Last Cull of the Season

Greens ready for the freezer.

It was Thanksgiving Day and I hadn’t paid much attention to the forecast until that afternoon. “Oh, no!  A hard freeze tonight!” I exclaimed, aghast. “I need to pull in the greens!” Suddenly, my plans for the remainder of the holiday – to spend thankful, together-time with my sweetheart inside our warm, cozy home - were displaced by the sudden need to cull the last of the produce for the season.

It happens this way every year – a sudden moment of panic occurs, forestalled by the glorious and pleasant autumn days, when autumn crisply turns to winter, regardless of the date on the calendar.

I warmed myself with a cup of hot coffee, donned layers of clothing and an extra waterproof jacket, and ventured outside into the icy, drizzling rain. “I should’ve done this sooner,” I muttered, frustrated with the new agenda.

Chaotic congregations of black birds thronged overhead, flocking in waves towards treetops south of our property.  They squawked wildly.  “It’s gonna get cold tonight! It’s gonna get cold!” they seemed to cry as they jostled for favored roosting positions.

I approached the tall, sturdy Brussels sprout plants first and grasped the heavy leaves, hurriedly snapping them off by the handful with sharp, downward yanks.  There was a bumper crop of the leaves this year, and their removal revealed thick stalks densely studded with the toothsome, pearly globes.  “WOW - More than I thought!” I exclaimed, swiftly severing the stalks at the base.

I sped over to the bed of mustard greens, racing to gather a final crop before my fingers froze, and caught sight of the chard whose leaves had grown the full length of my arm.  “MY – that will make a good meal or two!” I exclaimed as I tore the rumpled leaves from the plant.

I collected a last bag of lettuce for early winter salads and then spied feathery greens poking through the leaf mulch in the pole bean row.  “Carrots?” I surmised.  “I thought they never grew,” I puzzled, recalling the drought-ridden spring when I first planted the seeds.  I pulled the delicate fronds and bright orange giants sprang from the ground. They were not shaped like ordinary carrots either, but were thick-figured creations with arms and legs like they’d created quite a life for themselves during the half-year they spent in the ground!

For two full hours I pulled, picked and packed the final harvest of the season, finding far more bounty than I had ever imagined. Bags and buckets of produce crowded the counters and floor of our tiny kitchen, and then I worked long into the night processing all the intake. In the wee hours of the morning I finally lumbered into bed, heavy with fatigue from the last cull of the season, but I couldn’t imagine being more grateful.

The Happy Patch

Daffodils asleep.

I never really PLAN on planting spring bulbs. Instead, it’s generally a spontaneous act instigated by a walk through the local hardware store en route to something entirely different. Then I see them - bins of bulbs reduced to half price, and I succumb every time. It’s usually after Thanksgiving when this occurs and snow is in the forecast, and I anxiously wonder whether the ground is too cold already for planting anything.

 “I’ll need something to perk me up in the springtime,” I said to myself recently while sorting through  an assortment of daffodil bulbs. The sun is awfully shy in the late of winter in central Ohio, preferring instead to huddle behind an interminable cover of cloud for days on end. It affects me badly when I miss the golden rays for too long, and I often succumb to a late winter malaise.

“I need a patch I can see from my window,” I continued, as I arrived home, bulbs in hand, and scanned the yard for a place to plant them. We do have spring flowers in our yard, but they are meant for the neighbors and passers-by, as they grow within feet of our house and cannot be seen from my own office window.

But the view of the yard from my window is rather limited, and I struggled to find a location for a new patch of flowers. The roots of the tree dominating the yard would not allow a cluster of daffodils nearby. And digging in a new bed along the walkway was too much work, and besides - they’d look too formal lined up along its edge. The only other space available was smack-dab in the center of the lawn, which didn’t exactly work aesthetically.

“Do you mind if I plant them in the middle of the yard?” I asked my partner hesitantly. “Of course not. Plant them anywhere you want!” she answered enthusiastically. Aesthetics rarely concern her, and sometimes that’s a helpful thing!

I grabbed a shovel from the garage and proceeded to dig a circular hole in the middle of the lawn and within line sight of my office window. “I’ll call it The Happy Patch,” I said to myself, pressing the bulbs into the chilly earth.

