One Against the Road

This is on the way to my place. The pavement is patched and shabby, but lots better than the gravel road that goes on from here.

If I had good sense, I would stay inside the house when it's dry. There's this problem with road dust. Actually, it's timing. Timing is everything. When there has been rain, there is no dust. When there has been rain, the soil can't be cultivated.

All of the above explains why my cough has returned. I had to get the garden tilled for the tomatoes and peppers. . There were potatoes to hill.  Mowing was required in order for the garden to have mulch. It was imperative to get plants in the ground while it was perfect for planting.

The Criterion apple tree was loaded with baby apples. I spent many hours, over three days, on a ladder, snipping off the excess apples with a small scissors. There's nothing like looking over my head while wearing trifocals and perching on a stepladder on a steep hill. Did I mention having vertigo?

All my endeavors coincided with the maximum amount of road dust. All the farmers had the same idea. They rumbled by on enormous tractors, hauling huge discs, planters and other implements for mass planting. They created great clouds of airborne dirt.  Before that, the road grader guy bladed the gravel and exposed the dirt to the strong wind, always blowing toward my place, which is too close to the road. Trucks of every weight limit and size went by so fast that I listened to hear them hit the bridge after not making that last bend in the road. There were 18-wheel  grain trucks on unknown missions, since there is no harvest in spring. Smaller trucks pulled twin tanks of anhydrous ammonia, the non-organic answer to fertility. It was like a buffalo stampede.

Every day, I got out a fresh surgical mask. I donned it when a vehicle was heard approaching. Where I went wrong was I miscalculated the amount of fine particulate matter that remained suspended in the air.

Last September, I had microbial pneumonia, also called Walking Pneumonia.  It coincided with the harvest stampede. I coughed until after Christmas. I was all better until spring gardening fever got me. For my sacrifice, I do have things coming up in the garden.

The broccoli and cabbage plants are looking great, after I applied a little liquid organic Thuricide to the chomping worms.

These miniature bok choys are Toy Choys. They are adorable and tasty

Although I have ten acres here, what I have is a little city garden. It's on one of the less steep slopes, and gives me a variety of veggies. Sharing the spotlight here are potatoes,broccoli, cabbages, beets, onions, carrots and corn. One dandelion is trying to sneak in.

The Little Sweetie snow peas are just starting to bear.

The Love Lies Bleeding are strangely pretty. It has not escaped my notice that I don't have to have a vegetable garden or more flowers. What's the fun in that?

Listening to a Tornado

There have been several Spring thunderstorms here lately, with lots of rain and strong winds. The weather radio alerted me to the coming storm, so I was able to bring all the potted tomato, pepper and petunia plants inside.

Then came a tornado warning for the little  nearby town. The sky was dark to the southwest. I put on wool socks and rubber boots, grabbed my purse and the big flashlight and headed toward the fruit cellar.  Then I saw it. Hanging down from the dark sky was a wedge tornado. It wasn't touching down and I couldn't tell if it was rotating. There was no time to take a picture.

Down in the cold fruit cellar,  I heard what surely sounded like a tornado.

One other time in my life I heard a tornado. It was 1957. We had gone to the basement because the sky looked creepy. My mom was going to the A&P grocery store in nearby Ruskin Heights. However, she didn't like the look of the sky. In those days, people didn't depend on Weather Radio. My older sister was at some school function. We thought she'd come home. We heard what sounded at first like the overhead garage door opening. It was a manual one; perhaps they hadn't invented the motorized type. Anyway, the sound didn't quit.

Later, we learned on the t.v. (yes, it had been invented) that a tornado had wiped out that grocery store and a subdivision. Most of the houses didn't have basements. 37 people were killed.

The sound is like a roll of thunder or a train, but there are no breaks in the sound. It just goes on and on. It's very loud. I had my cell phone and left word for Chris and Lis to check on me. There was a strong wind and some hail. Then I believe that the tornado, sensing that I wasn't coming out, moved on.

Once heard, it's not a sound a person forgets. There is nothing like it.

