Archives

Nibbles

May8

At the top end of the garden, I looked down and exclaimed, “Oh no!”

My sister Agnes, who was walking a few steps behind me, questioned, “What’s wrong?” 

Feeling exasperated, I sputtered, “Nibbles, nibbles, everywhere I look, I see nibbles taken out of plants that aren’t surrounded by a fence!”

Familiar with my Elmer Fudd-like hatred for rabbits, my sister glanced around at my mostly barren garden, she asked, “What did those naughty rabbits even find to eat?

 Pointing to a row of fresh, green onions tops directly in front of us, I explained, “Last fall I didn’t bother taking in the onions because they were too small. The coldest temperatures of this mild winter didn’t kill them. During this past month, as the weather became warmer, I noticed that they started to grow again. Since I don’t plan to till my garden for another month, I thought I’d let them grow. I like the idea that maybe they could possibly give me an early, worthwhile onion harvest.”

Leaning down to make a closer inspection of the freshly chewed bulb tops, Agnes commented, “Wow, I didn’t think rabbits would bother onions, but they clearly chewed on several.”

Sighing, I suggested, “Let’s finish our walk. There’s nothing I can do about the rabbits right now.”

My favorite thing to do in April is taking what I like to call ‘bud-check walks’. So, when Agnes arrived for a visit, I invited her to join me. Bud-check walks require close inspections of all flowerbeds, shrubs, trees, and bushes. Early in the spring it is impossible to see if life has returned when looking from a window. But close-up, I get to see the first green sprouts pushing up from under wood chip mulch, and the tiny swelling of tightly furled leaves on the tips of trees and bushes. Some plants send up life at the first hint of spring, while others wait to make sure spring has really sprung.

Two winters ago, the rabbits in my yard spent the winter nibbling away all chances of my having any blueberries. So now my five blueberry bushes have a fence around them, too. Then, last winter, rabbits completely girdled the fire bushes below my office window. I expected them to all die. Much to my surprise, although I had to cut off several lifeless branches, the shrubs survived. To prevent that from happening again, last fall I put up fencing to keep rabbits from being able to sit near their trunks where they can nibble the bushes to death.

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Garden Bingo

Aug16

The sun came out as soon as the rain stopped falling. I slipped out of the back door of the house and took a deep breath. The air felt fresh and clean. A full color rainbow stretched across the sky from one horizon to the other. Droplets of water glistened on blades of grass and tree leaves. Rivulets of water dripped off the hoop building garden, and garage.

The heat earlier in the afternoon had made me stay inside the house. Now, all I wanted was to walk through the yard, despite how wet my feet would get. I wanted to see how the flower beds and garden were doing. Slipping on an old pair of shoes, I stepped off the back deck. The wet grass felt deliciously cool. As I crossed the lawn, I mused, “Gardening is like playing bingo. Getting all my flowerbeds and the garden weeded at the same time is like getting five chips in a row, thus winning the game.”

I checked the front of the garden first. Seeing the freshly weeded first row of plants made me smile. It looked nice and well cared for. That was one chip.

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New Life

Aug9

I tossed my car keys onto the kitchen counter and announced, “While I was in town today, I bought a new tree for us to plant in the yard.”

My husband Arnie was leaning against the sink eating a summer sausage and cheese sandwich. He asked, surprised, “Why would you do that? We have more than enough trees in and around our yard.”

My husband was right, there were a lot of trees around our house. To the west, we had seven trees along the road. To the north ran an entire row of pine trees. On the east side of the property stood a small forest of white pine trees which had been planted by Arnie and my brother in 1981. On the south side ran the Little Eau Pleine River. Its banks are lined with oak trees, box elder and sumac. Most of the trees around our house are pine, except for a flowering crabapple, a white birch, and a mountain ash which were planted close to the house a long time ago.

Standing next to Arnie, I looked out the kitchen window and explained, “Ever since you made a second driveway to our yard, the small field south of the house has been turned into a lawn. It looks empty. I want the new maple tree planted there, right in the center.”

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Lavender Dreams

Aug2

I wrapped my arms around my daughter and complained, “Your visits go by so fast! I wish you could stay longer.” After spending a wonderful weekend together, it was time for Tammie to return to her home. Her car was packed and ready to go.  

Tammie assured me, “I’m coming home again in four weeks, and we’ll visit the New Life Lavender Farm in Baraboo. That’s something nice to look forward to, isn’t it? I’ll call Niki to see if she and the kids would like to come with us. It’ll be an educational field trip.”

Waving goodbye as my daughter drove out of the yard, I smiled. Tammie liked to cheer me up by turning my thoughts to activities we would do during her next visit. I thought, “I’m so lucky to have such a thoughtful daughter.”

Lavender plants do well in my garden and some years I even get them to survive winter. But my sweet-scented lavender plants with their small, demure blossoms do not get used to their full potential. I like how they look, but don’t have a clue how to use them other than displayed in a vase.