And that’s what it will be. One morning in the late and gray of winter I’ll peer from my window and there they’ll be – bright yellow beacons bursting gaily onto the weary landscape. I’ll smile, and together we’ll swing and sway in the breezy spring and dance the sun to life again!

Autumn Potpourri

What a stunning potpourri is autumn, with leaves the colors of pumpkins and harvest aromas filling the air. There are hayrides and scarecrows and jack-o-lanterns peering from porches. The garden, full with offerings of the later season, brings pilings of squash, potatoes, and frost-sweetened greens. The last of the herbs are collected, a pie is baked to warm up the kitchen, and tomatoes are pulled from the plants while green.

I love autumn, with leaves raked in piles large enough to dive into and bury myself in memories of childhood treasure hunts for popcorn balls and peanut brittle. The joys of the season continue into adulthood with apple-picking, autumn drives, and wide-eyed children posing as princes, cats, and the little Queen Bee. Festivals of all kinds fill the calendar, spurred by regional harvests and the cooling air. There are samplings of apple butter, corn soup and pawpaw preserves, and blue-ribbon recipes for sale in jars.

As I meander the out-of-doors this time of year I savor the sounds of the settling woods and the  spicy-rich aroma of the mown fields and soil. The multitude of elements creating autumn magically combine with the mystery of the season. The alchemy of change stirs the air until one evening, in the stillness of endeavors finally exhausted, the exquisitry of winter softly arrives and settles upon the rooftops, smoothes the garden furrows, and all is quieted again.

just SIT

I shuffled with labored gait onto the garden pathway with a very heavy heart. “I haven’t  been able to do ANYTHING in the garden,” I lamented. THIS due to an ongoing struggle with foot problems that has left me hobbling around in a walking cast. By the time the most necessary of daily tasks are complete, I am so heavy with fatigue from dragging the lame limb everywhere I go that I have little energy left to limp out to the garden. This particular evening, however, I was determined to enjoy an autumn salad before the first frost retires the burgeoning bed of lettuce.

“But it’s not all about WORK!!!” came the instant reply in my head. “It’s about the SPACE, and the BEAUTY. Come out here when the sun is shining, and just SIT and ENJOY the space, the SPIRIT of what you’ve created!” I had to admit that I’d never ventured out to the garden just to SIT. I’ve generally got a zillion things I aim to accomplish - way more than I can count on my own allotment of fingers and toes. In fact, I’m known to take LISTS to the garden, something that probably ought to be outlawed and relegated to the “way too busy to enjoy the process” category.

“Okay. I’ll SIT,” I replied, and determined to do just that. The following day I  shuffled my way out to the bench by the crumpled vines I’ve yet to gather, and facing the collards so run-amok with aphids that I doubt I’ll get any to eat myself, and I just SAT for awhile. It took some doing, at first, to slow the busying of my mind so tempted to note the chores left undone, but with a “hush” of myself a time or two I quieted down to hear the last of the crickets chirping in the weeds and the rasping leaves of corn long spent. I gazed at the scattering of zinnias slowly folding for the season, and even lay on my back on a warm patch of clippings dried on the ground. A butterfly fluttered delicate white wings through the bold, azure sky and a yellow spotted beetle dithered about the coiled cone of a morning glory flower. My heart warmed in the softened glow of the mellow autumn sun and I eased myself down to the gentle ebbing there is of everything this time of year. A productive time it was, I have to say, an easing unto rest, and I’ve decided, of course, that I must arrange for more of these times before the winter’s cold arrives, and that I must “just SIT” more often.

