Harvest and Thankfulness

Thanksgiving has come and gone... the gardens and fields have yielded their best.  We had so many reasons to celebrate and give thanks this holiday.  Not only have we enjoyed many delicious and beautiful blessings from nature this year -- we also have much hope for the months to come.

I've neglected this blog for a couple of months, while other issues and obligations came up in my life.  My neglect is also partly due to the annual autumn Midwestern frenzied state of mind that has accompanied me even here to the Southeast.  Mentally, as summer ends, I'm closing out my end-of-season summer chores, I'm preparing for winter, and I'm feeling pressure to "get things done" as the days grow shorter and the nights colder.  However, the harvest is over, and the canned tomatoes, peaches, and pickles are ready to eat.  Autumn has been beautiful and eventful, but the approach of winter signifies a change of pace. It's time to return regularly to blogging again. 

August Beauty

I can't let summer pass without featuring my favorite flower, the gardenia.  White flowers always emanate such quiet elegance, but gardenias seem to rise above the others into a class of their own.  


Gardenias are romantic, fragrant, graceful flowers.  They are also very delicate and notoriously difficult to keep healthy.  I decided to attempt cultivating this flower shortly after we moved into our house.  I planted 3 small gardenia bushes 2 years ago, and 2 more last year.  The variety?  Gardenia Jasminoides ('August Beauty').  Each of the plants cost less than $7, so I figured that I wasn't throwing too much money away if it all didn't work out.  The plants were truly a bit scrawny, and although I knew gardenias had the potential to become very large shrubs, I truly didn't think my gardening skills would be able to take the plants very far.  Sometimes, it seems as though weeds are the only plants on our property that can rapidly grow to full size.

It did, however, work out.  Wonderfully.  My gardenias have exploded in growth and have truly become the pièce de résistance of my entire gardening effort.  They've overwintered well and have responded nicely to a spring trimming for two years in a row now.  Each summer they provide gorgeous, scented blooms. 

I feel as though I could easily begin to brag here about my accomplishment in keeping such a finicky flowering shrub alive.   The fact is -- I wish I could take credit for their lush, healthy growth, but I can't.  I have very little idea why they are so very healthy.  A big part of it has been pure luck.  Yes, I've done my best to promote their growth, but I've done that with all of my plants and haven't always achieved the same result (in fact, I rarely achieve the same result).  In case you are interested in trying your hand in growing these lovely plants, here are my best guesses about the contributing factors that I believe may have played a role in this success:

Pest control.  The biggest problem I've encountered with my gardenias has been, not surprisingly, bugs.  Yes, white flies are real, and if you have a gardenia, they will come.  Try looking up the phrase "problem with gardenias" in Google, and you will immediately find questions and concerns about the white fly.  I'm not sure how much of a true threat those annoying little bits of flying fuzz pose to the plants, but I've eliminated them (each time, temporarily) with a spray bottle of water and a little bit of Ivory soap.  I can't completely keep them away, but I make an attempt to reduce their numbers.  In truth, the gardenias have usually looked healthy with and without the white flies, so I'm not certain how much I am helping.   I also rid my gardenias of an infestation of thrips once, using a mixture of Ivory soap, water, cayenne pepper, and garlic.  The thrips did have a devastating effect on the gardenia blooms -- they tended to eat them from the inside out, before the flowers had a chance to open.  Regular mulching and trimming nearby weeds has also helped eliminate the thrip population.

Humidity.  This factor may not be within your control, unless you have a greenhouse.  Gardenias respond very well to humidity.  The hottest, thickest, stickiest (and in my opinion, most miserable) summer weather will cause gardenias to rapidly add to their height and depth.  The healthiest growth seems to appear in those hot summer months, and the leaves turn that satisfyingly deep green.  Personally, I am not sure that gardenias can't survive without humidity, but realize that, if you do not live in a climate that yields summer moisture as regularly as the produce section of the grocery store, your gardenias may not grow as quickly as you may expect.  I've read that attempts to spray water onto the plants with a spray bottle cannot mimic the natural humidity on which gardenias thrive, and may in fact contribute to the growth of unwanted fungus.

Location.  I chose to plant my gardenias underneath the bay window in the front of our house.  My original idea was that, once the plants flowered, I would be able to open the windows to breathe in the delicious aroma of their blooms.  (That hasn't quite worked out -- see my notes on humidity above.)  Their location next to the house and underneath the protruding window gives them just a little additional protection from cold weather.  Gardenias are not fond of winter.  My gardenias have survived several light snowfalls, but they rarely have to endure a night below 15° F.  If you live in a chilly climate, you may need to bring your gardenia indoors for the winter, or cover it for a little additional protection for those nights that get very far below freezing.  Also, my gardenias also receive full morning and evening sun, with just a little bit of sun in the early afternoon.  They are, however, protected from the sun during the most glaringly hot portion of the day.   