Four weeks later Tammie was home for another visit. She said, “We need to get to the farm by eleven in the morning on Friday if we want to ride a hay wagon around the lavender fields.” That morning we packed lunch in an icebox. There were eight of us in Niki’s van including my sister, Agnes. We arrived at the farm 15 minutes before the tour, enough time for us to scope out the gift shop where we found a surprising number of lavender-themed products to buy, foods to eat and drink.

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Who Knew?

Jul26

 I glanced out the kitchen window and saw a school bus crossing the bridge near our house. Its red lights began to flash as it slowed down to stop at our driveway. Looking into the dining room, where my two grade-school-aged daughters sat eating breakfast, I informed them, “Your bus is here.”

Niki and Tammie popped the last of their toast into their mouths, picked up their school bags and rushed out the back door, yelling, “Bye, Mom!”

From our bedroom above the kitchen, I could hear my husband, Arnie, moving around. He liked it when I made breakfast for him on my days off from the hospital. I gathered what I needed from the refrigerator, set the table for us in the dining room, and began frying bacon.

Arnie walked into the kitchen just as I broke the last egg into the skillet. He gave me a peck on the cheek and asked, “What do you plan to do today?”

Turning away from the stove, I said, “Our garden gets planted today. I’m happy with the nice weather this morning. All week I’ve been worrying that it would be rainy on my day off. What are you planning to do today?”

While buttering his toast, Arnie listed the customers he needed to see after working his day shift at the plant, adding, “I need to pick up supplies, so I’ll see you when I swing by to pick them up this afternoon.”

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Guide Lines

Jul19

Crumpling the notebook pages in my hand, I quietly walked out of the farmhouse. I felt wounded, but I wasn’t crying.  Earlier that morning, I had shown my mother a story I had written. Mom disapproved of something she read and scolded me. The pain I felt was a deep, aching shame. Knowing what I needed to do, I crossed the farmyard towards the orchard.

Our freshly planted garden ran alongside the rows of trees. After tearing the notebook pages into small scraps, the size of snowflakes, I dug a hole in the soft soil near my favorite crabapple tree. Scooping up the white bits of paper, I threw them into the hole and covered them with the rich, dark brown soil.

At ten years of age, I didn’t know a single person who wrote anything other than letters to friends or relatives.  Yet, I wanted to write a book someday. Who knows where I’d gotten an idea like that. The teachers at my grade school certainly hadn’t covered anything like the different types of writing a person could do, nor how to construct stories that had realistic conflict, climax and satisfying resolutions.

The desire to write never left me. Every several years I’d pull out my notepad and do some writing. The people who saw these first literary attempts gave me honest critiques. Being thin-skinned, their advice on how to improve felt like personal attacks. The result each time was the same. I’d throw my notebook back into the desk and try to forget about it.

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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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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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Fox R US

Mar15

What does the fox say?

A fresh blanket of snow covered the backyard. Opening the living room curtains, I admired ice crystals sparkling like diamonds in the snow. As my eyes adjusted to the bright, March morning sunlight, I noticed that the pristine covering had already been marred by animal tracks. Going from window to window in my house, I tried to make sense of what had gone on following the snowfall.

            Pulling on boots and a jacket, I went outside to take a closer look. Like an Arthur Murray student, I studied the tracks in the driveway nearest to the back door. One track belonged to a rabbit and the other to a deer. Their steps appeared quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow. The two were obviously dancing the tango.

Another set of footprints belonged to a large dog with warm feet. The prints were deep and defined. I could tell he stopped to sniff here and there as he passed through the yard.

The rest of the yard was covered with hundreds of rabbit tracks. In some places one hundred bunnies had followed the same trail. The snow was thoroughly trampled. The shelter of the woodshed and underside of the deck next to the house were the most popular places in the yard for the local long-earred crowd.

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Happily Hibernating

Jan4

Heavy gray clouds had hung low all day. I stared out the kitchen window. Although it looked unpleasant outside, I needed to get some fresh air. A chilled gust of wind tugged at my neck scarf when I stepped out the back door with a letter to mail. Snow-snake ice crystals slithered here and there across the driveway.

Snuggled comfortably inside two sweaters and my late husband’s large work coat, I decided to walk to the bridge after putting my letter in the roadside mailbox. Small pine trees bent beneath a blanket of snow. Tall weeds and grass in the ditch were covered with hoar frost. The river had one or two spots that hadn’t been frozen over before it snowed. Looking down from the bridge, I could see cold water flowing through the looking-glass ice patches.

Back inside the house, the bird-clock on the dining room wall began to sing the song of a little brown wren. It was only four in the afternoon. Surprised that it wasn’t later because of how dark it was, I double checked the time against my wrist watch. Wisconsin winter days are short, especially on the second of January.

Shivering, I poured myself a cup of hot tea. As I sat in my rocking chair wrapped in a blanket to sip my tea, I remembered one summer afternoon spent working in my greenhouse garden.

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