Fatal Attraction

Taking my pasture hike a couple of days ago, I caught sight of something bright red about ten feet away. Approaching carefully, I could see right away there was nothing alive, but…sadly there had been.


All the male cardinals in the vicinity recently, had been singing their hearts out, trying madly to attract a mate with their color and their voices.. Last year, we’d had what seemed to be an overload of males and a paucity of females. It went without saying that loud singing inevitably had to be a large part of this season’s mating game.


I believe this particular pile of lovely red feathers, was a result of one male’s attracting the wrong kind of attention! Some hungry raptor got a meal.


As I was walking away, a loud muffler on a white convertible ROARED by on the road below me as it sped by, in a blur, going at least 45 mph on what is no more than a 25 mph road. The top was down, the boom box was in full throat, there was no one in the adjacent seat, and it was pretty obvious that the driver was oblivious to any possible oncoming traffic, as he tried to attract attention (a mate?)  by his noise, his speed, and his flashy vehicle. It was a mating dance in full display.


I couldn’t help comparing the pile of feathers to the heedless youthful driver. Unfortunately, in the latter case, the unfolding Fatal Attraction being cultivated by the young man might just take some unwitting traveler coming from the opposite direction into the evolutionary mix.


I truly wish people would not treat one-lane roads as their personal speedways.

Slow down, please….or someone is going to wind up being nothing more than a pile of brightly colored....."feathers!"

Life's Markers

For me, seasons are the things that mark time’s passage rather than a watch.

Since I relinquished my hold on “gainful employment” I’ve learned to tell time by the sun. I'm getting good at it, too!  Surprisingly, I’m usually within ten minutes of the time I estimate. I don’t ever wear a watch anymore, nor do I pay much attention to the date or the day of the week. If you haven’t gone without a watch, try it some day. Out of habit, you might find yourself looking at your naked wrist occasionally, but you’ll also discover a bit of freedom from schedules, which I’ve found to be refreshing.


That sounds a little “elderly” doesn’t it! But out here JOTOLR, it’s easy to become a “shut-in” in the best sense of the word. Our society seems to think that being a “shut-in” is something dangerous, lonely, helpless and dreary. After all, when you're shut in, you don't have access to Walmart.  Something that it needs remediation--at least for the sake of the consumer-based economy, anyway.


I sail on another tack: I love being “shut in.” In fact, most of the time, MM and I try to figure out ways to avoid going out. Whoever gets the short straw gets to go to town!  It goes without saying, we prefer saying home.

In the dusk, as evening approaches, I feel safely wrapped in the muffled silence the big old trees in our yard provide, with only the rustle of the wind in their leaves, the tree frogs declaring territory and the songbirds nesting overhead, talking to one another just before dark..


Life slows down for a “shut-in,” offering time to notice life’s markers along the way. We celebrate the “first” whatever….be it a wild Rhododendron bud, the first strawberry and raspberry, the Hollyhock coming into bloom--the markers of the season every year.


We’ve had two apricots for well over fifteen years, and this year, for the first time, (along with a nectarine as well)…they have fruit! That’s a REAL marker!

Right now, the wild azaleas are in bloom. Soon (if not already) the Mountain Laurel will burst into blossom and cover the hillsides with pink. The seasons and the accompanying markers of them, are the stepping stones of each year


Perhaps best of all….we had our first salad from the garden of the year last night(we eat only in season)—a combination of fresh, harvested-in-the-rain spinach leaves, Black-seeded Simpson lettuce, Misapoona and zippy radishes. With some of my from-the-cow aged (crumbly) cheddar drizzled over the top, along with a few homemade croutons, a hard-cooked egg, and a light topping of a dressing I made with Balsamic vinegar, freshly chopped garlic and some lightly applied homegrown basil….it was a feast. MM and I couldn’t stop crowing about how good it was.

Another marker along the pathway of the year and more to come!

