Tracking the Elusive

My husband found these tracks in the woods.

Last night as I took Shadow out to the edge of the woods near the compost pile, we both stopped, startled.  It was pitch black, cold, and there's still enough snow on the ground to necessitate boots.  As I stood with her, I could hear clearly coming from the direction of the compost pile the crack and gnaw of sharp teeth on something. I'd put out the compost earlier in the day, and included in the batch of scraps were walnut shells and other assorted nuts. Now if you know anything about buying those yummy bags of nuts in the shell around the holidays, you know you can NEVER get all the meat out of the shell - not even with those sharp pick things they include in nutcracker sets. I'd had some walnuts with an apple as a snack in the afternoon, and the apple had a huge bad spot in it, so about half had also gone out in the compost, along with a bunch of shells that still had meat in them.  Shadow and I listened for a while.  The skitter of claws on the stone edge of my compost pile, the rustle of leaves (when there was no wind) let me know that our unseen visitor had fled back into the forest.  I began talking loudly too, in the hopes of scaring away whatever wild critter it was so I wouldn't have to deal with 70+ pounds of lunging, hunting-crazed German Shepherd on an icy hillside.

This morning Shadow and I were out before dawn. I led her up the snow-covered driveway and as we got to the curve near the edge of our property, I saw even more deer tracks in the snow.  Even immediately after the snowstorm this weekend, I saw plenty of deer tracks crisscrossing out of the woods.  They always use the same pathway through the woods, emerging and crossing the driveway.  There were other tracks too; the two parallel big feet tracks of a rabbit hopping towards the big pile of brush, which would make excellent cover; and more interesting, tracks I think are of a fox.  Near the rabbit, of course....

The snow helps us track the elusive.  We see prints of what has gone before us in the night time.  The snow has also brought forth many creatures, like our guest at the compost pile, seeking additional sustenance.  I know that the opossum love to eat fruit scraps from the compost pile, and sometimes after I put out pineapple cores and tops I'll find one dragged about 10 feet into the woods, gnawed on by sharp little teeth.

I love thinking about the mystery of these creatures, the lives of the forest dwellers who shyly rest in the shadows of the pines by day and emerge by night, seeking food, eluding predators.  We hear the owls hooting from tree to tree on some nights, and in the summer the whipporwill serenades us from the woods.  I see bats swooping and circling the fields. I have seen red foxes playing at dawn in the winter; one year they ran through the garden and had a merry game of chase on my compost pile while I watched in astonishment; by the time I got my camera, they were gone.  And one night, shortly after we moved in here and I couldn't sleep, I was standing by my kitchen window when a creature appeared from the woods, walking slowly and steadily past the house. I thought at first it was a large dog, and in the moonlight it had a distinctly canine appearance. It was only when it stopped near my kitchen window and looked at me did I recognize it for what it was; a coyote.  I had seen them in the wild out in Montana, loping along the railroad tracks, but never in my wildest dreams did I expect one to visit near my kitchen at 5 a.m. in Virginia!

The snow reveals the hidden lives of the forest dwellers.  We see the clues in the tracks of the visitors.  This week the temperatures will go back into the 40's and 50's, and while I am glad that I will be able to drive more easily, I will be sorry to see the snow leave.

Today's photos are actual pictures taken on our property, although from storms past  - they are not stock photos.  

Cattle on our neighbor's farm.

After the Storm

Two weekends of snow and ice in south central Virginia...according to my friends and neighbors who have lived here their whole lives, this is almost unheard of. The storm began on Friday and didn't let up until yesterday afternoon. We ended up with freezing rain and sleet, snow, more rain and sleet, and then snow flurries....the total amount of snow was only about four inches, but it fell on top of about two inches of ice. That's what we measure on our driveway, anyway. Another weekend watching Mass on EWTN - there's no way I can get the car out and up the hill.

We lost power only for a few hours on Friday night. The electricity went off around 10:30. John called it in, and the recording at the power company said it was a problem at the substation. We breathed a sigh of relief. That's easier for them to fix than if a line went down on a back road somewhere in the middle of an ice storm. Sure enough, around 1 a.m, the power came back on. I was never so glad to hear the hum of the furnace amidst the constant hiss of sleet against the window panes.

On Saturday, I worked in the morning, and then we curled up in front of the fireplace with our books. I have been rereading my favorite mystery author, Phil Rickman. I made a pot of French onion soup. It's the first time I made it from scratch and it came out terrific. I felt inordinately pleased with myself. It was one of the recipes that intimidate me - it sounded much harder to make than it really was. I even had a set of those fancy onion soup crocks with the lids. A neighbor back in Huntington was throwing them out and John snagged them for me. So I made dinner as if we were at a fancy bistro and served it in the fancy crocks. It was so much fun! It was just what we needed on a cold, stormy winter's night.

This morning I snapped these pictures of our typical walking route. Enjoy this tour of our winter wonderland, after the storm.

Remember my flower garden? Here's what it looked like today...


Dawn peeking through the woods...


The vegetable garden, far to the right of the shed, all covered with over a foot of snow from last week's storm...and then some from this weekend.



There were flocks and flocks of robins everywhere. They were hiding among the bushes and trees near the road.

The farm across the road at dawn...cattle eating big rolls of hay...


Back at our driveway...thank you to the county for plowing. A convoy of work trucks passed me heading towards Pamplin around 7 a.m. Thank you to the people who plowed, salted, sanded, fixed the electricity and kept us safe.



