The Perils of Pol-LEN

Even on a rainy day, springtime is lovely in our back yard.

Today’s rain washed pollen into yellow puddles on the driveway, a clue to the source of my morning headache and clogged ears.

Speaking of headaches, here’s another one that wonder dog Scout called to my attention:

Yes, the little bastard is standing ON the squirrel baffle.

Now THIS is just plain cocky!  The sumbitch is rubbing our noses in the fact that WE’RE the ones who are baffled.

This aggression will not stand, man.

- The Dude, The Big Lebowski

(Also George Bush in 1990, sort of.)

No Pot to P. In

One of the things I refused to leave behind when we sold the beach house-not-on-the-beach was a very large planter that sat in the front yard near the bay window.  I loved that pot.  At first it was planted with red geraniums along with a little spiky plant and a little drooping plant and was quite striking.  Because we weren’t there regularly enough for me to keep it watered steadily, the geraniums soon succumbed and the spiky plant kept spiking and the drooping plant kept drooping and the two have remained in the pot for more than a decade, with no help from me, thank you.

When we moved, the heavy pot arrived here intact, although I’m not sure the movers’ backs were as lucky.  I could hardly wait for warm weather so that I could put something pretty in it and give it a prime location in the garden.

I’ve had flowering plants from the nursery waiting in the wings for a couple of weeks now and I decided that Sunday was the big day. I got out my little trowel.  Hah!  I couldn’t cut through the roots enough to even get past the surface.  ”Root-bound” doesn’t begin to cover it.  Root-bound and determined.

I pulled Dearly Beloved away from all of his new power tools to enlist his help.

What I said was, “Will you get those plants out of that pot so that I can plant something else in it.”

What he heard was, “Get that plant out of there, whatever it takes.” 

He turned the pot on its side and cut the roots that were growing out of the bottom.  He yanked and tugged.  The plant didn’t move.

“Don’t worry about the plants, just don’t break the pot.”  I said nervously.  

He grabbed a shovel.  Not a trowel–a full-size shovel.

“Don’t break the pot,”  I said again.

He gave me an expression just two degrees short of an eye roll and began chopping at the plant with the shovel.

“Don’t break the pot.”

A small chunk of the pot rim flew off.

“DON’T BREAK THE POT!”

The plant suddenly pulled free.

Hey, all was not lost.  I still have this “lovely” plant without so much as a broken root.

Feel free to make an offer.

Splendor in the Grass

Have you ever watched The Pioneer Woman on the Food Channel?

At the beginning of every show, Ree Drummond tells us, “Here’s what’s happening on the ranch today” and it always proves to be something that necessitates the preparation of several fabulous beefy, buttery, or sugary dishes wherein calories or fat content are not a consideration.

Shortly after our youngest daughter got me hooked on the show, I read an article in The NYT about the editor of one of the glossy women’s magazines being so inspired by The Pioneer Woman that she quit her job and moved her family from New York to an English farm in her husband’s family.  I’ve never hankered to live someplace that it’s best not to name the farm critters and I’m perfectly content to answer, “Not much” when anyone asks me what is going on at the Lee house.   But perhaps I should bring out the butter because much has been happening around here in the past two weeks or so.

Dearly Beloved decided, after more than a dozen years of having someone else handle our lawn maintenance, that he wanted to do it himself.   He broke the news to the lawn guy and then the fun was on.  While Ree refers to her husband as “the Marlboro man,” mine is the anti-shopping man, so he planned to do it all without setting foot inside a store.

First he ordered a tiller/edger/whatever.  He was ecstatic when it arrived, and assembled  it that same day so that he could till and over-seed all the thin spots in the lawn.  He wanted to be ready for his next internet purchase, a lawn mower.

We don’t have a large yard, so nothing fancy was needed, but still, I would have thought he’d have looked for something in the key-starter, self-propelled direction.  Oh no, he wanted one that would be “manly exercise.”  Not that I’m opposed to that, but it does mean that if he breaks an ankle or gets the flu or something, the grass will have to wait  because The Little Woman won’t be stepping up to the rope starter pull.

A few days after he ordered it, I said, “There’s a UPS truck.  Maybe it’s your lawnmower.”  

He scoffed.  “That baby won’t be coming in a dinky UPS truck.  It’ll be arriving in a SEMI!“

While waiting, he contented himself with buying a chainsaw and, of course, watching the grass grow.  His manly mower finally arrived, not in an 18-wheeler, but still something larger than a UPS truck.  Oh, the joy…!

Manly machine delivery.

Said joy was short-lived when he began assembling it and found that one of the wheels had been damaged in transit.  He called the factory and they promised to send out a replacement wheel that same day.

That wasn’t fast enough. . .  he got out the duct tape.

The new one arrived Wednesday, but so did the rain.  He hasn’t been able to try it out yet with all four wheels, but he’s handling it well.  All this rain is sure to give him more to mow.

When he started looking into chainsaws, he mentioned that he’d better get a gas-powered mower because sometimes it was unsafe to be climbing trees with an electric one.

I called the tree-triming folks yesterday.  They wanted to know was it an emergency.

Could be.

“The sky is blue so we know where to stop mowing.” – Harold Stone

Christmas Eve

I love Christmas Eve!   Santa brought us a contract on our beach-house-not-on-the-beach, so we’ll be busy packing things up there in January.   For now, we’ll snuggle here in Charlotte by the fire and try to figure out where we’re going to put that stuff.

Miss Piggy and I found a discarded Christmas tree on our walk yesterday, so we’ve decked our boughs of holly with some Fraser fir branches.  It looks and smells quite Christmasy around here.   I’ve been baking, so Miss P has been vacuuming as I worked.