The gardenia flower turns brown very quickly and easily -- even the simple touch of a human hand can leave oils on the bloom that will turn it brown.  Perhaps that adds to the flower's exotic appeal.  The blooms on my plants are also frequently hidden among the lush branches and leaves -- my plants do not obviously showcase their little white gems.  Rushing past these plants will not allow one to appreciate their presence.  They may want us to slow down when we walk by -- to take a deep breath, and draw in their aromatic August beauty.     

Spicy Sprigs: Growing and Drying Oregano

Growing and drying oregano is an easy and rewarding process.  The foods you make using “homemade” oregano will taste better, too!

Whether planted in the ground or a container, Greek oregano grows and spreads quite readily.  I normally keep all of my herbs in pots on my front porch; others like to create in-ground herb gardens.  Oregano is a low-maintenance herb – it only needs regular sunlight and moisture to thrive.

Drying oregano does not require a dehydrator.  The following list of everyday household items will accomplish the task:

·         Scissors

·         Ties, strings, or rubber bands

·         Large paper lunch bag

In my opinion, the single most difficult part of drying herbs is waiting for the plants to get large enough to cut.  I wait until the branches are a minimum of 4-6 inches long before I cut them.  I also try to cut sprigs of different sizes from various places on the plant, or from a couple of locations on multiple plants, in order to promote further growth. 

Never cut your herbs in the heat of the day, especially in warmer climates.  A good general rule to follow is to cut the branches at the same time of day that you might water the plant.  Generally speaking, that time should be early to mid-morning, or mid- to late evening. 

Once you’ve got a bunch of cut oregano in hand, wash the oregano in lukewarm water.  Run your hands gently over the leaves and move the branches through running water to remove any hidden dirt or bugs.

Dry the oregano thoroughly.  Remember, our goal is to quickly dry the oregano so we can crumble it up into seasoning, so a good job here is essential to the success of the entire task.  I usually shake any obvious water drops off of my oregano, pat it gently with paper towels, and then spread the cuttings apart on a wire rack, leaving them to dry for just an hour or two. 

When dry, put your oregano in a bunch, with the cut edge of the stems arranged evenly on the bottom.  Use a tie, string, or rubber band to secure the bunch right above the bottom edge.  You may need to strip a few leaves at the base of the bunch in order to get a tie securely in place.

Hang the oregano in a well-ventilated area that is not exposed to much sun.  I’ve heard that some people hang their herbs to dry from their garage, shed, or barn rafters.  During summer months in humid climates, however, it is not ideal to hang the herbs anywhere outdoors.  In some cases, it’s possible to run string underneath bookshelves, and attach the oregano to hang under the shelves to dry.      Personally, I use paper bags to store my oregano while it’s drying.  I simply take a large paper lunch bag, cut a few holes and slits in it to allow a little air to move into it, and place the oregano upside-down in the bag, with the bunch of leaves at the bottom and the cut stems at the top.  I then close the very top of the paper bag in a bunch, around the base of the stems, and secure it with a rubber band.  I usually place it in a location that has some air movement, but away from anything that could knock over the bag or get it wet.  If you must locate your herbs in a safe place that does not get much air movement, you can also place a rotating fan nearby to promote air flow.

Now comes the second hardest part – more waiting!  Usually, oregano should sit for a minimum of one to two weeks.  The leaves will wither, dry, and shrink.  However, if you walk by the paper bag and smell it during this time period, you’ll find that the aroma remains quite potent! 

To verify that the oregano is dry enough to use or store, take the oregano out of the paper bag, and put your index finger and thumb around one of the leaves, and rub them together.  If the leaf readily and easily crumbles, with no additional effort needed, the oregano for crushing.

To remove the dried oregano leaves, simply place the oregano over a storage container or into a sealing plastic bag.  Place your thumb and forefinger around the base of each stem, and run them along the length of each stem to strip the leaves.  After the leaves are removed, you can crush the leaves further, or use them as they are. 

After you seal the bag or container, observe it for a few days.  If you notice drops of moisture appearing inside the storage container, your oregano is not completely dry yet, and you must give it access to fresh, circulating air immediately to allow the moisture to escape.

Plan to use your oregano within a few months.   If you do not plan to use the oregano within the next 3-4 months, you can store it in the freezer and take it out only when using it.

Lastly – don’t forget that oregano dried from the garden will be quite a bit stronger than the kind you buy in the baking aisle of the grocery store.  Take that into account when adding it to your recipes.  Enjoy!

The Heat Giveth, and the Heat Taketh Away

This post is written in remembrance of my dear, departed potted annuals.  May they go in peace, knowing they once brought beauty and elegance to my front porch.


