Garden Visitors

I was weeding my garden because that is all I do these days and I found thirty plus of these dill munching caterpillars. At first I called the children to come look, then I started picking them off because who wants to have crops mown to the ground. I felt like I had seen the species, but couldn't identify it. Then, my son decided he wanted them to see what the transformation would bring.

As can happen with so many things, we found a teaching moment. We went to one of my favorite buggy sites. The caterpillar in my dill is none other than a black swallowtail butterfly. Another site said "Really, they don't eat that much." So we left about half of them in the dill. I have a lot of dill so don't mind sharing with something so beautiful and Pink Panther captured the other half, harvested some dill, put them in a screened bee box, and took them inside.

About a quarter of what he captured escaped and are wandering around the house and the other quarter have already started making chrysalises. I haven't checked the progress of the ones in the garden because it is finally raining!!!!! Raining!!! Raining!!! We have been so dry that any spritzing is as welcome as a porch swing which is where you will be able to find me.

I am here . . .

I didn't spontaneously combust or anything terrifying like that. I just lost the desire to communicate. I suppose I felt that my life is so boring that the possibility of anyone being interested in the mundane details was remote. I do issue an apology to my Aunt "Needle" and Miranda who have religiously checked my blog because they don't have feed readers and were sorely disappointed that I haven't been inclined to write.

We have two new additions. Two of the three wild turkey eggs have hatched. We miscalculated the date of hatch. One of the other eggs was cracked, so we opened it to judge how much longer the eggs needed to incubate. Unfortunately, we misjudged and I just happened to notice that one of the eggs was pipping and was able to turn the automatic rotator off. The other egg is still in the incubator, but I don't think it will hatch. They aren't as cute as baby chickens. They are gangly and have strangely mottled downy baby feathers. They seem to be doing great. We will put them into an outside pen during the afternoons in a day or two. Still, everyone I talk to seems to think it is crazy to think I can raise these birds and get them back into the wilds of our woods and pastures.

I have never been one to give up.

Spiraling

I know I haven't written much about school lately. For some reason, maybe because it is going well right now, I am not planning for the future or lamenting the failures. I suppose I should document the progress and try to recreate the balance for next year. Anyway, formal school is spiraling to the finish line. Princess finished all planned work in math Friday. Pink Panther will finish his planned math work this week. Grammar, handwriting, Latin, and spelling will finish this week, as well.

Unfortunately, I was so ambitious in the planning of Ancient History that we may not finish this summer. The World in Ancient Times series has taken us on a well informed journey that won't be finished soon. We will start Ancient Rome today. Did you catch that s word? I did say start. After Rome there is one more book in the series. Ouch. The children have never associated history with "real school," so perhaps continuing will be a continuation of story time?.

At Christmas I started looking through the spine of our history reading to see if there was anything I could neglect to read. I haven't found anything that doesn't seem interesting or important, so I just keep reading and they just keep listening and narrating. I wonder. Is this one of those Charlotte Mason good habits?

Spiraling to the beginning of the Middle Ages, I wonder if they would notice if we didn't take a summer break in history?

If you are planning Early American History

There is a wonderful article by Charles Mann in the May National Geographic that gives a believable account of the the settling of Jamestown including a cool map. At their website they have an interactive map and other interesting stuff. Charles Mann wrote 1491: New Revelations of the Americas Before Columbus. I will have to add this one to my list along with the children's book, 1607: A New Look at Jamestown, written by another contributor to the article, Karen Lange.

I'll be getting back to my magazine before someone sneaks it.

Oh! One more thing, my precious bees are an invasive species. I've never thought of them like that. Isn't it interesting that a non-native insect has dominated life as we know it and its possible demise is causing tremors of fear across America?

Interfering

Remember the turkey eggs from last post? We are incubating them in Pink Panther's personal multi-species incubator. I know. I know. The chances are slim that the eggs are viable after a cool night, but we are trying. I also know that raising a few wild turkeys is not easy. We are hoping to get them up and going, then swoosh them into the . . . What do you call a flock of turkeys? A gang? Anyway we hope to push them out with the group that frequents our yard and adjoining pasture. It is, if nothing else, a learning experience.

If that project was not enough, I will wow you with the other ways our family has recently interfered with the natural order. Pink Panther found a chicken in town that had fallen off a chicken truck. Honestly, chickens that are on their way to the processing plant are disgusting to begin with and after falling off a moving 18-wheeler it was pitiful. I didn't want it any where near my chickens, but he said he couldn't just leave it to be run over. I let him bring the broiler home to try to heal it. He kept it separated. Unfortunately, the healing didn't go as it should. The chicken got/was invested with maggots. She just wasn't healing. We decided to put her out of her misery.

Pink Panther and I couldn't watch or participate. We let my husband do all the truly terrible stuff anyway. While he was killing the chicken, he saw movement under some cedar logs that have been stored since Katrina. He thought it was a skunk. Just what he needed. What it was was a feral cat and her kittens.

I hate feral cats. Why people let their animals roam around and produce wild versions that produce more wild versions that produce more wild versions, I cannot imagine. Ferrel cats disrupt nests of all sorts of animals and leave a wide trail of destruction of nature. So we captured the spitting, scratching bunch of kittens. We are raising them now. If they had been left with the mother any longer, we would not have been able to catch them. Now, the kittens will be neutered or spayed and hopefully given to someone who wants a cat.

So, in just one day my family has agreed to the care and nurturing of three turkey eggs and three feral kittens. Do we interfere too much?

Interesting

My sister-in-law sent me this(Washington Post article about a commuter/great music experiment). She thought it was profound. I, too, was mesmerized by the possibilities of this experiment. I was so curious that I watched every video and read every word of the article. I hoped beyond hope that the commuters would appreciate genius. I was disappointed when they didn't. I'm not sure what this failure says about us.

Are we too busy for people, too busy for art, too tuned in to our personal music selection or cell phone? Are we unable to give children a chance to learn because we are rushing to teach them? We could say that every person who swished by had a tremendous work ethic and didn't want to be even one minute late for work, but what about those people who didn't listen while standing in line to get rich quick with no work?

Would you have stopped? How do you know?

