I felt impelled today to take to the backroads of Morrow County. Perhaps I could excuse it as a
"test drive"? The little red wagon broke down three days ago. That's the bad news. The good news is that it broke down right across the street from Hometown Auto Repair and my old friend Bob. All I had to do was push the little red wagon across the street (no, I have not named it Rosebud) and let Bob do his magic. So, perhaps I could call today a "test drive." It really wasn't. An inner urge sent me there. I needed the stillness of backroads.
The corn is humongous. If you were to wander off in it, you would disappear from sight. Go "aways" (country lingo is required) into the greenery, play the child game of "spin until you're dizzy," and you could get lost--like a scene from "Little House on the Prairie." But alas, you would find your way out again; it's only acres here to wander in and not the vastness of the old prairie of days gone by--endless in scope and imagination. The soy beans are doing well too, but they were not made to be mazes. The wheat is all harvested. After the year of the flood, as soon as things began to dry out, the reapers moved in and the golden fields are gone. The only sign of the flood is the swamp across from me. A dozen rows of corn are still under water, the "new" pond is alive with a family of mallards, I sat and watched awhile at the very onset of my wanderings. You need not go far out here in the country to find still beauty. Yes, the activity of the baby ducks and the protectiveness in the actions of the parents was a stillness.
As usual, I met no one on the backroads. They were mine to traverse at my speed with no danger of incurring the impatience of another traveler. I did pass a couple of fellow Morrow County-ians mowing their lawns--mowing their fields in front of their houses. I wave. They always wave back, it's a "rule." Of course, they then get to spend the afternoon asking themselves, "who was that, I wonder.?" I am a mysterious stranger--but a friendly one.
Several fields are decorated in hay bales. I will never grow tired of the peacefulness of that scene. Today, with the blue sky and nary a single cloud anywhere, beautiful. Rolling green hills, round bales of hay scattered everywhere, etched on that pure blue canvas--I could have sat there forever and absorbed the quiet, the stillness. Of course, there are hills populated with cattle, hills populated with sheep, and even, one new farm that has a herd of goats. Their field is overgrown with weeds and thickets and day lilies. I guess the farmer just wants the field mowed by goat instead of by tractor. I know Dennis' two goat buddies will eat anything--the thornier the better. They must have mouths of steel. It makes me cringe just to watch them munch. Ugh.
There are not many wild flowers at the moment. The county mowers have cut down most of the day lilies that call the ditches their home. Lots of Queen Anne's Lace everywhere. A few yellow sunflower like blooms near some of the bridges. Must be water lovers of some kind. I don't know their name. I think I'll call them King George's just to bring a little balance into the world of flower nomenclature. Hey, I can do that if I want.
I spent the longest time just sitting at the top of a little rise just past one of my favorite farm houses. No one can see me there. Deep woods and thickets on my left. Acres of tall corn on the rolling hills to my right. No one on the road but me. Still. Quiet. Flashes of yellow and black in the thickets. A little rustling of the leaves and the corn in the wind. An autumn like day in Ohio--clear, cool, blue. I suppose you think me a strange old man to need such moments in my life. But I do. My spirit at times needs aloneness. Stillness. I find it on my backroad jaunts.
I arrive back home. My little ramshackle cave is completely invisible from the road. I meander down my cow path and creep up toward the house. The porch lights are on, but even they from the road are invisible.
Inside, I will sit awhile in the deepening darkness. It will be quiet there too--well, I will have to deal with a little bit of cat nagging. Tonight, I will create a new game: "counting the lightning bugs." That will be a quiet game at Iten's Acres minus the children and jars. Good bye for now. I'm going to continue my love affair with the stillness. Shhhh. Be still.
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Friday, July 19, 2013
Walking Iten's Acres: Wild Things July 19 2013
Walking Iten's Acres these days requires two things: getting up early and going out again late in the day. The reason, as all good Ohioans know--is it gets hot and humid in July! Stifling in the heat of the day--anti breathing. So, I take my walks early and late when it's not quite so hard on my old body.
