Spring

I know--it doesn't look like Spring, but that's what's been on my mind while spinning. Most people who enjoy the warm months better than the cold turn their thoughts to welcoming Spring this time of year. The sky seems higher, so those gray days of winter don't keep pressing lower and lower and at last the blanket of the winter is raised and we can peek under and see a glimpse of the new season to come. Gardeners seem to yearn for Spring even more than others.

But in addition to that, I've been listening to this as I spin, and it makes me just itch to get outside and play in the dirt. I want to move plants that didn't do so great last year to a spot they might enjoy more. I want to try all kinds of new plants. I want to tear up one whole flower bed and start over from scratch. I want, I want, I want. I want Spring and it's bigger cousin, Summer. I agree with Hardy "The most beautiful words in the English language are 'a summer afternoon'."

But, like all gardeners, I am patient. Gardeners must be good at that; waiting for the tiny little hopes they plant to develop into the stuff of their dreams--if they're lucky. So I'll delay the digging and moving and planting for just a little longer. But meanwhile, I can wander outside and check the little tips of new green coming up, and prune the clematis.

If you've grown clematis, you know their particular traits. They can tax even a gardener's patience, teasing for at least a season or two before they decide to really get blooming. They like cool feet and warm heads, and they want really good roots before they get too showy. For that reason, you have to grit your teeth, pretend you don't care, and keep your clematis trimmed back to 18" or so the whole first year. You'll be glad later, but that first year's hard.

Clematis demand that you know them intimately and prune them according to their preferences. Usually these preferences fall into one of three categories, but some references divide them into as many as twelve. Being a lazy gardener, three sounds good to me.

My clematis are delighted with the spot I chose for them. They sit against a fence that faces east northeast, with a pool house that provides shade for their little bottoms but lets their faces receive the sun. Usually I put some potted plants at their feet (they're in a raised bed) just to make sure the roots stay cool. I have three in a row at the far end, then a couple more spaced further along the fence.

Early flowering clematis (Group 1 or A) bloom on the previous season's growth, so they only require a light pruning and neatening of the tips. Group 2 or B drives me nuts--it flowers on both old and new wood, so what to do? I just give it a light pruning and cut out the dead growth back to a strong pair of buds. The last group (1 or C) requires ruthlessness. Be bold here and whack the vines back to about 8"-12". Group C plants flower on new growth and your brave pruning will encourage new shoots that will reward you with loads of flowers. The nursery where you get your clematis should be able to tell you what type you are purchasing. If they can't, go to a nursery that knows their stuff. A good basic gardening book also helps, and just trusting your own observation.

So tomorrow, I'm headed out to prune. I'll take the dog, and the cats will all follow along, and even if it's a gray day I'll feel sunny inside while I cut and groom. And soon I'll have this:

Delayed Procrastination

This is a sad picture. This was once my favorite tree in a large yard full of many trees. This tree was feathery and green and nearly 40 feet tall. In the summer, I'd make a special trip outside just to pet the soft whispery branches and breathe in the smell of all the years it had seen. When the snow was falling it would grant me a postcard view of the season right outside my front window, and at Christmas it offered me its piney branches and cones and brought its beauty inside to grace our celebrations.

The first ice storm on January 12 brought down half of the limbs, and the storms on the 13th and 14th finished it off. We sat in the dark house and listened to it die, along with others almost as beautiful.

This is one view of the back from the corner of the pool looking towards our gazebo. See the trees in the background struggling to stand upright? See all the ice? See the tree that took a swim?

All this is my way of explaining myself, and my lack of posts. Winter is not my season and this one has bested me. I have a sense of inertia, can't get much done and have finally pretty much just decided to go with it. So . . . I've been knitting, and spinning and enjoying the comforts of a warm furnace. Living without power and water for a week has given me a grateful appreciation for electricity and modern conveniences.

Each Christmas I re-read one of my favorite seasonal stories. With all the company and to-do going on this year I didn't get that done, and I missed it. So while I've been knitting and spinning (pictures to come) I've listened to this. Several times. Read by the man himself. It is simply wonderful. I hadn't explored the world of audio books, but boy am I a convert now.

And while I listen to beautiful showy words, I dream of summer and beautiful showy flowers.


Like this:
And this:
And I promise to quit procrastinating.

Christmas Past and Looking Forward

We've been snowed in for a couple days now and I've been trying to take advantage of the time. Ordering presents online, making lists for cooking and shopping, and pulling out all the decorations. I thought I'd put a couple Christmasy pictures up here to get you in the mood, too, and these are what I came up with:

My son's butt. This is actually one of the Christmas pictures from last year that is still on the computer. Apparently I started to take a picture of his dad at exactly the same moment he decided it was time for more wine.

