Gardening, Anyone?

When your rake is rusty and a stray vine is using the handle as a trellis, it's hard to convince anyone that you're a gardener.  I am not a gardener.  Although I have a great appreciation for green growing things, I am more drawn to animal husbandry than to gardening. 

My interest in gardening usually comes in spurts in the spring and fizzles out when the summer heat arrives.  This year I didn't even experience the spring spurt.  The heat has set in now, so the prospects for serious gardening are slim until things cool off in the fall. 

In the relatively cool morning hours this week, I have made a stab at gardening.  In other words, I've been removing dead plants and healthy weeds from pots on the deck - the pots I mentioned in my last post. 

The moss roses have already put out a beautiful yellow bloom.  They are looking very perky this morning after the water I gave them yesterday.  I'm always amazed at what water will do for a plant!  That in itself proves that I'm no gardener.  A true gardener is never surprised at what water can do. 

I resisted the urge to buy very many plants this spring, knowing that my life was too hectic to even pretend to care for them.  I did buy some Blue Daze plants.  I'm a big fan of Blue Daze.  This is no sissy plant!  It bears neglect like a real trooper.  When it doesn't get the miraculous H2O, its little leaves may curl up and wither a bit - but it doesn't throw in the towel and die like so many other plants.  No, indeed!  When it finally gets some water, it bounces right back and doesn't seem to hold a grudge.

It even bounces back after a light freeze in the winter.  Although it's an annual, I've had Blue Daze to come back three years in a row - in spite of me!  Even though we had several hard freezes last winter, one of the three plants in the pots at my front door has reappeared.  I removed the dead bodies from the other two pots and put in the new plants. 

I cut the dead heads off the miniature rose on the deck yesterday morning.  I noticed spider webs and tiny crawly things on the leaves so I squirted it with some insecticide that's supposed to kill all the critters that like to torment roses.  I feel sorry for roses.  It seems to me that while you are in the very act of planting a rose, there are hundreds of insects watching.  As soon as you turn your back, they pounce on the poor defenseless rose bush.

My useful knowledge about roses would fit in a thimble with room left over.  Two or three years ago I decided I'd like to plant a rose that would trail along the picket fence that surrounds our back yard.  I bought a climber called "Don Juan."  The label said it would produce fragrant red roses.  Just what I wanted!  

Jerry planted this rose for me, right where I told him to, by the fence.  I had the vague notion that you have to "train" roses, so I set out to train Don Juan to grow horizontally along the fence.  But Don has proved to be contrary.  I want him to grow horizontally, and he's determinded to grow vertically. 

As usual, the problem is my ignorance.  After doing some after-the-fact research, I see that what I really wanted was a rambling rose, not a climbing rose.  Did you know there's a difference?  I didn't.  According to the rose experts who write articles for gardening websites, it's easy to tell them apart.  A rambler's leaves are in groups of seven while a climber's leaves are in groups of five.  Who knew?

So now - what am I going to do with Don Juan?  Like Jack's beanstalk, Don is determined to reach the sky and is never going to trail along our picket fence.

Coming Out of the Doldrums

Sometimes you can be in the doldrums so long that you don't even notice when the wind picks up and it's time to hoist the sails.  This morning I think I feel a little wind, and I'm putting the sails out - figuratively, of course. 

Summer is here, and the sights and sounds are unmistakeable.  The early morning sun dances on the little ripples in the bayou.  The horses' coats are shiny and sleek.  The table in the tack room is full of tomatoes from Jerry's garden.  The clack-clack of the big fan in the barn aisle, the swish of the sprinklers in the pasture, and the hum of the tractor are all signs of summer.

My breakfast this morning was red grapes and saltine crackers, eaten out in the pasture on the tractor.  A big part of horse-keeping on a two acre hobby farm is the moving of manure.  If your horses are running free on twenty acres, picking up manure is not an issue; but in a small pasture, you can't afford to let too much manure accumulate and kill what little grass you've got.  I drive the tractor while Jerry scoops poop into the bucket.  When the bucket is full, it's lifted up and emptied over the fence on the midden heap where it decomposes and makes good fertilizer.  If you're a persnickety city type, the idea of eating breakfast while a manure-moving operation is going on probably doesn't sound appealing.  What can I say?  There's a wide gulf between city people and farm people. 

