, neither too wet nor too dry. This ideal state lasts sometimes for an entire afternoon. The tall grasses relinquish the stage graciously at that point, smug in the knowledge that their progeny will carry on.

Then there is Bermuda grass, which never lets itself be pulled under any circumstance. Also called devil's grass, it grows along an underground rhizome, then shoots up with spiky green spears that can poke through any mulch. There is no recourse but to dig up the perennials harboring this enemy, spray the invaders with Roundup and start all over again.

Dandelions' yellow blossoms carpeted the area this spring. The huge-rooted plants seemed to not mind last summer's drought and came back even stronger. I have learned that it is pure folly to try and dig them up. That is, I finally learned it, after I tried to do it for too many years. The fact that dandelion weeders are even manufactured is a great joke. You can never get the entire root.

In the iris bed, dandelions get in among the iris rhizomes, where the weeder can't go.  It's best to grab the leaves and gone-to-seed head and yank to the breaking point, of the weed, that is.  It only sets them back briefly, but the beds appreciate the effort and makes them look nice while in bloom, which lasts a very short time.

                                                     Square Yard Gardening

The only way for me to  begin weeding my vast plantings is to keep my efforts focused on the immediate square yard of ground. "Don't look up!" is my motto when working.

Last fall, I dug up the entire lily bed, carefully removed every bit of grass root, tilled it and the surrounding ground where I relocated the lilies. This spring, I tilled the spot again and planted Bonfire Salvias that I'd started indoors from seed. One of my most successful starts, I had high hopes for them. They didn't have a chance to appreciate all my efforts, because they were killed by an unusually late frost a few days later, on Mother's Day, yet.

"Bummer!" I said, replanting with butterfly weed plants. Later, some of them were dug up by the cats, who always appreciate freshly-turned earth. So it goes with gardening.