The Yellow Dog Strikes Again

Yesterday, The Yellow Dog disrupted nature in a big way. He looks guilty, doesn't he? He went with my husband to the hay field to check for limbs and other stuff that could damage the hay mower. We will start cutting hay this week.

A turkey was nesting in the grass. The Yellow Dog, curious as always, ran the hen off the nest, before Mr. W. could get him reined back in. The hen did return to the nest before dark, but something, hopefully not the Yellow Dog, damaged almost all the eggs and most likely killed the turkey sometime during the night. There were lots of feathers but no carcass.

My husband feels responsible because the huge disruption probably alerted all the coyotes, bobcats, skunks, owls, and foxes in the immediate area to the unusual location of the nest. Yes, if The Yellow Dog hadn't found the nest, it would have been destroyed by the hay mower because we wouldn't have known it was there, but I still feel that we disrupted nature in a big, negative way.

I am mad at him, but The Yellow Dog is still an amusing part of the family. You never know what he will do next. He plays with the children on the swing. He can actually pull them on the rope swing. He accompanies them on all their solo nature walks. In fact, you can barely leave the house without a doggie escort. I do like to have him with him when I have to check spooky noises in the barn or pasture at night not that he actually protects anything or anybody.


Once, not long ago, some dogs came on our property. The Yellow Dog barked and barked and ran out to scare them, but they didn't immediately leave. The dogs started for The Yellow Dog and he turned tail and ran to us for protection. The same goes for the cows. He takes great pleasure chasing cows, but if any of them turn and take a stand he cowers.

So he is not much use as a cattle dog. He isn't any use as a chicken protector, since he has a history of playing too roughly with them. He doesn't help with honey frame building. He falls asleep on the job.


Also, he also doesn't like to take a bath. As soon as he is clean he finds a way to escape and runs out to the barnyard and wipes his wet self in manure. Even though he usually stinks, either because of the manure or skunk, we can't help ourselves. We just like him, in spite of his mischievousness or perhaps because of it.
He can run like the wind.

Pink Roses

As soon as I erected my garden fence two years ago, I went over to my mother's house and clipped six little stalks of this almost white, pink rose. Someone told me that all I had to do was make the dirt nice, soft, and rich, stick the stalk in the ground, and keep it watered, but not drowned, the first year. It worked. I have enough roses to decorate my fence and plenty to clip and bring inside. Next year, maybe the whole fence will be covered!!

Granted, these aren't fancy roses, but they do seem to have a large bloom for the type. They tumble and drape while seemingly putting down roots wherever they touch the ground. Even though they seem easy enough to grow, I'm still proud of myself for taking a chance with free landscaping twigs. I like to feel that I have a green thumb and like having roses, especially these that aren't so demanding.

Chick Update

Remember the quandary we had about the three mothers and one set of chicks. The outcomes so far are surprisingly good. We have had 10 chicks which I gave to the chicken sitting the longest. We started with five bitties and each day we had another. Now things have slowed. In fact, we haven't had a new chick for a few days, but the other two hens are still sitting and still stealing each other's eggs.

The hen I chose to nurture the bitties is being a fantastic mother. She is teaching, protecting, and doting. Unfortunately, I haven't been able to get a picture with all the chicks together. They are roaming the orchard and front yard with their mother searching for bugs, dusting, and keeping an ever watchful eye out for the very curious yellow dog. He has been good, but has had much encouragement to be good from the mama hen. Protective does not even begin to describe the bristly attack mode she dons at the first sight of The Yellow Dog.

Pink Panther's chicks don't have that fierce protection, but they too are learning to stay well away from the curious mouth of the yellow dog. The Domilana didn't turn out very beautiful, but she is Pink Pan's favorite. He sold the young Buff Catalina for $10. He was so proud. The Dominecker appears to be a male, so selling him is doubtful. I doubt he will be able to sell the Domilana either, unless a beautifying fairy visits and invokes powerful magic.

Swarms of Bees

Sunday, minutes before Princess and I were scheduled to leave for Jackson, Pink Panther came inside and said he heard bees in the front yard. He didn't mean a few working bees, he meant a swarm. They were settling in the top of a cedar tree. Timing and location are not always perfect.

I built a hive top, the only piece missing for a complete hive, while my husband went to borrow a scissor lift. Princess and I had to skedaddle or risk missing the show. Mr. W had never hived a swarm, much less one that was hanging in the top of a tree. He called once everything was ready and I talked him through the basics.

Before we got to Jackson, the swarm was hived and the equipment was returned. Before we got home the bees had moved again. We have a weak hive, not because of the bee collapse syndrome but because of a weak queen. Unfortunately, we haven't been able to get a new Mississippi raised queen because of the increased demand caused by the collapse. My regular bee man doesn't answer the phone, another said he was filling an order for 600 queens, and yet another is completely out. There are queen chambers in the hive, so supersession will occur, but since the children help with the beekeeping I don't really want to take chances with a hive produced queen who could turn out to be a dragon lady producing dragon babies. Anyway, the swarm moved over to this weak hive. I wasn't there to see it, but it had to have happened, because when I got home the weak colony was bursting at the seams and the new colony was empty.

I was alright with the move, yet there just didn't seem to be enough room for everyone. I like hives full of bees because you get lots of honey, but this was ridiculous. The bees thought so too! They swarmed again! As I mentioned before, you can't choose time or place.

This time the bees chose lunch time and my one year old plum tree. Obviously, the usual technique of capturing a swarm would not work. I would not allow the top of my plum tree to be "pruned." So, Mr. W. who is excited about hiving swarms came up with another plan. He got a bucket of water, doused the bees so they couldn't fly, and shook the little plum tree until the bees fell into the hive. My poor little plum tree. The poor bees. He didn't get them all.

The rest flew to the next plum tree. After Mr. W. went to work, I had to lop a branch of my plum tree to get the bees to the hive. Now two of my plum trees have been misshapen - one by pruning and the other by bending and shaking. But, we have a new enormous colony that seems to be staying put. We will keep the entrance reducer in for a few days to protect them and then begin to feed them sugar water, not high fructose corn syrup.

