Yesterday
Sunny enough to bask if you're an older doggy like the yellow lab we are dogsitting for the neighbors.
Cloudy enough to need a jacket.
Warm enough to work in the yard but cool enough to need layers to add and subtract.
Springtime enough for the soil to be friable.
Changeable enough to suddenly feel it might rain. And it does.
Surprising enough to wake up and find that the weather prognosticators were right and it did snow a bit.
Springtime!
"Rain", they said. Sounded good to me. Instead...it's snowing. Again.
It's a good day to put yardwork on hold--actually that's not even an option since the weather gods clearly are not favoring gardeners.
Still, I can and did plan my next project. Since the chickens are no more, and there will clearly not be any more if the HOA has its way, their chicken coop can be moved out of the run and repurposed. After measuring it, I found it fits nicely in an unused space that has way too much shade and cedar duff to be useful for plants. The coop will become a mini-storage shed. It's a good place to stash pots and soil and frequently-used fertilizers. In the winter, I can fit garden hoses, BBQ tools and tools out of the elements.
I'm thrilled I constructed it as a modular coop. The roof, coop and base are all separate units so it will be relatively easy to move.
My huge old common lilac tree broke in the Sierra Cement snowfall a few months ago. As soon as it's blossomed, it's getting replaced by a much prettier lilac named Agincourt Beauty. I just repotted it into a roomy five-gallon pot and it's funny to think of this little twelve-inch lilac replacing a twelve foot tree. What a change that will be!
When the lilac branch broke, it also took down part of a honeysuckle plant that shaded the chickens, provided cover from hawks and kept at least part of the run free of snow. I gave it a hard pruning--it might stay or it might not. The run previously was used for vegetables and that's my plan again. There was too much shade from the cherry tree which is almost completely dead and slated for removal soon as well as from the lilac tree. There should be plenty of hot sun again and I intend to take advantage of it for pole beans and sunflowers.
The Sensation lilac (fourth from the left) is calling my name--I love picotee flowers. Where to put it though? I'm pondering the possibilities.
Gardens need to be updated every so often. Rethought. Refreshed. Revitalized.
Hopefully we all will soon be enjoying lovely weather outdoors! Ya hear that, Winter?
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I can't even discern where my garden is. The yard is a sea of snow with zero topographic hints. I know there is a pond. Somewhere raised beds exist. Undoubtedly there are green bits happening underneath the icy crust. There's just no visual proof.
My heart knows that Spring will arrive as it always has. It's that whole circle of life thing that is part of a gardener's code. I'll see the first penstemon flowers from new plants and I'll find out if the Double Delight rose survived. There are apple blossoms and hyacinth flowers and rhubarb leaves in my future.
Also, chores. Lots and lots of chores.
So a Pineapple Express melted three-quarters of the snow. Hurray! Our nearby open space was a bit squishy, but the pup had fun jumping over ditches filled with snowmelt.
Thank heavens for a list--it keeps me moving forward to having dirt under my fingernails again.
Although the snow IS pretty and I love watching the flakes drift daintily down. Meanwhile, looks like another day with a paintbrush and a sewing machine to keep me busy.
When Mother Nature isn't in sync with my preferences, I have to pivot.
In the last week, we went from subtle-but-unmistakable Signs of Spring to Winter on Reboot. Alas.
Fortunately, there is always Art. Art doesn't depend on the weather (like hiking) or seasons (like gardening) or holidays (like Turkey Day, Santa celebrations and Cupid extravaganza). Art can be anything, anytime.
Christmas in a July heatwave. Tulips as leaves fall in October. Ripe apples instead of February snowstorms.
My day could include loose sketching practice and watercolor giraffe caricatures,
followed by floral compositions as well as canine portraits,
with thoughts on impressionistic landscapes and loose family portraits.
Why not?!
Art is my creative playtime. I'm not expecting masterpieces--heck, I'm not even expecting an occasional keeper. I'm refining new skills, experimenting with new media, learning from new teachers.
Sometimes failing.
Sometimes being surprised by the results.
