It's a Jungle Out Here

Mother Nature has been over-watering most of the month. Some things like it, like trees, weeds and frogs.

Even some trees have had enough, though.  These are the tops of  tall trees that used to be on the far side of the Grand River. Now they are in the river.

It all happened in a few days. On Tuesday, there were heavy rains to the north. The ground was already saturated. On Wednesday, the river was across the road and into the bottom land fields. The water crossed those fields upriver and then rejoined it by the bridge. It appears to be a large lake with a boat launch ramp.

This bridge is normally is high above the river. On my side, the elevation is greater, but it is over my paths. I assume so, because I can't get down there. My hopes are high that the poison ivy has been killed by the scouring waters.

It's been too wet to mow or pull weeds. The ground was squishy underfoot and mud splattered up from the grass. The veggies I planted are sickly. The irises seemed to like it and produced lots of blooms. The peonies did well until that day of recurring torrential rains.

I'm happy to report the river crested last night, but I don't think the road will be seen anytime soon. Imagine a gravel road at the bottom of a deep muddy river. The prognosis is not good.

In desperation, I have taken up growing flowers in containers. Lis helped me get this all together.  Izzy and Carolyn brought me plants for my birthday. I made a trip to the greenhouse for more, with my birthday money from Chris. My family  knows what I love. The plants all huddled together on the dining room table during the thunderstorms.

I also got a razor sharp hoe that I am itching to use, as soon as the ground dries out a bit. I am hopeful because it's been three days without a thunderstorm.

King Cole

A word about cabbages. That means I'm going to go on and on about them.

I feel the public is uninformed when it comes to cabbages. I say that because of some strange encounters I have had.

Once, I ordered Cole slaw at a restaurant and it was made of lettuce. I asked the young waitress if there had been some mistake. She said not. Apparently Cole means nothing to people. Cole crops are cabbages, not lettuces. Thinking that  I could have been mistaken all these years, I checked it out. Cole are one of several Brassicas; broccoli is a cousin.

When I ran out of my homegrown cabbages, I bought another one at the little grocery store that usually has quite nice produce. The young girl at the checkout looked puzzled. "Do you like them?" she asked. I wanted to say, "No, I use them as doorstops, but they do roll a bit."

She looked even more blank when I said they were good as coleslaw and also cooked with various sausages.

I believe people are failing their children in the foods department. When I asked a check-out girl where the barley was, she asked me if it was a spice.

Having gotten those episodes off my chest, I shall go on about cabbage. Not only do I love them, but I love growing them.

Recently, I complained to Lissa that all I could find at the supermarket were rather small cabbages. I wondered if there had been some sort of untoward weather event that was responsible. Lis laughed and said that's because I grow cabbages on steroids.

The fun for me is to grow several varieties of cabbage, so I can have them all season long. The last ones to ripen are the Bravos, which are the biggest. I'm down to my last two quarts of sauerkraut, hence the big planting of Bravos.

There is something that appeals greatly to a frugal soul like me when starting cabbages.  A package of cabbage seeds lasts years. Say a person plants two seeds to a pot and cruelly pulls out one seedling. Even so, a package holds 100 seeds at a cost of $1.75 at Pinetree Seeds. The initial investment of some shop lights over the seeds pays for itself over years, and the size bag of potting soil I buy lasts nearly forever.The inexpensive pots are reusable.  Cabbages are as close to free as possible.

Here they are after more rain than they really wanted. One is a broccoli that got in while I wasn't looking.

My new Perma Bed took a few more. This one is an Early Round Dutch, which may be ready by dinnertime.

This year I'm growing: Bravos and Early Round Dutch . The latter  are tasty but relatively  useless as door stops.

Signs of Spring

The main sign of spring is me moving the compost cage to a new location. I'm sure passers-by mark the day as the official start of the season.

Even before I  heard the peepers on the pond or spotted the Tiny Blue Flowers, I was pounding in fence posts for the new cage. This one is a biggie. First, I added quantities of spent leaves and stalks from the 14 cow fence daylilies. Naturally, I'd already tossed them over the garden fence in another spot, necessitating carrying armloads around the hillside.

Next, I shoveled the winter's worth of kitchen scraps and chicken manure from the cylinder. Bailing the pond liner was next. Many night crawlers lost their lives in the murky depths, and it smelled like it.