I suppose that by showing this immediately following my sustainability sermon yesterday, I wanted to say that there is hope. Healthy bees are still around. They just need to be nurtured and their environment needs to nurtured. They need to be appreciated rather than swatted.

One more picture? This is a hive with two honey supers. Do I dare to go higher or start the sticky work of harvest?

All photo credits for this post go to The Pink Panther.

Bees!

ZBTZahBTzoo asked yesterday about my take on the bee collapse, so I feel like I have been given permission to drone on and on about bees. I've been keeping up with the story, with fear. I don't want to lose my bees. We are just hobby keepers, so our financial livelihood does not depend on pollination fees, queen production, package bees, or honey production, however, we've grown to depend on them for pollination of our garden and trees, for sweetening, and gifts. The bees are an integral part of our long term sustainability plan.

Lack of sustainability, in my opinion, is causing the bee collapse. The dependence on pesticides, herbicides, cheap and lower quality sweeteners, and the move away from self production of food are contributors to lack of sustainability and the stress on honey bees. In the attempt to "bigger"* farming the best practices have fallen to the wayside.

Pesticides are used to kill both good and bad insects thereby ending the natural cycles of nature. Did you know that it takes twice as long for the predator bugs to reestablish after pesticide use? Since pesticide use eliminates predators (good bugs) you insure you will always have to use pesticides to keep ahead of the pest bugs. Sure, no orchardist is going to spray pesticide on trees that are being pollinated, but the residue is there and you can never control what your neighbor sprays or dusts. You also cannot control where a bee will go. The practice of broad pesticide use to ease the production of mass quantities of perfect appearing fruit and vegetables with the least amount of work is weakening the pollinators (not just the honeybees), if not killing them. Farmers aren't the only ones spraying pesticides. Towns frequently spray for mosquitoes. Fumigating a town, in my opinion, is poisoning the people and the bees.

Though many scientists say herbicide use is not as dangerous to the environment as pesticide use, I believe that herbicides do injure wildlife. There is nothing preventing bees and other insects from landing on sprayed weeds. The sharp odors of the herbicide would have to befuddle any creature. Our quest for ease in gardening, large scale farming, and landscaping leaves best practices by the roadside. Speaking of roadsides, the willy-nilly spraying of the various Departments of Transportation kills everything within wand distance. What makes it senseless is that they still send a mowing crew.

Backyard beehives, at one time, were not uncommon. Families had fruit trees, gardens, and bees. Bees were able to feed on a seasonal diet and depend on the cycles of nature. Now, beekeeping, for the most part, is handled by commercial operations that also want to "bigger." Bees are stressed by cross country transportation so that they can pollinate crops as Spring arrives in each area of the country. To supplement their natural diets, bees are fed high fructose corn syrup instead of foraging naturally or sugar water. Best beekeeping practices have been forgotten in the name of pollination dollars and pollination dollars are necessary because the glut of cheap sweeteners at the grocery stores don't allow beekeepers to make enough on honey to survive.

Sure, there may be fungi or parasites. In Mississippi, beekeepers have struggled terribly with mites. But, I do know that strong colonies are not as susceptible to illness. Haul bees 2,000 miles in the back of a trailer and I feel sure any incubating illness or parasite will show itself. Moving back to more localized agriculture and a return to smaller, best practices farming, rather than quickest, easiest, and biggest farming would go a long way towards bolstering the honey bee. Yet, that is easier said than done. Farmers have been forced financially to abandon best practices. To stay in business you must have economies of scale. To compete with foreign suppliers (who it turns out are not supplying the same quality) getting the most and cheapest to the market usurps the best practice of rotation planting to avoid poisoning with chemical fertilizers and pest problems and encourages herbicide use, defoliates, and pesticide use. Unfortunately, only the chemical companies are thriving.

I am as guilty as the the next person of supporting large scale agriculture. I have enjoyed cheap grains and meats, almonds, more delicious apples than we can grow in Mississippi, citrus when I want it, and avocados. Yet, I have lately (last 8 years) been struggling with food quality and wondering whether cheap foods that don't really have a taste are worth it. With all the scary news articles about non-nutritive food additives in chicken, fish, cattle, and pig feed, I am getting scared to eat. I just feel that we have moved so far away from our food sources, that what we eat is barely recognizable. The honey bees know it, too!

* from The Lorax by Dr. Suess. Read this book!

Japanese Privet

Japanese Privet, technically called Ligustrum japonicum is a pest plant here in Mississippi. The plant thoughtfully placed in some one's landscaping has become an invasive species. When we first moved onto the hill, we took a backhoe (yes, it is that stubborn) and ripped privet and fence row to clear the view immediately surrounding the house. We pitted the yard trying to remove every last root. But removal is elusive. We still have a beautiful specimen flowering next to a mature tree.

As you can see we still have fence rows that don't really need fences because of the thick cover of J.Privet. To the locals and the US Forestry Service the plant has become a pest.


Yet, the blooms are beautiful and the sweet fragrance perfumes the entire farm (actually the town and outlying area). Unless someone is burning or spreading chicken fertilizer this is what you smell here in early May. The cows loll in the shade. The brown thrashers love the messy fence rows. And, when you have bees hanging on their hives, the privet is a welcome nectar and pollen plant. Look at the pollen on the leaves in the first picture. In fact, we have been busily assembling honey frames to try to keep up with the bees' production in this privet induced honey flow.


After the flowering, the privet produces a little purple fruit on which the birds feast all winter.

So, I wonder if all invasive species are bad?

Other than trying to take over yard, garden, and pastures, Japanese Privet seems to give much to nature and farm.

Bouquets!

Princess danced this weekend and she was rewarded for all her hard work with the pleasure of a job well done, stage time, and FLOWERS. She loves flowers and we have been trained by her apparent glee and profuse thank yous to reward with flowers every show. On Saturday my MIL and Sister-in-Law traveled to Jackson to see the show. They brought a bouquet of long stem pink roses. My mother and father couldn't be at the show, so they sent a bouquet. Those flowers, along with the ones we presented, elicited great excitement from Princess. "I've never had three bouquets before!" She wanted to hold them so each bouquet could be seen separately which is impossible without looking like a television antenna. With coaching, she was convinced to hold them all in one arm for a few pictures, but then it was back to the flower antenna look. She was just so happy to get flowers.