It's not as if things aren't beautiful--despite the heat. The phlox have just started in earnest--pinks, whites, reds, purples and everything in between. They are a lovely flower that will last until frost, and they smell delicious. I can see why the hummingbirds and bumble bees love phlox time. Their number is down this year for some reason, but there is still plenty to go around, and they are scattered everywhere from the beds in front to the wild area out back. They will grow and flourish just about anywhere. And they are not intimidated by the heat.
The gladiolas too are July bloomers. Talk about a variety of colors. It requires some work on my part to stake them so that they don't fall over, but it's more than worth the effort. Too bad they can't survive Ohio winters because they love Ohio summers. They, too, are spread everywhere, although I have not yet tried them in the wild area itself.
My gardening angels have been busy. I've never seen so many coneflowers in the wild area. The angels have spread them everywhere. I assume that at least one of the angels is Goldfinch. I, also, have a couple of new batches of bee balm in the wild area. Who knows where they came from, and the angels are not talking. Nary a peep. I have a new batch of the yellow prairie coneflower as well. And for the first time I have some poppy mallow and royal catchfly. Both adding some red to July's wildness. No, I don't know why they're called royal catchfly. The catchfly is because they supposedly--I have no reason to doubt their publicists--are sticky and "catch flies." "Royal" I have no idea what that's about. I'm hoping that soon my cardinal flowers will join the red parade. Call the Acres Hummingbird Heaven then. Phlox, bee balm. cardinals, and soon after that Rose of Sharon and Hibiscus. Flap those wings a million times a second and enjoy my ruby-throated wonders.
One more quick tidbit, and I'll let you go back to your summer evening's fun. For the first time in my tenure at the Acres I saw a mink today. He was at the very back of the wild area going somewhere west. Gorgeous creature. He stopped and gave me the "what are you doing out here" stare and then, casually, disappeared into the brush. I hope the fish in Dennis' pond aren't on his summer menu. Maybe Bonnie's presence will keep him moving on. Though, I confess, I wouldn't mind seeing him now and again. The wild area has certainly lived up to its name this year: fox, wild turkeys, the doe and her twins, and now the mink. Hope there aren't any bears in Morrow County.
It's not as if things aren't beautiful--despite the heat. The phlox have just started in earnest--pinks, whites, reds, purples and everything in between. They are a lovely flower that will last until frost, and they smell delicious. I can see why the hummingbirds and bumble bees love phlox time. Their number is down this year for some reason, but there is still plenty to go around, and they are scattered everywhere from the beds in front to the wild area out back. They will grow and flourish just about anywhere. And they are not intimidated by the heat.
The gladiolas too are July bloomers. Talk about a variety of colors. It requires some work on my part to stake them so that they don't fall over, but it's more than worth the effort. Too bad they can't survive Ohio winters because they love Ohio summers. They, too, are spread everywhere, although I have not yet tried them in the wild area itself.
My gardening angels have been busy. I've never seen so many coneflowers in the wild area. The angels have spread them everywhere. I assume that at least one of the angels is Goldfinch. I, also, have a couple of new batches of bee balm in the wild area. Who knows where they came from, and the angels are not talking. Nary a peep. I have a new batch of the yellow prairie coneflower as well. And for the first time I have some poppy mallow and royal catchfly. Both adding some red to July's wildness. No, I don't know why they're called royal catchfly. The catchfly is because they supposedly--I have no reason to doubt their publicists--are sticky and "catch flies." "Royal" I have no idea what that's about. I'm hoping that soon my cardinal flowers will join the red parade. Call the Acres Hummingbird Heaven then. Phlox, bee balm. cardinals, and soon after that Rose of Sharon and Hibiscus. Flap those wings a million times a second and enjoy my ruby-throated wonders.