We'll Meet Under the Town Clock

“What is the history of the clock?” I asked of the distinguished-looking gentleman in the crisp suit. I judged him to be at least close to the level of octogenarian, and was expecting a discourse on the timepiece that would…well… reach back in time…


I was talking to Bank of Monroe president and CEO, Ralph Mann, a man, who, as I understand it, still shows up for work every day.


“It came from Boston via Ohio,” he said.


I’m expecting the tale of the clock to unfold, and involve, perhaps, a mule over many miles, of difficult terrain, taking weeks, maybe a little rain, sleet, snow or wind thrown in for good measure…? Wrong!


“I’d always wanted an outside clock in front of the bank." he said. “In times past, when a meeting was to take place, the participants always declared, ‘We’ll meet under the Town Clock’. So I got a town clock.”


“How old is the clock?” I asked reverentially…

“Oh, maybe ten years…?”


O.K. So it’s not old. In fact, it’s rather new! Nonetheless, it’s a beautiful clock. According to Mann, and despite its classic appearance, it’s completely automatic. It even resets itself for daylight savings time without anyone’s having to touch a single dial. It keeps time flawlessly and adds its own touch of character to this sweet little country village.


In my mind, the clock seems perfectly emblematic of the tiny town of Union, the county seat of Monroe County, not far from where we live, JOTOLR. To me, it is reflective of the way things “used to be.” The Bank of Monroe opened for business on January 28, 1904. Obviously, it’s weathered a lot of storms through the years. Today, the clock -–modern as it is—stands in front of a venerable institution which has been around a long time, and it reinforces the sturdy values, the spirit of community, and deep-in-the-land roots that go back over a century.

You Picked a Fine Time to Leave Me, Lucille...

"…with four hungry children and a crop in the field!" Thank you, Kenny Rogers (and MM) for the title of this post!


Yesterday as I was weeding the beet row (an arduous task that bends my back to the task—which I call tweezer weeding)..I heard overhead the liquid trilling of what I knew to be a tree swallow. Having accepted the fact that we’d not deployed the Purple Martin house at the correct time, and had gotten a pair of tree swallows to reside in our PM house, instead, I was good with that. The tree swallows are beautiful and delightful to watch, even though I would have preferred to lease the birdhouse to the four Purple Martins that arrived later and flew over us with great fanfare, and that would have occupied the apartment building in growing numbers as they annually returned to our garden.


I learned too late that I should not have put up the Purple Martin house until one month AFTER I’d seen the first Purple Martin pair. That’s because the Martins that arrive first (from their long migration) are the previous year’s nesters, making that group return to the nesting cavity they used last year. On the other hand, it is the youngest males that will be attracted to new housing, who will begin their own colony and be most likely to nest in a new location.


Purple Martins ONLY nest in human-made facilities. Over the years, they have apparently (largely) lost their ability to nest in tree cavities. After many generations they have come to depend upon human intervention as a key to propogation. But there is no shortage of humans willing to fill that need. Being a “landlord” for Purple Martins, and growing colonies of these pest-eating, beautiful birds, is a very popular hobby across the U. S.


Despite the fact that Purple Martins prefer a colony of neighbors for nesting, they do prefer small divisions between their town houses, and are quite fussy about their dimensional choices in house compartments. A lot of ready-to-nest houses sold have incorrect dimensions which can result in year after year of rejection by the PM's, should the prospective landlord put up a Martin house that is not properly designed. The dimensions for each cubicle –specifically for Purple Martins—should be 6 inches wide, by 12 inches deep, by 6 inches long. (Our current house is the wrong size.)  Many plans design more for the convenience of the lumber/plastic requirements rather than the needs of the bird. If the birdbox isn’t deep enough, owls will reach in and grab nestlings. And, PM's feel cramped in 6X6X6 apartments.  They want more space.  Most purchased houses are simply wrong-sized. You also have to watch out for snakes (check out Beth’s comment on my Friday post). Several “free” plans available on the Internet are simply not suited for Purple Martins (despite being advertised as such) and the unwary hopeful landlord will put up purchased housing, only to be disappointed by other species taking over. (Such as has happened to us.) So, be careful and proceed knowledgably. Don't get suckered into buying a dud of a house! 