Kitty and the Crickets

Huckleberry Huckstable

One of the great pleasures of the waning summer days is listening to the resounding chorus of crickets outside, and yet it’s amazing how many of the musical critters make their way INSIDE to scitter about the house. Perhaps they’re attracted by the unusually loud soloists already in residence in the corners and crevices of our home, playing their tunes loudly enough to keep us awake at night. And yet their bold tunes make them enticing targets of Huckleberry, our sweetest, dearest of feline companions who morphs into lethal  exterminator at even the shyest chirp. “Huck” (for short) is horribly effective at scrampling the winless creatures and slowly, methodically amputating their hindquarters. One morning I collected SEVEN corpses, legs strewn mercilessly about the house. Occasionally I’ll find a cricket still clinging to dear life, pitifully scooting along with one dreary leg and eagerly climbing onto my hand for an escort to ANYWHERE else. But I can’t catch them PRIOR to their hour of need! No, they hop too quickly away, confident in their navigational abilities and proud of their warmer home. But as their songs expire one by one, I am left to collect the dry, lifeless bodies of the little instrumentalists. Efforts to extract any cricket-empathy from sweet kitty are hopeless, and any attempt to rescue the hapless critters are met with a torrid look of disdain. There is some comfort, if that is an accurate word, in the fact that as the season progresses I see their expired bodies outside as well, having found their mates and prepared progeny for the following season. And maybe it helps to view Huckleberry as the valiant mercenary on mission to bring an early end to the crickets’ fruitless search for food and warmth in later life.

No. It doesn’t.

Last of the Summer Tomatoes

There’s something extra special about the last of the summer tomatoes, those stragglers in the later, waning sun that take so much time to ripen. But when they do - Oh, the wait is so worth the while! When I finally pluck that last, reddened fruit from the tangle of collapsing vines and browning leaves and plunge the long-awaited gem into my mouth, the heightened burst of flavor tingles my tongue and dazzles my eyes!

It seems that all of the color and flavor the summer has to offer is concentrated down into the last of the yield loitering on the vine, a final offering of the season reserving its best for the very, very last. I can never wait to return to the house with the long-awaited prize, sampling the deeply reddened jewel there on the spot at the feet of the tangled, expiring plants. And there I rejoice, with the last of the crickets chirping and the birds darting overhead, I rejoice and give an extra special thanks.

Problems with Collards

"Brown spotting" on collard greens

Collard greens are a staple of my garden, and they’re generally one of the most reliable plants, frost-hardy, sprouting early in the spring and providing ample supplies of nutritious greens until early winter when the ground begins to freeze. I’ve found them generally resistant to disease and bugs, though a few problems can arise, one of which I haven’t solved.

Slugs

Slugs look just like snails, but without the shell. I often see a slew of slugs attacking the greens in the spring. This is very easily addressed with a sprinkling of lime on the plants. A single light coating generally solves the problem. It also is helpful to harvest the collards prior to sprinkling lime on the plants so that the foliage is less dense and lush, thereby removing much of the food source and shaded hiding places that the slugs prefer.

Early this spring during the first and only onslaught of slugs that occurred on the greens, I spied a little brown snake tunneling through a straw pile in the garden. It turns out that slugs are a favorite food of the brown snake, and they had undoubtedly drawn the shy (and harmless to humans) visitor.

Flea Beetles

Flea beetles are aptly named. They resemble fleas in appearance and behavior. They are about 1/16” long and quickly jump off the plant when approached. In the past I’ve had problems with flea beetles attacking the collard greens, though they seem to prefer softer foliage. Since I’ve been planting eggplant the flea beetles attack that instead and leave the collards alone. A combination of soap spray followed by a dusting of lime has been helpful at controlling the beetles when they develop a hankering for the greens, though I’m looking for more effective treatments.

Brown spotting

This problem has occurred this summer and I’ve yet to understand the cause or find a solution. Nor do I know the formal or “scientific” name of the problem. I’ve illustrated it in a photo at the top of this posting. It is a brown spotting that first developed towards the middle of the summer season after the plants had produced high yields of perfectly formed and richly colored greens in the spring. The spots are non-uniform and leave the affected areas brown and papery-dry. I’m wondering if calcium deficiency in the soil may be a factor since I’ve noticed that to be a problem elsewhere (end-rot on tomatoes, for example), so I’ve recently added bone meal to the soil around the greens to see if that helps. If anyone has any other ideas as to what may be causing the brown spotting, please let me know!

A Tinge of Autumn

There’s quite a chill in the air this morning. I donned my heavier sweater, and the kids are off to school, bounding along the walkway in front of the house. An effervescent train, they are, their daily cacophony measuring time.