One more quick tidbit, and I'll let you go back to your summer evening's fun. For the first time in my tenure at the Acres I saw a mink today. He was at the very back of the wild area going somewhere west. Gorgeous creature. He stopped and gave me the "what are you doing out here" stare and then, casually, disappeared into the brush. I hope the fish in Dennis' pond aren't on his summer menu. Maybe Bonnie's presence will keep him moving on. Though, I confess, I wouldn't mind seeing him now and again. The wild area has certainly lived up to its name this year: fox, wild turkeys, the doe and her twins, and now the mink. Hope there aren't any bears in Morrow County.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Homesteader Update: A Good Cat
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. I don't mean "good" as in morally "good." Cats aren't morally good or bad. They're just cats. And that's what I mean. As far as the nature of cats go, Homesteader fits the profile.
Curious. Nothing can be happening within her earshot that can escape being checked out. She has to see what's going on. And she has to check out everything. For example, yesterday I finally got around to hauling off a ton of stuff to Goodwill. It had been sitting there in a pile for a couple months. As soon as I started picking things up to pack into the car, Nosy Rosie had to give her approval. Nose approval. Meow approval. And once the stuff was all gone, she naturally had to give her full inspection to what was now revealed to all, everything that had been in "hiding" as long as the boxes were in the way. Even empty space needs inspection. As a matter of fact, she's always checking out stuff that she's already checked out a zillion times before. To just walk past something, anything, is against cat protocol I guess. I'm glad I still don't understand catonese. I'm sure at least fifty times a day she meows, "Well. would you look at that. I wonder what it is?" (Or "what it isn't," I suppose.) I think her constant reiteration of such a phrase, if I could understand her, would negatively affect our relationship. Can anyone say animal shelter?
Her curiosity has also led to her claiming exclusive viewing rights to four windows. The doorwindow is for when she's in chipmunk love. Back and forth in front of the doorwindow as the little varmint scampers across the patio. Paw taps on the pane. Dinner thoughts in the brain. Another claimed window is the red chair window at the side of the house. From there she can see the side yard and loves to sit with her seat on the chair and her body stretched out to see out the window. It's her perch. It's also convenient when catnapitist sets in. The chair used to be Mom's, and the white dish rag was accustomed to sleeping on the top of it making sure Mom was being good. Though Mom is Home and the chair relocated, it is still a lovely place to stretch out and take a nap. Her third window is at the bottom of the stairs and gives a view of the back patio--particularly interesting when Bonnie is walking across the patio on her way home. This window she sits in. Yes, I had to move the flower pots to make room. Duh. Whose window is it anyway? The last window is at the top of the stairs and gives a bird's eye view of the back. It is also open in the summer, thus meeting the nose curiosity factor in a cat's life. (She did get a little surprise during the last thunderation. The winds were so strong the rain came pouring in the window. Heh, heh. Poor wet kitty cat.)
This window has led to the fulfillment of another good cat syndrome--Odd behavior. Invariably when she jumps down from this window--you can hear it on County Road 25, I'm sure. Are cats made of stone? Anyway, invariably--and I do mean invariably--when she jumps down from this window she comes slinking--yes, they slink--down the steps in full catonese, never pausing until she finds me, sits at my feet meowing, waiting patiently until I acknowledge her presence and pet her. I assume she's giving me the low down on what's happening outside. Although sometimes, I think it's just an attention getter. Why? She'll slink up the stairs, jump into the window, immediately jump right back down, and saunter--yes, they saunter, too--down the stairs and demand my attention, "talking" all the time. An additional odd behavior, as of late, is crawling under the blanket she likes to sleep on. I'll come into the bedroomlibrary and sticking out from under the blanket will be the tip of a tail or a paw or her blueyellow-eyed face. Why under? Got me. Odd. At least to this human. Not that she cares what the human slave thinks. Perfectly reasonable--good--behavior in a cat's view I'm sure.