...and rounded the last turn of the driveway, heading east towards the house and a hot cup of coffee, my adventures over.

A Knight on a Farmall Tractor

We got 14 inches of snow on Saturday and awoke on Sunday to a winter wonderland complete with crystalline blue skies and pines covered in fluffy white snow. Church was closed, roads hadn't been plowed yet, and no one was going anywhere fast, so we enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of hanging out in our pajamas until 10 drinking tea and reading books.

But reality intruded and we knew we had to get out and start shoveling. Our driveway is about a quarter of a mile long. I figured that if I shoveled for two hours a day, I could clear a path to the end on Sunday so we could get the mail and if necessary, I could call a friend to pick me up to get essentials if we ran out. By Wednesday, we'd have it clear enough to get the cars out for grocery shopping. This was important, since another storm is predicted for next weekend (although in typical weatherman style, they are still calling it a "rain, sleet or snow event" - great way to hedge your bets, guys!) We've got enough food stocked up to last a while but it's always nice to have milk and fresh fruit!

So John and I shoveled snow while Shadow played and made herself a snow cave to sleep in. She really needs to be an Alaskan or Maine dog. She loves the cold. She seems happier outside in the cold than inside by a roaring fire!

We had 1/3 of the driveway cleared and called it quits for the day. It was really funny because as we were shoveling, we talked about our options to handle future snowstorms. Should we get a snow blower? Invest in a plow to attach to the new truck we are saving our pennies for? How much would that cost? Is there another way, and is it worth it? We keep hearing that these two snow storms are just freaky, that this never happens here where we live....but how do we know? Shoveling by hand a quarter of a mile of driveway gets old...really fast. (But I did get an amazing aerobic and strength training workout.)

I said to John, "If we could only shovel or plow it down to an inch or two, the sun would melt the rest....that's all we need. Just a little help."

We called it quits and went inside to hot tea and an Alfred Hitchcock movie marathon. We were sitting in the living room watching "Rear Window" when we heard a peculiar noise. We both ran to see what it was but nothing....and the noise grew louder...an engine noise, to be sure and something else...

Then to our amazement, a man sitting atop an ancient Farmall tractor appeared at the top of the driveway...PLOWING!

We ran outside. "Who is it?" John asked.

He was an older fellow with a weather beaten face and a cap pulled low over his forehead and farm coveralls. His Farmall tractor was well used, a rusty red color, rattling and clacking away on all cylinders, but that workhorse was just piling the snow up and out of the way like magic.

He pulled up and we shook hands with our knight on the Farmall tractor. It was our neighbor (well, in the country I have learned that anyone within five miles is your neighbor - he's about half a mile down the road) who owns the neighboring farm

"Driving by," he said, "Saw you hadn't been plowed out yet. Thought that snow would collect real good down here. Sorry I didn't get here sooner. Had to get gas for the tractor."

And with our heartfelt thanks, he nodded and drove off, plowed and plowed some more until our driveway was perfectly clear.

I had such tears in my eyes I had to go into the house. It was like a scene from It's a Wonderful Life. Since when does a perfect stranger haul his farm equipment out and drive down the road plowing out total stranger's driveways?

Since we moved to Prospect, that's when.

Thank you, neighbor.. You are our knight on a Farmall tractor. We really, really appreciated it.

Snow. And Lots of It

It's 19 degrees at 7 a.m and according to the intrepid television reporter, that's the day's high. Looking out of my office windows, the snow is in whiteout conditions - I can barely see the pines at the edge of the clearing.

Garden? What garden? The only thing I can still see is the trellis into the flower garden.

Snow is really beautiful....as long as the electricity and heat stay on!

White Christmas

It's already started snowing. After enjoying umpteen-odd Christmases without snow (okay, we had one of those wet snows on Christmas Eve once on Long Island, but it didn't stick), I had to move to Virginia to experience an honest to goodness white Christmas! We are expecting 10-14 inches of snow...or more. The generator is primed. Water is stocked. Propane tank is full. Now all we have to do is sit back and enjoy the snow storm. If the power stays on it will be fun. If the power goes off, we'll live. The only sad part is that I had to cancel our neighborhood Christmas dinner, which we were hosting tomorrow. I know it's not Christmas, but the temperatures will remain cold enough so that the snow will be here for Christmas. A real white Christmas!

With the heaviest snow expected tomorrow morning into the evening, there was no way anyone should be out on the rural roads...even if you have a snow plow hooked to the front of your car.

You know, during my executive days, I had very long to-do lists with important sounding items on it.

My to-do list for this weekend includes just one item: build a snowman.

The One Eyed Peacock

Yesterday afternoon I'm sitting at my desk finishing up some emails at the end of a busy day. I've got our local radio station, WFLO, playing in the background. Every Friday around 5 pm, they announce the lost and found pets. The announcer is droning on, going over the list of missing dogs and cats. Then I hear him fumble around a bit. "There's ah...a one eyed peacock missing from the Farmville area...anyone with information please call...."

I sit up and listen. A one-eyed peacock? Did I just hear that right?

As if on cue, the announcer repeats it now in a stronger voice, as if to emphasize this is no joke. "If you've seen this bird, please call..."

How in the world can you NOT spot a one-eyed peacock wandering around downtown Farmville, the major town in the area replete with Wal-Mart, Centra Southside Hospital, dozens of restaurants and Longwood University?