The next day, I found this living hickory broken at the base. The tornado sound was so loud that I didn't hear it fall, though it wasn't far from the fruit cellar. The damage here probably was just wind, because other trees were not affected. Tornadoes are not so selective.

The tornado was listed among several in the area that day. It had touched down and uprooted some trees and did some structural damage right around the time when I saw it.

Lots of people in Missouri who remember the Ruskin Heights tornado are quick to seek shelter when there is a possibility of a house being dropped on us. We don't have the hubris that keeps us watching an approaching funnel to see what happens.

R.I.P. Rooster

Rooster is seen no more. I spotted what was either his body or a big pile of his feathers lodged far up in the shallow underside of the playhouse, inaccessible to me.

I almost got new chicks at the feed store, but decided to just manage on the three bothersome hens for the present. They have a habit of scratching up flower beds in order to make dust baths, never the same area twice. More little fences are in order.

Life goes on for the hens after the passing of Rupert. They hang around together or go their own ways, occasionally laying an egg. I believe they designate a layer every few days so they appear to be useful. Or it could be only one of them is still laying. Buffy produces a soft-shelled egg occasionally.  It's very quiet without Rupert's crowing.

On a happier note, some much-needed rains brought out the morels.

The day before yesterday, there they were, popping up big and easy to find. The undergrowth is springing up with the rain, so every day they will be more elusive.

These were drying some out a bit on top, but they were quite delicious. This is a regular size dinner plate.

The rains were most welcome because every day that it was dry, I was out digging and planting and thought my labors would never end. However, I did get the main garden cultivated and planted to beans, black-eyed peas, zucchini, corn and parsnips.

The farmers were driving down the gravel/dirt road as if to a fire, creating clouds of dust. I was forced to wear a surgical mask whenever I heard them coming, because my place is on the north side of the road and the wind is usually from the south.

Even though there could be a later frost, I took a cue from the farmers and went ahead and planted the potted flowers. That freed up the pots for transplanting the tomatoes and peppers. They are getting bigger out on the back deck and front porch.

Suddenly, all green things have broken loose. Mowing will be the order of the day when it dries out a bit. Meanwhile, there was another shower last night, so Lissa is coming up for a morel hunt. I hate to admit it, but she is much better than finding them than I am.

The Early Garden Struggles into Being

The strong winds have been a little rough on the early garden. I've even had to water four times. The hoops did warm the soil and I got the onions, Melody Spinach, Easter Egg Radishes and 4-Seasons lettuces planted.  Little Sweetie snow peas (Stokes) are ready to grow up the sticks. A few days ago, I found a spot for the Swiss Chard, soon to appear.

This bed has more leafy greens-to-be, onions and some larkspur at the far end. Against the fence is the Cottage Corner bed. Every few years some of the perennial flowers get overtaken by grasses and I dig them up and plant some other perennials. This year, I said farewell to a Shasta Daisy and one Missouri Primrose.

The blue bucket has a cracked bottom, so rainwater drains right out. This corner area was used for trash burning by the former owners. I dug out the rusted burn barrel bottom, but every time I work the soil, old rusty nails surface, along with odd things like watches. I toss all the junk in the blue bucket.

The broccoli and cabbages aren't making great growth. It could be the desiccating high winds or the eighty degree days followed by freezing nights.  They will come through. I put  buckets over them the other night when the temperature got down to twenty-three degrees. They can take a bit of a chill, but nothing akin to midwinter. I could cover them with the hoops but they don't like heat.

It's amazing that more people don't garden. It's so relaxing.

Lining Up on the Runway

I'm just waiting for the frost-free date, whenever that might be. Meanwhile, some of the plants have gotten too big for their britches. Those guys, like the Evening Primroses above, have been put in bigger pots., which they quickly grew into.

The plants in the red pots are butterfly bushes. They are tricky to grow from seed. When one hundred seeds are offered in a package it's a tip-off that the seed will be as tiny as dust and thinning will be a challenge. I managed to get four started this time. Colors will be a surprise.

In the back are Love Lies Bleeding. Sounds gory, but I always wanted to try them. They are from Stokes Seeds.