It's hot here in central North Carolina, and several of the plants are showing the results of it.  These annuals, which once looked full, lush and healthy (as pictured above) are now quite beyond their prime.   The term "burned to a crisp" might be appropriate, actually.  The dahlias (center) have completely died, the begonias have brown and curly leaves, and the trailing bacopa are stringy, bloomless, and look a little worse every day.  Each year, I enjoy putting together a different mixture of annuals for my front porch, and I really liked this particular mixture.  Back during those balmy spring days, when I perused the annuals at the garden shops to select this year's varieties, it was hard to imagine the brutal, searing heat that was on its way.  But it has arrived, nonetheless.


About this time every year, things get a bit out of control in my gardening efforts.   The garden becomes difficult to keep watered sufficiently, the weeds in nearly every landscaped area get a little worse (OK, in truth, a lot worse), and I'm simply not outside as much.  I still put forth some effort, but I also begin planning for fall, when we'll get those blessed breaks in humidity and the five-day forecast won't have so many 9s in it.  Once the temperature reaches more than 60 degrees above or below the freezing mark (I've experienced both), I prefer to spend more time indoors.  Miserable is miserable, and either way, I'm just not tough enough to stay outside for long.


Although some of the summer plants are beginning to bloom less, and some are dying back, a few of them are absolutely thriving in these conditions.  My gardenias and elephant ear plants (Colocasia) are clearly loving this weather; each time I water them, I feel as though I could watch them grow, if I just stood next to them for a few more minutes.  I'm thankful they don't require much more from me in this heat than a good soaking with the water hose now and then.  I'll write a post on each of them later this month, to share a little of their vitality in this August heat.  It's their turn to be in the spotlight.  And I'll be happy to write those posts -- from the comfort of my air-conditioned home.   

Tale of the Swallowtails

The sight of a butterfly drinking nectar from a garden flower can evoke an appreciation of a simple and delicate beauty. However, we rarely stop to think about the less-than-picturesque life the butterfly had prior to that point.

This story recounts how a few garden intruders completed their transformation into butterflies, with a little help from the community.

The Discovery

One hot Saturday, I came across a brightly-colored caterpillar while weeding. Because it wasn’t on a plant, I left it alone, and soon afterward returned indoors to escape the heat.
Meanwhile, this caterpillar carried on… and called his buddies.

When I returned to weed that evening, I noticed something was wrong with the dill plants. ...

(Read the rest of the story here at Your Gardening Friend, a blog that helps "equip beginners with the necessary tools and know-how, the building blocks, to feel confident in starting and maintaining a garden, as well as the more experienced gardener with some gratifying and challenging projects."  I've certainly learned quite a bit from this blog, and I'm sure you will enjoy it too!)

Ready to Soar

I had a little audience while I was watering my flowers the other evening. 

A pair of young bluebird eyes (or two) kept peeking out from the hole in the nesting box.  They would make little peeping noises, raise their heads to look out at me, then, dart down out of view, giving a bit louder cheep when they discovered I was still standing nearby.  It became a hilarious game after a few minutes! 

I realized I couldn't get too close to the nest, however.  Once I stepped just a couple of feet directly in front of them, they looked out at me and were probably geniunely frightened.  They stopped chirping and got very quiet.  In a way, I was glad they recognized the threat of a potential predator. 

These cute little bluebird youngsters are about to leave the nest, to strike out on their own in the great big world.  They clearly were viewing that world from their nest, as they were preparing to fledge, to lift their wings and fly out for the very first time.  It must look large, scary, and, most of all, unknown to them.

Of all things that came to mind at this time, I was reminded of the scene I came upon while shopping the day before I had my little game with the bluebirds.  I had stopped to pick up a few small houseware goods in Target, and I saw multiple mothers walking the aisles with their older teenagers, buying supplies for college.  Many of those young people are preparing to step out in the great big world themselves, and deal with experiences they've only been told how to manage to this point.  The term "leaving the nest" is quite a cliche, but I clearly saw the parallel this week, in a way I never previously had.  

It seems, however, that we usually have more than one "leaving the nest" moment in our lives.  We stand at the precipice of unfamiliar territory, peering over the edge, preparing to step out and soar over it.  We're just waiting for that one, motivating moment, in which we will lift our wings to take flight.     

Growing Up

A quick update on the baby bluebirds:  I peeked in to check on them just a few days ago, and they are continuing to grow and thrive!  They were a bit sleepy at the time, but, at approximately 8 days old, they looked healthy.  They're also looking slightly less like little aliens and more like little birds.  Like much of the country, we're in the middle of a heatwave, so I'm keeping fresh water in the bird bath to keep the parents well-hydrated.   These little ones are nearly halfway to the point where they will begin to leave the nest!   