Of course, on the Internet, there are all kinds of choices. You can purchase a ready made Purple Martin house at ONLY $400+ (by golly it had better be “ready made” at that price! How about fifteen houses for that amount??!!) There are other houses less pricey, but most without adequate dimensions for the nesting cavity. Then, once you have a house, you need a pole that can raise and lower the house so it can be cleaned out of nests from the previous nesting season. If you're handy with woodworking, the best option is to build your own.


I guess my overall message here is that if you want to cultivate Purple Martins, (and there are plenty of reasons why you'd want to, as I do) there’s a lot more than meets the eye, than just putting up a house. If you’re contemplating erecting a PM house, read up on what these lovely birds require before spending a lot of money on facilities that are destined to be empty or worse, become nesting holes for starlings, English sparrows, and….tree swallows.  Timing and nest dimensions, height...are all important considerations.  We're going to plan a year ahead and try again next May, having written down the arrival time, this year of the PM's.


Now, what about Lucille? Well…..the warbly chirping was coming from the house. Looking carefully, upward, I saw this male (as you see in the photo) with head poking out of the hole. He kept up a steady cadence of rather demanding chirps. I was just about to take a second (camera) shot of him, when “Lucille” arrived, offered the male a couple of sharp squeaks, told him she was back and to get out. At which point, he flew out and she flew in. He headed over to the neighbors, and I never saw the female (dark brown) again. I would say that she had gone for water and a quick break, (I’ll have to put up a bird bath in the veggie garden this week) while he was assigned the task of looking after the eggs. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t sat on the first egg, but rather –in a bit of a panic--clung to the threshold the whole time, crying for….Lucille. I believe I’ll name them Lucille and Kenny. Kenny, I think, is a new dad.  And though they aren’t Purple Martins, they are a winsome couple with perhaps (forgive my anthropomorphizing) similar spats as humans have. Whose turn is it now to look after the kids out here JOTOLR?

Gratefully Yours

Today is gratitude day. So many of you have taken time from your busy lives to comment, and I am always nurtured by the generosity and kindness of your sharing. In two words…thank you!


Ruta -- Ruta's Ramblings– I am following your cement work avidly! And your beautiful spring parallels ours. (Noting your photo yesterday of the currants, which I could have taken off our front porch—having the same currants here as you have!  Do you make jam/jelly with them?) Your photos are so lovely, Ruta! Lately your pond shot particularly caught my eye. We have somehow lost our waterlillies and will have to add some back. It has been such an enriching experience, corresponding with you, dear lady, as we share our respective environments—yours in the UK, mine here in the U. S.. Thank you for your dedication and commentary. (and your dedicated work on your lovely garden). I so enjoy you!


Marlene-- Stitchin' By The Lake thank you so much for your compliments and also for sharing your herb garden with us this past week. For years, I have enjoyed Rodale’s Illustrated Encyclopedia of Herbs, available for around $16 from Amazon or even cheaper from other vendors listed on Amazon. What I’ve always liked about this book is that there are hundreds of ideas (with directions for each project) of what to do with herbs, as well as growing instructions, different species, how to make tinctures, etc. The history all by itself (included with each herb) is fascinating! I highly recommend the book. It’s timeless, too. Thank you again for your sweet commentaries! I love your baby birds photos!

Barbara—Folkways Notebook How I love your Folkways Notebook blog, Barbara. I think you enjoy putting it together, just as much as we enjoy reading and viewing it! I picture your driving along, and stopping JOTOLR, to explore your subject and, perhaps, grab an interview or two! How much fun you must have doing this! And, I know exactly what you mean about missing those ziss-boom-bah thunderstorms! It was one of the (many) things I welcomed when we returned from three years in Alaska! And your generous comments on my blog are so lovely and ratifying. Thank you, both for your “work” in putting the blog together, and for your comments on mine.!


