Wednesday, July 28, 2021

I should be strimming my little heart out.

 If I am going to make any inroads into the jungle that is my yard, I have to spend some serious time with my heavy-duty weed strimmer.  Ha.  Because, in order to strim, the jungle needs to be dry(ish).  And when it is dry enough, there should be no other pressing events that need my attention.  So far?  You guessed it!

The first day when there was no rain forecast, I had to be in Vermont in the morning, but figured it would be nice and dry when I got home.  I got in the house, changed clothes and happened to look out the front window.  There was a small herd of beef cattle in my front yard, making a beeline towards the garden.  I'm sure they thought it was a fine place for a rampage.  Peanut caught sight of them at the same time and went ballistic.  Bless his tiny, ferocious self, it was enough to give the cattle pause.  A couple was trying to herd them up the road in their four-wheeler and asked me if I knew who owned them.  After they moved on, I was outside with a shovel, clearing the yard.  By then, all thoughts of strimming had vanished, replaced by thoughts of adult beverages.

The second non-rain day started full of hope, sunbeams and good intentions.  Then there was a hawk attack, followed by a visit from the Corgi-sized raccoon.  Once again - poof!  Strimming evaporated into the horizon.  I contemplated adult beverages for breakfast.

The last day of semi-dryness found me having mis-penned an appointment with a friend, so off I went with a wistful gaze over my shoulder at the strimmer standing like a little soldier by the back door.  I got home in time to get SOME strimming done, but....  monstrous thunderstorm.

I'm starting to suspect a conspiracy.

The thunderstorm was a doozy - high winds ushered it in (many trees down and other random damage), then there was torrential rain, then the power went out.  Perfect.

The wind blew the hops trellis to a 
precarious angle.

Luckily, only one tree fell on
the fence line.  The biggest one.

The snoopervisors are hard at work.

I had to prop up my pepper plant.
It was tossed wiggledy-piggledy.

Some brighter news - my collards
are regrowing!

Purple bean vine was pulled
off the support.  Aren't the flowers

My one and only zuke so far and 
what-ho the blueberries!  I beat the

Next year's nasturtium seeds 
are forming.  This poor, battered basket
was blown off its hook.

I'm thinking of trying a bit of strimming this afternoon but, frankly, I'm a little afraid to chance it.  Plague of locusts next?

Monday, July 12, 2021

It didn't rain Saturday.

Apparently, we now have a monsoon season.  Given our spring and summer have consisted of downpours, interspersed with hellish temperatures, it's now a jungle out there.  Slimmie has been kept on his toes, since the mice apparently have mistaken the house for Noah's Ark and have systematically ignored the 'two' requirement.

The little bit I did get to plant is doing well - and I haven't had to water the plants in days.  Or is it weeks?

On a sad note, my sister's husband passed away, after a long battle with lung cancer.  She had to travel to NH for the wake and funeral, and we (as in me, myself and my friend, Rosie) managed to look after Mom and hold things loosely together while she was away.

Barry and Dad in better

My beautiful sister with her
amazing son.

On a happier note, she and I managed to get to our favorite local museum, the Clark in Williamstown, MA, to see an exhibition of Nikolai Astrop, a Norwegian artist (1880-1928).  It was a lovely respite for both of us.

Portrait of the artist

One of his exceptional and complicated
wood block prints.

I will leave you with this awesome ginkgo leaf bench, part of another exhibit at the Clark (Claude and Francois-Zavier LaLane), while I go looking for my waders...