Back at last year's cage, I raked off the parts that didn't break down and added them to the new pile. It reminded me of Baked Alaska, not that I've ever had any. Anyway, the goodie was on the inside. The boards remain to be added to the new cage, or possibly I'll just use old tarps to stop the breezes from drying everything out.

A wet spring was made that possibility seem remote. When I pulled up fence posts, there were slurping noises. When the pond liner remained empty, it floated on the ground water. The next night, three inches of rain put it back in its place.

Nights are still cold but the Sun is seen  after behaving more like the Moon, with prolonged unexcused absences. I believe that while it is away, there is a 25-Watt Faux Sun that appears behind the clouds and provides less light and no warmth.

A Wintry Winter

These Mourning Doves huddling in the snow-covered feeder say it all.

It just keeps snowing, blowing and sleeting, interspersed with freezing rain. There was that one sunny half day of fifty degrees, but that turned out to be a cruel joke. By nightfall, it was below freezing again and the winter storm advisories quickly resumed.

Needless to say, we are all sick of it. Sick, sick, sick, do you hear? We can be of sanguine disposition up until mid-February, then we turn surly.

I only fell on the ice twice that afternoon that I forgot there was slick stuff under the fresh snow.

There was so much snow that on that warmish day the road became a hog "waller." Mud flung up onto the windshield and side windows. I now have Mud-a-Thon training.

My little Kodak camera died, hence no posts since November. My sister Jeni kindly sent me a nice Olympus camera but being electronics challenged, it took a while for my daughter Lissa to come up and get it to talk with my computer. Did I mention the roads were bad?

Enough griping, Joey. By the way, when Jeni was little, she called me Joey and it remains how I refer to myself.

The Cardinals are certainly cheery and seemingly increasing in numbers by the day. I had no idea they bred so fast.

My seed order has arrived from Pinetree. Time for me to move all the plastic boxes of yarns from the shelves with the lights. I recently resolved to stop buying more yarns and knit or crochet my stash. Instead,  I intend to save up for a greenhouse this summer. I believe yarn companies will suffer a severe loss.

Before the Invisible Giant Hand that controls the thermostat will move, someone has to say, "Even 105 degrees with a dusty wind would be better than all this cold." I refuse to be the one.

Brightening Up a Cloudy Day

They are falling fast, but the autumn leaves are a rare treasure. The Burning Bushes are doing more that just holding up the hillside out back. Behind them is a maple; to the left is a Hicksii Yew.

One of my favorite sights now is the leaves on the green grass. They were a brighter red a few days ago, but are still gorgeous.

This is a pin oak at the end of the garden, in bronze now.

The sycamore dropped all its huge leaves within a few days. I mowed and bagged them then carried them up to the garden. I put the beds to bed first with chicken bedding and then the cozy cover of leaves and grass.

The green seedlings are two kinds of spinach, winter radishes and beets. All that rain not only washed the soil but made it almost impossible to thin them. I never can resist the idea of a fall garden. Some of the spinach may overwinter if I can ever thin it.

Down on the river bottoms, I discovered several big trees down since I was last there. I got the chain saw sharpened and will soon overcome my inertia and start cutting wood. It sounds awful, but once I get started, it's not so bad. The river came up and deposited some dead wood on my path, so that will be the start, right after I replace the dead battery in Rosie.

Perhaps I should fortify myself with another day of sock knitting first.

The end of Daylight Savings time is also the end of gardening for the year. Now, what am I going to do?

Abrupt Change of Season

Not only did we get some rain, we got quantities.

Not much gardening could be done with such soggy ground. The river was out of its banks and the road was flooded on the far side of the bridge for a couple of days. The irony is not lost on me that a stoppage of road dust only happens when I can't garden.

After about a foot of rain, the fields quickly became St. Patrick's Day green. The cows across the road were as happy as cows can be; their facial expressions reveal nothing.

We are not talking here about the passage of a month or two between hot, dry and windy, to verdant lushness. In a matter of days, I went from short sleeve tee shirts to a mad dive into the Winter Duds boxes. Suddenly, bare feet inside the house switched over to thick wool socks and shoes.

