Gardening Angels

At the PO on Monday, I was delighted to meet and thank the ladies responsible for these beautiful little gardens. 

The ladies were hard at it, grubbing up weeds.

We chatted briefly and I thanked them for providing such a welcome sight in downtown Marshall. I should have asked more questions--were they part of an organization? how long had they been tending this garden? did they have others?

But I didn't. I was too busy enjoying the wealth of blooms that adorned these two small sidewalk gardens.

                             Echinacea in different vibrant shades. . .

Bee balm . . .

Black-eye Susans, a sprawling lavender plant, and some tall reddish-purple plant (Amaranth?) that they said were volunteers--seeded from a planting across the street.

Zinnias and marigolds too--so much color!

Many thanks to those gardening angels--you are deeply appreciated!

 

More Treasure for the Castle People

My Castle People have golden treasure. (It is really painted oyster shells.) They have had six FOREVER because JoEllen who is my Uncle Drew Walton's mama sent them to us back when I was just a baby. I always loved playing with the shells and pretending they were dishes, but when I got the Castle People, the shells became their treasure. Last week, JoEllen sent me a whole bunch more!

Meema helped me write a thank you to JoEllen and I decided to draw a picture of the Castle People and their new treasure. I painted the shells a gold color and added some sparkly gold. 

I did pictures of some of my favorites. That is Carmen in the middle. 

 

Milkweed

And the happiest of birthdays to my first born! I will spare him the sentimental memories and pictures, but I will say that he has always been a joy to us.

 

Too Hot

Actually, not so much hot as heavy, oppressive air. I am finding it hard to do much of anything other than drink iced tea and read. (Re-read, that is, John Fowles's The Magus, a haunting novel.

The laundry gets done, as do meals (shrimp salad tonight.) I wave a languid dust rag occasionally and vacuum when the dog hair is tumbleweeding across the floor.  Water the plants; feed the dogs and kittehs. 

Every chore needs to be followed by a rest spell. Night time is much cooler, thank goodness, though I generally shower and wet my hair before turning in.

No, we don't have AC. 

This heat, this too, shall pass.

 

Got It This Time

 

Dogs on the Porch

We were enjoying a pre-supper glass of wine on the porch and watching a thunderstorm moving our way. The dogs don't approve of thunder and lightning, but they opted to stay with us anyway.

Otter is the least wary of the pack.

Bailey barks at the thunder; Jenny hides behind my chair.

It was all soon over and we could relax.

Bobadog is very good at relaxing.

Not much rain; not much of a rainbow.

 

Rosie's World (repost)

                                                        

Of course, many of you know that I base the Goodweather farm in the Elizabeth Goodweather Mysteries on ours. So, let's pretend for a moment, that we're in the setting for Old Wounds.

The top picture shows the barn (lower right) the Goodweathers lived in while building their house. To the left and a little above the barn is the chicken house (hard to see but important to the story.) Higher up is Elizabeth's house and to the right of that, you can make out Ben's cabin (or Little Sylvie's in Signs in the Blood). The multi-tiered garden starts just above the chicken coop.

                                         

  

The second picture is taken on the road that runs along the top of the pasture and into the woods. (We call it 'the New Road' as it was bulldozed for us only about 35 years ago. It doesn't actually go anywhere -- its purpose is mainly to provide a way to get the tractor or our little utility vehicle into the woods for firewood or for hauling fencing supplies.)

This is the road Elizabeth often takes a walk on and the big tree to the left is where the deer stand that the young Maythorn used as a spy post would have been. And this is where the young Rosemary followed her mother on a cold winter day, with an unwelcome result.

She trotted down the path, smiling to think how surprised her mother would be when she

appeared. A little way on and the path veered sharply as it wrapped around the mountainside. Just beyond that turn was one of the benches Pa had made for Mum so she could sit and look at the view. Maybe she would be there. Humming, Rosemary hurried on.

In the late eighties I (me, Vicki, not Elizabeth) used to walk our two Akitas on this path daily. They were large (over a hundred pounds each) dogs and, though lovely with people, completely murderous around any other animals (dogs, cats, chickens, etc.) So they had to be kept in the house and exercised on the leash. Once, when we had just hit this stretch of very uphill path, a squirrel ran across the road in front of us. Both dogs lunged at it, pulling me down, splat on my face. I hung on to the leashes like grim death and the dogs kept going, towing me behind them like a particularly inept water-skier. When finally, after they'd dragged me almost to the top of the hill, I managed to stop them and stand up, the top of my head was completely covered with dirt and leaf mold.