Then I start laughing even harder. I think I know someone who knows the owner of this bird. Our little church choir has a tradition that on someone's birthday, we go out after practice for ice cream at Merck's. One lady brings peacock feathers for the birthday boy or girl to adorn the birthday hat so we can get good and silly. There's someone who works in her office who raises peacocks...and I think she lives in Farmville.

So, not only is it quite plausible that there is indeed a loose peacock running around by the Lowe's in Farmville, but it's possible I could get in touch with his owner.

This is what happens when you move into a small rural town!

Quick story: Hubby and I were on vacation one year and we stopped to visit a home owned by Audubon, the famous illustrator. After the house tour, we sat at a picnic table near the parking lot to eat our lunch. They had lots of exotic birds wandering about...various plumed chickens, turkeys, etc....and peacocks. One stunning white peacock came nosing over. He seemed to be begging. Hubby asked me, "What do peacocks eat?" I had no idea. We had some seedless grapes in the cooler, so Hubby threw one to the peacock. That was it. It was like peacock candy. The white peacock was eating green grapes out of hubby's hand. It was surreal. He followed us back to the car, but alas, another group of picnickers attracted him, and off went our new found friend.

PS: Big thank you to Liz from the Prince Edward County Cooperative Extension Office for her kind telephone call on Thursday. Liz is a fan of this blog and called to just say hello. What can I say except that for a writer to hear a bit of praise is like throwing a grape to a peacock. Thank you dear Liz and hope you can stop by this spring to visit Seven Oaks!

The Mouse

Yes, another rodent visitor. We're noticing they come in when it's cold or rainy outside. Well, if I were a field mouse, I would too. Pierre woke us up at 4 a.m. on Thursday morning vigorously playing with something on the bedroom floor. I assumed it was one of his toy chickens, the ones he enjoys bringing upstairs and lining up on his little blanket. So I rolled over and went back to sleep. I awoke at 6, took care of Shadow, got my coffee and headed upstairs to work. As I was answering email, I heard a muffled shout from down the hallway. Hubby emerged from the bedroom. "Pierre's got a mouse."

"His green one or his blue one?"

"Neither. A real one."

He had the little creature cornered behind the night table. We went about our day, leaving Pierre on guard duty. Pierre kept his vigil all day long, barely snatching a cat nap for the next several hours. The mouse never moved.

Finally, Hubby could stand it no longer. He decided to take action.

I heard a triumphant shout. "I got him!"

He walked into my office holding a lid on top of an empty plastic container. The mouse was standing on tip toe inside, nose twitching, looking indignant.

"Nabbed him on the stairs."

Score: Pierre, 2. Hubby, 2. It's a tie.

In the middle of the nor'easter, with branches snapping and the wind and rain howling, Hubby walked out into our woods. He was gone for about 10 minutes. He came back soaking wet.

"Where in the world did you go?"

"All the way down to the fallen tree. I let the mouse go there. At least he has a place to hide from the storm."

"The owl might get him." We've got a wonderful Great Horned owl living in the woods on that side of the property. We hear her every night, hunting.

"Yeah, but at least that's nature doing what it does..." He shrugged and brushed something off his maroon sweatshirt. "You know. Not...playing him to death, the way Pierre would. Fast, natural death."

"What's that on your shirt?"

"Saltine crumbs. I left him a cracker. He's probably hungry."

I told him that St. Francis of Assissi would have been proud of him.

Fall Cleanup

I am sore beyond words today. We spent a little over four hours doing garden clean up. And yard clean up. And clean up of clean up. Since the last several weekends have been so rainy, we had a lot to catch up on around here. First, we cleaned up all the left over bits and pieces from the deck and walkway construction. We piled the decorative stones that were left over into the cart behind the riding mower and took them up to the flower garden, where the large thick stones will help prevent erosion. My butterfly garden continues to turn into a sand trap as more sand from the walkway above leaks into it with every rain storm. Never again will I even think about using a sand base for a garden pathway, particularly on a slope. What in the world was I thinking? Argh!

Next, we took all the lumber out into the woods and tossed it into the odd little crevice in the woods. It's an area that looks like a giant crack in the ground and goes down about 12 feet. We've found bits and pieces of old farm things there, like rusty oil cans and bits of old paint cans, so we know the last people to have farmed the land used it as their refuse pile too. But we only put our old lumber bits and pieces there and a few old pallets, hoping that nature will reduce them to chips over time.

We put landscape fabric around the forsythia we're trying to grow into a hedge at the end of the driveway, mulched it, and moved all the big rocks we'd placed around the driveway back up into the flower garden so Hubby could weed whack the edges. As soon as I turned over the first stone, I knew we'd made the right decision to do our clean up; a black widow spider was hiding under the rock. Since it was cold, she moved slowly and I was able to kill her, but several other rocks revealed black widows of around the same size. I think clearing away the old rocks and bits of lumber from near the house was smart. I hate to use sprays, but I have used them in the garage to keep the spider population down as well as the insects they feed upon. If they don't have anything to eat, they'll go away (I hope). I made Hubby get his work gloves to pick up the rest of the rocks. Black widow bites we do not need around here...

I also pulled up the spent vegetable plants such as the peppers. We opened up the pickled peppers I canned this fall, my first project, and they were so yummy I could have eaten the whole jar on the spot! Best of all, they didn't upset my tummy the way raw peppers do...definitely a keeper. That recipe book is excellent. It is called Preserving the Harvest and I have made the awesome pear butter recipe from it that's infused with ginger and orange (and we can't get enough of that) as well as the peppers. I'm including a link to it, below if you are interested.