Yesterday I spied a tinge of color in a tree, her green, ebullient “summer do” daubed with yellow sprinkles. Autumn’s near, for sure, and Oh the excitement the cooling air can bring! A surge of adrenaline the hotter sun had drained away is coursing through all the living - anticipating, preparing for change. Though the sun be as hot today as ever, yet again in the morning we’ll feel it anew - the change of air and a quickening.

I’m feeling sad to say goodbye to the burgeoning of summertime, its warmth, brightness and ease. But enough for now of doleful thought! There’s green in the fields and tomatoes galore, and the squash are turning their golden colors. Potatoes are fat in the earth below, and apples fall by the bushel!

Enjoy! Enjoy - the later summertime, and to the harvest all arms employ -
‘til pantries packed and full with store we greet dear autumn content once more!

Time for Tea: Bouquet of Basil

Do you enjoy basil? It seems that nothing invigorates the senses and imagination more than a freshly picked bouquet of Sweet Basil on a warm summer’s day. And it’s so easy to grow, thriving in the garden this time of year. Mine is desperately in need of harvesting so I can begin the drying process, which I do in the garage by laying the small clippings across a horizontal wire frame. 

The basil caught my eye the other day as I was pondering possibilities for morning tea. I’ve been looking for a caffeine-free tea that I can enjoy, something aromatic that triggers my senses. But I want an earthy palette, not a sweet or fruity flavor. I love green teas, but I’ve found that the caffeine-free varieties still contain enough of the drug to render me zingy-headed and sleepless at night.  

And if I can grow the plants myself, all the better! I spied the basil with its abundance of greenery and aroma and thought - why not give it a try? I returned to the house and pulled out a supply of last year’s basil, dried and packed into a mason jar. I placed several of the aging, brittle leaves into a cup and steeped them in hot water for 5 minutes. Magically the brown, crumply leaves were restored to their original, vibrant ardor and the brew released an aroma every bit as rich and deep as the verdant green plants out in the garden. I inhaled the deeply fragrant aroma and allowed my mind flow on its billowy swells.

I’ve found my morning tea!

The Okra Monster!

The Okra Monster has arrived!  That’s ME this time of year when the okra is coming in like gangbusters and I hungrily gulp large servings of the toothsome delicacy.  Nothing tastes better than vine ripened tomatoes and fried okra & onions, and often that’s all I have on my plate!  I love okra, but I hate to pick it!  If harvesting the daily supply of okra from the back garden has ever been the straw YOU’VE drawn, then you know exactly what I mean!

The venture begins with a joyful wondering at the ample daily production of slender green pods and with adoring the buttery colored blossoms and the broad and shady,  palm-shaped leaves, only to end with a highly anxious run back to the house while clutching a hand that quickly has become aflame with horrific itching and burning sensations.  Other parts of the body commence to seethe, as well, and you imagine you’ve either waded through a dense thicket of poison ivy or that YOU’RE now the one being attacked by the okra monster!

The culprit isn’t a monster, however, but a proteolytic (protein breaking) enzyme in okra that causes contact dermatitis and skin lesions.  The best defense is to wear rubber gloves while picking the okra, or even an old sock will do - especially on the hand that holds the pods while cutting them from the stems - and then wash your hands thoroughly when the chore is complete.  If you’ve already got a bad case of contact dermatitis from your daily okra forays, rubbing jewelweed soap onto the moistened skin and allowing it to dry works well at dousing the flames.  If you don’t have jewelweed soap, try using any fragrance-free bar soap that you have on hand.

Happy okra picking - and EATING!!!

...chomp...chomp...chomp...

Purslane - Good to Eat!

Chances are you’ve seen purslane, a succulent herb, growing around your garden or sprouting in cracks in the drive, emerging as tiny sprigs with a few shiny, oval leaves and the capacity to grow into low-growing, bush-like plants two to three feet in diameter.  I used to pull purslane from my garden, thinking it a weed of little use other than housing for the beetles and bugs trying to eat away at my produce.  Then a friend of mine informed me that it is an edible plant, and highly nutritious, in fact, filled with omega-3-fatty acids like those found in salmon.

