Up a Lazy River

The Grand River, which I own, was up for a float trip.

In this file photo dated August, 2013, Lis loaded up our tubes into her Jeep. At that time, the river was so shallow that we gave up the idea of a float trip. This year, we aired up our River Run float tubes and stuffed them into her Toyota that she got to replace her gas guzzler. We set off  to the access point to the north, just up the road a ways.  We thought it would be a little outing, taking a couple of hours to float back down to my beach. After all, how many wide curves could the river make? We were to find out.

At two-thirty, we slipped down the muddy bank. Lis was holding my trusty tube. The current looked a little swift as I stared down into the muddy water. Lissa reassured me it wasn't fast at all, which turned out to the be the understatement of the day. The river was still shallow. Splashing into the nylon mesh seats of the tubes, we launched ourselves for a relaxing afternoon's float.

The sky was deep blue with interesting cumulus clouds constantly changing shape. High in the sky were bald eagles. The water was warm. It was pleasant to drift with the current. After a while, we realized we couldn't be napping, because there were branches sticking out of the water that were not good to impale our tubes on. We had to keep paddling with our hands to turn the ever-rotating tubes so we could see where we were going. Then we had to paddle away from the limbs.

After some time, we floated under the double bridge where the interstate highway crossed high above us. There were many swallow nests on the underside of the bridges. Swallows were drinking and bathing at the water's edge. The flying birds were thoughtfully keeping the mosquitoes in check for us. It was no doubt their life's work on the off chance some humans would drift by underneath their mud nests.

We took no cameras or cell phones, on account of them not being waterproof. The day was hot and mostly sunny. I regarded my pale legs stretched out to the sun and hoped the spray-on sunblock we'd used was waterproof. Soon, my wish for a cooling rain shower was granted. It was refreshing but I no longer had any dry cloth on me to wipe my glasses. My sun visor helped a bit but became rather heavy when it was saturated. I retrieved my  white handkerchief from my shorts pocket and found it brown and sodden.

The trouble with uncharted waters is a person doesn't know when they have reached the halfway point of the trip. We expected to arrive at home a few hours into the journey. Each wide bend in the river was followed by another one. I checked the position of the sun when it was not covered by clouds and breathed a sigh of relief. We had hours of daylight left.

 Lis spotted a beaver slipping into the water, and pointed out a coyote along the shore downriver. We saw deer and many Great Blue Herons. The birds let us get a certain distance away before flying off. Probably they never saw a soul visiting their fishing spots. The river is not navigable. We saw a couple of water snakes, who looked at us with curiosity. I believe they swam off to check a reference work to identify us. No doubt they looked at pictures of our species and decided, yes, those were two females, one in its grey phase. Extraordinary!

Sometimes, we got off the tubes and waded or kicked with them as floats. It would have been better if we'd been wearing swim flippers instead of mesh tennis shoes. Lis pulled my tube's rope while she waded. Every hour or so, one of us would think we'd walked that far upriver last year when the water was low. "Isn't that where we came upon that dead deer?" I asked about a dozen times.

Our shoes became full of  wet sand and had to be emptied out every now and again. Lis stepped on a big catfish or a turtle, that wriggled out from underfoot.

The scenery reminded us of boating up the Inside Passage to Alaska. There was water and there were trees on both sides. The only difference was the availability of something to eat while on board. We'd brought only a bottle of water each.

"It's around this next bend," we said so many times it became a joke. When I said I didn't recognize some rock formations, Lissa said it wasn't helpful to mention it.

The river, which I thought was supposed to get deeper or bigger as it flowed, inexplicably got more shallow. Possibly it was evaporating in the heat. With an eye toward the lowering sun, we found it expedient to get up on the sand bars and carry the tubes until the hard surface ended. Lis said she had to get out of the water occasionally because she could feel her body starting to decompose.

The sun sank lower. Yet another bend was around the last bend in the river, and yet another. The sluggish current seemed to be barely moving now. It took rather a long time to move from one long bend to the next disappointment. I wondered how long we could keep going around the bend without going around the bend.

One of the things I was holding my breath about was the seaworthiness of our craft. True, the water was only waist deep in most places, but floating did give us a break from walking on sand or wading in water in sand.