Her third good cat behavior: sneakiness. She knows she's not to get on the table. She knows she's not allowed on the computer desk or, obviously, the shelf above it. She knows that nighttime singing is reprehensible. Does she care? Of course not. The minute the old man goes to bed--everything is fair game. She knows that she can get down from the taboo places before the human can catch her. And sitting on the floor looking up at you innocently is a cat specialty. She knows a "shut up" called out from the bed will do no harm to her harmonizing--and that the human is too lazy to get up and come after her; not that he could ever catch her. The evidence of her catrousing is undeniable. Pens, nick-knacks, papers on the floor each morning. Yes, "when the cat's away the mice will play." And "when the human's asleep, the cat will creep." Yes, they creep as well.
Though the ornery critter rarely hears the words "good cat." She is certainly a good role model for her other furry relatives. And she's totally unaffected by the stigma of "bad cat," or "stupid cat," or any other such summary judgments from the lips of the powerless human lackey. Sigh. To be owned by a cat . . . a good cat.
Curious. Nothing can be happening within her earshot that can escape being checked out. She has to see what's going on. And she has to check out everything. For example, yesterday I finally got around to hauling off a ton of stuff to Goodwill. It had been sitting there in a pile for a couple months. As soon as I started picking things up to pack into the car, Nosy Rosie had to give her approval. Nose approval. Meow approval. And once the stuff was all gone, she naturally had to give her full inspection to what was now revealed to all, everything that had been in "hiding" as long as the boxes were in the way. Even empty space needs inspection. As a matter of fact, she's always checking out stuff that she's already checked out a zillion times before. To just walk past something, anything, is against cat protocol I guess. I'm glad I still don't understand catonese. I'm sure at least fifty times a day she meows, "Well. would you look at that. I wonder what it is?" (Or "what it isn't," I suppose.) I think her constant reiteration of such a phrase, if I could understand her, would negatively affect our relationship. Can anyone say animal shelter?
Her curiosity has also led to her claiming exclusive viewing rights to four windows. The doorwindow is for when she's in chipmunk love. Back and forth in front of the doorwindow as the little varmint scampers across the patio. Paw taps on the pane. Dinner thoughts in the brain. Another claimed window is the red chair window at the side of the house. From there she can see the side yard and loves to sit with her seat on the chair and her body stretched out to see out the window. It's her perch. It's also convenient when catnapitist sets in. The chair used to be Mom's, and the white dish rag was accustomed to sleeping on the top of it making sure Mom was being good. Though Mom is Home and the chair relocated, it is still a lovely place to stretch out and take a nap. Her third window is at the bottom of the stairs and gives a view of the back patio--particularly interesting when Bonnie is walking across the patio on her way home. This window she sits in. Yes, I had to move the flower pots to make room. Duh. Whose window is it anyway? The last window is at the top of the stairs and gives a bird's eye view of the back. It is also open in the summer, thus meeting the nose curiosity factor in a cat's life. (She did get a little surprise during the last thunderation. The winds were so strong the rain came pouring in the window. Heh, heh. Poor wet kitty cat.)
This window has led to the fulfillment of another good cat syndrome--Odd behavior. Invariably when she jumps down from this window--you can hear it on County Road 25, I'm sure. Are cats made of stone? Anyway, invariably--and I do mean invariably--when she jumps down from this window she comes slinking--yes, they slink--down the steps in full catonese, never pausing until she finds me, sits at my feet meowing, waiting patiently until I acknowledge her presence and pet her. I assume she's giving me the low down on what's happening outside. Although sometimes, I think it's just an attention getter. Why? She'll slink up the stairs, jump into the window, immediately jump right back down, and saunter--yes, they saunter, too--down the stairs and demand my attention, "talking" all the time. An additional odd behavior, as of late, is crawling under the blanket she likes to sleep on. I'll come into the bedroomlibrary and sticking out from under the blanket will be the tip of a tail or a paw or her blueyellow-eyed face. Why under? Got me. Odd. At least to this human. Not that she cares what the human slave thinks. Perfectly reasonable--good--behavior in a cat's view I'm sure.