Turns out the plant has quite a long and noble history, known to the ancient Greeks as a treatment for wounds, fever, stomach aches, hemorrhoids, and "maladies of women".  Purslane is known as a treatment for psoriasis, and may be helpful in controlling arthritic inflammation as it contains alpha-linolenic acid, one of the highly sought-after omega-3 fatty acids.  It also is very high in amino acids, calcium and vitamin C.

Now I allow purslane to grow freely in the nooks and crannies of the garden.  I don’t have to plant it, as it pops up on its own in late spring and early summer wherever there are bare and sunny patches of soil.  It not only provides excellent ground cover, but also affords many light and tasty summer meals.  It has a mild flavor and makes excellent salads, though I’ve read that it’s also good sauteed or pickled.  Purslane pairs especially well with apples, nuts and feta cheese.  Below are a couple of the salads I enjoy on a regular basis, and you can find many more Purslane Recipes on the web.

PAMELA’S PURSLANE - FETA SALAD

Purslane, cut into 1 or 2 inch sprigs
Apples, chopped
Oranges, chopped
Almonds, slivered
Feta cheese, crumbled
Salt & Pepper, to taste
Dressing:  Mash & wisk a little feta into a little water.

PAMELA’S CREAMY PURSLANE SALAD

Purslane, cut into 1 or 2 inch sprigs
Apples, chopped
Golden raisins
Roasted peanuts
Salt & Pepper
Cinnamon
Mayonnaise

Flying Lessons

Only a few short weeks after the doves built their nest outside my office window, the shallow patch of twigs they so constantly tended is empty now, and I can’t help but feel sad at the loss, and a twinge of loneliness.  The two baby doves required only days to grow from bobbing tuffs of fluff to handsome, miniature versions of the doting adults.  They chafed impatiently at the confines of the nest, stretching their wings long as if to say “they're made for flying - let’s go! let’s go!”  I remember the morning the parents left their young alone for the first time.  The adults  stood bolt-still aside the nest for a full ten minutes, sensing the danger and difficulty of the leap they were about to take, and then surged into the air together, allowing the fledglings a cooler distance that encouraged them further in their flying lessons.  But the parents weren’t far away, re-emerging minutes later on a nearby branch and calling “whoo-WHY-uh, whoo-WHY”, as if to say “come on now!  come on!”.  One of the youngsters finally fluttered two or three feet to a nearby branch and perched there a long while, pruning and preening before the return trip home, and then the parent returned, as well, with an affirming “whoo-WOW-whoo-whoo”, or “How-WELL-you’ve-done!”, and then the calming “whoo-WHAH-whoo-whoo-whoo”, as if to say “That’s-ALL-for-now-now!”

I found that observing their daily routine encouraged me in my own endeavors, many of which are as new to me as the trees and skies are to the baby doves.  Seek a balance in your activities, they seemed to say - no need to scale all the hurdles altogether.  But do a little each day, as you feel the energy rise in your wings.  Fly to the branch in front of you.  Sit there for awhile and enjoy the view.  Prune.  You don’t have to be the first out of the nest.  All the nestlings make it - at their own pace.  Just do what you can do each day, eat well, take time to snuggle, and get plenty of rest.   There are storms to weather, naps to take, and there’s time.  There’s plenty of time.  Tomorrow you’ll fly again to the nearest branch, then a familiar thing, and from there you’ll see another, and then another, ‘til at the edge of your familiar home you’ll look upwards to the huge expanse of sky for the first time and throw your voice outward in amazement and joy, and your wings will follow.  You’ll surprise yourself at your capacities, and oh, my - the fun! the fun! - whirling through the air, weightless and free!  You’ll not pine for the nest any longer, then.  Far below, it will appear a cramped and little thing.  You’ll prefer to soar, soar in the sun, and the rain will flow from your back and the thunder will be like a clap of the wind, cheering you on and on.  And that’s where you’ll belong - soaring and twirling your dance in the air, and your song will lead others to the waters you’ve found and you’ll share them.  You’ll share it all!