Why I still have this picture on my computer is anyone's guess, but it 'cracked' me up. Ha.

And here are a couple more. Unintentionally artsy pictures of before and after the annual unwrapping of the presents.

Before:

And after:

The shot is so blurry I don't know which of the grandchildren that is, but it sure looks like fun, doesn't it? My new camera takes much better pictures and after Christmas I'll prove it to you.

So anyway, today's temperature is staying in the mid 20's. Even though Christmas occupies my mind most at this time of year, thoughts of flowers and my garden are always in my head, and I remembered Nannie and the poppy seeds. Now, my grandmother on my mother's side was no slouch when it came to gardening. The woman could stick a 2 x 4 in the ground and get it to root. I stayed with her a lot when I was growing up and she was always out with the first sunray digging and watering. We called her Nannie.

Nannie's rule for planting poppy seeds is simple and anyone can grow them this way.

1. Wait for the first snow of the year.

2. Sprinkle last summer's poppy seeds on top of the snow.

3. Wait for Spring.

Really simple and has the advantage of the one doing the sprinkling actually being able to see where all those little seeds go. They melt down with plenty of moisture to get them going, and reward everyone the next Spring with the miracle of a poppy bloom from a seed the size of a grain of pepper.

So what else besides Christmas did I do today? You're right, bucky! I planted poppy seeds.

Multiple Choice

The image above is:

a) a figment of my imagination

b) a leftover Halloween decoration

c) Yellow stinkhorn

Of course, the correct answer is a) a figment of my imagination.

Just kidding.

This is, as far as I can tell, Mutinus canenus, or yellow stinkhorn. I looked this same information up last year when the same weird fungus popped up in the same place in my yard. It looks for all the world like a dirty orange finger poking out of the ground. With a black fingernail and some nasty looking stuff on it, as well. (We won't go there.)

If I had been quicker, you could have seen this as it looks when it first comes up. But by today when I walked out to the mailbox, it had fallen over--you can tell on the right side where it broke. I identified it through this site--they have better pictures, too-- so I hope that even though I'm not in New Zealand, it is correct. The growing conditions sure matched--comes up in wood chips after rain. Yup--exactly--we had a huge rain the other day and up pops this ugly carroty finger out of the wood chip mulch by the mailbox. Last year was the first time I'd ever seen one and I just think it's interesting and strange.

There are a lot of things like that out there. Things we have never seen or even heard of, then suddenly, you go out to get the mail and there's something strange and weird and new right in your own little corner of the world. Like this, this was really weird--years ago one of my cats developed a sore on the side of her little body. Nothing much at first, but it got bigger so one night I got out the cat meds and plunked her on the kitchen counter to take care of it. On close inspection, it was an open sore about the size of a pea, but looked clean and not infected. I squeezed it gently to see if it hurt or was seeping.

A head popped out of the hole. I kid you not--a head.

After I finished gagging and making 'ewwww' sounds, I looked again, squeezed again. There was that head again. This time I identified it. A grubworm. Yuck, oh so many yucks. The yuckiest.

Here's what can happen, according to the vet we saw the following day. Really very simple--an animal swallows a grubworm whole; the grubworm eats his way to freedom. Can't blame him, really, but how strange! It apparently doesn't concern or hurt the animal at all and they just go about their business with a grubworm hanging out their side. Or wherever. The vet said he had only seen it one other time with a pet raccoon who had one coming out his eye. So things, as they say, can always get worse.

But all in all, I was priviledged to see it, considering how rare it is. And I feel that way about my stinkhorn, too.

William Styron died a couple weeks ago, and it seemed as if the world hardly noticed. I didn't see any of the usual short bios on network news, and only a small article on the second or third page of the local paper. The following week it was in a couple of the news magazines we get.

According to Styron, "A great book should leave you with many experiences, and slightly exhausted. You should live several lives while reading it." His books lived up to that and more. I fell in love with his writing while reading "The Confessions of Nat Turner", backtracked to read his previous ones and then waited and waited for the next ones. His books were few and far between, but I'll miss that anticipation and I regret knowing there will be no others.

Meanwhile, the ones he did write are sitting there on my bookshelf like old friends. And like old friends, they maintain the power to make me laugh, or cry, or gasp at the wonder of their words. They will be re-read, new favorite passages noted, old ones savored.