We carefully stored all the flowers that would fit in an ice chest for transport home. One bouquet wouldn't fit, so she carefully held it out of the sun while we ate and then all the way home, covering it with tissue paper to protect it more. Once we got home she carefully scrutinized each flower - smelling it and naming it (or trying to) - then arranged and rearranged and rearranged again in vases. Finally she decided to combine the flowers in two vases, since they looked too crowded in one. Her pleasure at being surrounded by flowers is so great that I want to have flowers for her every day.

But then, I suppose they would cease to be special.

Thanks, capejasmine for arranging for such beautiful bouquets! You made me look like a "together" mom.

I'm still here

I survived Princess' performance week rehearsal schedule!! I have many updates, but will take it one day at a time. I think I have pictures for everything. I should post with consistency for a while.

First, look at the salad produced by my garden. The colors are so rich and diverse. No two lettuce varieties are the same shade. I have tons of salad greens and radishes right now. In a few weeks the lettuce will bolt and Spring crops will be finished, then I will concentrate on beans, peas, corn, melons, and okra.

I will continue to plant lettuce, but the heat of the coming summer will render each planting a short, small-leaved harvest. Jove suggested planting in the shade of the fruit trees. With great hopes I will, because I cannot resist the freshness and color of these wonderful salads.

Parenthood Issues

We have a small problem down on the farm.

About a month ago, I had a hen go broody in the corner of the roosting shed. I let her stay where she was because she was out of the way and safe from predators. A couple of weeks ago, another hen joined her. Unfortunately, she only had the one egg under her. I mistakenly let her stay. Last week, the hen on the right joined them. I was glad this particular hen was out of circulation because her back was getting raw from too much rooster activity, so I mistakenly let her stay.

A few days ago, one of the hens left her eggs to get the corn I threw out and I saw one of the other hens reach over and steal an egg. Now that the eggs are starting to hatch, they are fighting over the chicks. The unhatched eggs are not as well attended as you can see. I disturbed them before this picture so I could count the chicks, but still the eggs should have been popped back under. They weren't.

Later, I went out to gather the last eggs of the day and there was a just hatched chick on the floor. No chicken was warming it. No chicken noticed. Instead they were more worried about the day old chicks that were skittering from one mom to the next while the moms were pecking at each other while herding the chicks away and underneath. I took the forgotten newest chick and put it in an incubator.

Tonight, I chose a mother and took all the chicks and put them in a separate hutch. The other two, if they remain, can concentrate on the last few eggs. I had a friend who had two hens share chicks, but mine don't seem to be able.

Did I mention?

How much I love my house at this time of the year. Well, I do. Sleeping in an open house is like camping with all the amenities. I get to hear all the wonderful night animal sounds; I get to feel the moistness in the air when the dew drops and the air cools; I get to hear the birds wake with song, all while lying on my firm, but not too firm, mattress on my crisp line-dried sheets with my favorite pillow.

Some think I'm out of my mind for living here, but you can't convince me.

We're Expecting Rain

Since we are expecting rain tomorrow, I have spent most of the day planting the "row crops." By row crops I don't mean acres and acres of beans and peas, but I did plant rows. I planted the usual butter beans, pink-eye purple hull peas, and rattle-snake beans. But, I also planted cannellini beans, yellow wax beans, and believe it or not SOY BEANS. I don't know why I thought I needed to plant soybeans because I know I don't have time to learn to make tofu, yet I think it might be fun to try. If I never make tofu, I know that my sister likes to eat edamame like popcorn so I have one user. And, my husband said they would be good protein for the cows. And, they also fix nitrogen so they are good for the soil. Nothing is wasted if you have an extended family and a farm.

Tomato plants, eggplant plants, cucumber seed, yellow squash seeds, zucchini seeds, and patty pan squash seeds were installed. I also planted the dill and basil, the zinnias and the sunflowers. There is still much to be done, but I made a huge start today.

Have you ever . . .

Seen yourself in someone else and not liked what you saw? I did. I've been wanting to write about it for a while, but I suppose I didn't want any of you to think I'm less than fantastic. When I was at the Viking Cooking School, I stood next to someone so like I am (used to be) that I saw myself. We looked nothing alike, but I recognized an expression and attitude that could have been my own a few years ago. O.K., maybe a few months ago. She had that I know everything; you're wasting my time; I'm too good to be here face that made me suck air as I made sure I had a better attitude.

I didn't like what I saw when I looked at myself. I thought of all the time and fun I have sacrificed pretending - setting up the wall around myself to hide my insecurities. I wonder how many friendships I have voided before they started because of that know it all face.

What about you? Have you ever seen yourself?

Updates

Remember that I got sick on Easter. Well, I was apparently contagious. I infected my entire immediate family and have been nursing all week. I think we are well, now. Thankfully, we were all able to cast off the funk quickly. I will wash and line dry everyone's sheets so that we don't have a second dance with the plague.

I will be scarce for the next few weeks because Princess will be spending more time in the city rehearsing ballet, putting our already frenetic schedule into fevered hyperactivity. After the 28th, there will be calm, except for schooling, gardening, canning, and regular work.

More Southern Spring

Competition among flowering shrubs, trees, and plants is steep in the Southern Spring. Another one of my favorites is the iris. White iris blooms, like the daffodils, at all old homesteads and frequently in ditches where people have thinned and didn't know what to do with the spare rhizomes. Yellow iris and purple iris are also fairly common.

This fancy bronze bearded iris is in front of my mother's house. They used to reside in the side yard by the old pear tree and before that at my grandmother's garden fence. My grandmother had a riotous garden of single species, gifts from gardening friends and purchases of beautiful things. Matching color was no object. Yet, it all seemed to work.

She had a garden inside her house and in the windows of the hardware store of gloxinia, violets, cyclamen, cactus, and anything else that could be rooted from a cutting. I remember her joy at coaxing something into blooming or rooting.

She would have been happy to think her special iris is still blooming in profusion each Spring. Mama wants me to take a few to plant at my old house. I will, for memories. The blooms are not the only special iris trait that produces memories.