Her third good cat behavior: sneakiness. She knows she's not to get on the table. She knows she's not allowed on the computer desk or, obviously, the shelf above it. She knows that nighttime singing is reprehensible. Does she care? Of course not. The minute the old man goes to bed--everything is fair game. She knows that she can get down from the taboo places before the human can catch her. And sitting on the floor looking up at you innocently is a cat specialty. She knows a "shut up" called out from the bed will do no harm to her harmonizing--and that the human is too lazy to get up and come after her; not that he could ever catch her. The evidence of her catrousing is undeniable. Pens, nick-knacks, papers on the floor each morning. Yes, "when the cat's away the mice will play." And "when the human's asleep, the cat will creep." Yes, they creep as well.
Though the ornery critter rarely hears the words "good cat." She is certainly a good role model for her other furry relatives. And she's totally unaffected by the stigma of "bad cat," or "stupid cat," or any other such summary judgments from the lips of the powerless human lackey. Sigh. To be owned by a cat . . . a good cat.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
This Week at Iten's Acres: The Year of the Flood July 11, 2013
The deluge of the last fortnight has been astounding. Not only has it rained every day, it has stormed every day. I don't think that in my seven plus years here in Morrow County that we have ever had so much rain. (And if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, I never exaggerate!) Last night--supposedly the last for awhile--was one of the biggest and definitely one of the loudest. Ba-boom. Even Homesteader was a little psycho. Well, she's always a little psycho, but last night a little more than normal. "More than normal psycho." Hmmm, I digress. The swamp is right up to the road. I feel sorry for the poor agrarian who planted corn right adjacent to the swamp. His crop is doing swimmingly.
It's difficult to judge the effect of the constant watering on the flowers and fauna of Iten's Acres--especially in the wild area and meadow margins and the bog. "Extrapolating" (cool math word, eh?) from the impact on the regular flower beds, I would have to guess that the weeds are taller and thicker than normal. Some of the weeds are, of course, beautiful wild flowers in their time, so perhaps fall will be even more stunning than "usual." Can you really call stunningly gorgeous "usual"?
Some of the flowers have bloomed later. Some of the flowers have literally risen to the challenge and are as tall as the weeds to be sure they get seen and admired. The day lilies in particular are great adapters. The lilies themselves don't necessarily grow taller, they just make sure that the stems with the buds on them climb high enough to catch a few rays. One day as I meander the paths, just "weeds." The next day, surprise!, day lily blooms! I do like surprises.
Today, though, "seeing is believing." Nary a drop of rain. Luscious blue skies decorated with white fluffy clouds slowly edging over my head and away to wherever clouds go to spend the evening. The swallows, blue birds, and indigo buntings all flew by to say "hello" as I sat musing on the green throne. It's still a splash splash walk everywhere. But the rain is over for awhile. The County Commission will hopefully see the error of their rashness and withdraw their petition to the powers that be (The Forty Day and Forty Night Bureau) to rename the area Morrow Lake and, hopefully, they will also drop their request to make house boats an acceptable residence. As for me, my only problem is what to do with all this gopher wood.
It's difficult to judge the effect of the constant watering on the flowers and fauna of Iten's Acres--especially in the wild area and meadow margins and the bog. "Extrapolating" (cool math word, eh?) from the impact on the regular flower beds, I would have to guess that the weeds are taller and thicker than normal. Some of the weeds are, of course, beautiful wild flowers in their time, so perhaps fall will be even more stunning than "usual." Can you really call stunningly gorgeous "usual"?
Some of the flowers have bloomed later. Some of the flowers have literally risen to the challenge and are as tall as the weeds to be sure they get seen and admired. The day lilies in particular are great adapters. The lilies themselves don't necessarily grow taller, they just make sure that the stems with the buds on them climb high enough to catch a few rays. One day as I meander the paths, just "weeds." The next day, surprise!, day lily blooms! I do like surprises.