I had cleaned the first floor of the house in the morning, and it was Hubby's dad's 81st birthday, so I'd baked a double chocolate-chocolate-fudge cake. After collapsing on the sofa in front of a roaring fire, chicken roasting in the oven and the smell of double chocolate-chocolate-fudge cake suffusing the house, Pierre curled up next to me, and we snuggled in to finish reading a great book "Abraham Lincoln: A Man of Faith and Courage." I highly recommend this book too - it was a wonderful collection of stories about one of the most amazing men America has produced, Abraham Lincoln, stitched together to form a biography of sorts.

So that was my day. Today after church and shopping in town I'm heading home to plant bulbs. We have to dig 40 holes and stick 10 bulbs in each. I know I'm going to be sore tonight, but what a feast for the eyes that will be this spring!

Weekend Update

Patty emailed me to say that my favorite goat, Ginger, died this weekend. She's now bottle feeding the triplets plus another goat had four babies. That's unusual and mama goat doesn't have enough milk for four, so Patty's now got several babies to bottle feed. I'm invited to take a turn on the bottle feeding. I wish my day wasn't so packed with client work or I'd jump into the car and head over. Hopefully I can squeeze in some time this week, although the first week of the month is always on the busy side.

Now that the high holy day of candy is past (Halloween), I'm recommitting to my food plan and going back to "raw until dinner", or eating fresh, natural and wholesome uncooked plant foods until dinnertime. I do have yogurt-based smoothies for breakfast but the yogurt helps my body so much I have kept it in the diet. I hit up Wal-Mart after church yesterday and stocked up on produce, so I think I am all set!

Hiking on the Applachian Trail

Hiking...one of our all time favorite activities! Yesterday was the first nice day in a long time. It was time to head out for our first dog-trekking adventure, an all day hike with Shadow. The weather was perfect. Cold when we started out, so cold I wished I'd worn gloves, but then in the low '60's during the day, bright and clear and sunny. We packed sandwiches and apples, water and dog cookies for Shadow, put her blanket in the back of the car and headed for the Blue Ridge Mountains to pick up the Appalachian Trail. We drove for about an hour and a half through the most glorious fall countryside imaginable. Bright crystal blue skies, orange, gold and crimson trees interspersed with the loblolly pines that are omnipresent in this part of Virginia, and rolling green fields dotted with placid cattle and sheep. We drove along the Blue Ridge Parkway's winding, twisting hills through tunnels of bright golden autumn foliage, parked the car, hooked up Shadow's leash and off we went.

The hike took us down a short slope, then up a trek over rocks, and around winding hillside. The hills were covered with autumn leaves. We saw not a single soul along the trail the entire day. At one point, the steep hillside turned abruptly into a cathedral of gold. We were on a narrow ledge trail with a steep drop off to our left and a steep slope to our right. Suddenly the trail opened up to a flat section with the tallest tulip tree forest I have ever seen. Great soaring black trunks of trees over 100 feet tall, crowned with golden foliage. The light filtered through, golden and bright, and we just stopped to drink it in for a long while. Soaring vistas greeted us at every turn. Through the trees we spied the Blue Ridge Mountains, hillsides painted as if by an impressionist's brush dabbed in crimson, rust, ochre and gold.

After hiking for two hours up and down steep slopes we crossed a road and came to a long suspension foot bridge over a gurgling deep river. The bridge swayed and creaked with every step. Shadow took one look at John, then immediately and steadily walked over the bridge, taking her cue from him and trusting him completely. It was such a profound moment for us both to realize that this shy, timid and frightened shelter dog now completely and lovingly trusted us. She would follow us to the ends of the earth if we asked her to. Throughout the entire day, she behaved as if she had always walked on trails. We kept her leashed, but she followed us over rocks and streams, by waterfalls and up steep hillsides, jumping over logs willingly.

We stopped hiking around 12:30 and sat on logs by the side of the trail, then turned to head back to the car. And now the difficult part lay before us. Our legs ached and we realized that the way back was almost entirely uphill, with a steep elevation change. We took it slowly and it took almost an hour more to get back then to head out. Shadow did well until about mile 8. My left leg had a Charley horse that wouldn't stop, and we were all aching and sore by the time mile 10 and something came up and our car was back in sight. But as I walked that last half mile, I thought of all those I loved who could no longer walk this trail...and I gave thanks to God for every ache and pain, for it meant I was fit enough to hike one of the rugged and difficult mountain trails.

Shadow lay down on the back seat of the car and snoozed for the ride home. We took the scenic route and drove along the Blue Ridge Parkway, then back through Lynchburg and into Appomattox where we picked up Chinese food for dinner. I was exhausted, so I missed my friend Eni's presentation at church last night, which I am sorry for...I had been looking forward to her talk to the women's prayer group, but I honestly couldn't even walk to the door, much less get into the car and stay awake to drive into Farmville, go to the lecture and head home.

What a glorious day. Shadow was tired last night, but this morning she was racing around again chasing her ball. As for the humans, we are tired and sore but happy.

I love to hike. I love to be out on trail. Give me a horse for a trail ride or a long hike any day. Give me fresh mountain air and God's beauty and the ones I love the most with me the whole day and I am happy. Although Pierre did climb into my backpack the night before when we took out our hiking gear, we did have to leave him home. Too bad cats can't hike!

I am back to work today, sore in body but clear of mind, looking forward to more hikes with our amazing German Shepherd, a rescued dog who has turned out to be the best dog we've ever owned.