The flower pots on our deck are a sad sight.  I have to walk across the deck when I go to the barn, and the sight of pots of dead plants and healthy weeds has been nagging at me for quite a while.  I noticed the other day that our two ferns appear to be dead, but two different varieties of moss roses are springing up in the fern pots.  Where in the world did they come from?  It's been several years since I cultivated moss roses.   Oh well, I won't question a nice surprise like this.  I pulled the few stray weeds growing with the moss roses and loosened the dirt with a hand spade. I watered these little volunteers and look forward to their colorful blooms.

I learned about a new pen as I was browsing around on the Fountain Pen Network yesterday - Noodler's flex fountain pen.  I love pens with flexible nibs.  If you press hard, you get a thick line.  If you let up on the pressure, you get a thin line.  All this variation in thickness and thinness makes for very attractive handwriting.  But some flex nibs are troublesome.  I once paid over $100 for a pen with a 14k gold semi-flex nib.  It wasn't the pen for me, and I ended up selling it to someone who appreciated it more than I did.  Noodler's flex pen has a steel nib and is only $14.00.  Needless to say, I've ordered one and it should arrive by the end of the week. 

While googling for reviews of Noodler's flex pen, I was led to  a fantastic blog - "Painted Thoughts," the creation of an artist named Laure Ferlita.  All her blog posts include sketches or watercolors.  Check it out here:  www.paintedthoughtsblog.blogspot.com

The afternoon is flying by - I'm off to write a letter!

Scattered Thoughts

I keep waiting to collect my thoughts and make a profound blog post about a single deep subject.  It appears that it's not going to happen any time soon so here are my scattered thoughts.

There are lots of little twists and turns to grief.  When you lose someone you love, you grieve over the loss; but you grieve over other things, too.  I miss my father, but I also miss my position as a member of the middle generation in our family.  Now that both my parents are gone, I'm no longer the middle generation - I'm one of the old folks.  It's a sobering fact.

We are almost back to normal after lightning eliminated several pieces of technology a little over a week ago.  We had to replace our modem, router, and a printer that was barely a year old.  We also had to get Cox to come and replace some bad wiring.  Everything is back to working like it's supposed to, and we are back to our nerdy pursuits.

There's been quite a bit of traffic - coming and going - in my new Addis post office box.  I received a beautiful square post card from Spain with a wax seal that arrived in perfect condition all the way from the Old World!  I've been sending post cards made from photos that Jerry and I have taken.  I received an e-mail from a homeschooling family in Pennsylvania, asking if I'd like to exchange post cards.  They think sending and receiving post cards is a good way to learn about other places - and they are so right! 

I've joined the Letter Writers Alliance, and I'm anxiously awaiting my membership packet.  It's good to know that there are lots of people in the world who still like to write letters.  Check out the Letter Writers Alliance website here: http://16sparrows.typepad.com/letterwritersalliance/

I've just got back to watching the news and listening to talk radio after several weeks of being away from these things.  I tuned in just in time for the Anthony Weiner shinanigans.  I wish male politicians would behave themselves.  They are prompting some feminists to make the outrageous claim that women in high places don't misbehave.

I'm reading Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe for the first time.  When I was very young I got the idea that this was a dull book, and so I didn't even consider reading it.  But it's summer time, and I'm drawn to seagoing novels in the summer.  Robinson Crusoe popped up on a reading website that gives a list of nautical novels.  I'm happy to report that it's far from dull. 

Old Soldiers Never Die . . .

Silas Richard Barker
1916 - 2011


       
          
               
         My father passed away on May 5, 2011, at the good age of 94.  He would have been 95 on May 15th.  For many years my Wednesdays were spent visiting him at the retirement home in Baton Rouge where he had lived - off and on - for about fifteen years. 

 He was a restless soul in many ways.  He moved in and out of the retirement home several times during those fifteen years.  Maybe he just wanted a change of scenery - but he always returned and that's where he spent his last days.  He wanted to be buried in Emory, Virginia, beside my mother so we made arrangements for his body to be flown there.

