Here We Go Round the Mulberry Tree

                                         Next on the wild and free menu: mulberries.

The best way to enjoy them is grazing directly from the tree. The two trees in my field, by the road, are laden with goodies this year.

They are sweeter than the strawberries this year, more prolific and definitely were less work. No weeding, no watering, no neighbor dogs coming in the open garden gate (Beau was in the house) and munching away while my back was turned. When I picked strawberries later, I wondered how many had been licked.

The only problem with mulberries is they leave my fingernails looking like I've been working as a truck mechanic. Black nails are worth it, a memento of a brief season's foraging. They do grow out.

                                              Meanwhile, Down at the River

After a dry spring, some dark clouds opened as if they had zippers on the bottoms, pouring rather a lot of water on one locale. The house gutters couldn't contain it when three inches fell over a short period.

This view is from the bridge, looking upriver. My place is on the right. Fishing Beach and Clam Beach are seriously underwater. Earlier in the day, the river was about a third floating logs and debris.

Lissa and I were glad we were not on the Grand River, which now is living up to its name. It would be okay to float down it now, if we could borrow some sort of amphibious landing craft from the Army.

                                    JoDee welcomes your comments at jodeesblog@gmail.com

Into Thick Air

Mornings are a great time to go down to Clam Beach.  It's shady and cool.  There's a big rock to sit on. This view is looking downriver.

The restful thing about the river is there's nothing to be done there.  No weeding, planting, watering or mowing, it's a true gardener's retreat.  The Grand River comes up and goes down when it wants.  It defies even the thought of landscaping along the shore.  Most of these young willows have already been completely underwater this spring.

Here's the view looking upriver. It's beautiful.  Flying overhead are bald eagles and, if I sit quietly for too long, vultures.  "Just resting!" I shout up at them.

Access to the river is through a lot of underbrush.  The happy thing is no poison ivy will grow where it floods.  Here, I'm following Beau, who seems to know the way.

Walking up the sunny, steep hill from the river is not fun when it's humid.  Breathing air that has 85% humidity makes a person gasp like a fish out of water.

My thoughts turned to mountain climbing above the Death Zone, where supplemental oxygen is needed.  That led me to considering that people who work outdoors in the hot, humid summer could really use a solar-powered machine that wrings the water out of the air.  This conditioned air could be supplied by a lightweight tank in a backpack.

On several occasions, I've gotten a touch of heat sickness while gardening on  humid days. No matter how much water I drank, it seemed that my brain couldn't cool down despite copious amounts of sweating.  Now, I avoid getting a poached brain when it's hot and steamy.  I stay out of the sun in the heat of the day, which is from eleven to six.  At those times, I toy with the idea of not being an outdoor person at all.  Perhaps I'll live in a high-rise in the city and have no windows that open.  After a few hours, though, I start to get cabin fever and have to go find a shady spot under a tree and enjoy the breeze.

Yes, a dehumidified air gizmo would be a boon.  All outdoor people would come to rely on them.  Then we would read true adventures of intrepid gardeners who ventured out on humid days without supplemental conditioned air.

Someone should certainly invent such a device, even if Ed Viesturs would never buy one.