Awe

This morning I crept outside at 5:30 a.m. and sat on the front porch steps, my gaze resting near the top of the pines between the constellation of Orion to my left and the Pleides to my right. I was rewarded quickly. Light burst from the heavens - intertwining zigzags of light as not one, but two shooting stars bust into brightness just below Sirius, the dog star.

I was up to catch the Orionid Meteor Shower. I've seen a shooting star or two but never like this. The sky was crystal clear with no moon. The stars and constellations were bright and crystalline. Within an hour, I saw seven meteors total - two so bright they lit the sky like fireworks, arcing down to the ground. The first one that zigzagged was the oddest one. The other four were tiny streaks and blurs of brightness. One actually shot upwards. I know that I was just seeing a streak of light as the Earth passed through the comet's debris trail, and it just happened to be the angle of viewing, but it was amazing just the same.

According to NASA's website, the Orionids come every October. They're the debris from Halley's comet that passed our way in 1986.

Sitting with my eyes raised to heaven in the predawn cold, with Shadow's warm furry body pressed to my side and a cup of steaming coffee in my hands, I felt what only could be described as tremendous awe...awe looking up into the pre dawn sky, as meteors streaked through the atmosphere at 90,000 miles an hour.

Where had they been? Where have they come from? How old were they? If they could see, what had they seen, and what stories could they tell?

I know the meaning of the word "awe" now.

Praying Mantis

Since noticing the cocoons on the Butterfly Bushes this past year and watching hundreds of tiny green praying mantises move throughout the butterfly garden, I've been fascinated by them. We seem to have more here in Virginia than we did in New York, although living so far out into the woods and away from the tons of chemicals dumped on lawns by our suburban neighbors probably means just more mantises in general and nothing special related to geography or climate.

Last night as I ran Shadow out for her walk, I spied several praying mantis up on the front porch railing. They were all about the same size, and a mottled brown and black with some gray thrown in.

According to my casual research, their coloration is likely due to camouflage. Which makes sense if they've been living on my front porch. I've watched them pounce on bugs on the porch and I even rescued one from a spider web. My good deed for the day, I suppose.

Here's what I learned about praying mantis:

• the name "mantis" is from the Greek "mantid" meaning "prophet" or "fortune teller"
• the name "praying" is often misspelled "preying". They are called praying mantis because their front legs are folded, as if in prayer. But they also prey on other insects, hence the mispelling
• they can catch insects - but have been recorded catching hummingbirds (!), mice, and even lizards.
• they are very stimulated by movement, and have been observed in the laboratory to watch closely the movements of the scientists studying them, following them around the lab (double !! - it's like a science fiction movie)

According to my research, a good supply of praying mantises means that my organic gardening techniques must be working. Not only can the mantis thrive, but by association, their food chain must also be thriving.

I'll keep counting how many mantis I see as this cold weather continues. Some continue to shelter on the front porch. I have to be careful where I put my hand, as they hide under the rails. As long as I keep Pierre away from them, all will be well, and they can do whatever it is they do at this time of year.

And I'll keep my eye open for more cocoons in the flower garden!

Slow Transition to Fall

It's starting to dawn on me that summer is over. Last night at choir practice, I was delighted to see not just the handful of college students who return to herald the change of seasons but two entire rows of college kids eager to sing with our little group at St. Theresa's. I haven't sung with this many voices in an actual choir in over 20 years, not since high school. It makes such a difference when you lose your way in the music to actually hear other voices singing the notes...and it's just fun to be around the college kids as well as my friends. There was a new energy among us too.

So the first sign of fall is here: the return of the Longwood University and Hampton-Sydney students. It's like migration patterns among wildlife...the students flocking back to Farmville.

The hummingbird feeder needs less frequent refills. They've either started heading south for the winter or there are wild plants blooming now which they prefer.

Gone are the green crickets, replaced with the mature big ones that Pierre loves to chase and Shadow snaps and eats. Shadow's lush long haired coat has begun to shed. The last time she shed like this was March, and her spring coat came in. The undercoat is now pulling out in tufts and I imagine she'll grow her thicker fur now for the winter. She should be an Alaskan or Maine dog with that coat - Virginia winters aren't usually that bad!

Walking Shadow yesterday morning up the driveway towards our road, we rounded a turn and stopped short. Standing not fifteen feet away was a buck (male deer) complete with antlers. They're back too, present every evening in the yard eating grass, with small bands following them around. Shadow barked and he fled for the woods, where I hope he'll stay on our non hunting property for at least a few weeks.

The last of the melons are in and the vines are dying. The corn stalks have died completely and I'll remove them this weekend. I'm still picking and freezing green beans and harvesting herbs. Tomatoes anyone? I can't pick them fast enough and my family can't eat them enough. Soon they'll be gone, but next year I'm going to register with Ample Harvest so that my extra vegetables can be used by the local food pantry.

I don't have many fall blooming flowers, so I'm enjoying the last of the helopsis and echinacea, the morning glories, impatiens, petunias and salvia - my old standbyes. The marigolds in the fall are my favorite for by this time they've attained bushy golden perfection, and they last well into November.

Fall...apples, pears and crisp Sundays watching football together while I do my counted cross stitch (the only craft I can complete. We'll leave the quality to the imagination). Cozy sweaters and curling up in front of the fireplace with a good book.

And bulbs. Fall bulbs. Masses of them. Bushel baskets of them. I can't wait to show you what I'm planting this year!

Today I plan to knock off work a bit early and go for a walk to enjoy the last long days of summer. I hope you find time to do that, too.