The new babies are some Lady Seymour Pinks. I got a little carried away and started two dozen, for a border edging.

Last year, grasshoppers ate the Bishop's Children (that really sounds gory) Dahlias, so I had to have some more of those. There are petunias, gazanias, coleus, portulaca, Early Sunrise Coreopsis, Pacifica Vinca and Victoria Salvia waiting for clearance to take off.

Now that it's April, everyone can go out  in the daytime. Finding spots out of the fierce wind has been challenging. A person would think there would be one lee side of the house.

This is the time when I ask myself why I needed so many of any one plant. The answer is I'm a gardener. That's what we do. Finding room for all these guys, plus the many day lilies I ordered, will be fun.

It's been rather dry, so I've had an opportunity to dig up some weeds and cultivate for the new arrivals. Actually, that's putting it too mildly. Basically, I knocked myself out with the weeder, the turning fork and Tillie, the Mantis tiller. There were great tubs of weeds that I pulled up. Somewhere in one of those piles is my favorite hand hoe, lost in the frenzy.

The Swiss Giant Pansies got to be planted in the real dirt, because they supposedly can take a light frost. I was very excited. The fence is to keep the hens out.

Of course, the trick is whisking all nine trays of plants back inside when there is sudden hail. So far, it's only happened once and the hail was tiny.

A Senile Rooster

Poor Rupert is unsteady on his legs these days. Not only that, but he is acting nuts. He sometimes has trouble standing and other times he squawks loudly and runs crazily for some distance. At other times, he hides under one of the porches or stuffs his body into a yew bush.

At first, I thought the strong winds were catching him in the tail and propelling him. That theory proved incorrect when he still ran when it was calm. (His head has not been cut off.)

He sometimes loses it entirely, falls down on his tail, flaps his huge wings and squawks loudly. The most unfortunate part of rooster's dementia is that he no longer stays with the girls and protects them.

                                              A Ga-Ga Hen
Buffy, having been pecked on her head one time too many by the rooster and his accomplice, the Rhode Island Red hen, has taken to walking backwards. Her latest nutso behavior is to run squawking around the yard. A few of days ago, the routine sounds of  distress changed tenor. I found Buffy in the jaws of one of the neighbor dogs, who was unable to resist running prey. Enough feathers were pulled out to fill a small pillow.

She stayed in the nest box for days. Yesterday morning, I found Rupert  stuffed in the box with her, absently pecking her on the head. He looked like he was trying to remember the rest of his routine. I pulled him out.

Yes, I know I should put him out of his misery or leave him out for a coyote meal. With all his eccentricities, he does manage to wander back to the coop at dusk. He no longer can get on the roost, making him a restless,  roostless rooster. He beds down in the straw or in one of the nest boxes.

Rupert is only three or four years old, but in chicken years, it's time to cull fowl.

Another Fun Mother-Daughter Experience

Lissa works as a dental assistant so is unfazed by anything medical. In addition, she has always been good with critters. Beau loves her, because she took him in when he was a puppy abandoned along a country road. He thinks he's still that puppy when he's around her.

Lis is quite handy with all sorts of repairs. Yesterday, she replaced a part in my washing machine so I didn't have to buy a new washer.  Beau was a little worried when he saw her lying on the laundry room floor. She was able to complete the job while being licked in the face.

The rooster had been having trouble walking and roosting because his spurs had grown out to where they hit his opposite foot. So after dark last night, I helped  Lis carry out an operation in the chicken coop. Armed with a pliers and a hot potato in an oven mitt, Lis picked up Rupert and held him upside down. I held the flashlight while she applied the baked potato to each of his spurs in turn. Lissa assured me the spur has no feeling and is like a fingernail. Then she twisted off the spurs with the pliers. I put cornstarch on the little remaining stubs of the spurs, but there was scant bleeding to stanch.

Here is the outpatient this morning. This is one of the spurs.

When I got her bill for those few minutes of  medical service, I was astounded.

                         Patient: Rupert the Rooster
                         Date of Procedure: March 4, 2016

                         Anesthesia: $500.25 (25 cents for the potato)
                         Surgery: $1,000.
                         Home Visit: $1/mile, $75

                         Total: $1,575.25

                         Please remit at once.