Did you know that you can take an iris leaf and, with a stick, write messages or your name on it. You can then fashion bracelets and crowns or you could just leave the leaf attached to the ground to claim your bloom. I spent hours, as a child, sitting with the iris scratching my name and secret messages onto the leaves.

Don't you just love the stalky, pride of these wonderful plants?

I'm expecting a visitor!

I've been expecting a visitor, Addie the Adventure Mouse, for the past few days. She may be waiting at the terminal, as I write. Even though I survived the entire winter without a sniffle or even a snuffle, I spent Easter Sunday in bed with the crud. Though not feeling well, I was able to get my contributions for Easter dinner, a lemon cake and a pesto pasta salad, ready Saturday night. I also took care of my bunny duties. Then, I crawled in bed and didn't move until Monday morning. I didn't get the mail.

So, this morning I will check the station and expect to find Addie waiting to accompany us to ballet rehearsals in the city. After that we will show her true Southern hospitality and some warm weather.

Struggling with Day Light Savings Time

I doubt that the powers that be gave two seconds thought to the by-products of an earlier Day Light Savings Time. In fact, I never thought of consequences. Being the energy conserving maniac that I am, I was excited! Now, I've changed my mind. Every night I struggle to keep a school schedule for bed-time rituals. Yet, the children play longer; we start supper later; we eat later; we go to sleep later. The children wake up later. Starting school before 8:30 (which is our goal) is impossible for children who don't get to sleep until 10 something.

Knowing the struggle of morning, I concentrate more on an early start. Yet, I am affected by the light. I am weak. I want to play longer outside. I want to leisurely prepare dinner. I don't want to sacrifice our reading time.

Since this is Poetry Friday for many of my online friends, I thought I would share a fitting poem by Robert Louis Stevenson. I hope y'all don't mind me playing along.

Bed in Summer

In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candlelight.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people's feet
Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?

Honestly, I am so happy my children don't have a school bus to catch.

A change of color

Do you remember that picture I posted in October of the field of rye grass? This is that same field. Now, Instead of looking neon green, it has a cloak of red. After we planted the winter forage grass, we over seeded with Crimson Clover. When my husband was out of town, Pink Panther and I planted the clover to balance the heavier feeding rye grass with nitrogen producing clover. This is the natural way of fertilizing the pasture. The clover is also a high protein forage that the weanlings seem to be enjoying. Obviously, my bees are in heaven.

Honestly, we may have seeded a bit too heavy. There are seeding ratios involved and when you relinquish all control to a ten year old boy who was very excited to be driving and less excited about seeding, the outcome becomes unpredictable. I have complete faith in my garden nuisance, Bermuda Grass, to overcome the hardship of emerging from beneath that clover. In the close-up I see only one plant that would be considered a weed. Can you find it?

The Southern Spring Queen

I was overcome by the sheer spectacle of the azalea yesterday and had to share. I feel a bit guilty since I have just found out one of my Northern friends is being pelted by blizzard like conditions, but once my camera was raised to my eye the inevitability of these pictures showing up here was cast. Maybe they will bring a smile.

This weekend the show will be over. I think our temperatures will dip to almost freezing and the blooms will fade. Every year we Southerners are lured into thinking the cool weather is over only to be slammed with freezing weather on the weekend when white shoes and light-weight, sleeveless dresses premiere for Summer. Because we are a slave to those clothing rules and what people think, we will wear our white shoes and light clothes anyway and pretend we aren't cold. We are good at pretending. Sometimes when it is over 100 F in the Summer, we pretend we don't sweat.

Let's go back to safer territory, the azaleas. Lest you think I have this flashy show occurring in my garden, let me set the record straight. This is my mother's side show. I was lured into picking up my camera when I was picking up her contribution for the Salvation Army. My foundation plantings are virtually non-existent, because we are still working on hardscapes.

When we plant, I will plant azaleas because I won't be able to resist the month of melodrama each year.

Bluebird Eggs

In the spirit of Easter, here is a picture of naturally colored eggs. I finally found the courage to check my birdhouses. I found out last year that checking the birdhouses is not harmful, that the birds will return to the nest, and that some intervention actually increases success rates. It still scares me. What if? What if? What if?

I don't want to be responsible for a nest of dead babies.

Yet, by checking I got to see this nest of perfectly colored blue eggs. I wish our dyed Easter eggs could look so perfectly blue.

I have been cleaning

Really!! Don't laugh. I really have. What I have done is not enough. No matter what I do, cleaning wise, it is never enough. Dirt and clutter just seem to reappear as soon as I turn my back. I feel like Pigpen. Nonetheless, I have spent the rainy part of the weekend purging.

Purging feels good. I don't want to stop. I want pristine counters, shelves, and desktop. I want a calm place for my eyes to rest. I want simplicity.

Unfortunately, I still want stuff - books, dishes, fabrics, pots, pans, and shoes. There is a separate part of me who wants stark simplicity. Duplicity in the home makes for confusion, disorganization, and a crazed woman. Yet, I can't seem to choose a path. I can't seem to purge deep enough to make a difference.

Yet, things are better than they were.

Happy Birthday Pink Panther

We've had a birthday! Pink Panther has turned eleven and I am wondering just where those years have gone. Seems like just yesterday when I was studying his little toes and fingers thinking how tiny they were. Now, I study his fingers and toes only to see if he has washed them. They aren't tiny any more.

We didn't have a big party because he had a Scout Camporee this weekend and we didn't want to invite people only to have him come home so tired he couldn't stay awake. They spent the weekend competing in a catapult competition. They lost, but had a good time!

For his birthday, Pink Panther asked specifically for a few presents - a didgeridoo, a welding helmet (not held together with duct tape), and an iTunes gift card. When they were all unwrapped, I realized how interesting his choices were. He has so many interests that really have little to do with me. I used to be his center, his primary focus. No longer. Anyway, back to the presents.

He got interested in the didgeridoo when we were studying Australia, so my husband and I agreed to buy the didge so he can make all the animal sounds he wants. My daddy has been teaching him to weld, so my parents gave him a new welding helmet. Princess have him the iTunes gift card because she and he have recently become interested in having their own music (I still get to preview purchases). He saves money obsessively and got some more to add to his stash from Mr. Wisteria's parents. I like the interesting person he is becoming.