Vine Ripened Breakfast

There's something wonderful about picking a cantaloupe and eating a vine-ripened breakfast. This morning I just had melon for breakfast, picked fresh from the garden...juicy, not as sweet as I would have liked, but I imagine bursting with vitamins, minerals and other good-for-me things. I ate as much as I wanted and put the rest away for later. When eating fresh, raw fruits for breakfast, you don't have to worry so much about calories!

It was lonely here this morning without my sister and her family. They came from New York to stay with us for a few days and left yesterday morning. I got used to sitting on my rocking chair on the front porch with my big sister, sipping coffee, and watching the hummingbirds play at the feeder as the sun rose. I wish I had a transporter, like in Star Trek. Mary could zap over each morning for coffee then zap back to her home and job at Molloy College. And I could zap up to Long Island in the afternoon to go for a bike ride with her.

But that's not to be, at least not yet. We have to rely upon Amtrak trains.

We went up to Monitcello, Thomas Jefferson's home, and I enjoyed the recreated gardens very much. We also got a chance to visit the University of Virginia, which Jefferson designed. I stood in the rotunda and breathed in the scent of old wood and books: "Ah, the smell of learning!" We ate dinner at Charley's cafe in Farmville and my brother Joe came with his whole family for a visit on Sunday. I saw my grand-nephew, Adam, for the first time. He toddled around the patio and charmed us all with his affectionate grin and his new word: "GO!" And go he does, all the time...poor Dexter and Gina, my nephew in law and niece and baby Adam's parents. They never get a break with this little guy zooming around, showing off his new walking skills!

Shadow was an angel dog with the baby, allowing him to pet her thick soft fur, grab her tail, and crawl around under him. At one point Adam fed her one of his baby crackers. She gingerly took it in her huge jaws, walked to the garden, and amidst our gales of laughter, she buried it neatly in the flower beds, using that big German Shepherd snout to shovel the dirt over it. You couldn't even tell where she'd buried it! She has never done that before. Later that evening she went back, dug it up, and had a snack! If she was off on the lawn and the baby began to cry, she would pick her head up and trot back to the patio, gently licking his head or nudging him with her nose. It worked every time. The baby would stop crying and smile through his wet, sticky tears. Shadow would look worriedly at him, then when she was sure everything was all right, she would suffer another pat from his tiny hands, and lay back down on the lawn where she could watch him.

Now it's back to work...the house is quiet, loads of laundry are tumbling, and today's agenda is full of marketing work for my clients, writing and editing projects, and gardening tasks. Yesterday after the company left I blanched and froze a gallon of fresh green beans, and today my plan is to do the same with the carrots and peppers. The garden is bursting with life right now, and I am like the ant in the old Aesop's fable, putting aside as much as I can so I can remember these warm, fun days of early August when the January frosts lay thick on the fields.

What My Garden Teaches About Change

I used to hate change. I was the kind of kid who cried when they changed the lineup on the Saturday morning cartoons. I liked my schedule. I still do. As an adult, nothing made me antsier than getting into work with my full day planned out and then someone dragging me into an emergency meeting....and to have my entire plan thrown out the window to deal with a crisis.

But change can be good!

My sister and my niece were planning a visit this weekend. I was already so happy and excited to welcome them here. But them Mary called yesterday to say that my nephew is home early from summer camp, and he will join us. Hurray! Part of the New York branch of the family heading down south to visit with the southern branch. Now we scramble to find a sleeping bag and an extra pillow for Matt. There's always the couch....

Then my phone rang and it is my Virginia-based brother....I had invited his family to join us for a barbecue on Sunday, but from my conversation with my sister in law I thought maybe only he could come. Nope, not just my brother, but his entire family, including my niece and her husband and my grand-nephew. So suddenly I am welcoming half of my siblings and their children into my home, and I couldn't be happier!

Changes can be good. When I was growing up, a family party consisted of dozens and dozens of extended family. Being one of five children, with my grandmother living with us, we were 8 people living in a tiny house...then you added my mom's sister and her family of four....and then the great-aunts and uncles. Oh boy, that little house was filled to overflowing. My grandmother was one of 11, my grandfather one of 13 kids, so you can image that when the great aunts and uncles arrived with THEIR families....it was standing room only. Literally. No way we had enough chairs.

During one memorable party, my sisters still remember playing in the hot, dusty attic. It was the only space available in a house filled to the brim with adults that was free for the kids!

I grew up learning to cook for an ARMY. John still complains about the leftovers. Try as I might, I still can't quite learn to cook for three. Luckily Shadow likes leftovers.

Philosophers tell us that the only thing constant in the universe is change. Looking out my window at the flower garden - the one next to the driveway that I went crazy weeding this past week - I can mark the slow, steady progression of blossoms like days ticked off on a calendar. The white and purple and pink of spring have turned into the hot yellows and oranges of the midsummer garden. My hollyhocks have faded, and now the daylilies, Rudbeckia, and marigolds hold court. The Phoebes fledged their young off of the ceiling fan and yesterday we spent an hour cleaning up after them (we had to take apart the ceiling fan to get it clean).

Time marches on...and we go with it, or we fight it. My garden never fights change. The flowers bloom, fade and move on. Sometimes I think I need to learn what my garden has to teach me.

Empty Nest

Yesterday we noticed that the baby birds were so crowded in the nest that they were leaning dangerously over the edge. You may recall that in June, a mother bird called a Phoebe built a nest on the ceiling fan on our front porch.