Beth—Thank you for your oh-so-sweet words, too! I know you, like me, like Barbara, live in the hardwood forest area of the East, so your observations parallel ours. I enjoyed your comment on black snakes! As I mentioned in my post, I am not a “snake-person” but respect what these animals do. Live and let live! It’s a heart-stopper, though, when you’re walking along and nearly step on one! Same with the dogs. Through their eyes, I can see a snake from miles away! (have you ever watched a dog –from a distance—encountering a snake? Their reaction is just about like mine! Instant elevation!) Thank you much for all your kind words!


Julia—Island Home What a pleasure to have an online friend in New Zealand. Your blog is “simply beautiful.” You share with us a vision of domestic harmony and attention to details we might otherwise overlook. Your choice of topics is always enticing and I feel as though I have stumbled on a treasure hunt. And the scenes from your island reverie reach across the globe and brighten our days. I’m so glad to have found you! Thank you for your comments and your friendship!


Carla--Sacred Witness What a delightful and enriching blog you have, Carla.  It goes without saying, your photos are incredible, and your message always resonates.  Today, when I began reading your blog, I said to myself,(before I finished it)  "that's got to be John Muir."  (Smiling, here...) So glad you've made it safely to your new home, and thank you for your love and also for your comments.  Finally, thank you for your bridge to our inner selves.

Elora—A Canadian in Italy My Italian namesake, it is enriching to have a friend in Italy, too. It seems I am bounded by the geography I seem to love. I wonder if it’s by accident or by design. I feel through these online friendships that I am “anchored” to chosen parts of the world, though I don’t recall searching them out. Perhaps you have found me! Italy, NZ, Devon, Canada….Hmmmmm. I love the “rootedness” of all these connections outside the boundaries of my own country. Thank you, dear girl, for “adopting” me! (or did I adopt --kidnap?--you???) I know you are busily preparing for the addition of a “Mrs.” in front of your name, soon approaching! So, the time you’ve taken to comment is doubly appreciated, knowing you’re busy as can be! Thank you! Love you much!

Linda, I hope you’ve solved the “wabbit” problem! Thank you for sending me a note. I do enjoy hearing from you.


Finally…summer has arrived and we’re all busy, if not gardening, than in welcoming friends and relatives to our “homeplaces.” The charm of summer, I believe, is that it is the “open door” season: whether it’s to let in the cool of the morning or to beckon our loved ones return. So, it’s time to enjoy this particularly loving time of year! I send you my love, my friendship and my gratitude throughout the next several months. Let’s talk along the way! (And BTW, many of us seem to be trying to pare off a few pounds--I've dumped 13 so far--yea!  So, here's wishing everyone who has undertaken that arduous task, success in that department, too!  Ruta's got me beat so far; same with Marlene!  But I've re-doubled my efforts to keep inching down!

I'll leave you with last evening's sunset...

Have a lovely weekend everyone!  See you Monday!

  

A Night of Fireworks

Yesterday was one of those cloudy, warmish days that promises much-needed rain and finally delivers. For the past couple of weeks, we’ve been threatened with deluges and, since we’ve been rain-poor, have pined for the forecasts to materialize. We’ve gotten none. And the old adage, “Don’t wish for anything too hard, you may get it…” was always looming. But finally, we wished and we got!


Around 9:00 p.m. the thunder began in the distance.  We'd been watching a PBS program on the artist Kent Rockwell, but decided, instead, to turn the TV off and watch the drama unfolding in the north. I wanted to go outside to try to grab some lightning shots, but the rain had begun in earnest, and with no underwater housing for my camera, I had to be content with simply enjoying the show. No guilt! Just inspired viewing!