That and making lists of all the innumerable tasks any gardener faces as a new growing year approaches. Ah, but that's a subject for a future post...
(I'm offering my very amateur doodlings in the spirit of real life with no filters. It's me, at this moment in time, knowing that I can only get better. No living subjects were harmed in the creation of these drawings.)
Living on the outskirts of town is a blessing that I never get tired of.
There are plenty of paths, but my favorites are little trails and open stretches. We might flounder in the snow and suddenly find ourselves knee deep in a snowdrift but that's part of what makes it fun.
Sights like this never get old though. Changes through the seasons are welcome. Some things are new, some are expectantly anticipated.
Goats will be goats. Yes, they do nibble on anything. Even wooden lightning bolts. Just in case it might be edible. You never know. Risk not, gain not.
My first love has always been lambie pies. But if I had the opportunity now, I'd choose goats. Color me a farm girl at heart!
It's never gonna get easier to wake up an hour earlier, but there are ways to help yourself adjust more quickly. Even so, a little grumbling is okay.
My number one key to resetting my internal clock is to change my eating habits to reflect the new time displayed on my clocks. Not so much my breakfast or lunch, but definitely dinner. It feels a little strange to eat an hour earlier at first, but give me three days and I no longer notice the difference. I am ruled by my stomach. Totally.
If you aren't the type to jump into the cold pool and would rather inch in gradually, you can anticipate the time switch by Springing Ahead by fifteen minutes a day. So this Thursday, I'll be trying to eat and sleep fifteen minutes earlier. Friday, thirty minutes earlier. Saturday, forty-five minutes. So a fifteen minute change on Sunday won't feel so monumental. Can't hurt, right?!
The last thing I recommend is to climb into bed whether you feel like it or not. If you aren't tired enough, then do sometime soothing that will make you sleepy. Read a boring book. Take a warm bath before putting on your jammies. Listen to soothing music. No smartphones, tablets or laptops. This is the only time I feel like I have to be disciplined about my activity, because changing my bedtime to an earlier hour is hard for me. It's helpful going to bed at the usual "time" regardless of what my head is telling me.
One way or another, we'll all soon be waking, eating and sleeping on our new schedule without a second thought.
I enjoy Springing Ahead and Falling Backwards.
I don't at all mind "losing" an hour of sleep so that my clock time matches the sunshine that has started to flood our east-facing bedroom. If I'm gonna be awake anyway, I'm much happier to hit the ground running at seven instead of six in the morning.
Getting up in the cool of a summer day that has the potential to go triple digits is another reason I'm thrilled with daylight savings time.
It may have been a few years (okay, decades) since I had little ones who, like chickens, woke with the sunrise. I liked my kids a whole lot better when my clock radio said it was only six-fifteen instead of a dreadful five-fifteen.
I don't think I'm losing anything. Especially since I know I'll regain that hour of sleep next Fall when the days are getting way too short.
With snow falling and accumulating on an almost daily basis--still!--I'm also ready for any hope of Spring.
Even if there is snow and it's not exactly warm, there's hope.
It's March. It's sunny. I hear a time change is fast approaching. And the first official day of Spring isn't far off! Whoo-hoo!
A few leaves have bravely made their appearance. Mini-daffodils are so reliable. Buy a pot for color in the deep of winter, shove them in the soil later that spring, and enjoy them every year after. No thought or care required.
It occurred to me that this is a three-season photo: old leaves from autumn, snow from winter and the "can Spring be far off" leaves.
It's not springtime without flowering bulbs and it's always a toss-up whether the crocus, mini-iris or mini daffs will blossom first.
Except this year, the violets beat them all. Presenting the first flowers of 2023!
Posting each day?? A lofty goal since I've let my blog posts dry up for longer than I even want to know!
Today's word is "tenebrous". Pretty much the way our skies have looked for the past couple of days as the storms rolled in. Not today though!
Today's March came in with glorious sunshine and relatively warm temperatures considering that the tail end of February brought lavish amounts of snowfall to the Sierra Nevada. So, I think I'm crediting March with a Lamb entrance even though there's snow piled up everywhere and icicles have made a drippy-droppy appearance.