Around noon, John snapped these pictures. We realized that the biggest one, the 'bruiser bird', seemed to have already flown away, but the parents were still flying back and forth to feed the others. I said to John, "They're like kids who won't move out of the house!" The nest was in tatters. My porch floor is covered in...well, you know.

Then at 5 p.m, John let Shadow and Pierre out for their playtime. Pierre has been visiting the birds, chirping and meowing back at them, since they were hatched. He can't get up there. He sits under the nest and chortles at the birds. They squeak back.


Pierre raced over...and suddenly the babies FLEW!



They raced in all directions, flying this way and that, bouncing into the rain gutters, up and over the roof, mother and father bird chirping after them.

And a very disappointed kitty sat on the porch, staring up at an empty nest.

The babies were still flying around the house last night. One flew into the siding but was fine - he or she flapped up and over and onto the roof. This morning, I saw three sitting on the garage roof. They are using the house as a launch pad, taking short flights up and about and then coming back to the safety of the roof. I am relieved to see all of them flying on strong, (fairly) sure wings.


It's so funny how what really happens is different from the perception of what "should" happen. I imagined that the day the babies flew, we would watch them tentatively hop to the edge of the nest, give a few test flaps of their wings, and fly a few feet. This was what I thought "should" happen.


Little did I know that Uncle Pierre would be the ones to teach the birds how to fly!

Celebrations and Memories

Happy 4th of July to all my American friends! For my non American friends, today we celebrate America's Independence Day. It is a big holiday, the second of the year (Thanksgiving being the first) that draws all Americans together across all races, religions and classes to celebrate. Other holidays are big, but many are religious, and for non Christians not a holiday. This is one of the few that is secular and just brings everyone together. We will be celebrating with a barbecue and outdoor picnic tonight and watching fireworks on television. When I was a teenager living near New York City, my brother would take my sister and me into lower Manhattan near the seaport and we would queue up for hours to wait for the Macy's fireworks show near the Statue of Liberty. To be part of a million-strong crowd, watching fireworks blaze behind Lady Liberty, pushes even the most skeptical into patriotism. For me, just remembering the fireworks makes my nose twitch with the sulfurous smell from the fireworks and the scent of hot cart-made pretzels on city streets.

Today made me think of lots of 4th of July celebrations in my life. I remember my mom making a 'flag cake', a big sheet cake decorate with blueberries, strawberries and lots of goopy white icing to mimic the American flag. I have a photo of her holding the one she made in 1976 for the Bicentennial. My dad would grill a steak on a hibachi (a little charcoal fired grill) in the backyard. I would play with my tiny plastic farm animals in the yard while my dad grilled the steak. Guess even then I knew where I belonged!

And of course my mom insisted we got to Mass (church) in the morning...to her, 4th of July and Thanksgiving were added to the official roster of Catholic Holy Days of Obligation. There was no special service, just the regular weekday Mass, but we would sing God Bless America, America the Beautiful, My Country 'Tis of Thee and spend an hour thanking God for the gifts we have. It was a great way to start a holiday for sure. My grandma left Germany in the 1920's, and she never forgot food shortages, runaway inflation, and World War I. My grandpa had fled Germany during World War I, migrating to Holland, then Canada, then the USA. I am thankful I had two first-generation American grandparents and that I knew my grandma and the stories she told, and the stories my dad repeated, to help me understand why she was so thankful to be an American. I remember how my parents tried to make us understand why freedom was so important, and so rare. Growing up in America you take so much for granted until you get to know people living in other countries and you hear news reports from countries where people live under a dictatorship. Then you start to understand why we cherish our freedoms.

No matter where I am, there's always certain sounds and smells and sights outdoors and in the garden that instantly calls to mind a time of year.

In New York, it was the first song of cicadas and crickets, and the dance of fireflies across the lawn. For my readers who don't live in America and might not know these insects, cicadas are large, ugly and pretty harmless insects with big, bulgy eyes and green iridescent bodies. They set up a shrill long cry during the hot, humid summer days. I have heard that they only "sing" when temperatures reach 80. We used to be able to tell how hot the day would be by how early the cicadas would start singing. If they were singing at dawn, running through the lawn sprinklers and buying cherry Italian ices at Shannon's Candy Store were in order!

We used to catch big Hall's toads down at the water sump. Even children like us who grow up in city-like conditions near New York City find ways to be like country kids! A sump is a big drainage area for the street water sewer systems. They generally don't have standing water like a resevoir, but can be swampy. On Long Island, there would be one about every half mile, fenced in to keep kids out, which of course challenged us to get in. The one right by my house was near the railroad tracks and had a lot of trees planted around it which to us was like the country, even though the trees were only about 10 feet away from a paved parking lot for the town playground across the street.

My friends and I would yell to our moms, "We're going to catch frogs today!", grab a pail from the cellar, and run all the way to the sump. We ran up the hill on Magnolia Avenue, down through the tunnel, an area under the Long Island Rail Road tracks that formed a long pedestrian tunnel. It echoed and we would stop and yell and carry on to hear how loud our voices would echo. If a freight train was rumbling overhead, we would count the cars and make a wish on the caboose. If the train had 2 cabooses, it was an especially lucky day!

Around the sump, we'd hide among the trees, watching where we stepped because people would walk their dogs there and never clean up after them. Then with lightning quick reflexes we would catch as many frogs (toads) as we could! They would hide among the leaves, but as kids we were close to the ground and could catch them easily.