Outside, the temperature went from 90's to 40's. Then this morning, I opened the blinds and gasped, "Oh, my goodness!"

I wasn't quite finished with gardening. No one can figure out where autumn went. The leaves now only have not turned gorgeous colors, they are still hanging on for dear life awaiting Jack Frost. (I know that's not what happens, but we still like to say it.)

After a few hours of sunshine, the snow vanished and bright green grass reappeared as if nothing untoward had happened. That's why I keep the camera at the ready, to prove that it wasn't all in my dreams.

My tulip bulbs arrived right after the rain started, as usual. There will be a slight delay in planting them.

Held Hostage by Irises

For the last many weeks, I've been saving irises. They are a dangerous, addictive flower. They looked so pathetic in their overgrown location that I was drawn into a Rescue Triangle. Rushing to help out, I was ensnared and became the victim of the very weeds that I fought to extricate them from.

Their bed was in morning shade from the big old oak tree, which is why things got so out of hand.

I thought a reasonable goal for this project would be to do one-third of the old fancy iris bed this fall. It turned out to be more like half. Tubs of weeds and roots were yanked out, until I unwittingly grabbed a long root that turned out to be from poison ivy. My face still has itchy places where it got me back.

A horrible mistake that I made was to watch a quality video of a wealthy family's years-long creation of formal terraced gardens. It was overwhelming and made my bed without edging seem even shabbier. I know that in a couple of years, it will be full of fancy iris blooms, but even so, it lacks statuary, fountains and other accouterments. Several leaning peach trees form a background here, more of a distraction than a focal point.

Plus, they don't look like hours were spent sweating over the replanting. Did I ever mention the ice water soaked bandanna for my overheated brow?  It must be wrung out every few minutes when the sweat runs down my glasses. That's the jug on the lawn chair above.

Where the hard work comes in with irises, and a reason that sensible people have nothing to do with them, is replanting the ones that were dug up.

Racing to complete the work before the Autumnal Equinox rains,  I spent hours digging out enough room along the cow fence for five rhizomes. They look miserable, but I have high hopes for them. Many still remain  to be planted. Because the Fancy Bed had many different colors, I fear the best ones are in that batch.

I looked at several videos on iris division and found that the first ones I redid will not bloom again. I tucked a few into the front border and some into the garden flower areas where there is a stone pathway and a birdbath, my attempt at a civilized look.

I lost count at seventy irises into moved to new beds.

Although I don't have formal gardens, I do have Oreo for the obligatory cat. 

We had a few cool days when I dug out my winter duds, but the day after I gave all the plants quantities of water from the cistern, it was 89 degrees again, with a blast furnace wind desiccating  everything. Sigh.

Thank goodness for the roses, which always look better now  than the snide "last rose of summer" slur. This one is Dream Come True.

These are David Austin roses, Heritage. Both bushes have done well here for years. They haven't outgrown their location and only needed minimal care. Unfortunately, our cold dry winters have killed off several other roses. Maybe it was my minimal care,too.

The Morning Glories, being a sister to bindweed, have come back this year. They didn't much like the chain link fence I thought they'd grow up, so this year I stuck some branches and the old TV antenna for them to twine up. Not formal or classy, but they are beautiful. Some are Scarlett O'Hara and La Vie en Rose.

Finally, the rains came last night. My family were only slightly alarmed, after hearing me relate  my iris endeavors for days on end, to hear I ordered three dozen tulips to plant when the soil is amenable. With my bulb auger for my drill, planting them will surely only be the work of an instant.

Rain at Last

The drought was broken by a serious rainstorm. Great gusts of rainy wind descended upon the house. The gutters overflowed, and two inches of rain fell in about a half  an hour. The total was nearly four inches. I can't say how excited and grateful I was. The 55-gallon barrel was connected to the downspout and the hose at the bottom faucet went into the cistern, giving me another 400 gallons to use later. My new pump is finally working, and delivers 720 gallons per hour, almost a fire hose.

Even though the following days were moderately hot and steamy, I rubbed my hands together waiting for my favorite thing, friable soil.

After all that wait, I could dig in the dirt again. The soil on the hillside bed that I started some time ago is the best soil on the place: loam. The tall foxtail weeds were at their biggest and most vulnerable to being uprooted. I attacked the ones that were once on the fence line with my favorite tool, the baby mattox. They had no hard soil to hang onto, and surrendered to my attack.