My arms are a little short for paddling the big tubes, but I had a new concern: darkness. I paddled enthusiastically, trying to remember to keep my fingers together and wishing I had some ping pong paddles.

My fingers had become pruney after the first couple of hours.

Because we had no flashlight, I imagined us floating on through the night in the quiet dark country, unaware that we'd missed our stop.

After six (yes, six!) hours, Lis said she was starting to get tired. I was, too, but didn't want to admit it. I felt the need to make her laugh, so I said, "Well, we'll just have to turn back."

Then we saw the power lines crossing above the river. There are power lines a ways upriver from Fishing Beach. At that point, we heard voices and the sound of a pickup truck, so knew the bridge by my place had to be close. Unfortunately, the terrain under the power lines didn't look familiar. More floating was in order, and we could swear the river was deliberately standing still by then.

The sun had set and the light was fading, but they were the right power lines and the bridge was ahead. Lis deflated the tubes at Fishing Beach (my fingers were too pruney to unscrew the caps) and we went up the path through the woods to home.

Shaking hands, we congratulated ourselves on our first float trip success. It was not your typical Mother-Daughter Outing. Before I drove Lissa back to her car, we hosed off and then had most welcome hot showers before getting into dry clothes.

Not in the least restful, but fun, we proved we could be troupers. We'd been on the river for six and a half hours, had kept our senses of humor and had not resorted to cannibalism.

Ironically, the next night a good rain brought the river up and gave it a little pep. I emailed the pics to Lis so she could have a good laugh.
   
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One Disappointed Dog

                                      This pic of Beau says it all.

Throwing myself into spring gardening has left him looking for a new best friend.

Where before I was good for long walks in the woods, now I am spending too much time digging in the dirt, something he is not encouraged to do.

I did get down to the river one evening. That gave Beau a chance to explore the woods. The banks were muddy and at one point I came close to making my own slide next to the beaver slide. Both my jeans and the river had a muddy bottom. Catching a nice catfish for dinner made it all worth while.

Lissa and I found tasty morels in the woods. That was good for more exploration for the dog.

It's not that I keep him on a chain, but he seems to need to be close by. I envy him dozing in the nearby shade while I sweat and weed and sweat.

What's happened is the poison ivy, my arch enemy, has taken over the woods. I dare not go back in there now, with those meanies already four feet tall and growing. The best I can do is keep the paths open to Fishing Beach and Clam Beach.

The weather has not been cooperative for my gardening efforts. A late frost on May 16 had me hastily erecting my fencing hoops over the tomato and pepper plants. A couple of tomato plants that were in another part of the garden were cruelly slain.

The strawberry patch had to be tucked in for the night with odds and ends of old sheets.

The cabbages and broccolis were at a vulnerable stage and suffered some damage, from which I'm hopeful that they may recover. I'd read about it in the Stokes catalog for years but forgot they were not always frost-proof.

When Beau sees me clad in my bee suit and veil he knows he will be staying in the house while I check on the hive. Apparently, I've become a big no-fun.

This is just a terribly busy time of year. I'm put in mind of the old adage Never Get a Place Bigger Than Your Wife Can Handle.  Even though I'm no longer a wife, it's possible I have spread out too much here. I planted some sweet potatoes up at the Remote Garden, in hopes of adequate rainfall.

Many hours of weeding the grasses out of the bed were required for the planting of seven new daylilies. Lis dug up some Bridal Wreath Spirea for me, and Izzy let me have some plants. All that was not the work of an instant. There were some pussy willows and weeping willows to plant, plus some buttonbush starts and some hostas to divide. Beau got lots of nap time.

Close on the heels of the Killing Frost came hot weather and enough road dust to choke a horse. Living on the north side of the gravel road turned out to be not good, since the wind is generally from the south. It was 91 degrees yesterday, less than a week after a record low of 32.

My daughters always ask me if I have been lying on the chaise and eating bonbons. What are bonbons, anyway?

Beau is going to be delighted today, because it rained. That put a stop to all the mowing, mulching, digging, deadheading, thinning  and planting for today. I'll be going down to check on the river. That always makes him smile.

