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| Wood frog outside the kitchen door; Deb Marshall photo |
Tenth day of 17-day “vacation” and counting: so far I’ve
spent one full day (Day 2) doing work-related paperwork and sending the Tick
article to the newspaper, two full days (Day 1 and Day 5) making trips to the
city with Mom to get stuff we needed, and a return for stuff we needed but
neglected to get during the first trip. Two more full days (Days 3 and 4, one
of them wicked hot and one raining) were spent with a friend who was down visiting
from Maine, whom I see only a few times per year. The first day of his visit we
managed to get the two potato bags planted and then gave up and took the Barkie
Boy for a walk, because even late afternoon it was too hot to think. The sixth
day of vacation I donned garden war gear: bug-spray soaked bandanna,
DEET-soaked elastic-ankle pants and socks, bug-spray-soaked long-sleeved shirt,
DEET-sprayed sandals - and headed out to the garden.
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| Spring lovelies; Deb Marshall photo |
Three days before that the local building-supply-and-other-stuff
place showed up in their gimongous truck with my relatively small order
plastic-wrapped on top of a wooden pallet in the middle of the giant, otherwise
empty, truck: 3 bags of pebbles, 15 bags of cedar mulch, 30 patio blocks, 2
bags of chopped straw, and 4 bags of potting soil (to go with the 4 I’d hauled
home with me in the back seat of the car the week before). This was major excitement, I gotta tell you: the truck was big and
loud enough to wake the mostly-deaf Barkie Boy out of a deep sleep, and big
enough that it took the Husband and the Truck Driver Dude a good 15 minutes of
discussion to decide where to put the truck to get the pallet where I needed
it, and how to turn the truck around once that was accomplished. I live pretty
much in the middle of a field, you need to understand, but there’s a garden and
a house smack in the middle, a well and a septic tank and leach field to either
side, and a low spot that, this time of year, might be soft if a giant truck
were to venture over the lea. All the while, much barking ensued, as the Barkie
Boy announced his opinion of the situation.
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| Lots of these this spring; Deb Marshall photo |
Eventually they got the plan worked out and pulled the truck
in-between the well-head and the wart steps, then the Truck Driver Dude climbed
up onto the very top of the cab and sat on a seat that let him operate a wicked
exciting crane. I’d never seen a crane at work close enough to actually watch,
and I’ve got to tell you, it was impressive, and exciting enough that I’ve
decided it was worth the $15 delivery charge (that would have equaled at least
6 car trips and a lot of cussing and sore muscles to move the same materiel
over several days or weeks) just for the entertainment, and I fully intend to repeat
the order so long as they’ll promise to deliver on a Monday when I can watch.
What a skilled Crane Dude can do with a crane is breath-taking. The crane acted
like a robotic arm – I couldn’t believe the tiny little sensitive corrections
the Dude was able to make – I was gob-smacked, to say the least. And the Barkie
Boy had more excitement than he’d had since the Minister’s Husband showed up
with his two Barkie Boys and there was a flurry of unexpected treats and Big
Dog bumping.
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| Big dogs agitating for a treat; Deb Marshall photo |
And, I got a
pallet out of it, which anyone with a home-constructed compost bin knows is
like getting a free prize.
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| Sherlock; Deb Marshall photo |
So, anyway, back to Garden Day: so much weed-sprouting has
taken place since the weather turned sometimes warm enough for planting that I
couldn’t just stroll out to the garden and make big dents in the chore. First I
had to weed the 2 beds I’d planted almost 2 weeks ago, and everything – perennials
and the newly-planted stuff – needed watering because it’s been extremely dry
since I last planted. Then I needed to get some of that mulch in place, on top
of layers of winter-collected newspaper and cardboard to cut down on the amount
of time I waste weeding paths in my raised-bed garden. Then I needed to do the
same in one problem path, on top of planter’s paper, with some of the paving
stones. Then I needed to start weeding the next couple of beds I intend to
plant. By then I was exhausted and the blackflies were ignoring the bug spray,
and it was late afternoon.
