And It's Only June

We have reason to be excited. Generally at this time of year the seedlings have just been planted. Now I'm absolutely certain we're doing horrible things to the planet and I'm equally certain we shouldn't leave our futures in the hands of politicians, but in the meantime I'm appreciating the moment

Every spring I'd weed out the Black-Eyed Susans, figuring the leaves look weed-like, and by golly, they are. Anyway, this year by sheer luck, they eluded my weeding trigger-finger and here they are.



This is the first of the pond Lotus.



The frogs are new. Doesn't it remind you of little boys having a spitting contest? Or was that just my boys?

My Miniature Walden

When the roses were at their blowzy best the lawn was carpeted with petals. What do you think? Is there a business here supplying rose petals to wedding parties? Would Thoreau have stooped to such a base thought? I think not.



Lately the young mourning doves have been camping out here, along with bunny. Bob the Goose is the perfect garden pet--he doesn't eat or, er, anything else.



The Delphiniums are excelling this season.



My garden pal and I did a garden tour on the weekend and this garden tucked away in the woods thrilled us. My goal is to achieve this out-of-this-world look.

The Roses Are Front and Center

These rose bushes were the only sign of garden life when I moved here; each branch making its own bouquet.


No one had ever thought to prune them and I feel like George of the Jungle when I hack away at them in the spring.



The windows on the back fence do a fine job. This is the pay-off, right now when they are blooming their little hearts out.



Just don't mention the word, "dead heading" to me.

A Bad Day At the Pond

The good news is that the missing fish were deep down in the pond.

The bad news is that now some of them are dead.

Overnight,one of the improperly fastened hoses fell out of place and water drained out onto the lawn, leaving only a small pool at the bottom of the pond where several frightened fish thrashed about.



The pond was quickly re-filled and at the end of the day, two of the big boys had died as well as two of the tiny new ones.

This morning the survivors are looking active.



I thought my guilt-ridden days would disappear once the kids grew up and left home and here I am, fretting about my negligence to the fish.

Where have All The Critters Gone?

It's been a tense time around here lately. At the pond, the fish and Julius the frog have been out of sight and I worried that a predator had carried them away.

Reading up on similar problems online reassure me that they are there, just hiding out because they have either been frightened or it's too hot for them to come near the surface.

We've had several dramatic thunder and lighning storm recently so I'll bank on that for their disappearance.

I did get a couple of quick-as-a-flash orange sightings yesterday so I have hope.



All the other magnolias in town have bloomed and faded but mine are coming out one at a time and stay a couple of days. The poor tree was moved three times at the last place; I simply couldn't find a spot it liked. I brought it with me on this move and it's now settling in and beginning to thrive. Next year it might even bloom on time, just like its cousins.

The Bluebells are starting to bloom and reflect nicely in the mirror along with the masses of roses in the background.



Meanwhile, Hippo stands guard against any nightime marauders.

Books

I refer to these babies almost every day. Three of them do their best to prevent me from mangling the English language and the fourth, The iron Wall, is my serious attempt to try to figure out the Israeli/Arab ongoing torment.It's slow going, for me and for them.

The second lot of books are beside the bed and I keep them on hand for that throat- clutching time when the weather is awful,I'm out of library books and none of the old faithfuls will do .

Shirley Maclaine and I follow the same path, although in the interpretation, one of us zigged and the other zagged.

Author Ross Thomas wrote the most stylish books ever dealing with fictional American politics and spies his style, with lots of intrigue and interchangeable good and bad guys. Delicious. He died a few years ago and I am slowly buying all of his titles online.

The Silver Fox Brigade

You see us everywhere, though you may not notice us, as we infiltrate every crevice of society.

We are the Silver Foxes.

We don’t break any laws but we are sneaky and a tad perverse, committed to getting as much of your free time and skills as possible when we need them.

The innocent refer to us as “retirees,” and it is supposed we sit happily by the warm seashore glugging down our gruel.

In reality we hang on to our houses as long as we possibly can and we do lean, heavily at times, on the good nature of our kids to help us with mechanical problems that crop up.

When I invite my son over to dinner, he automatically asks, “What tools should I bring?”

Busted.

Yeah, it would be nice to hire a handyman, and I don’t question they’re worth almost what they charge, but generally we can’t afford one of those, so back to the kids.

It helps if you’re cute and perky and people think you’re just so wonderful to maintain that house and play bridge like a wild woman, and keep active. But I’m not cute and perky. Taller and opinionated comes to mind and it’s rather late to change that. I do play decent bridge though.

In exchange for help, I generally toss in a good meal and there are other reciprocations. For instance I will take the grandkids for overnighters and feed the animals and pick up and deliver human cargo after games and practices when necessary.

We can be exasperating but remember this—someday you’ll take on the membership, so earn your brownie points in advance.

A successful Silver Fox fights hard to keep the brain cells active, and right now, mine are in overdrive while I calculte how to achieve the goal of getting the on-strike toilet fixed without permanently alienating near and dear.

Fight on, Foxes.

Berming It

See that heap on the grass in front of the archway? Well, it's the beginning of a berm.

What is a berm you ask? You might as well ask because I'm going to tell you anyway. A berm is really a ledge of sorts, although I think of it as a rather pretty bump, and it's sorely needed in my yard.

The back yard was originally a soggy marsh quite content to grow cattails and baby geese. Then some builders slam-bammed their way in and out, leaving behind lots of rubble buried a couple of inches under the soil and a sulky, marshy back yard.

The rubble is neatly hidden under bigger rocks around the fish pond and that leaves the bog/lawn. I'm not crazy about a huge expanse of green lawn unless it belongs to a sod farm; it can be rather boring. I might as well feel this way since my back yard is like an awkward pitch-and-putt.

I don't have a human digger and fixer-upper at my beck and call so I have to figure out how to raise the yard using very little money and a minimum of muscle and this is where the berm comes in.

Once the idea germinated, I began by using sod left over from digging out the raised bed (I lured a human digger for that one) and now the sod is composting nicely in the center of the embryo berm at present.

To make it larger I will dredge more goodies out of the two composters, and before long this berm will be a delightful sight with lovely undulating curves, full of yummy compost and worms.

Waiting in the wings are a couple of lovely shrubs glumly mud-bound but anxious to strut their stuff in their new penthouse spot, but they won't perform until their feet are dry.

Hang in there guys, help is slowly on the way.

One thing every gardener knows--patience is your best friend.