Problems with Squash

"End Rot"

"Black Fuzz"

Truthfully, I have very few problems with most of the garden vegetables.  They grow peacefully and prolifically, and need very little in the way of pest or disease control.  Then there’s the squash.  I find that Summer Squash especially requires daily diligence, and even then I am lucky if the plants last to mid-summer before they die in their prime with plenty of babies on the way.  Last year I didn’t even plant the Summer Squash, wary of having to battle its many plagues.

The primary culprit is the Cucumber Beetle, whose larvae feed on the roots of the plants and transmit bacterial wilt, first appearing on the leaves as a powdery, white substance followed by wilting and dying of the plant.  This summer I gained some ground in my battle with the beetles.  Following a generous tip by a fellow reader of a garden magazine, I sprayed the young plants with onion/garlic spray in the spring.  It worked, deterring the beetles until the plants matured and sported their large, yellow blooms.  But then the beetles arrived with a vengeance and attacked the blossoms, which I have not sprayed for fear of disturbing the bees.

Another problem that plagued the Summer Squash this year was “End Rot”.  I don’t know if that’s the formal name, but as my photo shows, it is a rotting of the ends of very young squash, which causes them to shrivel and die very quickly.  What causes this?  And what can be done about it?

Yet another problem with the Summer Squash is “Black Fuzz”, again a name I created to describe what I see occur on all sizes of squash.  It smothers the entire squash like a sultry mink coat and the squash quickly rots.

Does anyone know the names, causes, and organic solutions of these problems?    I’m NOT interested in commercial solutions, the contents of which are “proprietary” and therefore unknown to me.  I’m also NOT interested in “organic” remedies containing “natural plant hormones” that are toxic to bees or birds.  Any contribution would be greatly appreciated.

Tall Garden People

My garden is strewn with Tall Garden People whom I absolutely love.  They arrive with  youthful energy early in the spring, and there they remain, gazing from their ruddy faces, guarding and shading the plants, and later feeding all visitors with tasty, high protein morsels they’ve made from the sun they’ve harvested all summer with their broad, out-stretched arms.  They are the Mammoth Sunflowers that climb easily to 15 foot, and open their eyes to conversation in early July.  “Oh - just sunflowers,” you say!  But each one of them is so unique, with such character in their faces and in the way they stand and bend with the sun and rain. You can be in the presence of a Garden People, gaze into her golden, craggy countenance, and carry on quite a conversation!  The personality of each shines through with just a little time, and you can learn their history, and their likes and dislikes.  

Ol’ Charlie grew to 12 foot tall in my very first garden.  He was a stalwart kind of fellow, steady, though leaning badly with age.  The squirrels climbed his long, thick back to get into the bird feeder, so I took to wrapping the first 2 or 3 feet of him with duck-tape, sticky-side out.  It worked, actually, and he bore my odd approach to the problem rather patiently.  He passed his future on to progeny by winter, and I still have some of the seeds, faithfully planting them each year in the early spring.  And I have his long, firm stalk in the garage, using it on occasion as a lengthy and strong support for the bean trellis, or for gourds.  I don’t want to wear it out, though.  No, I want a little remembrance of some kind to keep around.

Yesterday I got to talking with another of the People.  I’d seen her rising early in the year by the Brandywine and snow peas, but hadn’t taken much time to get to know her because she’s always facing eastward so that engaging her in conversation requires climbing through the Delicata Squash at an awkward angle.  Anyway, I became so intrigued by her wizened, languished fronds that I finally made the effort to pay a visit.  I thought at first that she was male, with her rugged build and the fuzz around her nose, but no, female she is, and strongly so.  I looked up into her large and sculpted face, which was surprisingly earnest with a rich intensity, and I made a halting effort to commune.  She didn’t NEED my time, I could tell, but was a little curious, and WONDERED at me like “WHERE have YOU been all this time?” 