May 23

Here is one happy dog, after we had a lovely long walk where Beau could sniff the wind and follow the deer tracks.  Speaking of deer tracks, when I went fishing, I should have noticed  the places on the river bank where the deer had lost their footing in the slippery mud. They have better traction with four legs and sharp hooves, compared to my puny two legs and slippery old garden shoes.

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Wild Diet Food

During the winter, my pants seem to have shrunk. To lose some of the long nights hibernation fat, I am eating less. It's a wild idea I thought I'd try.

My elderly farmer neighbor years ago extolled the taste of spring nettle greens. It sounded a little scary to me, to actually put something in my mouth that caused blisters on the skin. Well, this spring I got brave and tried some.

Cutting the greens with scissors, while wearing gloves (I'm not all that brave) I then checked online to see if this really was a sensible thing to do. Imagining it would require sixteen changes of water, I was relieved to see that the painful parts of stinging nettles disappear after a mere thirty seconds in boiling water.

They turned out to be not only tasty, but a fabulous way to lose weight. Right away, I could feel my pants getting looser. That was last week.

Just knowing that I had access to that miracle diet food cheered me immensely. I thought about its slimming effects as I cut firewood with the chain saw. It was in the back of my mind as I pulled the little wagon loads through the woods, then loaded the wood into Rosie's cart, down on the river bottom, and as I unloaded it after finding I had a flat tire. Ditto for when I hauled the chain saw back up the steep hill in the little wagon. Then, too, I was grateful for it when I planted the strawberries, which won't bear for a year. As I ran Tillie in the garden and planted the early veggies, which would take weeks to be ready for eating, I was content, knowing the nettles were available without delay.  I admired the nettles for their perfect properties as I dug up plants to exchange with Izzy. I ruminated on their life-giving goodness as I planted my gift grasses and shrubs. Hacking out several years' growth of irises, carrying them in buckets to the big compost heap, I revered the slimming nettles, not available in stores.

This afternoon, while down on the river bottoms, looking for early morel mushrooms, I spied more of the nettles. Hiking back up to the house, I armed myself with the gloves and scissors and a big bowl.
It was the third time today that I climbed the steep hill from the river. It was worth it, for such great diet fare, and free, too.

Unfortunately, today's greens were a little more furry and the stems were not as tender. So that may be it for this season's diet delight. 

Next on the woodland menu are the morels, which taste best fried and served with beer. 

When the Clouds Roll In

All winter, I've been baking bread in the Sun Oven. What I never thought would happen is it's better than the stove oven. The even heat makes a moister loaf. Now, I'm only baking bread outside.

However, I recently underestimated the clearing of the clouds, and lost a loaf when the sun failed to continue shining.

I guess that the cost of a loaf of this honey wheat bread is probably about fifty cents, so even losing some ingredients was still less money than the three dollar stale stuff at the store.

                               The chickens loved this big doughy bread pancake.

Undaunted, I made this better loaf the next day, when the skies were sunny. It's beautiful!



It makes great sandwiches like this PB and H  "sammy." Next year, I hope to have my own honey. My bees will be here around the first of May.  The weather has been so cool, twenty degrees the other morning, that a delay is good. One should never live without honey.

Still in Missouri

Damaging tornadoes nearby lately sent me down to the fruit cellar, to hang out with the two bats.

After a sunrise rain shower, this beautiful double rainbow seemed to promise less destructive weather.



I'm still waiting for warmer and drier days so I can plant the garden.


Lots of interesting wildlife sightings lately. The local dogs had something up the tree across the way. I went over to see if Miss Naughty Kitty needed rescuing. It turned out to be a fat groundhog, which chattered at me and Beau.

Last evening, I saw a flock of geese flying low over the river. I believe they were daredevils, flying under the bridge.

Then there was a formation of six herons that flew over me another day. It was quite a surprise, since I have rarely seen more than one of those huge birds at a time.

One small Painted Turtle is now sunning on the limb sticking out in the pond.

Less welcome animals were the SEVEN large calves in my front yard. When I called the cattle guy, he told me they fixed the fences, but these black critters proved otherwise. Beau loves to chase them off the property.

These daffodils are so bright and cheery.

I'm making myself cut more firewood for next winter. After such a bitterly cold long winter, I feel like Scarlett O'Hara. "As God is my witness, I'll never be chilly again. If I have to run the chain saw, split wood and carry it, I'll never be chilly again."