Cautiously Optimistic

Cautiously optimistic... that's likely to be the theme of the week here.

I've got tomato plants loaded with green tomatoes.  We're within days of canning them... possibly.  Unfortunately, the first four tomatoes that ripened from my garden had blossom end rot.  I'm not sure if I can avoid it for all of the rest of my fruit, but I am certainly trying.  

It's possible that the extreme heat and humidity, along with the daily thunderstorms we experienced last week, took its toll on my garden.  Luckily, we've had a small reprieve with a weekend stretch of cooler-than-average, dry weather.

Another part of the problem may have been the fact that I took the tag that came with my "Celebrity Bush" tomato plants too literally.  The tag said, "Does not need staking."  Ha!!  If you don't mind the tomato plant lying on its side once the fruit begins to grow, it doesn't need staking!  I've learned my lesson on that one.

I removed the rotting fruit and used string and T-posts to lift all branches as far off of the ground as possible.  I clipped all yellowing leaves.  I dried the bottoms of the tomatoes that had been touching the ground.  My garden now looks like it contains a series of badly engineered suspension bridges, but it may produce edible tomatoes! 

The cucumbers are also looking healthy and have produced a few cucumbers -- that are the correct shape!  (You may remember that my classic struggle with cucumbers involves the fact that they want to grow in round shapes in my garden.)  The cucumber vines are absolutely loaded with blossoms and will, hopefully, yield quite a few pickling cukes in the coming weeks.  I will post pictures soon.

We've got another hot and humid stretch coming, so it remains to be seen how successful all of this work will truly be.  However, it's nice to enjoy a little optimism for now.

Birthday Blooms

The other day, I noticed that our neighbors had a birthday party at their place.  Birthday balloons decorated the mailbox and family gathered to celebrate.  The sweet young lady who lives next door was turning 13!

I wanted to mark the occasion with a gift, so I turned to the one thing that is plentiful in my yard right now:  flowers.  I managed to put together a few black-eyed Susans, blooms from a butterfly bush, and a couple of begonia sprigs.

I'm sharing this only because it's one of the only times I made a decent-looking arrangement.  I don't have the natural "eye" for flower arranging, but I am willing to learn, and I've wanted to acquire those skills for a long time.  Every year I consider taking a little course on it at the local community college.  Practice makes perfect -- so I'll just keep growing flowers and trying to put them together until I find what works!  Luckily, this time, it turned out to be something I could share.

Prairie Flower

Some flowers can't help but bring a smile to your face. 

I've found such an example in a flower I planted around my mailbox last year.  Black-eyed Susans, otherwise known as Rudbeckia, are simple, showy, and easy to grow.  They are native to the prairies of the United States. As a strategically planted wildflower, they will quickly brighten up any dull space on a property.

Black-eyed Susans love the sun.  My mailbox gets sun all day long  -- hot, sticky Carolina sunshine these days -- and the plants appear to love it.  This variety is the Rudbeckia 'Goldsturm' and these plants have grown large and healthy with very little maintenance.  I fed them just once, this spring, and they've grown so tall that they've crowded out most weeds on their own.  If they don't have adequate moisture, however, they quickly let me know by lowering their blooms and leaves.  Daily watering is imperative, especially as the plants produce buds and blooms.    

Black-eyed Susans attract bees, butterflies, and flying insects of all kinds. 

They will steadily produce blooms to cheer the inside of a home as well.  I recently cut my first blooms to bring indoors.  Last year, I attempted to place them in a vase, but it just didn't quite look right.  I tried again this year, and it still doesn't work.  Somehow, in a fancy clear glass vase, the flowers look...uncomfortable.  So I tried something a little different.

That's a bit better.  Understated, unfussy, yet beautiful.  I would expect nothing less from a prairie flower. 

Babies!

While I was out weeding this morning, I noticed mama bluebird flying in and out of the nesting box.  I thought it was time to take a look at what she's been cooking in there!

I recruited my husband's help so that we could open the box, view its contents, and leave as quickly as possible.  As we approached, I could hear muffled peeping from inside the box.

From the research I'm doing online (there's nothing like learning on the fly!), it appears that the nestlings are perhaps one to two days old, as they are readily gaping and their down feathers have started growing.  I examined them quickly, and it appears that 3 of the 4 eggs have hatched.  The last egg may not have hatched yet, or perhaps the nestling was buried out of view underneath his/her siblings and is still too weak to gape. 

Now that we've managed, as a group effort, to create a successful nesting environment and hatch babies after all of the bluebirds' efforts this year, I am experiencing feelings of cautious celebration and, of course, worry.  I plan to check on the babies once or twice more while they are still in the nest.  My husband has strict instructions not to mow too close to the nesting box, to allow the parents to continue regular feedings, and I'm going to see if I can find a way to make mealworms available without attracting any predators or nest robbers.  This photo will probably also be my last one using the flash, as I don't want to affect the nestlings' developing eyesight (their eyes will not open for a few days yet).