“Well, I made the mistake of planting you on the EAST side of the garden so your BACK is TO me all the time,”  I answered.  “I planted myself,” she reminded.  And I concurred, remembering how the Garden People HATE for me to transplant them from one spot to another to such an extent that I’ve finally decided to let them choose for themselves where to grow!  They spring wherever they will from seeds cast about by critters the prior year.  Nonetheless, I stubbornly insist on moving a few of them around early each spring, when all they own are tiny green palms to raise in protest, amid a futile attempt to bring some order of color and arrangement to the garden.  But I’m always rewarded with moaning and wilt, and then they demand I water them incessantly.  I have to haul the heavy bucket a full 50 yards from the house DAILY until they finally perk up again.  Even then, some of Ol’ Charlie’s progeny that I rearranged this spring have only grown to 5 feet tall.  I was careful, too, moving them when they were only inches high, and taking lots of soil.  But, no, they don’t want to be moved.  Have a certain idea as to where they want to stand, and aim to hang onto the view.

ANYWAY, back to Almirah (pronounced “Al-MIRE-uh”).  Yeah, I asked her name, rattling off several possibilities in succession, and craning to hear her reply.  Almirah is intelligent, deep, and funny as hell.  Ornery, too, which takes some getting used to.  But getting to know her is VERY well worth the effort because EVERYTHING she has to say is extremely important.  I look forward to speaking further with Almirah.  And Ramsey, and Doane, and...

Nesting Doves and a Totem

The baby doves in the nest outside my window are growing fast, and they are SO cute, absolutely adorable, their fluffy heads bobbing up and down as they cuddle against the soft, smooth breast of their mother.  The parents are extremely attentive, never leaving the nest alone, even for a moment, and constantly nuzzle and nourish the little cutie-pies.

I believe that animals occupy spiritual realms that are as equally valid and vibrant as those in which human beings participate.  In fact, I often think their spiritual lives are superior to ours as their minds are un-burdened with the overgrown analytical faculties that often cloud our own abilities to dwell in spiritual connection with ourselves.  And I believe a rich potential exists for spiritual communication among species and am intrigued by spiritual totems and the messaging of animals around us.  And so, as I sit in the presence of this family of doves outside my window, who’ve chosen to place their nest within perfect bird’s-eye-view of ME as I sit typing away at my computer, I tune myself to their joys, needs, and concerns, and I observe.

There is no doubt that I am equally engaged in a time of birthing, tending, and growing nestlings of my own.  My personal life has sprung anew with rich relationships and a new home, and I am in the midst of re-working my professional paths.  Plus - the obvious - I’ve begun a Garden Blog!  Large swaths of my re-creation have been muddled with poor visibility into the road ahead, and crippling anxiety ensues when unforeseen twists and turns in the pathway arise.  The doves sing aloud at these times, louder than usual, when dawning and dusk occur and newness is eminent.  She uses her voice to celebrate the coming change and guide others to sustaining waters.

As the mother dove sits facing my window from her perch in the nest, watching me throughout the day as carefully and constantly as she watches her young,  I tend the newness of my own life as steadily and tenderly as she tends her own, and we eye each other thoughtfully.  I’ll keep the feeder full of her favorite seeds, and she’ll sing in the evening, and we’ll celebrate the newness of life.  We’ll celebrate it together.

(See The Message of the Dove from “Animal Speak” by Ted Andrews for some of the ideas I mentioned here.  Thank you very much, Lee, for the link.)

Nesting Doves

It’s early morning and the trees, the garden, the fencing and lawn are cradled in a moist and downy fog, and a dove coos softly. I have a nest of Mourning Doves only ten feet from my window, and it seems the eggs have hatched by now, though I’m not sure. She, and he - as the parents trade places - still sits atop the nest, but seems to do a little feeding now and then, and spends more time softly tending the contents of the nest with her beak. Ooooohhh, yes!!! I see a tiny, tiny head atop a long, slender neck, and she’s feeding the little charge beak to beak with something she’s saved inside her throat, I suppose, and is nuzzling and maintaining constant attention on her little one.

Oh, those darned House Sparrows! Here another comes to irritate her! Do you know what they do??? The sparrow, much smaller and faster than the dove, flies up behind the nest where the dove is sitting placidly, darts in all-a-sudden and plucks out a beak-full of white fluff from UNDER HER TAIL FEATHERS!!! I couldn’t believe my EYES when I first saw it! I said “No, that did NOT just happen....Let me look more closely.” So, I did, and yes - that IS what happened, and several times again. And sometimes two sparrows gang up on her, and the poor dove, having to move gingerly about the nest because of the eggs, has a hard time twirling around quickly enough to avoid the indignancy of having tuffs of fluff yanked from her bottom end! Her soft downy parts, I imagine, are highly prized for the lining of the sparrow’s nests.