Make a wish and blow!! But, don't spit on the cake. I would like a piece of that banana cake with cream cheese frosting.

Jam

I love the sound of canning jars sealing - the pop that announces a job well done. I don't hear it as often as I used to because I started using Weck canning jars because they are prettier. They don't pop. You just have to look to see if the tongue is pointing downward which is not nearly so satisfying as a POP. I just finished making 14 half pints and 4 pints of strawberry jam and I ran short of jars because some people forget to return them and our cats hurled two boxes of jars from the top of the shed, so now I am listening for the pops of the four mismatched jars. I've heard two already. Go here to look at last year's pictures. I was going to take more pictures but it would look just the same as last year, except for the mismatched jars and the larger quantity.

I made more jam this year because we ran out of strawberry jam the first week in February. I, obviously, gave away too much last year or either we were just piggish. We do have pear preserves and fig preserves remaining.

I wonder how long it will take my little sister to get here. She loves strawberry jam. Bring your jars or you will get NOTHING! You too, Susan.

POP! POP! There were the last two.

Savannah Blues

I read (listened) to Mary Kay Andrews' Savannah Blues. It is really a ridiculous book and not believable at all. Most Southern belles I know would never publicly use the foul language that Mary Kay Andrews chooses to bestow on her heroines and the plot is outrageously far-fetched. But, I felt entertained. The story was bigger than life. I wanted to see how BeBe Loudermilk would get revenge and her money. I wanted to be part of the scheme. I wanted her to find a good man and live happily ever after.

What's more. I will read and probably enjoy another Andrews book if she writes another even though every one of her previous books follows the same formula. They are happy, light, and about strong Southern belles who always get short changed and get revenge. Oh, and there is a recipe and fresh, bright cover art.

I am addicted to cover art whether it is on a book or a wine bottle. Send my money to the graphic artist. I will buy the mood or feeling every single time. Yes, I eventually look beyond the cover, but the initial draw is powerful. Want a "beach read?" Choose a brightly colored, fun looking book that has no pretension of being good literature.

Do you choose a book by the cover?

Reality

The morning I left the Alluvian and the Viking Cooking School for home, I said to one of the people I had met the night before, "Back to reality." I'm not exactly sure what I meant when I said, "Back to reality," because it could have had a thousand nuanced meanings. I could have meant that my life isn't great and the weekend was a diversion from misery, but I didn't mean that. I love my life and can only think of a few things that I would change. I could have meant that the lull in regular activity was a diversion from reality. I could have meant that the surroundings and activities were so structured that they provided a break from reality. I could have meant that the surroundings were so spectacular that they seemed out of place.

Whatever I meant when those words escaped from my lips, I had a fabulous diversion in Greenwood, MS. My fantastic mother-in-law gave me and my sister-in-law a weekend cooking retreat for Christmas. We attended the Viking Cooking School, which is not so much a cooking school, as a place for you to use and fall in love with Viking equipment and socialize. I have been to a professional cooking school and this is nothing like that. This was just fun. By the time I left, I felt as if I knew people who hours before were perfect strangers. By the time I left, I had eaten well over any one's calorie allotment for a day, but had done so by eating well made and delicious food, not a bag of Robin Eggs. By the time I left, I felt relaxed, lucky, and just plain happy.

We stayed across the street at the Alluvian Hotel and Spa. Accommodations are unbelievably spacious, luscious, and just astounding. Go to their web site and have a look. The complimentary Southern breakfast is the final touch - the little extra that all true Southerners feel the need to add. All this and I haven't even mentioned what wonderful companionship my sister-in-law is. She even suggested we go to a bookstore. She suggested it. I promise.

Turnrow Books is a new independent bookstore in Mississippi. We have a wonderful literary tradition here and independence is our mantra. The entire first floor of this wonderful store focuses on the South, particularly Mississippi. Many of you are thinking it must be tiny. But, Mississippians are verbose. We cook, we date, we marry, we divorce, we read, we write, we grow flowers, we arrange flowers, we decorate houses, we take pictures and we want to talk about it. All these beautiful books are here. I bought a book because I have a passion to support independent book stores. I also have a passion for Southern writers. Plus, I needed a memento of my excursion. My husband understood.

Let's talk about my sister-in-law (I don't think she reads here so I can talk about her). My sister-in-law is one of those rare people for whom I can think of absolutely nothing negative to say. She is kind, happy, never meets a stranger, remembers names, cares about others, sets boundaries(and keeps them), and is honest even with herself. She has fantastic college age children (I hope my children turn out so well). She is together. I loved watching her interact with people across the enormous work table. I loved watching her explore the room. I loved watching her turn perfect strangers into friends. She is the Old South.

She also knew the way to the Alluvian. I never called for directions before I left home. I just pulled off Highway 82 at the first Greenwood sign. I saw the parts of Greenwood that Viking and the Alluvian and the investors behind the four or five block downtown restoration would prefer you not to see. It is a different world. Reality. Not to say that the well read, well polished public face of Greenwood is not reality, too. It is just a different reality. If the South ever comes to terms with the dual realities, it may not need to write.

Wisteria gone wild!

With a blog named Twice Bloomed Wisteria you would expect to find a bit of wisteria draping over many entries. It is - allegorically speaking. But, here is a more substantive entry.

Wisteria goes wild by the roadsides (even with MDOT's aggressive use of herbicide) covering trees, bushes, and buildings with its grape like blossoms and filling the air with its inebriatingly sweet scent. Seeing wisteria like this reminds me of how riotous southern Springs really are.

I got to see plenty of roadside wisteria, dogwood, and redbud this weekend when I drove to the Delta. I'll tell you about my fabulous weekend later.

The water hose

We've been six inches short of our average rainfall this month. I've already had to rely on the water hose to keep my asparagus, lettuce, sugar snap peas, and spinach alive and producing. Late yesterday afternoon I set up the soaker hose to water my asparagus bed, turned on the water, and went inside. Obviously there was a malfunction at the hydrant, because when my husband got home at nine, the back yard and parking area were flooded - not just a little water, but get your waders flooded.