And what a show it was!  Rain, now bolstered with a few stronger gusts, lashed the window.  Lightning took jagged paths horizontally as it skipped across the mountain north of us. The thunder absolutely roared. It was the deep-in-the-bowels-of-the-earth kind of thunder that sounds like it’s emanating from a huge pipe, amplifying the growl by a thousand percent and sounding like a wildly angry lion.


With the lights out, there was still constant daylight, with each flash bounding over the yard and pasture as if some light-eating beast were grabbing the scene and consuming it. This was waaaay better than TV! This was high drama.


When we get one of these storms, I mentally review the situations of all our animals: the cows have safe places they can go; the Great Pyrenees –even though he has a very safe place in the barn, is a pussycat in the face of thunder, and will probably be in the garden trying to get as close to MM as possible—lap preferred; the Border Collies each have a good house. The chickens are safe in their coop. The new heifer-mother has a shelter and with her calf will be safe….and we will be safe, in the shelter of this sturdy, built-by-hand-by-MM house.


There was very little wind. Mainly fireworks and loud noises. BLAM! GROWL! SMACK! BLAM!


And this morning? It’s all quiet. Fog and mist are rising and the sun is poking through, reassuring us that all is well.

And indeed it is: ONE FULL INCH of rain has quenched the thirst of the ground!

An Old Homeplace

Our original farm was composed of 700 acres. It wasn’t “a” farm, but rather 15 small farms that had been gathered over the years by a land baron, under one umbrella, into a single unit of ownership. Our farm today has many fewer acres but retains remnants of the smaller homesteads, many of which were created during the early history of the United States.


Our deed, for example, goes back to the Revolutionary War. I came here from the Pacific Northwest --a “new” land by comparison to this relatively “ancient” ground. The mountains in Washington State are positively youthful compared to the Appalachians.


All throughout these hills and hollers, there are the artifacts of previous owners’ lives, scattered across the land. Here, we have several “middens” where old china, old bottles, old farm machinery –the historical detritus of the homesteading life—still poke through the leaf litter and invite yet another sort-through by the current owner! Our picnic shelter is built on the hand-cut native stone foundation of the old house which was torn down long before we arrived. The stairs to that home, also native stone and hand cut, are with us, still, intact, but leading nowhere.


But most of the markers of previous occupations here are floral. I, myself, have gathered flower starts from these places on the farm where blooms are the only visible sign of long-ago habitation. There’s the odd house foundation, the remnants of a springhouse, a single gravestone…but mainly it’s the flowers, planted beside a doorway, by some dear lady, who looked forward each spring, to seeing the flowers bloom and spread. The flowers gave comfort and a sense of permanence, stability, to families. The flowers I’ve gathered now give that same sense of permanence to MM and me.

Among these are Irises—the pale lavender blue ones (not the newer hybrids); red climber roses which bloom with such profusion and abandon; Trumpet Vine--an annual orange surprise-- which every year climbs the Bartlett pear tree, itself a lasting legacy of another time when folks planted fruit trees as part of what they wanted in order to make their residence bountiful (which we have done as well). Of course, there are the daffodils, but these are the oh-so-fragrant, double daffies —not the anemic, scents-less variety found in grocery store refrigerators. There is a small flower we call an Eidelweiss, along with Narcissus, Dame’s Rocket, English Ivy, Autumn Joy sedum, Peonies, and, of course, apple trees, peach trees and pear trees that all bloom every year without a trace of a house nearby and--perhaps more to the point--without a trace of nurturing from anyone.

It’s fun when we’re gathering firewood on the farm in the fall to find the tiny apples that cling to a old gnarly tree, kissed by the frost, and sweet as sugar. I know that someone long ago lived not far away from that tree, and looked forward to the bounty it shared with the family, so many years ago.


It is the Iris, though, that I particularly favor. It pops up every-where, every spring resilient, perennial. It’s faded lavender-blue takes the light and makes jewelry of it. Change the angle a bit and the flower becomes a sunrise. How heartening, how restorative, reassuring—especially after a winter such as we have just passed through—to welcome these marks of independence, rebirth and continuity!