Tonight the western sky is treating us to the sight of Venus and Jupiter "kissing". It's a lovely way to end the day.
Was it just a few days ago that our sugar maple and redbud were gloriously golden? That a few late roses were still vibrant? That I was contemplating a long bike ride?
Well, six inches of snow and lows in the teens will change things quickly. Lilypad Pond has its first skim of ice on it. Every shrub and tree branch bowed in homage after twelve hours of constant drifting snow loaded their still-unshed leaves.
The pup got the zoomies as she discovered the wonders of snow. She is trying to figure out why she can no longer wade in the pond. And I'm pretty sure most of the country could hear her shrill, almost hysterical, barking when I attempted to shovel snow. At seven months, Lila tolerates the Roomba, the broom, the leaf rake and the lawn mower. The snow shovel is a work in progress!
I've not adjusted to the time change either, exacerbated by a quick trip south to Arizona where the sun was shining cheerfully at 6:30 a.m.
I'm trying to focus on the positive aspects of snow, ice and cold. Hmmm....
Precipitation means water for the garden.
Ice on the pond means Lila won't be wading regularly and dirtily.
Storm prep got me winterizing the yard a little earlier than usual.
My warm kitchen will be a welcome by-product of oven use.
I get to scoop frozen dogsicles instead of the other variety.
Outdoor activity burns more calories in the cold.
Hey, Summer--green lawns, long days--I'll miss you! Autumn, you were absolutely gorgeous this year. Sorry that Winter moved in so quickly. Springtime, I'll be here waiting for you!
I raked leaves today. The sound a leaf rake makes is characteristic of autumn to me. A metallic scratchiness as I gathered cherry leaves that fell today onto our brick patio. Quieter on the lawn as I raked a random collection of leaves into a pile. When I switched from my metal rake to a slim rake with plastic tines as I attempted to clear apple leaves that have begun falling into the raspberry bed, it was so quiet that I could hear other leaves falling in the yard and a few swirls of leaves as the breeze moved them along paths predetermined by physics. No power needed to fuel my rake beyond a few calories I could easily spare. No blast of noise to be heard a block away.
I raked leaves today. Not for the first time this season. These leaves are destined to be mulched and added to our compost pile. All that energy wasn't going into body bags headed into the landfill. These leaves were my yearly "brown" treasure to balance the "green" contribution to compost. Yeah, there were some bags that went curbside last week when the compost bin seemed full. But a week and a soaking rainstorm has settled it enough that I can see there's room for more. These leaves will become a rich, dark, organic addition spread throughout the yard next spring. Magically, these apparently dead leaves will be transformed into white peonies, pink roses, tender lettuce, tart cherry tomatoes and fried zucchini slices. I don't have to do anything but put them in a pile. Worms and bacteria will do the rest.
I raked leaves today. They weren't as pretty as the glowing orange leaves from the sugar maple so lovely that I took reference photos of them for a future watercolor painting. The simple forms of the yellow-gold cherry leaves couldn't compete with the huge heart-shaped leaves from the redbud. But there was one oak leaf easily as large as my footprint that steadfastedly refused to be added to any pile. It was a nondescript simple unlovely brown escapee that seemed destined to reside in its own world quite separate from the smaller hawthorn and apple leaves. I was good with that. The simple truth is that there will be more leaves to be raked. I will have other chances to get every. single. leaf. But not yet. My garden looks like autumn, leaves nestling in nooks between rocks that will be challenging to clear, a few late-blooming mums. And roses! and petunias! and a purple alyssum seedling that chose November in which to bloom. An odd mix of spring, summer and fall jumbled together. Maybe it's okay to be a little ragged and a tad unkempt and a bit out-of-step as we prepare ourselves for challenges ahead. Maybe it's supposed to be that way.