Did I ever mention how much I hate water hoses and the idea of watering a garden? Well, I do. Even though my garden is ready, I won't plant another thing until it rains.

Can you taste words?

Last night while lying in bed, I began to think of my crusty old sailor friend, Butch. We visited the USS Alabama on the way home from the beach. The children are fixated on that ship so when the weather is perfectly cool with a breeze we explore it. Though nothing much has changed since I was a child, I am still amazed by the space efficiency of the ship. Actually, I'm humbled to think 2500 men could eat, sleep, work, and play in that space when I complain of lack of space in my much more commodious accommodations.

Anyway, my friend Butch was a stickler for organization and tidiness. I suppose 30 years at sea living out of a locker improves your spatial relations and cleanliness. He used to have a sea chest under the tomato table filled with toys for his grandchildren, then his great grandchildren, my children, and any other child who happened to visit. Before he opened the chest, he established the rules, "Play with whatever you want, but ______________." I can't remember. I can taste the seafaring words for return everything to the trunk and close and lock the lid. I can fill in that blank with fifteen to twenty alternatives, but I cannot remember the sentence he actually said. I woke my children to see if they remembered. I grilled my husband, whose nautical vocabulary is obviously no greater than mine.

Then I said, "I can taste the word."

My husband said, "Does it taste good?", while looking at me like I was insane.

Come to find out, he can't taste words and thinks it's weird.

Can you taste words?

Better yet, fill in the blank so I don't have to worry Butch.

Gain

I finished Gain by Richard Powers a few days ago. Powers, again, impresses me with his intellect and mastery of form. The two interlinking stories - Laura' cancer and Clare's history - is a device similar to the one he used in The Echo Maker, but it works. By elucidating the history Clare Soaps and illustrating the octopus like growth of the company (he includes charts), Powers was able to show how the original mission of cleansing and lighting was tainted and manipulated in the name of efficiency - the how could this happen in the reality of the never ending questions of "What is this in my ketchup?".

Before this novel I was a bit fanatical about chemicals, now I may need to be straight-jacketed. Laura's battle with ovarian cancer and the transformation of a family business into a chemical spewing megalith has sorely affected me. I'll be going to the doctor as soon as I can get an appointment.

Go out and get your yearly check-up!! If you need motivation, read this book.

The Birchbark House

On the drive to and from the beach we listened to Louise Erdrich's The Birchbark House. I chose it because Susan at Chicken Spaghetti was going to read it with her child. I had not heard of this book, so I investigated and thought it would be a good match for our family. I couldn't get a copy of the book without special ordering, so I downloaded the book for my iPod.

The children and I loved the tale of Frog, the Anishinabe/Ojibwe girl, who is comparable to Laura of Little House fame. We listened to tales of her mischief, her courage, and grief. We learned much.

Now, though we are studying ancient history, we will have to take a side trip to the Northern Great Lakes area to satiate the children's desire for more information. I found this interesting web site. It has lesson plans (which I won't use) and much great information.

Thanks, Susan!

Oops I forgot: The reader, Nicolle Littrell, was great. She did voices and animal sounds.

Our Journey

The children and I are home from our Spring break. Even though this time of the year is not prime beach weather because it is still a bit cool, the water is chilly, and the probability of rain is high, I enjoyed our jaunt.

We looked for shells, investigated all the jelly fish that washed ashore (if they looked fresh we tossed them back in the gulf for another chance), flew kites, explored the dunes, threw the Frisbee, and did cartwheels on the beach. Who knew? I can still do cartwheels. I didn't need the emergency room when finished either.

While it was raining we watched movies, identified our shells with the nature guides, assembled a puzzle. I read a little.

I didn't take pictures. I never took the camera out of my suit case - no time.

Going on vacation without the husband was an eye opening experience. The children wanted to do so many things that needed adult supervision and I was the only adult. I couldn't do all and still provide food, wash clothes, and keep the sand out of the house. They didn't get to go to the lagoon, crabbing, or fishing. We did have fun, though.

A Spring Break

I'll be back in a few days. I'll take the camera.

Chicks

These chicks are about a week old. They still have their fluffy chick look, but have a few feathers, especially on their wings. Chick on the back left is a Buff Catalana, chick on right rear is a Barred Rock, affectionately called Dominecker in these parts, and the chick on the front is what happens when you aren't careful to keep your different breeds separate. Should we call her a Buffinecker or a Domilana?

We have two broody hens, but I haven't been brave enough to see how many eggs they are sitting. Broody hens are scary, nest protecting, pecking maniacs but who can blame them. I might peck a few people if they tried to take my babies or babies to be in this case.

Spring Reading Challenge

I had so much fun during the Winter Reading Challenge that I am signing on for the Spring Challenge. Who will join me?

For Spring, I will concentrate on reading the novels of Richard Powers. Now that I found Richard Powers because Zilla suggested The Echo Maker, I feel I need to investigate further. I am weird like that. I will also read The Secret Life of Bees because Jove recommended it and I am a beekeeper. I'm going to the beach so I will read something light like a Mary Kaye Andrews novel.

Here is my planned list, so far.
Gain - Richard Powers
The Time of Our Singing - Richard Powers
Three Farmers on Their Way to a Dance - Richard Powers
The Secret Life of Bees - Sue Monk Kidd
Savannah Breeze - Mary Kaye Andrews

My list is short because Spring is my busiest time. With garden, bees, school, and farm, I shouldn't even lift a book, but . . .

The Year of Magical Thinking

I just finished reading The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion. I picked up this book from my sister's bedside table. She had suggested it in one of her comments here, so I took it.

I can't say that this is the best book for February, yet I've never read a book that was as honest, yet intellectual, about a topic as emotional as death. The book documents Joan Didion's struggle with grief and mourning after the death of her husband and writing partner John Dunne. Relying on the things she had always used as support - research, books, and writing - she journeys through a year of "magical thinking" in which she finds dangerous ground in even the smallest errands and tasks.

The clover is not the only thing blooming!!!

The plum trees have just started blooming. There are other expectant trees in our yard, but the plum has produced the first real flowers.