Stabbing the mattox pointy end into the earth, I knocked off the remaining loose dirt against the blade side. Several big tubs of  the weeds went into the compost pile, which had begun to feel neglected  from only getting smelly garbage dumped on it.

Next, I dug up clumps of overgrown iris plants, from the long bed I planted  years ago on the downhill slope. I have so many now that I only save the best rhizomes to replant. A dozen made the cut.

Of course, I apologized profusely to the irises. They were part of the field planting of fancy irises. That bed is now sadly overgrown, even though I do mow the weeds along the sides.

It turns out that irises need to be divided and replanted at a rate guaranteed to make my head swim, every three years.  I even planted three in the brick bed, where veggies often refuse to grow. The other irises are some bronze beauties originally from the fancy planting, now in their third location. Pay no attention to the weeds, they are soon for the compost cage. The scrawny chard are the result of the drought. They did try.

However, she does go on, the beauty of iris division is it can be done in August, when there is very little to do in the dirt. All it takes is some rain. Right after I got the divided ones into the ground, There fell another inch and a half of gentle rain. They appeared to be cozily settled in to their new bed. They are very forgiving, but I did hear a murmur from one of them that sounded like, "About damn time."

It's Really Dry

It's not just dry, we are experiencing moderate to severe drought in Missouri.

In early spring, I planned to hike up to where I saw a beautiful big wild Bergamot last year. The plan was to dig it up and  move it down to keep company with the other flowers. With this drought, I was glad I hadn't carried out such folly.

It was a wonderful surprise for me to come upon a great patch of those beautiful flowers growing in the field I no longer mow. I believe it was my reward for failing to mess with Nature.

Not only were they fabulous as a great drift of flowers, but they have held well in the vase as cut flowers.

They look like blue fireworks, but are longer-lasting and quieter. Left to their own devices, they survived nicely without extra watering.

Their leaves are aromatic, used to flavor Earl Grey tea. I believe I should have not tried to garden this year and just waited in the hammock until these members of the  Monarda family appeared. They seemed to be asking, "Drought, what drought?"

The Longest Four Days

We have been deceived. On June 21 at 6:07 ET, the Farmer's Almanac said, it was the Summer Solstice. Precisely then.

However, a glance at the Rise and Set for the Sun for north 40 degrees latitude (here) shows four days with the exact same rise and set times. I would suspect a cover-up of some sort, but the Astronomical Applications Department at the U.S. Naval Observatory seems like they would have known or have been able to Google it.

The Solstice means the Sun Stands Still, a great trick.

As a gardener in a hot area, there is such a thing as too much daylight. In winter, I cheered the Sun on every day, marveling at each precious minute of sunlight gained. Now, I think the Sun has worn out its welcome. Lack of rain recently has left the ground hard and dry. The blazing Sun is not helping there, working in cahoots with the strong south wind. When I water the plants, I am dismayed to see the water slipping down big cracks in the ground.

Of course the road dust is choking. I run into the house when I hear big farm vehicles coming this way.  Long cattle trailers, trucks pulling multiple round bale carriers and their ilk create great clouds of dirt as they speed by as if to a fire.

A singular problem I have is the chickens don't get to bed until around nine. I'm always waiting for them to roost. They are in no hurry, meandering down toward the coop and then milling about in the hen run that they were so desperate to get out of earlier.

Back to the Sun Set chart. Even though the Sun rises later now, it has been sneakily setting only  three minutes later in all this while. For ten days following the Solstice, it set only a stingy minute later. The Sun is no doubt beaming at how easily we were fooled by the calendar.

As a amateur astronomer, more darkness with mild nights would be great. Ironically, in winter, we have plenty of night, when it's too blessed cold to go out.

I believe there is actually more afternoon now. It's some trick of the light that allows extra minutes to be sneakily larded in to the afternoon, when no one is noticing. As for me, I'm having a siesta in preparation for the long drawn out end of the day and possible stargazing after eleven p.m..

The hens turned out to be more resourceful than I would have imagined. With the ground hard and dry, they turned a molehill into a dust bath. I believe they scolded me to stop squawking and enjoy the summer.