I am enjoying the fact that we have reached this milestone with our feathered residents!

Garden Helpers

Although I usually prefer writing about my observations in the garden and the yard, I felt it was time to get a little more personal, and introduce you to my garden "helpers."  Well, in their own minds, they are helpful -- to me, they are good companions that I usually need to work around while they are outside, but who always make me laugh.  The time we spend outdoors together can often be the highlight of my day.

Tucker

Tucker is our 2-year-old cattle dog/ husky mix (we think), and he is the more dedicated "gardener" of the two.  He is an observant companion who will happily dig additional holes near any place I've been working.  Once, a day after I planted two gardenia bushes, he did me the "favor" of moving my potted herbs (growing in small temporary pots on the front porch) to a hole he dug right behind the new gardenias.  He lost the parsley along the way, but was otherwise incredibly proud of his efforts.  Who can punish a dog who so badly wants to help?  He has an innate guard-dog mentality, and alerts us to the presence of any stray turtle, snake, rabbit, or squirrel that may (God help it) enter our yard.  He loves to sit on the porch, preferably in the shade, guarding his domain, but he is nothing but a one-dog wriggling, kissing, welcoming committee to any person who visits our home.  His favorite activities are eating, watching TV, and observing the birdfeeder from our kitchen window (he is strangely protective over the birds -- he only chases squirrels from it). 

Meadow

Meadow is a 3-year-old Welsh Corgi/ Jack Russell (to the best of our knowledge), and she basically runs the show around here.  Tucker may do the digging, but she supervises his every move.  No mole or wayward lizard in the yard escapes her notice; she roams the yard with her little terrier nose searching for any new disturbance.  If she detects something worth investigating, she sends the signal -- and that's when Tucker comes running, her personal four-pawed wrecking crew, and they get to work.  She also does a rather good job manipulating her people into doing what she pleases.  When not scheming to control our lives, and Tucker's, she enjoys going for car rides or lounging (kiddie) pool-side.  She is also a strong, smart little dog -- she can jump to a level several times her own height, and she knows that if she can just get that door handle to turn once she jumps up to that level, she can control her own destiny... 

Playing outside in 2009 (Tucker was a puppy)

Dedicated gardeners know that dogs can be destructive, and sometimes they frown upon the impact a dog can have in a gardening home.  It's true that both of my dogs are confined by an electric fence to areas of the yard that do not include my vegetable or flower garden.   However, it does help that, although I am trying to cultivate several different types of plants (flowers, shrubs, vegetables), I don't care as much about the "grass" part of the lawn.  It's a good thing, too, because, due to several mole-hunting incidents, our turf's landscape has changed over the last couple of years.  And, it has taken some convincing to get the dogs to realize that the hose and sprinkler are used for something besides their personal enjoyment.  I realize that not only do my dogs keep me company while I'm outside -- they keep me entertained, and they do mean well in their role as protectors and "helpers", misguided as their actions may be.  I couldn't imagine our home or our yard now without their presence.  They may re-appear in this blog from time to time, as they inevitably generate stories with their antics.

Now, if you'll please excuse me as I conclude this blog post -- Meadow is trying to get my attention.  I think I need to go fill up the kiddie pool for her again.

Eggs

The other day, I checked on the bluebird family in our new nesting box.  I found a little set of pretty blue eggs inside!

I then went to the mailbox and decided to clean out the old nest that seems as though it's been sitting there for weeks.  When I looked at it, it did seem as though it was a little larger than it had been previously.  I pulled it out, and found another set of eggs -- four in total.

I don't know if those eggs are old and have been abandoned, or another bluebird couple have set up squatting rights in the old mailbox nest.  However, just in case they are viable, I put the nest back where I found it.

I couldn't help but think -- this is a very random thought -- that if hope had a shape, it would probably be oval.  Nothing is so clearly symbolic of hope as an egg.  And I certainly have seen a lot of eggs around here --including the eggs we found after the spring tornado, and the 2 eggs that fell out of the other nest in the neighboring mailbox, and these latest discoveries, I've seen at least a dozen songbird eggs this year.  Lots of eggs and no babies....  yet.

Hope remains. 

Orange Crush

I believe I have discovered the flower that may be the most tolerant of my novice gardening bumblings and missteps.

This plant simply waits its turn for attention.  It doesn't seem to mind if it isn't watered, if it isn't weeded, or even if it's chopped up in places to make room for a flower garden companion.

This lovely plant, low-key in all ways except its gorgeous bloom, is the daylily.  I have several blooms opening right now, which has absolutely nothing to do with my skill as a gardener.

