Archive | June 2023

Sneaky Snackers

Jun28

A ruby-throated hummingbird whizzed past my head so closely I imagined that I felt the light touch of its whirring wings. I watched the small bird land on my sister’s nectar feeder and hungrily plunge its beak into a red flower feeder-cup to drink. I leaned back in my deck chair and eagerly questioned, “Did you see that?”

My sister answered as she handed a glass of wine to me and sat down, “Those small birds are sassy and totally fearless when they know there’s nectar in the feeder.”

I took a sip of wine, enjoying the balmy evening air in the shade of my sister’s house. All around the perimeter of her deck were pots and plantstands filled with a large variety of blossoming plants. Glancing around at the three nearby bird feeders, I commented, “I love how close your feeders are to the deck. That makes it easier to watch the birds.”

Nodding, my sister agreed. “It is nice, but something other than birds have been after the feeders. If I forget to take them in for the night, I find them on the ground in the morning, usually in pieces and licked clean. The shepherd’s hook holding the oriole feeder is bent.”

After watching two aggressive hummingbirds fight over the feeder, I pointed out, “It would be interesting if you could set up a trail camera to see your nocturnal visitors.”

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Haymow Cats

Jun21

Daddy swung a bucket strap over a Holstein cow’s back and leaned down to hook it below. Being a well-seasoned milking cow, the old black and white bovine never flinched. I stood behind her in the barn’s center aisle chattering non-stop as I watched, enjoying the smells, the sounds, and the way the cows acted. My father good-humoredly smiled, nodded, and looked pleased as if he enjoyed a talkative six-year-old’s company while he worked.

Mom called me Daddy’s shadow because I followed him everywhere on the farm. Starting school limited the time I could spend with him, but school supplied more topics to talk about as he worked. This typical summer evening took place in 1957.

Stepping out from between the cow to be milked and its neighbor, Daddy picked up the Surge milk bucket on the limed walkway next to me and hung it on the strap under the cow. Connecting the vacuum tube to a vacuum valve installed on the stanchion, he then leaned over to introduce the inflation cups to the cow’s teats from where they dangled on the lid of the vacuum bucket. He did this slowly, one by one as to not startle the cow. The teats quickly slipped into the cups by suction.

Stepping out from between the cows again, Daddy pulled a washcloth from a bucket of water and stepped between two cows across the aisle and began to wash mud off the next cow’s teats and udder. Just as he was finishing, the milker on the cow across the aisle began to make loud squealing sounds. The cow brought up her hind right leg, as though she didn’t like the tickle caused by the loss of suction. But she didn’t kick as some of the cows would. Moving quickly, Daddy stepped next to her, removed the inflation cups, and checked to see if she was finished milking.

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Gardening Grandchildren

Jun14

Help was on the way. I rushed to the backyard hoop garden to uncover the rototiller. Each year after tilling the garden, I wait for the engine to cool off, then wrap a large blue tarp around the machine and tie it with a sturdy cord. As if unwrapping a long-anticipated Christmas present, I impatiently untied the knot in the cord and pulled the tarp off. I worried that this would be the year the ancient machine would finally give up its ghost. Although I generally only work the garden soil each spring, this old rear-tine rototiller does such an excellent job, that my garden thrives each year.

Tugging and rocking the unwieldy machine, I moved it out of the corner where it had been stored since last spring. I wanted there to be room around it to pour in fresh gasoline and to pull the starter cord. The minute the engine was started, I planned to grab the handlebars and till the hardened soil.

When I was younger, I could start the tiller myself. But each spring for the last several years, I’ve failed. I can’t pull the starter cord fast enough. This year I decided not to even try. I called someone for help. When the volunteer arrived a few minutes later, he pulled the cord twice and the faithful old engine powerfully awoke from its year-long nap.

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Well Adjusted

Jun7

Tammie slid into my car behind the steering wheel and methodically adjusted the height of the seat and moved it closer to the steering wheel. After changing the angle of the seat and tipping the backrest forward, she started on the mirrors. Each one had to be angled just so, to allow her to see everything as a safe driver. Once her requirements were met, she turned to me and cheerfully asked, “Ready to go?”

I love driving into town to do short errands, but dislike long distance driving to unfamiliar places. So, when Tammie offered to do the driving on our vacation to the tip of Door County, I happily accepted. We both looked forward to visiting The Clearing in Ellison Bay once again.

We planned to spend an enjoyable week being creative among other creative people. Since we had successfully convinced my sister Agnes to join us, we were more than usual excited and happy to be attending another session at this school of arts. This summer Tammie and Agnes took the watercolor classes while I registered as an independent student to work on a long-anticipated writing project.

The Clearing has three to four classes each week, starting in early May through October. The classes range across all the disciplines of arts and crafts, for example, photography, writing, and blacksmithing. The small campus has rustic cabins equipped with modern amenities. Three, five-star, restaurant-quality meals are served each day. The fire rings and trails along wooded cliffs overlooking Green Bay are awe inspiring. Some veteran visitors fight for the privilege to spend a night in founder Jens Jensen’s primitive cliff-side house.

Located on 128 acres, The Clearing was purchased in the early 1900’s by Jens Jensen, a famous landscape architect. When he began his search for a place to start his landscape architecture school, he insisted that it face west, overlook water, and be located on forested high ground. Since ‘The Clearing’ is far from Chicago where he had his offices, Jensen called his slice of paradise, ‘The Clearing’, saying that it was a place where students could escape the pressures of urban living to clear their minds.

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