Our holiday spirit is in full bloom.  In fact, Dearly Beloved decided not to even chase the squirrel off the bird feeder when he looked out and saw the little bastard stuffing his cheeks.

What’s NOT in full bloom is my Christmas cactus.   

Not a single flower!  I was going to blame global warming until my Master Gardening friend, Dirtworm,  sent me a photo of hers.  Ms. Over-Achiever somehow managed to have two different colors flowering on one plant.  The Master’s touch:

Dear friends, I hope YOUR holidays are merry and bright!

My Favorite House on the Tour

Well, drat!  Just when I wanted to put oodles of photos in a post so that I could write about the house I loved so on the Historic Homes Tour,  I discovered that I’m almost out of photo storage space on WordPress.  Oh well, this is a house worth blowing it on.

It was built in the late 1800′s as a narrow Victorian with a two-story front porch.  The second owner was a physician who had his office and his home there. The current owner’s family bought it just after World War II.  The additions to the house have all been built seamlessly and beautifully.

The murals in the entry hall depicted scenes of the historic town and one of the parlors held a bookcase on which miniature replicas of some of many of the buildings and homes were displayed.

The sofas and chairs throughout showed off pillows needlepointed by the homeowner.   Family photos, antiques, and heirlooms are mixed with treasures from the homeowner’s  travels around the world.

His talents as a gardener and floral designer were obvious in every room.  The lovely rear gardens were designed so that each window of the home frames a delightful view.  The laundry room was so light and cheery that I think I might even take in laundry if I lived there.    (I’d use the money to pay somebody to dust all the bric-a-brac sitting around!)

Dining room window.

Cheeriest laundry room ever!

Each window framed a lovely view.

The color scheme throughout was primarily blue and white, with pops of red everywhere, along with an occasional dash of yellow.

Keeping room table.

Stunning dining room floral arrangements.

The windows were spotless, sparkling even on the rainy day we visited.  Everything was polished, shined, dusted, vacuumed, and fluffed.  Not so much as a single wilted leaf on any of the floral displays in profusion throughout the house.

Imagination, whimsy, elegance, and comfort throughout…!

Keeping room was an add-on; shares wall with laundry room.

Keeping room ceiling.

One of four “pepper light” trees in keeping room.

Greenhouse window over sink.

Large old range in kitchen.

The staircase in the den was narrow, as was the case in the other houses we toured.  Imagine moving a highboy up those steps!

The master bedroom was off the den,  behind the staircase wall.  The curtains bore creweled flowers on the bottom.  I lost count of all the Christmas trees throughout the house.

Front porch had historic register designation and wooden flag.

Flora and Flushers

Not that I think my friends and family go overboard with their fall decorating, but I do want to share a couple of photos.

My gardening friend claims someone did this when she was out of town.

You probably wouldn’t want to take a book with you when using this one:

“I found out why cats drink out of the toilet. My mother told me it’s because the water is cold in there. And I’m like, how did my mother know that?” - Wendy Liebman

Village Flower Festival

Any time my British friend mentions the Flower Festival her village holds annually in late summer, I beg for photos.  The floral entries were set up in the village’s historic church.

Church of England.

This one is clever, I think.

Help me figure out the theme here:  mice, cat, teapot, packages…?  I know it’s there, but I’m clueless.  Anyone…?

I love the “cream” pouring out onto the berries here.

This floral entry is called “Cream Tea.”  It looks luscious!   Good thing the festival included a bake sale.

Clever placement.  Take a closer look at the admonition on the window.

Flash!

Are you familiar with this flashy flower?

My friend Martha brought this one over to me.  She says it’s a Brugmansia or Datura, sometimes called an Angel’s Trumpet.

To get an idea of the size, here it is beside some more familiar cut flowers.  Its fragrance packs a punch, too.

It does have one shortcoming… you have to look fast!

Rear Window, Canine Style

It isn’t just some of our grandsons who attend Camp Grandad.  There is also a canine unit.  When it gets noisy around here, our bedroom, which is on the backside of the house, is a quiet place to take a breath.  The room is restful, the view serene.

Usually.

Yesterday, Granddog Ivy quite suddenly became intrigued with gardening.  We had no idea what inspired this sudden interest, but she viewed, sniffed, and pawed it from every angle for over two hours.  The CSI Miami team could not have been more thorough.

I took pictures through the bedroom window.  Not wanting to distract her, I didn’t use the flash.

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Suddenly. . . the aha moment!

She nosed down and with a sudden quick motion, flung something up onto the slate path and jumped up after it.

What was it?

Don’t let it be a snake.  PLEASE don’t let it be a snake. . . !

The hunter, relentless in her pursuit, had captured her fast-moving quarry!

I hope the squirrels were watching.  We relocated the turtle outside the fence, but we’re not making any promises to the tree rats.

Asp Me No Questions

When a prospective buyer looked at the beach-house-not-on-the-beach recently, she and the realtor climbed the steps to the raised garden.

Under the shade of the large hickory tree is a slate patio,  one of our favorite spots.  We felt that any lookers would fall under its spell.  Here’s what it looks like on a typical summer  day:

That day…?  Not so much.   The space was already occupied.

The realtor told us that the snake coiled on one of the center stones was the size of her upper arm.   In fact, it was so large and coiled so perfectly, they thought perhaps it was someone’s pet.

What kind of snake was it?  She’d never seen one like that before.  It was beige, she told us.

Beige, like a python.

“The buyer is still interested,” the realtor said.  Still, we haven’t seen or heard from buyer or realtor again.

The good news is that we haven’t seen the snake, either.

I like to keep a bottle of stimulant handy in case I see a snake, which I also keep handy.-W.C. Fields