In fact, the daylilies are blooming despite, or perhaps because of, my nearly outright hostility toward them.

Don't misunderstand me -- I do love daylilies.  Their showy orange blooms can evoke only admiration.  However, the problem with my little patch of daylilies was that they had been neglected for years before they became mine.  They had been planted in front of our well cover, perhaps as long as 10 years ago, and they most likely haven't received much attention since that time.  I didn't know what they were when I first saw them -- I honestly initially thought they were a type of grass.  While tearing out nearby dead bushes and one very sorry-looking peach tree, I considered digging them out as well.  Their reedy appearance just seemed to match the weedy decor I was fighting to remove. (See the photo below.)

I didn't realize when I first noticed this "weed patch" that when daylilies are overly crowded, they cease producing flowers altogether. 

Last year, I decided to plant hollyhocks behind the daylilies.  Using the shovel, I chopped out several of the daylilies (which I realized by then were not actual weeds, but still seemed useless) in order to make more room for their new neighbors.  The hollyhocks didn't bloom, or survive longer than a few months (more on that at a later time), but the daylilies at the edge of the patch, near where I had so carelessly uprooted them, began to flower in early summer!   

I did a little research on daylilies over the winter, and found out about the overcrowding problem.  This spring (when I re-planted the hollyhocks), I took the hoe and applied it rather ruthlessly around the edge of the daylily patch. I admit -- I sacrified a few around the edges to make the whole patch healthier.  As a result, the plants yielded even more buds this year. 

As the buds begin to open, I am growing more and more fond of these flowers.  They are so low-maintenance that they now seem as though they should be an essential part of my garden!  This fall, I plan to divide the remaining daylilies and give over half of my supposed "weed patch" to neighbors, so we can all enjoy them next year.   

Grand Lady

The final bud on our magnolia tree is opening.  It signifies the culmination of a long and delightful season of magnolia blossoms.  I feel a little bit like I do while I'm watching a good film -- conscious that it's about to end, and perhaps a bit sad that it will, but satisfied with the experience.

Magnolia trees are extraordinarily exotic to me.   They are, after all, among the most primitive of plant forms.  (Unsurprisingly, I've always imagined the Garden of Eden with magnolia trees.)  I grew up in a forest, surrounded by pine and birch trees.  I loved it -- the trees provided a protective playground, giving us shelter from the sun, wind, or rain showers.  Their branches showed off winter's snowy delights, and, ultimately, they gave us firewood and warmth.   None of them, however, held the power to dramatically unfold such a huge, showy flower.  For years, I wanted a magnolia tree.  As soon as I lived in a climate that could sustain a magnolia tree, I couldn't wait to get one.  Three years ago, when my husband and I became homeowners, my parents bought us a magnolia tree as a house-warming gift.

She was perfect.  We settled on a slightly smaller variety, rather than the stately and towering Southern Magnolia.  We chose the "Kay Parris" variety, instead, which is more compact than its larger relative, but produces blooms at an earlier age.  We placed her in a prominent location in the front corner of our lawn, replacing two scrubby, half-dead barberry bushes and a misshaped sand cherry tree, which we moved to separate locations. (The sand cherry tree sprang to life and recovered its shape and dignity; the barberry bushes, unfortunately, did not.)  Instantly, she added a little class to the place.

When she begins to bloom, typically in mid-May, it is with such dramatic movement that it's almost as though she is aware of my anticipation.  She holds each bud out from her branches like a delicate white fist teasingly folded around a treat.  For weeks, I slow down each day as I back out of the driveway on the way to work, checking to see if that might be the day that I will arrive home to a brilliant, white, open bloom.  If I miss it, it'll be too late; the peak only lasts a day at the most -- if I find the bloom too late, the edges will have browned, and ants, bees and beetles will have already begun their clean-up work.    

A bud opens slowly at first, as though hesitant to reveal its full splendor. However, after they've begun to separate, the petals (and sepals) rapidly unfurl, like long white fingers stretching out in the sun after a long winter chill.  The seeds are released, the insects gather for their nectar feast, and the flower's beauty ends quickly.  

She is still young, but each year, including this spring, this tree has never opened more than one bud at a time.  She seems to deliberately deliver her performance with maximum effect, allowing each flower to receive the audience's full attention and admiration before moving to the next.

Therefore, as I take a last look at this year's final magnificent blossom, I give the grand lady her moment in the spotlight.  I am already looking forward to next year's event.     

First Fruits

I harvested my first batch of produce from the veggie garden on Saturday.  

This year was my first attempt to grow green beans, and it looks as though the three rows that I planted will be providing us with tasty side dishes for some time.  I can't believe how quickly the beans ripened, and how many beans these relatively small plants have growing on them!  It's a good thing, too, because green beans are one of my husband's favorite foods.