Today, though, "seeing is believing." Nary a drop of rain. Luscious blue skies decorated with white fluffy clouds slowly edging over my head and away to wherever clouds go to spend the evening. The swallows, blue birds, and indigo buntings all flew by to say "hello" as I sat musing on the green throne. It's still a splash splash walk everywhere. But the rain is over for awhile. The County Commission will hopefully see the error of their rashness and withdraw their petition to the powers that be (The Forty Day and Forty Night Bureau) to rename the area Morrow Lake and, hopefully, they will also drop their request to make house boats an acceptable residence. As for me, my only problem is what to do with all this gopher wood.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Walking Iten's Acres: Random Thoughts July 5, 2013
As I walked this morning, I had another encounter with the third kind. She just stood and looked at me until I got fairly close; and then, she and the fawns gone with a hop, skip, and jump. I guess she's decided that my back 40 belong to her and her family. One thing is certain: she's convinced that I am the intruder.
Confession: It is that time of year where I deliberately and cold-heartedly take pleasure in the destruction of a whole class of illegal aliens. Again, this year, their numbers seem to be way down. So far, anyway. Perhaps I am winning the battle and actually edging closer and closer to a successful genocide. Let's hope. Japanese beetles, welcome to Sevin Heaven. Heh, heh. And good riddance!
The entire front of the Acres is still a marshy bog. Call me Squish. Three cheers for good boots.
My feathered friends continue to bring beauty as I walk. The bluebirds love to sit on the wires along the driveway and, no doubt, snicker as a trudge by: "Poor thing. Molting on the top of his head. No wonder he can't fly." And the indigo buntings have made a nest near by. I see them in one of the redbuds almost every day now. Either their nest is in there or something delicious to munch on. Stunning blues are all around me as I squish by. Oh, and the towhee has been here all year as well, though I haven't seen his mate yet--just him. And there's a yellow warbler in the pines. He lets me admire him when I sit on the green throne. He and the goldfinch who seem to love the brambles in the wild area.
The outlaws--except for Bonnie--still sit behind their invisible barrier as I walk by. I'm sure they miss me. I may be slow, but I am good company. Aaron has added a new member to the gang which, I suppose, I'll never get to meet--a cute little black thing; a puppy black lab perhaps.? They sit pensively as the old man ricochets from flower bed to flower bed or up to the mail box and back. I think it's pensively. They may just be asleep.
The lilies are reaching their peak. The oriental lilies came first--and there's a few more to come. They keep their beautiful blooms for weeks. The day lilies join in next. And I do mean join in. It's perfect that the Asian lilies are first and then just hang around until the day lilies add their color palate. With the day lilies, every day I have to dead head yesterday's faded loveliness. "Here today, gone tomorrow." Envy of the world's Solomons. I have zillions of those yet to bloom, and they are everywhere--from the very front of the Acres all the way back to the rear of the property. A lily parade. Only I do the floating by. The two other stars of early July are the balloon flowers--blue, white, lilac, and the bee balm--a variety of pink and red hues. The bed by the house today had at least fifty blue balloon flowers. Trying to keep up with the bluebirds and indigo buntings, I guess; vying for my oohs and aahs. I have plenty to go around.
Expectations: the hibiscus, rose of Sharon, and morning glories are on the doorstep. They do a stellar job as the welcoming mat to those who meander on to the Acres at the end of July. Wear your boots.
One last part of my walk. Had a delightful chat with neighbor Dennis as the afternoon was winding down. It's refreshing to talk about the extraordinary ordinary beauty of the country. And it's encouraging to talk about our Lord and His workings in our lives. And, of course, it's nice to have Bonnie join us until she gets so bored with our standing still that she wanders off to be a dog. Humans! Boring!
Walking Iten's Acres, the first week of July, 2013. Good for the soul and spirit. Sure, you can be jealous. Uncontrollable, random emotions are healthy.
