The times we had, hanging on my wall
I wouldn't trade them for gold
'Cause they laugh and they cry me
Somehow sanctify me
They're woven in the stories I have told
Though an old gardener, I am but a young blogger. The humor and added alliteration are free.
Winter. Frost and fog outside. Warmth and fire inside. The calendar and the movement of the planets falsely claim the season is fall, but ProfessorRoush says it's winter.
Winter. What is it good for? Pictures, perhaps, like the one above, the sun captured, weakened by distance and the inclination of this orb, unable to penetrate the haze of humid air the night has frozen into submission. No breeze, not a creature stirring here, all waiting for the sun to penetrate and soften the icy knives of frost.
Ten o'clock, and the sun seems to be losing the battle against winter today, rather than gaining. The predicted high for today has already been cut by 4ºF and I fear it will soon cede more to the fog. My planned trek to clean out bluebird houses may have to wait, wait for a warmer day and a braver caretaker. I feel the weight of responsibility for my bluebird trail, but not at the expense of stiff fingers and frostbit toes. There is time enough to wait on the sun to lead me out, to beckon me from a clear horizon and warm the air. Time enough for winter to come and be gone, away like the fog and the frost, if the sun gets its way.
'Scabrosa' |
Look at the beautifully photographed white Columbine above. Mrs. PR got it perfectly right, with the most focused bloom precisely placed in the upper left third. But then, as in the second photo, she incorporated depth of field with the same subject, placing the columbine in perspective against the house and cloudy sky behind it.
A few steps back, a shift of a few degrees, and yet another view echoing the first, but a different subject, this time the 'Batik' irises filling the foreground, framed between the evergreen to the right and the distant River Birch to the left. She resisted posting the 'Batik' head-on, but instead showed off its abundance, its proliferative nature at bloom time. I was impressed as well by the framing between the evergreen to the right and the distant River Birch to the left
It all started last Sunday. My intention that day was to get a number of things done around home, but most of the afternoon got delayed when Mrs. ProfessorRoush's car got two flat tires, one of which disintegrated before we could get to an air pump. But I did get out for my main goal and cleaned out all the bluebird boxes while the weather was good. One bad surprise; this bluebird box with 3 sweet little light blue eggs present. These weren't a new brood out of season, these were very light, dried out, old eggs that didn't make it to hatch. I'm guessing Mama Bluebird had an accident and never returned to care for them. So sad. And my bluebird houses didn't seem to do as well this year. Eight bluebird nests for over 20 boxes is way under normal.
Even sadder, one of the first year DVM students was killed last weekend, hit by a vehicle after she witnessed a rollover accident and tried to help; a true Good Samaritan lost to the world. I got the call of hospital personnel looking for emergency numbers for her parents shortly after I finished the Bluebird Trail. There are some things that happen in this life that I can't explain or understand and never will. What a loss to her family and to her classmates and to all the pets she would have helped.
Things were looking up today as we put the house back in order this morning after our kitchen and sunroom were painted. Mrs. ProfessorRoush is in the kitchen making caramels as we speak and I'm anticipating running out into the sunshine soon on this warm, breezy afternoon. But then, as I started to write, I got a text that a young child of the host of our work Christmas party started a fever this morning and tested COVID positive. Our entire surgery service was there for three hours last night, huddled in a small kitchen together. Lots of COVID boosters are about to get tested for efficacy!So, if I'm gloomy today and not my usual positive gardening influence, I'd like to make a formal apology and leave you with this picture of the ProfessorRoush home abode from the far end of the pasture; a view of the dry and brown back garden and prairie and of the back of the house from a vantage that I seldom get to see. Those hills are too much to walk regularly without the excuse to tend to the BlueBird Trail.
My Sunday began in a completely innocent fashion with no clue of the drama to unfold. As I was preparing to mow the lawn, Mrs. ProfessorRoush mentioned that she was going to slip down to pick any remaining tomatoes in the garden before she showered and began her day. Ever the helpful and attentive husband, I followed her down to the garden, where we picked a few tomatoes, snared a few deliciously ripe blackberries from the thorny canes, and then ambled over to the grapes, which were past ripe, sweet and juicy, and needed picking.