I girded my loins and got the rest of the onion sets planted
and one and a half packages of peas in. I discovered I have no idea what biennial
- or maybe perennial – flower I planted
near the end of last planting season, near the color-changing ball in the
garden. It’s come up beautifully and flowered in white and purple, the bees
love it, and it looks like phlox except there’s no scent and the leaves are
wrong. There are another couple of mystery plants, too…maybe this year I’ll finally learn to write
this stuff down, which I enthusiastically do at the beginning of the season and
regularly don’t at the end.
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| Mystery plant; Deb Marshall photo |
That was Thursday, I think. That night, the little cough I’d
had that was left-over from my once-a-year bout of virus, three weeks before –
I thought - bloomed into something that
kept me up all night, coughing my brains out until I retched. Day 7 I spent at
the ER, making sure I didn’t have pneumonia, which those sneaky little viruses
have had an affinity to develop into, this year, and collecting prescriptions
for an antibiotic – which even I, after so long with a nagging cough that
Chinese meds weren’t entirely eliminating, am willing to swallow (unlike some
folks, my body generally gets along well with pharmaceuticals, which is
important to know about your own body) and a cough suppressant – which doesn’t.
Suppress, that is. After I got home, I gathered just enough energy to get most
of the plants that needed to be put in wart pots into wart pots, and watered
them. Then I collapsed, hacking and cussing, onto the couch.
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| Front wart planter; Deb Marshall photo |
Days 8 and 9 were spent lying on the couch, sleeping when I
wasn’t hacking and retching and – well, you ladies of a certain age know what
else. Let's just say that after this is all over, I'll have a mound of carefully folded wash cloths to deal with. At night, I spent my time hacking and retching and that other thing, and
sleeping for a few minutes in-between bouts. I think it may have rained part of that time. I did manage to cover
the wart plants on the cold night and refill the hummingbird feeders. And pick
a tick or two off myself, compliments of one or another of the Furry People. And
freaking out because the gardening isn’t getting done, and I can hear the weeds
growing.
The Husband hasn’t been entirely without use – today he
planted 10 hazelnut plants one of his clients gave him, he hooked up the hoses
and helped water, and he’s moved a bunch of the mulch bags to where I need
them. But the man grew up in Cincinnati and if I handed him some seeds to sow,
he wouldn’t have a clue what to do with them – it’s best to wait until I can at
least supervise.
Coughing until you puke isn’t much fun. I’m a Chinese
medical practitioner – no, before you ask, acupuncture really doesn’t help stop
coughing from a virus. The herbs weren’t working alone, or in combo with each
other. The right medicine is the medicine that works – be it pharmaceutical,
Chinese, Ayurvedic, homeopathic, over the counter, or folk. In my case, none of these has worked – so now
I’m combining. One pharmaceutical cough not-supressor, plus ½ dose of Nyquil,
plus Chinese cough syrup as needed, plus Chinese cough meds in pill form, plus
a heating pad on neck or low back, will give me a break for a few hours so I
can sleep and all the aching muscles in my torso can get less sore.
Yesterday
wasn’t too coughy during the day, and I had enough energy to make a beef stew
for supper, so I tried eliminating the pharmaceutical not-supressor and the
Chinese cough pill at night. Last night was not a pretty night, and I was awake
and retching most of it. Today, Day 10, trying not to freak out about how many days I
don't have left to get the garden in, I’ve had only enough energy to do some work on
the computer. The Barkie Boy isn’t getting his walk, again – the Husband’s
working, and I fear collapsing by the side of the road coughing and retching
and that other thing if I try walking the boy, and he’s
too old to drag me home. I did wander around the garden for a few minutes to
take photos for you, however, and in the process pulled a couple of handfuls of
weeds, which was enough to convince me it’s too early to be head down for long!
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| A feral plant that domesticated itself; Deb Marshall photo |
I was excited to be dive-bombed several times when I went
out on the wart during the last few weeks – as soon as I put out the
hummingbird feeders, in fact. The Husband has been, also, and we’ve both caught
a couple of glimpses of the dive-bomber. Buzzy Boy is back, hurrah! I really
feared we wouldn’t see him this year, being unsure how old hummingbirds can
live to be. He hung out with me when I was planting up the wart plants the
other day, and he’s very busy chasing off other hummers, though there’s a little
female he tolerates. He hasn’t chased me out of the garden yet, but then, I
haven’t been in the garden much, yet.