Confession: It is that time of year where I deliberately and cold-heartedly take pleasure in the destruction of a whole class of illegal aliens. Again, this year, their numbers seem to be way down. So far, anyway. Perhaps I am winning the battle and actually edging closer and closer to a successful genocide. Let's hope. Japanese beetles, welcome to Sevin Heaven. Heh, heh. And good riddance!
The entire front of the Acres is still a marshy bog. Call me Squish. Three cheers for good boots.
My feathered friends continue to bring beauty as I walk. The bluebirds love to sit on the wires along the driveway and, no doubt, snicker as a trudge by: "Poor thing. Molting on the top of his head. No wonder he can't fly." And the indigo buntings have made a nest near by. I see them in one of the redbuds almost every day now. Either their nest is in there or something delicious to munch on. Stunning blues are all around me as I squish by. Oh, and the towhee has been here all year as well, though I haven't seen his mate yet--just him. And there's a yellow warbler in the pines. He lets me admire him when I sit on the green throne. He and the goldfinch who seem to love the brambles in the wild area.
The outlaws--except for Bonnie--still sit behind their invisible barrier as I walk by. I'm sure they miss me. I may be slow, but I am good company. Aaron has added a new member to the gang which, I suppose, I'll never get to meet--a cute little black thing; a puppy black lab perhaps.? They sit pensively as the old man ricochets from flower bed to flower bed or up to the mail box and back. I think it's pensively. They may just be asleep.
The lilies are reaching their peak. The oriental lilies came first--and there's a few more to come. They keep their beautiful blooms for weeks. The day lilies join in next. And I do mean join in. It's perfect that the Asian lilies are first and then just hang around until the day lilies add their color palate. With the day lilies, every day I have to dead head yesterday's faded loveliness. "Here today, gone tomorrow." Envy of the world's Solomons. I have zillions of those yet to bloom, and they are everywhere--from the very front of the Acres all the way back to the rear of the property. A lily parade. Only I do the floating by. The two other stars of early July are the balloon flowers--blue, white, lilac, and the bee balm--a variety of pink and red hues. The bed by the house today had at least fifty blue balloon flowers. Trying to keep up with the bluebirds and indigo buntings, I guess; vying for my oohs and aahs. I have plenty to go around.
Expectations: the hibiscus, rose of Sharon, and morning glories are on the doorstep. They do a stellar job as the welcoming mat to those who meander on to the Acres at the end of July. Wear your boots.
One last part of my walk. Had a delightful chat with neighbor Dennis as the afternoon was winding down. It's refreshing to talk about the extraordinary ordinary beauty of the country. And it's encouraging to talk about our Lord and His workings in our lives. And, of course, it's nice to have Bonnie join us until she gets so bored with our standing still that she wanders off to be a dog. Humans! Boring!
Walking Iten's Acres, the first week of July, 2013. Good for the soul and spirit. Sure, you can be jealous. Uncontrollable, random emotions are healthy.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
Riding Iten's Acres: Encounters July 3, 2013
The monsoon season in Ohio actually took an entire day off. The front of the property is still far too soggy to mow, but the meadow, wild area paths, orchard, back forty, rock garden--aka Swallow Land, was dry enough to deforest. Yes, the grass was high. But I love mowing. I know I say that all the time, but, to me, it has a sense of artistry. Not that I'm one of those every cut must be in a straight line persons--leaving the Acres in perfect symmetry, but there's just something serene about sitting on the green throne after the work is done and taking in the "newness" of the area. The wild area is more clearly defined, the paths enticing, the orchard trimmed, it just looks lovely to a proud old man.
The barn swallows--just one pair--were active today. Swishing all around the mower, feasting on the scattered insects. They must have a family in Dennis' outbuilding. Hope so. That means the aerial acrobats will grow in number as the year goes on. Such fearless blue beauty. May their tribe increase!