A couple weeks ago I had the privilege of watching HOW the doves make their nests. What happens is they assemble a patch of twigs and grasses on a sturdy branch, and then the female sits on the little patch while the male retrieves another piece for the nest. Upon returning, he STANDS UPON THE BACK of the female and inserts the new twig into the patch below, repeating the process to BUILD THE NEST UP AROUND HER, fitting her perfectly. Isn’t that amazing??!!! Each time he flies away, she continues to sit on the growing nest and weaves into place the twig or straw that he’s inserted. After a couple days their nest is done. During the last twelve hours or so of nest building she begins to coo very softly, a much softer and shorter cooing than you usually hear, as if to say “the eggs are coming...the eggs are coming...we must finish soon, for the eggs are coming...”. Indeed, as SOON as the nest is done, the eggs are laid. Not a moment of time is wasted! Then it takes about two weeks for the eggs to hatch, judging by my observations.

Hardiness Zones and Native Plants

We had a wondrous, cooling storm of rain last evening. And it was unexpected, which made it all the better, even a little thunder and wind. Whew! It’s been HOT! Our resolve to avoid the AC has withered away with the wilting heat. When the temperature inside crawls past 85 degrees my brain begins to boil and I cannot concentrate on anything but sprawling in front of the fan!

I was doing some googling on Garden Hardiness Zones recently and was intrigued to find that the Zones have changed due to the trend in global warming. The Hardiness Zone in which I reside has changed from Zone 5 to Zone 6, and a similarly upward trend has occurred all across the country. Based on my limited reading, the Zone 5 designation was most recently based on the 1990 USDA Hardiness Zone Map, and a 2006 Arbor Day Map delineated the changes, including to Zone 6 in my area. To view the changes, see Hardiness Zone Changes.

What does this mean for gardeners? We had record-breaking snowfall here in Ohio this past winter, and now we have record-breaking heat! As for me, I’m busily beautifying my yard with native species like Queen of the Prairie, Spiked Blazing Star, Echinacea, Cardinal Flower, Common Milkweed and Butterfly Weed. I even transplanted some Queen Anne’s Lace from the woods the other day. I can’t say enough for the ease of care of native species. These perennial plants tolerate extremes of hot and cold as well as moist and dry. They require no watering (that’s right - NO watering) except when you’re first establishing the little seedlings, and the only care they require is occasional thinning back unless you really DO want them to take over your yard, which I am contemplating. Why not replace the bare and gas guzzling lawn with cooling thickets of gorgeous prairie flowers that fend for themselves and provide habitat for the pollenating bees and other critters? It’s a thought I’m thinking!!!

The maturing garden and a recipe

I love this time of year, the mid-summer season, with the baby crickets skittering about my feet, and the bunnies, now, can enjoy the garden, too, as all the plants are large enough to sustain their little nibblings. The garden is strong and mature, sustaining itself with long roots into the ground so I don't have to water at all despite the soaring temperatures, and it pretty much takes care of itself. The plants are large enough to discourage weeds, so there's little to do except enjoy the daily bounty. There's always the daily watch for the cucumber and Japanese beetles, but that's no big deal - just another excuse to take another walk along the beautiful garden paths. Italian long beans and summer squash are coming in strongly now. Another squash casserole today. Yumm!!!

RECIPE:

PAMELA'S SUMMER SQUASH CASSEROLE

Slice potatoes approx. 1/8" thick into a deep casserole dish.
Add sliced onions, thyme, rosemary, salt, and pepper.
Add a layer of summer squash sliced approx. 1/4" thick.
Add a layer of grated cheese (a mix of colby and sharp cheddar is good).
Repeat all of the above.
Dot with butter or margarine, if desired.
Dissolve some cornstarch (approx. 1 tablespoon per cup of liquid) in milk.
Pour liquid over casserole.
Bake at 350 degrees 'til done (60 to 90 minutes).

SCRUMPTIOUS!!!

Welcome to my Garden Patch at Thistle 'n Thatch!