Let me set the scene for you. As it happened, Mrs. ProfessorRoush had ambled down to the garden in a mid-thigh length pink cotton nightgown and slippers, her tanned legs bare and well-toned, a beauty among the brambles. She was picking grapes off one vine while I, ten feet away, was distracted from her heavenly presence in the garden by the discovery that bumblebees were feasting heavily on the grapes (see the photo above and to the left).I was contemplating that astounding new bit of knowledge and engrossed in photographing one of the bees eating the grapes when Mrs. ProfesssorRoush began to complain that the bees were bothering her; complaints that turned quickly to excited chatter and then hysteria as the bees decided that the exposed hair and flesh of Mrs. PR seemed to be even more delicious than the bountiful grapes all around. Perhaps it was her hair spray, perhaps it was her perfume, or perhaps it was just the delicious sweetness that is Mrs. ProfessorRoush, but those bees were dead set on either driving her away from their sweet grapes, or feasting on her, or both.
Now picture this: a frantic Mrs. ProfessorRoush running up the hill in a mid-thigh pink-nightgown, arms flailing madly, the bowl of tomatoes and grapes cast upon the ground, Bella trotting calmly behind her, wondering at last, I'm sure, if she was going to finally see her rival for my affections dethroned.
And there I was, phone in hand, with it already turned on in camera mode, and I was laughing so hard I could barely stand, let alone thinking clearly enough to capture a photo or a movie for the future entertainment of humankind. In hindsight, I'm so disappointed in myself. Perhaps I wouldn't have become famous for a video, but I'm sure the pink blur of Mrs. ProfessorRoush's backside running up the hill would have at least made the nightly national news. And perhaps distracted and amused, for just a moment, an entire nation bored from the pandemic.
So, there you have it. Bumblebees eat ripe grapes, I presume for the sugar and cheap energy. I had never heard or read of that before. And I've spent the day outside doing chores and snapping other pictures, like the last two photos of the bees on the light blue caryopteris near the back steps. I remain hopeful that by nightfall my laughter will have faded from Mrs. ProfessorRoush's memory and she'll unlock the doors. Surely she'll be able to see the broader humor of the occasion by then, won't she?
In her defense, my larcenous spouse is always quick to respond to these comments and shift all credit to me, although at that point her diversions sound a bit disingenuous. Since the photos are brazenly displayed on her page and the evidence is clear, those weak excuses are not admissible in court and hardly sway the jury. Verdict delivered, the court finds the defendant guilty of rapacious photo pilfering in the first degree. The sentence is final and the punishment of being provided watermarked photos will be carried out immediately.
Mrs. ProfessorRoush also begged shamelessly for the luscious photos here of a purple columbine that self-seeded itself years ago into the garden and they have since also found their way onto Facebook. Hey, lady, I know these photos are second only to your own beauty and grace, but take your own photos! Mine are for my blog readers. You can steal them later, just like everyone else!
I had been wanting one decent snow this winter, enough to make everything clean and smooth and white and I still haven't seen one. What's on the ground now is just a little dusting, a little frosting on the prairie cake; just enough to need sweeping off the sidewalk but not enough to get out a shovel and struggle. The primary dampening of my spirits, however are the result of the frigid temperatures. We've had a mild winter, hardly a Zone 6 climate up until now, but yesterday somebody shut the freezer door and the temperatures plummeted alongside this dry snow. More pertinently, there are some highs-in-the-teens and lows in the subzero temperatures predicted over the next 10 days, back to a true Zone 5 climate that we haven't seen in several years. Last year at this time I was already clearing perennial beds on 55ºF afternoons.
For the record, I will watch the football game this evening, although I really don't know or care who I'll be rooting for. Yes, it would be nice to see the long-suffering and local-to-me Kansas City Chiefs win another behind Mahome's spectacular passing accuracy and their daunting defense, but I also wouldn't mind watching 43 year old Tom Brady show Patrick the difference between how an old bull and a young bull approaches the field. On the other hand, Brady was born in 1977, the year I graduated high school, so neither one is old enough to really appreciate the old bull and young bull joke genre that I'm alluding to.Also for the record, yes, I cheated on these beautiful forced tulips that are currently in the middle of our kitchen table. The local grocery store had these ensembles of glass, greenery, and glory for $9.99 the other day, priced low enough for even my miserly soul to consider worthy of a sawbuck. Seven tulip bulbs to brighten Mrs. ProfessorRoush's Valentines day and keep me in her good graces, and then later I'll plant them in a pot with good soil and move them to the garden this summer. I usually force a few bulbs on my own, but this year I just haven't found the urge or the time. When these fade, however, I'm now inspired to go cut some forsythia and flowering almond branches to bring into the house and force into bloom. Maybe the spring colors can provide us a Super Sunday later in February.
'Kaveri' |
'Spider Man' daylily |
Wavy-Leaf thistle |