After I picked this bowl, my neighbor walked over, bearing gifts of sunflowers and a tomato from her garden.  She also gave me a bag full of squash -- one of my favorite side dish ingredients -- the other day.  I haven't planted squash yet this year, as part of my effort to thwart the nasty squash bug.  So, the green beans went to her table tonight, and her sunflowers decorated mine.  We'll have plenty of beans over the next few weeks anyway.   That's truly one of my favorite aspects of gardening.  It provides us with the opportunity to share with others.

Song of the Bluebirds

Each day I hear the bluebirds sing.  We have several living in our neighborhood.  They perch on my crepe myrtles, feed at our birdfeeder.  On some days, their song is clear and strong.  At other times, it's a little more soft, a bit muted.

Eastern Bluebird (Source: http://www.musicofnature.org/)

A few weeks ago, I wrote about the nest a pair of bluebirds built in our mailbox. 


I continued to carefully monitor the mailbox, and found that the pair quickly moved on to another home.  My chosen theory is that they determined the location was just too busy.  We get mail daily, and I have a large patch of black-eyed susans underneath the mailbox that I had to water frequently at the time, because we were experiencing a stretch of dry weather.  In any case, I prefer to think that was the reason they left.


Shortly after I discovered the bluebirds left our nest, our neighbors told us that a pair of wrens had made a nest in their mailbox this spring, and hatched and raised a brood in it as well.  My neighbor shared an amusing story about one incident she and her daughter experienced while trying to retrieve their mail. She drove up to their mailbox, and when she rolled down the window to reach for the mail, the mother wren flew straight through the open window and into their car!  Poor thing -- it was just as startled as they were.  They were able to open their car windows and help the mama escape before it harmed itself in any way.


Hearing the story, I began to miss our mailbox bluebirds.  I bought a nesting box, but it remained in the dining area. I wasn't quite sure where to place it.  


Then, I read a story posted by my fellow blogger, Holly, on her blog Your Gardening Friend, about birds nesting above her motion detector light. Her story provides a glimpse of a songbird's dramatic struggle to raise its young.  She expresses the anxiety that we humans can feel in our background role as observers of nature.  When a hatchling falls from the nest, she struggles with the desire to protect it, and the hesitation to intervene.   


One evening, I bought some stain for the nesting box.  If we were going to put it up in the yard, we might as well make it a pretty home.  Our nephew was also going to be staying with us for a few days, so I figured it would be a good little outside project for him.

My mom told me about a small ornamental, but functional, birdbath on sale at the hardware store.  I picked one up over Memorial Day weekend and put it in the flower garden.  I felt that the least I could do, in the oppressive heat wave that we just couldn't seem to shake off, was provide a little water.   


Our nephew arrived, and he spent one sunny morning applying the stain.  We scouted a location for it, and recruited my husband to get an old post from our spare lumber pile on which to mount the box.  My husband got out the post-hole digger, and a few inches down, hit what felt like bedrock in our clay-based soil.  It was too dry -- it had been too hot for too long.  Another time, he said.  Once we get some rain, I'll put this up for you.


And then the thunderstorm came, with a dramatic entrance, bringing us a long, soaking rain.  I took one of the dogs and went for a long walk early the next morning. The air felt refreshed, and the earth somehow relieved.  The birds seemed to sing with more fervor than ever. Another thunderstorm arrived that evening.  The following morning, I ventured out again to enjoy another early morning walk.


That's when I discovered it.  The round nest was tilted awkwardly on its side, in the unlikely location at the foot of a mailbox; the signature blue eggs were spilled forward onto the black pavement.  Bluebirds had made another mailbox nest, this time at a vacant home down the street, but they had not been successful.  A predator, or, perhaps, a curious neighborhood cat, had scooped the nest out of the mailbox, knocking it to the ground.  It hadn't been there during my walk on the previous morning, so the damage must have occurred during that previous day.  I also saw that the pair had already started a new nest -- the mailbox contained a thin layer of pine straw teased into what appeared to be an evolving circular pattern.


I scooped up the fallen nest, and placed the damaged eggs temporarily back into it.  I pushed the small new nest back into the back of the vacant house's mailbox, away from that precipitous edge.  I knew what I needed to do.

My husband put up the nesting box that day.  I didn't have time to apply the matching stain to the old post, but I didn't care. 

I placed the eggs from the failed nest in the woods, but thought that perhaps the nesting material could be re-usable.  I pulled the nest slightly apart, and placed it upside down in a crook between two branches in a tree just feet away from the new nesting box.

That was on Sunday.

On Tuesday, I stopped by the nesting box on my way to water my butterfly bushes.  I noticed the nesting material that I had placed in the tree was completely gone, but some evidence of activity appeared in the box.  I took a closer look.  A few pieces of pine straw peeked out of the entrance and the bottom corner.