Osage Orange, known locally as hedgeapple, is full of BTU's and looks so pretty when cut. Thank goodness I have an electric log splitter; this stuff is extremely dense. As must I be to cut and haul it.

It Might as Well Be Spring

Saturday, March 15. At last, some signs of spring. Winter has been slow to release us from its icy grip. The maple buds are swelling and looking promising. Soon they will turn into a zillion winged seeds that start new trees where they are least needed.

Best of all, the Peepers are croaking down at the two ponds. Robins, red-winged blackbirds and Meadowlarks are singing. The ice has left the river. The muskrat is swimming around the big pond.

I painted the beehive sky blue. The temperature was seventy on the back deck. The sky, seen above,  was sky blue.

This morning, the scene was snowy. Old Man Winter, a guest who had already over-stayed his welcome by some weeks, came back for yet another blast of cold wind and snow. The wind chill was sixteen, just when I thought I could stop wearing long underwear.

The Sun will chase off Winter once more tomorrow. The hens are laying, I've pruned the apple trees and the grapes. I don't care what it looks like, Spring will officially be here in four days.

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Bats as Housepets

It was a dark and snowy night. Recent snows had caused me to get into my kindling stores. One was a box of good hickory twigs in the fruit cellar. There was a tiny noise that I couldn't identify as I dumped the cardboard box of twigs into a tote, which I carried into the house.

All the pets were with me, watching a movie in front of the wood stove. A noise was heard from the bedroom. Pandemonium broke out when I saw what looked like a bird flying around. The dog barked and lunged at it. The cats eagerly waited for it to dive within claw's reach. When it lighted on the wall by the ceiling, I realized it was one of the Little Brown Bats. It had a surprisingly big wingspan for such a little creature. It swooped all over.

Quickly ushering the pets out and closing the doors, I called my wildlife expert. Lissa said to try and catch it in a blanket and get it back to the fruit cellar.

When I returned to the bedroom, it had stopped flying around. It was nowhere to be seen.

The dear Little Brown Bat was finally found, clinging to the backside of the drapes. When I'd shopped for material to make drapes, I wanted some beautiful damask, but couldn't afford it. Consoling myself, I decided that such elegant fabric would be too grand for my modest home. Then I laughed, realizing such a rationalization was merely sour drapes.

Now, I was glad the fabric was lightweight. I put on my boots, gloves, hat, coat and new bee veil, just in case it wanted to fly in my face. I gently bundled the bat in the drapes, taking the curtain rod with it. Shining a big flashlight in my other hand, I stepped out into the horizontal snow. As I made my way through a three-foot drift, I couldn't help but wonder if anyone else was thus occupied during what seemed to be a blizzard. The curtain rod dragged in the snow, but the vital contents were safe from the storm.

Back down in the fruit cellar, I opened the drapes and placed the bat back on the cardboard box it seemed to favor. I apologized for disturbing its hibernation. I had been sure the pair of them had left weeks ago.

Back in the house, I kept a sharp watch out for the other bat. I checked the tote of kindling, peered behind drapes and was on high alert for some time.

The next day, I took a small box full of soft fuzzy fabrics down for it. There was no sign of it, so I guessed that it was tucked into the rack of wood down there.

Although the house was warmer for the poor critter, I fear they really don't make ideal house pets.

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Bats and Beehives

The extra cold weather caused the Little Brown Bats in the fruit cellar to move south without leaving a forwarding address. Not even a postcard from them.

Meanwhile, the hive bodies are going together in the warm house. This will be a single beehive, with plenty of room upstairs and downstairs for a large colony of bees.

Although I wear ear protectors as I pound in nails, the cats and dog are napping nearby, oblivious of the noise. They are in whatever room I am in, due to my enormous personal magnetism.

At the beginning beekeepers' meeting I attended, Beekeeping for Dummies was recommended. Since it's been so long since I kept bees, I'm finding the information quite useful. My bee smoker has arrived and the bee suit, veil and gloves are on the way. One of  the veteran beekeepers said he usually was stung thirty times while working with the bees. I, on the other hand, am a woman and don't have to be so brave or foolhardy.