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| Buzzy Boy's domain; Deb Marshall photo |
Both birdhouses that we put out in April on the garden arch
and one of the garden posts have nesting material in them. I haven’t seen the
birds who are using them, and I’ll need to get a flashlight to get a good look
inside to see if there are eggs, but I’m thrilled to know they’re being used. I
have a clematis we’ll plant at the base of the arch where that birdhouse sets;
the climbing plant I put there last fall doesn’t seem to have survived the
winter, alas, but maybe by next year the clematis will make a lovely bower for
that house. Both houses are near the sour cherry tree and blueberries, and not
far from the bird-bath I put at that end of the garden. I’m trying sweetpeas
and garden peas along that part of the fence this year and hope they’ll sprout
and grow soon.
One wet night when the wood frogs were still quacking and
the peepers had just started, when I let the Barkie Boy out for last pee I
found a wood frog setting on my kitchen door. There wasn’t enough light to get
a good shot, and the flash agitated it, but here’s a look, anyway – I’d never
seen one before, they’re very shy. Last night I noticed that the woodcock is
still peeting away in the field, trying to lure ladies, the peepers are quieter
but still peeping, and the toads have started their night-time carols in the
wooded marsh behind and to the side of the house. Their trilling choruses
always send a thrill up my spine.
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| Wood Frog from inside the kitchen door window; Deb Marshall photo |
It’s a totally gorgeous time of year – as fully colorful as autumn, but gentler. The trees, as they bloom, range from rose to tender
green, from bronze and copper to the dark of the conifers. My field is swathed
with wild forget-me-nots – white from a distance, a pale violet up close. There
are higher white patches of pussytoes. The cemetery pinks are in full bloom, as
are the wild cherries, the honeysuckle around the old house foundation wall, the
gone-wild apple trees, and the ground is fluffed with the confetti of their
dropped blooms.
Dandelions, once a hot-house cherished plant, dot the world in
yellow; black locust and lilac scents the air. My seckel pear tree, a lone pear
that produced a lone fruit last year, is awash with blooms this year, as is the
sour cherry and the apple; the peach is slower to start, and that’s a good
thing, it’s been so cold at night lately. The strawberries, wild and
semi-feral, are heavy with blooms, and the marjoram – bane of my garden
existence – is madly trying to capture more space for itself. My ancient
rhubarb plant is already huge and thick with promise, and I actually managed to
cut and eat four stalks of the asparagus that went wild in my garden, moving
itself from its original ruined bed to the end of the bed where I plant scarlet
runner beans nowadays. This was a good year for asparagus, and if I’d felt
well, I would have had several meals of it but now it’s as tall as I am and
going to seed. Promises for next year.
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| Biscuit on a hunting break; Deb Marshall photo |
I’m hoping Day 11 will dawn after a night of no coughing – I’m
going to take all the meds tonight –
and maybe I’ll be able to do a few hours in the garden. There’s so much left to plant!!! But now I’m
going to go hack up a hairball and take a nap.
PS. The Pleasant Lake Veterinary clinic, which is located in
Elkins, is a great place where a bunch of ladies take wonderful care of all our
critters. Mona, the owner and vet extraordinaire, is also a Chinese-veterinary
medicine-trained vet, doing acupuncture one day a week at her home in Sunapee,
and dispensing Chinese medicinals for many of her furry patients to great
effect. There is a rather large, rather handsome, long-suffering clinic cat
named Lou – a big, white, bruiser of a boy – who manages to put up with the
furry intrusions on his space, and the well-meaning but bumbling services of
his clinic servants – that is, the clinic staff – mostly with a great deal of
cat aplomb. He blogged for many years, then was unable to get onto the internet
for a few years, but lately someone left his pussword where he could find it,
and he’s back on-line. If you google PLVC and go to their home page, then click
on the Staff button, you’ll find access to Lou’s blogs, old and new. They’re
well worth a look! And in an upcoming new one, you’ll discover that Catmandoo
and Lou have a …well… interesting
relationship…
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| Catmandoo showing off reading skills; Deb Marshall photo |
For the blog:
herondragonwrites.blogspot.com 21 May
2018
