Archive for May, 2010
I’m a seed saver. Not one of the scholarly types who saves seeds from actual plants, I just save leftover store-bought seeds that didn’t get planted. My mom did the same thing and had old packets of flower and veggie seeds, some going back to the fifties. She did some traveling in her life and had seeds from France and Germany- pretty, delicate wildflowers that probably wouldn’t grow in the hot humid summers in Indiana. As a child I loved going through her boxes of seeds, admiring the old lithograph-style illustrations of flowers and vegetables, so much nicer than today’s gaudy, color-enhanced photos.
So yesterday when I was finally getting to do some planting in our garden after nearly ten days of rain and grey skies, I thought I’d dig out my seed box and plant some more squash and different varieties of cucumbers. The seeds were in a plastic box in the shed, but somehow the lid went missing, and my heart sank when I realized that some lucky mouse had munched its way through my seed packets. I sat down on the back porch step to take inventory of the damage.
No more summer squash, zucchini, or winter squash seeds, no more sugar snap peas, or oriental peas. Radish seeds were sampled and rejected, lima beans weren’t touched (can’t blame him there). The thoughtful creature had mostly left the flower seeds alone, with the exception of most of the sunflower seeds- missed one packet, and inexplicably one packet of sweet corn. The paper packets had been nibbled up and made into a snug little bed, along with the hulls of the seeds. Having been properly raised on Beatrix Potter books, and “Wind in the Willows” and such, it was hard for me to be too angry at the little fellow. I imagined him quite pleased with himself, munching through those years of accumulated seeds, dreaming at night of gardens full of squash and nodding sunflowers, snug in his little bed all through the winter. I did find some cucumber seeds and planted those. I sorted out the intact seed packets and pitched the chewed up bits and loose seeds on the compost pile- perhaps something will take root there.
Later I’ll go off in search of new squash seeds, and a new box- with a lid.
May 23rd, 2010
In my flower garden I put up several birdhouses which I painted in bright colors. They were just cheap things, glued together and my main thought was decoration, not really thinking any bird would want to live in one. To my surprise over the years they have been inhabited by chickadees and sparrows and bluebirds. Being rather flimsy, they’ve gradually fallen apart prompting the birds to go elsewhere. But one remains on the post of my garden gate, and that’s where Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird have decided to live. Not in one of those drab, proper bluebird houses, set on a stake in the middle of a cleared field.
This little house is mint green with a hot pink roof, octagon shaped, with daisies painted on it. Tucked under the garden arch with a purple clematis blooming overhead, next to the gate which I’m often going in and out of with the rattlely old wheel barrow. The blue gate, made from a bit of picket fence, is hung with bells of different sorts that make a cheerful noise when the gate is opened and shut, but to keep things a little quieter for the new parents I’ve just left the gate open so I can slip in and out with minimal disturbance.
I love looking out my kitchen window to watch the bluebirds working on their new home- a beak-full of straw first (that was a challenge to fit through the little hole), then some grass clippings, and lastly a few downy duck feathers. Papa Bluebird is quite protective and has chased away the big pileated woodpecker who had come to check out the suet nearby. One day I looked out to see Papa Bluebird perched on top of the arch glaring at the pileated who sat on one side. On the other side sat a dove, and underneath a humming bird hovered at the feeder hanging from the arch. Impossible to find the camera in time! As I watch this pair, the male bringing the female things to eat and watching over her, I feel so lucky to be in this corner of the world. My life isn’t all roses and butterflies, no one’s is, but it is a gift to take a step back from the worries and troubles to watch a small bird of the most beautiful shade of blue glide through the sunshine, after a week of cloudy days and rain.
May 22nd, 2010
There was a time, in my early married years, when I was very much into decorating. And collecting. And watching TV shows on decorating, crafts, etc. On my day off, I immersed myself in two or three hours of Christopher Lowe or Lynette Jennings and emerged charged with ideas. New curtains here, pillows there, some hand-painting there. Being on a budget, I made everything myself, or found things at thrift stores and made them new again. I collected so much blue and white china that our little hutch groaned. I changed my living room theme from country , to lake lodge, to Americana, and mixtures of all of the above. My mother rolled her eyes, my mother-in-law loved it, my husband just went with the flow.
And life got a little busier and my priorities changed, responsibilities grew. Finally we had our own house, a blank canvas with no landlord cringing at my paint color choice. For months I happily stripped wallpaper, painted every room a different color, painted floors, doors and countertops. Hung curtains, bought rugs, planted flowers. I dug up so much of the yard, I felt like I was part mole. And I continued to collect- watering cans, pretty plates, more blue and white china, and cats. I didn’t set out to collect cats, they just showed up, pitiful little strays, hungry, cold and wet. For the record, I didn’t keep every one, some I did take to our local shelter, and one made her home at a neighbor’s.
So when the cats pulled down the curtains, broke some of the china, and threw up on the rug I think a shift occurred in my life. There are things, and there are living creatures. Some folks value one, some value the other. When the pretty little teacup that I just found at the thrift store hits the floor as some cat makes a mad dash from one room to the next, I take a deep breath and think “mosaics.” I now have enough broken pottery to mosaic the entire bathroom. The furniture is scratched, the blankets all have snags, the windows are smudged with nose prints. I went from chic to shabby. Some little part of the decorator remains, and I bring home the occasional new thing, only to look at it, look at the cats and think where can I put this where they won’t destroy it? Often as not, it ends up being donated to a different thrift store- at least I spread things around.
So it’s not House Beautiful any more. Sorry. I haven’t had time to dust the china, and yes, there’s cat hair on the sofa. I’ll get to the laundry later. Right now I have to give Rosie (our old blind cat) her medication, check on Alex (our really old cat) to see if he ate his food, look in on the new baby chicks, give Milo his pill, let the ducks out, and get ready for the art show this weekend. I’d love to paint the dining room chairs, but that will have to wait.
May 6th, 2010