I raked leaves today. I was cold enough to need my heather-blue knit vest indoors, but I was glowingly warm from a bit of exercise on a mild sunny day outdoors. Better yet, I felt relaxed and happy. Mother Nature and I were in harmony. We'd collaborated. She dropped the leaves so I could rake them into piles. She stopped the photosynthesis so I could enjoy the colors hidden in the leaves since springtime. She offered lessons on change, on mindfulness, on responsibility and I absorbed them.
I raked leaves today. It was a good day.
It might be spring if yesterday was too chilly to be outdoors and today is balmy. If yesterday was gray and dour, and today is blissfully sunshiny. If yesterday felt like a good day to cocoon and hibernate and today is an outdoorsy invitation.
My garden is in no doubt that spring has just about sprung. The yearly parade of intensely purple mini iris, tete a tete daffodils and crocuses (croci?) by the hundreds has been flaunting their blossoms regardless of snow flurries or shivery breezes. Thank heavens for bulbs and perennials like primroses that lift my spirits each year.
My vast collection of bunnies are lurking behind an abundance of green clad leprechauns and shamrocks, waiting for their turn in the seasonal spotlight. Can lambs and peonies be far behind?
I know that changing out holiday decorations is just too much trouble for most people nowadays. I can't help embracing the changing seasons though. A changing gallery of holiday reminders is just a small delight that makes my life a tad richer.
Plus, I get bored easily. Eye candy is nice.
Time is a funny thing. It hardly seems like it was only a week ago that we received our first covid vaccine. The second dose scheduled for the twenty-ninth seems like an eternity away.
I'm mulling how to celebrate being (relatively) street legal again. There are some errands and projects that have been on the back burner. Things I want to accomplish but have not been willing to risk the possible exposure, like a trip to a big box store to have a gallon of paint mixed for the family room or BB&B for a digital kitchen scale. The idea of going out without weighing risk factors and deciding on discretion is going to take some getting used to. We are fortunate to live in an area where most people are mask compliant. Still, those new variants popping up are not only more transmissible but also cause more serious infections. I'll dream about paint and scales, but till probably resist the temptation until more of our population has access to the vaccines. Better safe than sorry!
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Ah, yes, 2020. As this year wanes, I'm sure I'm not the only one looking back on it for the lessons it holds and making plans to improve the year to come.
There were bright spots.
Babies whose arrival brightened our lives and made us more determined to shape our world into a space where they could be safe and healthy. A baby girl born on Leap Day and many discussions on how one celebrates birthdays. A baby boy born to a couple who've been hoping for a decade. A baby girl and the miracle of IVF. Each of them deserves clean air and fresh water, opportunity to learn and grow to their full abilities, ideals to live up to and a hopeful future.
A sparkly ring finger this December. Because nothing could be better than knowing your child has found happiness and commitment in life and loving the one he chose.
Gratitude as I discovered the difference between need and want, between essential and optional. I realized how truly fortunate I am. I value people more than acquisitions, simple pleasures more than elaborate plans. Give me a needle and thread, seeds and sunshine, a neighbor's smile over the back fence.
I've managed to foster some good habits. Planning a dinner menu is now something I anticipate rather than a chore to dread. I have my composting system dialed in. I wake up to a kitchen with all the pots and pans cleaned and put away. I have finished many a long-term project. I am less a procrastinator and more a planner.
Gratitude, again, that I've spent a lifetime acquiring some very useful skills. I can cut hair, cook from scratch, bake with confidence, sew cute and well-fitting masks for family and friends, grow a productive garden, give a good massage, mend and make alterations fearlessly, triage medical conditions, paint birthday cards, raise healthy hens, build a chicken coop, read for pleasure and escape as well as to learn and grow, tackle any frustrating internet app until it has bent to my will and also let science be my guide in confusing times. To these, I've added the ability to French braid my own hair, make a reliable loaf of sourdough, and match my pajama selection to the sheet set of the week. This was a good year to be fairly self-sufficient.
So, 2020 might not have been the year I was looking forward to, filled with family and friends and all the cherished yearly events and holidays. I can't change the past but I can foster the future.
A happy new year to us, each and every one. Stay safe, stay healthy, stay positive, stay kind. Be thoughtful, be open, be critical, be idealistic.
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