Hesitantly, I opened the box.

Later that same evening, I saw the female bluebird perched atop her new home.  Her breast jutted out confidently as she appeared to intently survey her surroundings.  Her posture radiated excitement; she stood tall and leaned forward on her perch. She was chirping emphatically in the direction of the pine trees nearby, as though calling out directions to a mate who was busy gathering more supplies.  Since then, I've seen her flitting back and forth from the nest a few times, and I know she's noticed me -- I can't quite get close enough to capture a decent photo.  I don't want to disturb them too much, however.  I'm quite content to let them make themselves at home.


I now hear the bluebirds' crisp, vibrant song in the morning as I step out the door to leave for work.  And now, I know.     


I know the song the bluebirds sing. 


It is a song of hope.  

Remembering Our Roots: Sowing Oats

So far on Sprigs and Roots, I haven't taken much time to reflect on farming and gardening methods of the past, as I originally planned when I started this blog. There is much we can appreciate about the progress made in agriculture, and even more we can learn about both historical and current-day methods. Today's post features a guest story, and that guest is none other than my father.

Dad grew up as one of eight children on a small dairy farm in Minnesota, the son of a World War II veteran.  His experience is likely representative of many farming families of that generation -- a time when small farms were still plentiful, when the nation was enjoying a surge of post-war progress on several fronts, and when the world was continuing its transition from an agricultural to industrial-based economy.

Dad has told us several stories about life on the farm in the middle of the 20th century, and just recently, we've coordinated our efforts to record some of his memories.  Here is his recollection of helping my grandfather plant oats.  The story is his alone; I've only just helped him flush out a few details. I hope to feature more of his stories in future posts.

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The spring of each year was planting time, and we would spend a lot of time in the fields. Oats, one our main crops, provided feed for the chickens and turkeys, and was ground up with corn to feed the milk cows. Its primary purpose, however, because of its fast growth and height, was to act as a cover crop for the slower-germinating and growing alfalfa. First, the preparation began.

We started in the granary, with the oats we saved from the previous year’s crop to prepare the seeds for the current year. Using a fanning mill, we cleaned the oats, ridding them of straw and weed seeds. The machine had shaking screens and a blower. I would dump the oats in the top, over the first screen, which captured bigger stems and seeds and had openings just large enough for the oats to fall through to a second screen. As the oats dropped, a blower blew air through them to get rid of the chaff and small pieces of straw. The second screen had small openings through which small weed seeds would drop, and the cleaned oats would drop out to the front. We would gather them into a bag from there, for seeding.

Each year, we pulled a seed drill behind the tractor to create small trenches, drop the seeds, and cover them. The drill, made by the Peoria Drill & Seed Company, was eight feet across, and four inches separated each disc that made the trenches. Our particular seed drill was old and had previously been horse-drawn. Each of its wheels were wooden, with wooden spokes and an iron band running the circumference of the outer rim. As we prepared to use the seed drill, we would take off the wheels and placed them in the water in a shallow area of the creek. By the time we returned to remove them a few days later, the wood would be swollen, tightening the spokes and pressing against the iron bands, securing everything in place.

Depiction of horse-drawn seed drill (www.arthursclipart.org)



Cultivation came next. Fields, covered with manure during the winter months, received a thorough plowing. After that, we would disc the field, breaking up the sod clumps left by the plow. The alfalfa fields would produce for the following three years, and during each alfalfa harvest we would need smooth, even fields for cutting, raking, and baling. Conscious of that fact, we would drag the field with a fifteen-foot-wide drag, usually a couple of times in different directions.

We planted the oats at the beginning of May. By mid-June, they were knee high. At this time, I walked through the fields to pull out the mustard plants. If left alone, these weeds would soon take over the oat field. The yellow flowers on the mustard plant made them easy to spot in the green oat fields. It would take me a day and a half to pick the mustard and carry them to the end of the field for burning so the mustard seeds would not germinate.

By mid-August, the oat plants were waist high, turning from a dark green to yellow, and heavy with oat seed. In some years, when the crop was heavy, a windstorm would knock part of the field over on its side and we would be unable to harvest those oats.

One August, when I was 10 years old, we noticed small areas where the oats had been knocked down, and no windstorm had blown through for weeks.  Looking closer at the area, we could see wide trails made through the oats field.  About that time, my older brother David, who was at the other end of the field, saw a small bear stand up on its hind legs to face him.  Seeing David, the bear turned and ran out of the field and into the pasture.  Our herd of cows that had been grazing there bolted to the other side of the fence line as the bear ran by them.  Over the next several days, we watched for the bear, but did not see him again.

The original seed drill, now in retirement at the farm