We would bring them home and release them into the garden, with our dads congratulating us on how we 'helped' by bringing home frogs that would eat the bugs. Later that summer we would find huge toads hiding under the cucumber and squash leaves in the garden, and I always wondered if they were the same toads we'd brought home in June, now grown to monstrous size.

Here in Virginia, summer's heralds are the blackberries ripening on the bushes growing along my driveway and around the clearing. It's the changing panorama of wildflowers, the spring blossoms giving way to summer's richness of Queen Anne's lace, purple thistle, and so many more I cannot name. It's hummingbirds darting to the feeder and back to the safety of the sheltering loblolly pines. It's a mama deer and her twin fawns scampering into the clearing at sunset.

And of course, the toads. We didn't see any the first year we lived in Virginia. Last night I took Shadow out for her walk around 10 pm, and was startled by several toads hopping around near the garage. The lights on the garage must have attracted flying insects...and the toads knew a good thing when they saw it!

Happy summer on this American "official" start to summer fun!

Smart Foxes and Silly Birds

Our wildlife update today focuses on one smart fox - and one very silly bird.

The red fox is back. He looks beautiful. Sleek and healthy, his red coat shining in the sun, he hunted field mice along the edge of the back woods this morning. We watched him for about 20 minutes until he gamboled back into the woods. He lies in wait, dark eyes fixed on a point among the tall grass in the wildflower meadow. Then - POUNCE! And, I imagine, a very satisfied red fox.

The bird is another story. She is one silly bird! She is a Phoebe, an insect-eating bird. Over the weekend we noticed Pierre attentively watching out the hall window on the second floor. A closer look revealed a Phoebe, the remnants of her nest washed away by the heavy rains. She was angrily swooping back and forth in front of the closed window, perhaps trying to chase Pierre away. Pierre wouldn't budge. After over an hour of this, the Phoebe flew away.


This morning John called me downstairs and pointed out the living room window towards our wrap around front porch. There on the ceiling fan was a new nest...and our friend Mrs. Phoebe. She was busily shuttling twigs back and forth to her new nest.

"Remind me not to put on the porch fan," I asked John as Pierre trilled with joy from his perch on the window sill. It's like kitty TV for him.

"She's going to lose the nest again," John said. "The wind blows the fan blades around. As soon as we get a strong wind, it's going to dislodge the nest."

I don't know whether our Phoebe is smart or very silly. She's smart because the front porch lights attract insects at night, which makes her job of catching food very easy. But she's a silly girl, building her nest in all the wrong places.

Burbank Plum

Our Burbank Plum tree has set fruit! This is only its second year in the garden. We bought it as a three-foot tall whips (stick-like baby trees) from the Arbor Day Society.

The Burbank Plum (Prunus salicina) is a no-fuss plum tree that bears reddish-purple fruit with a bit of yellow in the skin. It's supposed to grow 10 to 35 feet tall.



According to the Arbor Day Society website, it prefers "non alkaline, sandy loam soils" which is exactly what we've got. Luther Burbank developed it in 1883 from Chinese and Japanese plums.

We planted two Methly plums nearby, and the pollinating flies were going crazy on the white blossoms. Looks like they did their job. The little plums look like olives.





These are pictures from our orchard. We have about half an acre planted with thirty fruit trees. The plums and apricots are doing the best. The cherry trees look the worst. The cages aren't to keep the trees in - they aren't that badly behaved - but to keep deer and other critters out.





We were told that it would take 5-7 years from the time we planted the immature trees until we harvested some fruit. It looks like these plums must REALLY like it here!

Ode to an Iris

Here she is. My iris.

Blooming officially May 2. In New York, her blooming date was around Father's Day, so my guess is about right...we are about one month ahead of the season on Long Island.

This iris traveled from Huntington, Long Island, New York in a plastic bag with a little dirt in November of 2007 when my father in law sold his home and moved in with us. We planted it along the driveway before the garden was planned. I just stuck it in the dirt and hoped for the best. Last year we had a lot of green and one flower or two. This year, she's a mass of thick blossoms.

My father in law can't remember where he bought it, or when. "Oh, years ago," he says with a shrug.

We got a few blooms from it on Long Island. It had a coveted spot of sunshine in a little square bed on the lawn that houses my iris and the daylilies.

In Virginia...it is thriving. It is just soaring. It seems to love its hot, sunny location.

Irises LOVE this part of southern Virginia. I have never seen so many irises since moving here. All along the back country roads you see huge patches of thick iris growing at the ends of driveways, along farm lanes. Everyone's got an iris or two. You can even find ads in the newspaper from people who divided their iris and have plants to give away - they have so many, they run classified ads to give their plants new homes!

Our town, Prospect, is a ghost of its former self, with many of the old Main Street buildings boarded up or turned into apartments. There are a few large Victorian or turn of the century houses along where the old railway line used to be. I drive through Prospect on my way to church on Sundays just to look at the irises. At the corners, along the front lawn, edging the railway side of the street are enormous clumps of iris, some measuring three or more feet in diameter. Most of the irises are white, but you will see some blues and purples among them. How long they have been growing is anyone's guess, but some are clearly decades old.

One of my goals for the garden is to plant one or more irises every fall. I hope to build a collection along the edge of the woods...and knowing how iris seem to love Virginia, I believe that one day I'll have some real show-stopping clusters too.

If anyone has a guess as to which variety of iris this is - especially given the strong grape-soda pop smell of the flowers - let me know PLEASE. I would love to add more.

Here's to iris!