After yesterday, we are closer to being ready. Hives have been inspected, repairs made, and new paint applied.

Manure has been applied.

Screen doors have been repaired.

Now, we watch and wait while enjoying our best season.

Spring in the Air

Even though Miss Betty, my consultant for all old timer knowledge, says there will be a frost on April 28 because it thundered on the 28th of February, I feel Spring.

The purple clover is blooming in the orchard. My husband is straining at the bit to crank the lawnmower and shear it. He says it is unsightly, but I say leave it. I do wonder what the neighbors think. If they could hear the hum, the buzz, the throb of the many insects using this section of untidy lawn, could they be swayed to see my point of view?


I caught one (actually hundreds) of my bees collecting pollen and nectar. There were also bumble bees, spiders, gnats. . .


Now, I have to get to work so I can keep up with Spring. There are bee hives to build and repair, aged manure to spread, seeds to plant. The wisdom of the old farmers' wives has spoken, so I know not to get too far ahead of myself, but with the temperatures rising, the birds singing, and trees blooming, and the bees buzzing it is hard to resist.

We are still at it!

We are still bottle feeding Mr. S's calf. He came to get it last week, but I didn't want the calf pushed out too soon, so I talked him (it didn't take much) into leaving it until the calf was weaned the right way. I know I'm crazy adding this extra work, but I don't want the calf to die after we have gotten her this far along. Calves are still vulnerable in this in between stage.

OO (we didn't name her) only takes one bottle a day now and if Princess feeds it she has to stand behind a gate because the calf has gotten so strong it can and will knock her down trying to get more to come out of the bottle. This is the danger with bottle calves when they get bigger. The calf that has jostled, followed, pushed, and head butted you since birth is now bigger. The hooves that just pinched your feet when clamoring for food, now bruise. The natural head butting is no longer funny, it is painful. Being pinned against the wall by a frantic calf that weighs as much as you can be scary. OO has grown in strength and size, but doesn't realize it.

In an effort to get OO ready for her future circumstances, we have been letting OO roam with a part of our herd during the day. At night we still keep her in the barn since she is not protected by anyone in the herd. She is eating grass, hay, and clover and is coming along nicely. I would guess she will be ready in a couple of weeks, though naturally she wouldn't be weaned for a while. Those smaller white calves in the picture have not yet been weaned, though their time is quickly approaching.

Frustration Mounts

I have been having difficulty posting comments to blogs ever since Beta Blogger arrived. I have difficulty posting comments to my own blog which seems really weird. So, if I normally visit and post comments at your blog and you've noticed my absence, don't feel as if I am neglecting you. I'm not. I'm not sure whether I'm incapable of reading the security letters or incapable of typing my name and password. Maybe it's a Mac/blogger hangup or . . . Is it just me????

I don't need these tiny frustrations!

The Echo Maker

I completely lost track of everything this weekend while I read The Echo Maker by Richard Powers. Powers masterfully combines science and emotion in a tale about cranes, water, brain damage, recovery, sibling relationships, trust, success and failure, and our perceptions. There is much medical jargon, but with the search for medical answers to Mark's accident induced Capgras Syndrome the search for personal answers to our perceptions of self, our public presentation of self, and the outsider's perception of us is illuminated. We are also reminded of how fragile, yet resilient, the interactions truly are.

My husband came back home last night and said, "You've been reading."

I said, "How observant of you. How did you know?"

He said, "You are somewhere else. You always go somewhere else."

Hmmm! I think I misjudged my husband. I was in Nebraska while he was in Memphis. I thought he wouldn't notice my absence.

Thanks for the recommendation, Zilla!! Now, I feel that I must go see the cranes!!!!

My secret obsession

On several occasions I have lamented the addition of artificial colors, flavors, and preservatives to our food. I have condemned those who let their children eat garbage everyday. I am relatively careful about what we eat, but as the Easter season draws near I find that I cannot resist some base desire for Whopper brand Robin Eggs. I'm just as embarrassed about this obsession as I am about my Tab addiction. On Tuesday, I saw the first of the Robin Eggs at the grocery store. I was not looking for them. I promise. I do have some pride. Nevertheless, the Robin Eggs were placed so I couldn't miss them and I couldn't resist.

I have eaten the whole bag. The children helped, but I feel sure that I consumed most of them. I feel sick - Heavy, sluggish, and just plain disgusting, but if there were any Eggs left, I would eat them.

I am weak. I am a hypocrite.

Does anyone else see the incongruity here?

I bought this light bulb today. I have been waiting for it for almost a week, because this is not a normally stocked lighting option in our small town. I want to help the earth by choosing lighting that will reduce carbon output. We are also readying our house for solar power and these bulbs are a must so I waited a week in low lighting conditions.

So, I go to pick up this wonderful earth saving bulb and look at the packaging. They have packaged the earth friendly bulb in a huge non-recyclable clam pack when the non earth friendly bulbs are still packaged in the minimalistic recycled cardboard (4 bulbs to a unit) boxes.

Now why would they do that? Don't they know that the people who are purchasing this bulb are thinking of the environment and want less packaging.

More dirt pictures

Doesn't my kitchen look happy with all the colorfully labeled dirt pods. After years of getting to the garden with mystery plants, I have taken my crusty old sailor friend's technique for my own. He has moved to Snug Harbor Retirement Village, so he won't know I am copying his ideas and I won't have to listen to him say, "I told you so!" In reality, I may send him a picture so he will know that his worst and best pupil has finally taken his advice about something.

The plan is to mark each plant, rather than each set, with something (paper clip, wire, or toothpicks). With the small, though permanently colored insert the coding remains with the seedling even if the big container is jostled or the seedling is moved to a larger pot or given as a gift. The master list is kept in a safe place. I thought I would enter it in my NoteTaker Farm book, but I haven't.

Last year, I seeded 12 varieties of tomatoes and 5 varieties of peppers. By the time the tomatoes and peppers were planted in the garden, I had only 9 varieties of tomatoes and 2 of peppers. I had inadvertently given away the entire seeding of a few varieties. This year I will know what I am planting.

Besides, the kitchen looks happy with all those little colored toothpicks and paper clips!