Color is being added to the daisies of the wild area. Orange, mauve, and bright yellow day lilies are joining the wind dance. Yellow poppies, black-eyed Susans everywhere. Queen Anne's Lace is starting to add her white to help the daisies. Dabs of pink laced bind weeds are everywhere--think wild morning glories. And swamp and meadow roses are ubiquitous; well, as close to omnipresent as a flower can be in the wild area. The daisies are still there as well, and, of course, white and red clover--honey bee favorites--are throughout the meadow area. And a batch of spider wort--blue blue--refuses to go away. Not that anyone is suggesting it should. My Gardening Angels' quilt is starting to display its splendor. Every day will be more colorful than the day before.
I had a fascinating encounter as I mowed the very back of the Acres: a doe and her twins. The little ones were still a little spotted and small enough that when one of them bolted away from mom and his (her?) twin and rushed into the wild area it disappeared. The height of the grass made it invisible. Mom and twin ran in the other direction in front of the mower a bit and stopped. I was surprised. Usually when I spook them, they runleap completely away. But she stopped in her tracks and just stared at me. As I mowed closer to her, she bolted again but not far. Another dead stop and stare. Finally, it dawned on me--in the middle of the afternoon--that she was worried about her other young'un who had fled in the other direction. Eventually, she must have spotted him in Aaron's pines and away she and her other fawn disappeared in that direction. Beauty in motion. I knew some deer were around because some day lilies in the wild area had been used for lunch on occasion. I don't mind contributing a little dessert now and then.
But that is the most traffic I've had while riding the Acres. I may need to put up a stop light. There's plenty of green, and more than enough yellow. I wonder what I can use for red. Duh. My lawn mower, of course. I'd hate to keep stopping though and take in all that beauty. Might take me a week to feed the swallows. Ahhh, well. Sacrifices must be made.
The barn swallows--just one pair--were active today. Swishing all around the mower, feasting on the scattered insects. They must have a family in Dennis' outbuilding. Hope so. That means the aerial acrobats will grow in number as the year goes on. Such fearless blue beauty. May their tribe increase!
Color is being added to the daisies of the wild area. Orange, mauve, and bright yellow day lilies are joining the wind dance. Yellow poppies, black-eyed Susans everywhere. Queen Anne's Lace is starting to add her white to help the daisies. Dabs of pink laced bind weeds are everywhere--think wild morning glories. And swamp and meadow roses are ubiquitous; well, as close to omnipresent as a flower can be in the wild area. The daisies are still there as well, and, of course, white and red clover--honey bee favorites--are throughout the meadow area. And a batch of spider wort--blue blue--refuses to go away. Not that anyone is suggesting it should. My Gardening Angels' quilt is starting to display its splendor. Every day will be more colorful than the day before.
I had a fascinating encounter as I mowed the very back of the Acres: a doe and her twins. The little ones were still a little spotted and small enough that when one of them bolted away from mom and his (her?) twin and rushed into the wild area it disappeared. The height of the grass made it invisible. Mom and twin ran in the other direction in front of the mower a bit and stopped. I was surprised. Usually when I spook them, they runleap completely away. But she stopped in her tracks and just stared at me. As I mowed closer to her, she bolted again but not far. Another dead stop and stare. Finally, it dawned on me--in the middle of the afternoon--that she was worried about her other young'un who had fled in the other direction. Eventually, she must have spotted him in Aaron's pines and away she and her other fawn disappeared in that direction. Beauty in motion. I knew some deer were around because some day lilies in the wild area had been used for lunch on occasion. I don't mind contributing a little dessert now and then.
But that is the most traffic I've had while riding the Acres. I may need to put up a stop light. There's plenty of green, and more than enough yellow. I wonder what I can use for red. Duh. My lawn mower, of course. I'd hate to keep stopping though and take in all that beauty. Might take me a week to feed the swallows. Ahhh, well. Sacrifices must be made.
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