She performed this procedure on him a couple of years ago. It wasn't nearly this much then, in fact it was free. 

She settled for homemade brownies.  

The Nursery is Filling Up

                                               Announcing New Arrivals

                  Date:  February 20, 2016

                  Baby Packman and Atlantic Broccoli

                  Baby Early Round Dutch and Bravo Cabbages

                  Weight:   Scant gram

                   Height:   Scant inch

                   Proud Parent: JoDee


Here they are, enjoying a brief outing in the afternoon sunshine. They sunburn easily, so spend most of their days under the florescent lights. Gradually they will be able to be outside all day. Nights are still below freezing.

There are lots of broccoli starts. some for me and some for Is and Lis. However, it's a little skimpy on the cabbages, only eight. Next, I'll sow some from a Pinetree packet of  mixed cabbage types. It will be fun to see what they grow up to be.

These little guys are soon to be joined by lots of flowers, which are on the neonatal shelf, with bottom heat. Some of them are too tiny to photograph and some haven't even sprouted yet.  I await them expectantly. They require lots of babying but don't cry in the night.

Winter's Back Is Broken

I often wonder why I always welcome February. It's true that in the past, there have been some spring-like days thus far in this month. However, mostly it is bitterly cold and bleak. Better for me to look at my flower pictures from last summer than dwell on the view outside.

Outdoorsy as I am, I've been a bit housebound with the cold winds. Every day, I bundle up and fetch more firewood, empty the wood stove ashes, gather kindling, carry water to the flock and scurry back inside. If there are signs of spring, I just can't see them. Tears are dripping on my glasses and running down my cheeks.

It was twenty-four degrees this morning, not gardening weather.

When Is and Molly came recently, we made garden plans and had a brief tour of the garden and flower beds. Above the roar of the icy wind, I told them where the marvelous veggies and flowers will be. No one believed a word of  it.

There is an old saying, "A February spring isn't worth a pin." I understand that's true for the fruit trees, which need for the cold to continue unabated until bloom time. But what about us? At this time of year, I long for some pleasant weather.

The good news from the weather radio is in a few days, temperatures will be in the sixties. I want to believe it. I can't let myself  remember how often better weather has appeared in the forecast. It was always a few days hence, never actually arriving.

Meanwhile, I'm crawling back into bed and have set my alarm for later in the week.

Oh, wait! After writing the above, the cold winds from the north gave way to gentle breezes from the southeast. The temperature got up to FIFTY degrees, practically balmy.

I rushed outside to this fencing hoop structure that I put up in the fall before the ground was frozen.

Happy to have the plastic film on hand,  I completed the project. Well, that was after getting Iris out of the tunnel. The plan is for the sun, when it chooses to come out, to warm the soil so I can work it enough to plant the early seeds.

Next, I did a plastic pots inventory in the workshop. There are plenty, but I'll get more seed-starting and potting soil soon at Planters. Broccoli and cabbage seeds are demanding to be planted soon. They have tiny, rather shrill voices.

Giant Bird Feeder

This is the deluxe version of the window bird feeder, the deck feeder. I screwed the aluminum pie pan to the railing, where it is easy to see if it's empty. It needs refilling about six times a day. I'm offering a smorgasbord of black oil sunflower seeds, cracked corn and milo.

I keep my Audubon bird book handy. Even the resident Mockingbird comes to the feeder, plus some cute Harris Sparrows.

It's hard not to have the Cardinals be my favorite. Even on these cloudy days, when everything seems brown or gray, they are standouts. Inspired by their cheery color, I'm knitting myself a bright red sweater. They may not even fly away when I go out to refill the feeder.

The Bluejays are greedy pigs, chowing down and swallowing the sunflower seeds whole. This feeder offers a choice of take-out or dine-in.

The other day, when it was snowy, I had to keep sweeping off the deck. Plenty of seed falls through the cracks, not in a bad way,  for the birds feeding under the deck.

One of the special functions of the deck feeder is it provides an Entertainment Center for naughty Iris.