As soon as I complete the two shallow honey supers, the hive exteriors will be primed for painting. I'm already primed for the bee experience.

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Lazy Sun

Part of me knows that it's the earth that is at fault. But while I wait for it to wobble around toward the Sun, it's easy to blame our star.

It seems that the Sun is merely indolent at this time of year, getting up late and then never reaching its full potential. Not as bad in the Midwest as it was in Fairbanks, Alaska, where the sun rose languidly at ten and set at two.

Case in point: the ditch across the road, a spot where the Sun don't shine, as they say. There is still snow there, despite some days that have been in the fifties. Sorry about the dullness of the image, but it's my view out the front windows. It's like the ice cap on Mars or ice on the moon. There are plenty of those shady spots that are still full of icy snow. The back of my house, on the north side, is one big slab of slippery stuff.

This is the time of year that my steep hills are most hazardous.  I have ordered some crimpons, but due to the Polar Vortex, they are out of stock.

Speaking of the Polar Vortex, Lissa and I must protest this alarming naming of ordinary winter fare. It did get rather cold here in December. It was minus twenty-one degrees. We had some colder weather in the 'eighties, but no one thought to give them scary names. A few days ago, the weather warmed a bit, but now we are in another cold snap. I've named this one the Extreme Polar Bear Vortex. I believe it was intense enough to actually sweep polar bears down all the way into northern Minnesota.

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The Bee Adventure Begins

It's been many moons since I was a beekeeper; around three hundred, actually.

In early December, I suddenly decided to start over with bees, to benefit my apple trees. The start-up costs are like my hills: steep. Fortunately, I happened to pick a week when the shipping was free on the heavy wooden hive parts. Throwing caution to the winds, I jumped back into beekeeping.

Inspiring me was my sixteen-year-old granddaughter, Carolyn. She got a beekeeper scholarship a couple of years ago, which included tutoring and all the supplies.

For Christmas, she brought me this glorious pint of comb honey.

Thinking I was really ahead of the season, I contacted some beekeepers to the north last Friday. Gasp! The deadline for ordering bees was the following day. I left here at 11:45 and was still a little late for the 2 o'clock meeting.

At the meeting, I learned that ordering a nuc was really worth the extra money. There are two ways to go for bees. Three, if you count just putting a hive out and hoping some wild bees move in. That rarely happens. The package of bees is about 3 pounds of bees, which I don't believe the supplier weighs individually. They are in a screened cage with some sugar syrup to sustain them on their journey from a warmer spot. Included in the package is a queen in a tiny cage. I believe she has been carefully chaperoned by her duenna and prohibited from buzzing around with members of the Drones Club.

The nuc, short for nucleus, I think, consists of several frames of bees that are already busy making the colony. The queen has already made her mating flight and is laying eggs at quite a clip.

Earlier, I thought the nucs were sort of the sissy way to go, but it turns out the success rate for getting any honey this year is much better with the nuc, so that's what I ordered. It will arrive in April.


                                                              The Basswood

There is this wonderful, enormous basswood tree here on the way down to the river. In springtime, the blossoms are exquisitely fragrant. Bees come from miles around. Unfortunately, they make their basswood honey in some distant bee trees, the locations of which they refused to divulge to me.

Last year, I left word at a beekeeping organization to the south, inviting any of them to put a hive nearby. Receiving no response from those folks, I decided to get the honey for myself.

The first step is to assemble the hives and frames. My workshop is unheated, so I made a spot in the house for this fun project.

These are the hive body frame pieces.

This is one of two hive bodies.


So far, I've picked out several places to put the beehive, and no doubt will keep changing my mind daily until I finally do park it somewhere.





The location should have morning sun and afternoon shade, be close to the house for working with the bees, but not in the way of foot traffic.

My goal isn't to have more and more and more hives, nor is it to live off my honey sales. Foremost for me is to get to be a really good beekeeper. I love honey and I love the bees.

One hot summer day, I was in the parking lot of a grocery store, getting ready to get in my car. A bee landed on my thumb. I held it up by my face and said, "Hello, you must need to rest a bit." A person in the car next to mine rolled up their window, whether to protect themselves from the bee or me, I couldn't tell.