I digress. The last picture, if you'll look closely is of Froghead, the rock that sticks out of the pasture like a granite thumb, the place where Rosie first meets Maythorn. My boys gave it that name and it was a favorite hangout of theirs. Higher up the mountain above the house, is what they called the cave -- actually a little shelter under some huge boulders that lean against each other. This, of course, was the inspiration for Rosie and Maythorn's Cave of Two Sisters.                         

                                             

But, and some people have asked about this, there is no Mullmore, no faux-Tudor mansion on the other side of the ridge. I do use my imagination for some stuff!

Sunrise

I grabbed this first picture and, thinking there was time before the sun showed, ran back inside to put on something over my thin nightgown--it was beautifully chilly.

Alas, I was too optimistic--I missed the crucial moment by a few seconds and ended up with this glare. 

Oh, well, I'll probably get another chance.

 

Josie's Bestiary--In Her Own Words

                                                                                      

This is a Dingola Poopfloot. It is very rare but there are a lot of them. It is one-half horse, one-half dog, one-half alligator. one-half Meema, and one-half imagination. The Meema half says NONONONO.

His poop is blue and long and gets stuck to his butt. His mouth is on his belly, and he has a long purple tongue. He has a red body with black stripes and a green tummy. He was born in the Dinosaur Age.

This (below) is a Kaptootie Tututu. It eats plants and is not rare. It was born in the Dinosaur Age also. It has wings and looks like a peacock but different. It is very colorful.

It used to be extinct, but one was still alive and gave birth to many more and they are REAL.

I AM NOT KIDDING!!!

                                                                                 

The one is called a (yelling) BLEEEEEEE! He is very giant. He eats brown tree trunks. He is pretty weird and don't blame me for it. He looks a lot like a turtle. He is half turtle, half ladybug, half kitty, and half elephant.

I spread out all my art all over the living room. It was my gallery so Grumpy could admire my work.

Here is the last one. It is a Rainbow Floobie-Doobie. He is so colorful. That is why he is called rainbow. He eats anything messy--like trash. 

His tail has eight feathers. He has a long tongue, as long as a grownup's arm. He is the rainbow-est dinosaur on earth. 

What is that brown stuff? says Meema.

His poop, I tell her.

Why do you want to show that? she says.

So you'll know what it looks like, I say. It looks like a cup cake and it's edible. It tastes like chocolate and vanilla.

Oh, says Meema.

Sphinx Moth, I Think

 

Iconic Summer Supper

                                                                    

Chicken salad! Just like my mother and grandmother made, though I add curry powder and a good deal more onion to the chicken, apples, celery, and mayo (homemade--I'll not get into the Hellman's vs Duke's controversy that consumes various Southern-based FB groups.) One of my earliest kitchen chores was cutting up the cooked chicken--with scissors, still one of my go-to kitchen tools.

There are potato chips on the side because that's part of the tradition. Potato chips are a rare treat around here--I remember one of the boys spotting a bag as I was putting away groceries and asking if we were having company--company and chicken salad being two excuses to buy chips.

Traditionally there should be a Sunshine brand peach pickle on the plate--but I haven't seen them in the store for years and am serving some oven roasted asparagus with cheese.

Chicken salad has been a constant in my life.

John's last posting in the Marines was at the air base in Beaufort (Bew-furt), SC, and it was ungodly hot in our rented duplex. I made chicken salad, tuna salad, and shrimp salad in a weekly rotation, doing the cooking early in the morning and spending the rest of the day reading in a hammock under the big oak that was the only good thing about that rental. 

Some evenings we would go to the movie just to sit in the bliss of A/C. The movie changed weekly and some weeks we saw it twice.

Chicken salad--not just a meal but a repository of memories.

(Apologies for the crummy pictures--we were in a hurry to eat.)

                                                   

Close to Home

For days Hosta had been watching Foxglove, admiring their deep lavender bells, so enticing to the bumble bees. Hosta leaned out over the stone walkway, hoping that Foxglove would notice.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Foxglove bent toward the walkway. Hosta trembled with anticipation. . . if only, even the briefest of touches . . .

Alas, it was not to be. A passing dog tore the pair asunder, never to be reunited. But the memory lingers . . .

 

More Watercolors