As long as I'm alive, I don't plan to get in an airplane so we made our plans to make the long trek by car.  I felt like I had a little bit in common with the Joseph of the Old Testament who told Pharaoh, "Now let me go and bury my father; then I will return." (Genesis 50:5)  I have buried my father in Virginia and returned to Louisiana, and life goes on.  I miss him and will, no doubt, miss him even more in days to come - especially on Wednesdays.  But I'm grateful for his good long life and that he was up and about, in reasonably good health, until the last few weeks. 

He served as a 1st Lieutenant in the United States Army during World War II.  He was wounded in the Philippines and received a Purple Heart.  There was an Honor Guard at the cemetery.  As the three rifle volleys sounded, I thought of that old saying, "Old soldiers never die, they just fade away."  Godspeed, Daddy.

A Dispatch from the Barn

Whatcha writin'?

I don't know exactly when the swallows return to Capistrano, but they have returned to the barn at Bywater Farm. I'm convinced that it's the same Sam and Sally Swallow who took up residence here last spring. In fact, they've set up housekeeping in the same nest they built last year on a rafter over the barn aisle. They are not at all bothered by our presence. They circle and swoop and flit over our heads as if they own the place.

They're sprucing up the nest. When you've been gone from your summer place all winter, I guess things get a bit untidy. They've been shopping for building material - just as they did last year - in the hay stall. They do a lot of chattering to each other. I chat with them and their twittering responses sound sensible enough - even if they are speaking a different language.

I'm writing this in my barn "office." It's nothing fancy - just Jerry's old red desk chair and an old folding table in front of the window in the tack room. If the furniture is old and outdated, my writing equipment is the latest thing. I'm typing on my nifty Apple wireless keyboard and watching the text appear on my iPad in the "Pages" app.

The tack room window is open and there's a nice little breeze. The horses are grazing just outside the window. In fact, Rocky has already visited me by sticking his nose through the open window. He's not fooling me though. His visit is not as much affection for me as it is curiosity about what's going on in the tack room which happens to be where his feed is kept. Tesoro stopped by, too - and when Fay came, she lingered long enough for me to take her picture.

Nautical Notes

We sold our party barge yesterday, ending a very brief nautical adventure. I have a vivid imagination, and sometimes it gets me in trouble. I imagined that having a party barge would be great fun since Bayou Plaquemine runs right behind our house. So we bought a used party barge, complete with a trailer and an aging motor.  We had the motor tuned up.  The seats were in terrible condition. We ordered new seats and had some custom upholstery done. We put new carpet on the floor. I say "we," but it was Jerry who did all the renovating work. I was chief cheerleader, gopher, and bill payer.

When it was finished, I thought it was a thing of beauty. And I loved cruising the bayou on it. I hate a little boat that requires you to sit still to keep from tipping it over. A pontoon barge is stable, allowing you to get up and walk around on it. We have a dock on the bayou, and I thought we would be able to keep the barge in the water, next to the dock. It would be really handy to jump in and go cruising on the spur of the moment.

Now I'll get to the reality part of this story. Outboard motors don't get very good gas mileage. Gasoline almost reached $4.00 a gallon the first summer we used the barge. It seemed like every little outing we took up or down the bayou - barely out of sight of the house - cost us at least $25.00.

Then we started to realize that this nautical toy wasn't going to be a thing of beauty long if it stayed in the water. Pretty soon the new white vinyl seats were beginning to grow greenish mold. The pontoons collected some kind of scummy film. So we took it out of the water. But we could see that it wasn't going to fare much better sitting on the trailer in the yard. If the trees weren't raining leaves down on it, the sun was baking it. We decided the barge would just have to be kept in the barn - not so handy for spur of the moment trips.

Even in the barn with plastic sheets covering it, the darn thing wouldn't stay clean. A barn is built for horses and people, not boats. In the summer the barn doors have to be open for ventilation so - like most barns - our barn is a dusty place. And the barge seemed to be a dust magnet.

We had to admit we were in a nautical nightmare when we woke up one day and realized that we were paying someone to maintain a barge that we weren't using. Why weren't we using it? Because - since it wasn't in the water - it couldn't be taken out on the "spur of the moment." Driving to the nearest boat landing and getting it launched was a project that we never seemed to have time for. Maybe we would have had time if we had sold the horses, given up all our other hobbies, and devoted ourselves to the party barge.

Trying to keep the barge was a nightmare, but getting rid of it wasn't a piece of cake either. It took us a year to sell it. I hate having something for sale. You spend a lot of time answering phone calls and waiting for people who say they're coming and often never show up. If the item doesn't get sold right away, all your friends start offering their opinions as to why it's not selling. I heard a lot about how old and outdated the motor on the party barge was - something about two strokes vs. four strokes - or was it one stroke vs. three?   Even though the motor worked, some of our friends couldn't believe that anybody would ever buy the barge with that motor on it. I thought the renovated barge and trailer - without the motor - were worth what we were asking, which wasn't much.

The party barge is gone now, and I was never so glad to see something go. We didn't make a profit. In fact, I'm not sure we broke even.  Jerry certainly didn't get any compensation for all his hard work. I think the people who bought it got a good deal. I hope they enjoy it. And I hope it's their only hobby.

This and That

The words "cold" and "spring" are seldom spoken in the same sentence in Louisiana.  Our springs usually start warm and end in blazing heat.  But this morning the temperature was 47 degrees, and I couldn't resist firing up the gas logs in the kitchen. 

I got a notice from the post office today informing me that my post office box rent is about to go up.  As far as I'm concerned, I'm already paying far too much for an unfurnished box with no curtains, carpet, or furniture to make my letters and post cards comfortable while they wait for me to pick them up. 

I'll never understand why the post office will deliver letters to the box on the road in front of my house for nothing, but they charge me an arm and leg if I go to the post office and pick up my own mail.   Oh well, since when can you expect logic from a government agency? 

A little research on the postal service website showed me that I can rent a post office box in the neighboring village for a third of the cost of the one I'm renting in my home town.  It would be interesting to know what twisted logic accounts for this diffence in box rent, but I'm not even going to ask about it.  Whenever I ask a question at the post office, the answer usually gives me a headache.  Anyway - since I pass through the neighboring village often on my way to Baton Rouge, I decided to drive there this morning and rent one of their inexpensive boxes.  The amenities are all the same.  If you'd like to be part of the box-warming, drop me a line at P. O. Box 836, Addis, LA 70710.

I groomed the horses yesterday.  I especially enjoy spring grooming when they're losing all the winter hair.  They like being groomed.  I guess it feels good to have all the loose hair roll off in big wads.  Right now they have that mangy-dog-look because in some places the winter hair is still hanging on while it has come completely off in other places.  I guess that's why some people keep the winter hair shaved off.  But then if the weather gets too cold, you have to keep a blanket on the horse.  All that sounds like a lot of trouble, not to mention expense - horse blankets aren't cheap.  So we let nature take its course around here.  In another week or two the winter hair will be all gone and they'll have their satiny summer coats.

Yesterday I spent a ridiculous amount of time on the telephone, making arrangements for my second knee surgery.  It's scheduled for the end of this month.  Since the knee surgery I had last August was a roaring success, I'm not too apprehensive about this surgery.  Still, I'm glad I'm not a centipede with multiple knees.

A few weeks ago I bought a Kindle.  This is a big step for a book lover.  Wonder how long I'll feel like a traitor?  Did our ancestors feel like traitors when they switched from scroll to codex?  I don't know.  What I do know is that - sooner or later - space becomes an issue for most book lovers.  It has certainly become an issue at my abode.  That's what makes the Kindle so attractive.  It will hold about 3,500 books!  It's less tiring in your hands than a big thick book.  With a few finger taps you can make the font as big as you'd like.  You can highlight passages and make notes right there on the Kindle.  And you can read outdoors without any annoying glare.  What's not to love? 

I learned to be an afternoon napper when I was a piano teacher.  I always napped from about 2:00 to 3:00 so that I'd be rested when my first student arrived at 3:30.  Since I retired I've continued the afternoon siesta, but it's not as satisfying as it used to be.  I wonder why?  These days I usually get up from a nap feeling worse, not better.  Jerry says it's because an hour nap is too long.  He's a 20 minute power napper.  Maybe I'll give power napping a try.