"Run-of-the-mill", never!

Better Half surprised me with a new camera Friday evening.  He hid my camera and bag, and in its place, put one of the boxes that held some of the camera accessories.

I fear I ruined his surprise.  I was in a hurry to grab my camera and go. It was my nephew's prom night.  I couldn't find my camera.  I didn't even see the box in the closet.  All I saw - MY CAMERA WAS NOT IN THE CLOSET WHERE I ALWAYS PUT IT and I WAS GOING TO MISS MY NEPHEW'S PROM. 

You see, this isn't just any run-of-the-mill nephew we're talking about.   I was in the room when this nephew was born, helping his mom through labor.  I love this nephew like he is my own son.  Birthdays, science projects, algebra problems, swimming, camping and fishing, Halloween - we have shared so much life these past 17 years. We are very good friends.  There is not much I wouldn't do for this great kid.

So, understandably, when I thought I was going to miss taking photos of his special evening, I grew, shall I say, a bit irritated.   Out walks Better Half with my camera bag, telling me I had left it in the bedroom.  More than a little weird.  But, I was in a hurry.  I didn't care.  I was going to miss the whole thing.

Only later did I realize that I had seen a box where my camera should have been.  Better Half's strange actions then began to make sense.  I raced back home, grabbed the box, and the gig was up.  What a fabulous unexpected surprise!  Better Half, too, is not just any run-of-the-mill husband. 

I'm not sure I will ever live up to this camera.  It is "the cat's meow" and then a whole lot more.

I spent the weekend doing some heavy duty reading.  The instruction manual for the camera alone is 326 pages.  The lens manual is another 50 pages.  I'm all the way up to page 56 of the first manual.  I couldn't stand it any longer. . . I had to try it out . . .  even if I don't know entirely what I'm doing.

I think this will be an enjoyable journey, once I get the hang of it.  I feel like a baby taking her first steps . . . like a wobbly five year old on a two-wheeled bicycle for the first time. 

This is a celadon poppy - a simple native wildflower that thrives on shady hillsides.

This is my favorite tree on the North Forty.
 It is a lacy Japanese maple tree with its own
survival story I'll tell you about some day.

One of the iris varieties that graces the spring pond.  It is somewhere between lavender and
light blue. However, look to the left.  I managed to catch some tiny insect in flight. 

An old rhododendron that stands guard near the back porch.

Another of the irises that make its home around the pond. 

A quite unremarkable ground cover, save for the lovely purple pinwheel like blooms.

Cornus kousa - a type of dogwood, refreshed by the spring rain.

Great Balls O' Hail

So, where were you this morning when the skies turned black as night, and huge balls of ice began plummeting to the earth?  In our office, we stood with our noses pressed to the glass watching in frank amazement.  None of us had ever seen hailstones of that size.  Some were big as quarters, others more like marbles. They littered the grass, the sidewalks, and the roofs.

When the rain subsided a little bit, I went outside to fetch a few of the ice balls.  Here is one of the larger ones I brought back to the office.  One of my friends offered to serve as a model to, as she said, put the size of the hail into perspective.  She was right.  Very impressive.

Orion was out on a job repairing a major water line, and forwarded me this photo of the melting spheres.  More perspective. Those are hands that do hard work.

Orion and I noticed the strange patterns found in the melting hailstones, almost like growth rings in a tree.  The ice seemed to be composed of very different densities.  It must have been quite a journey through the atmosphere, making its way to our little town.

Thankfully, there was no damage to my trusty Suburban.  Actually, the torrential rain did me a favor.  I may be able to put off that wash job for another several weeks.

Spice Up Your Life

Let's pot up some herbs for summertime cooking.  These herbs came from my all-time favorite nursery, Oakland Nurseries, in Columbus Ohio.  You would have to see it to believe it.  They have everything you could imagine for your garden.  The displays are breathtaking.  The plants and flowers are always in tip-top shape. 

First we need some pots.

 

Now we need some soil.  I use a soiless potting mix for container plantings.  It is light, absorbs water well, and promotes good root growth.

Two of these pots will be potted up with herbs.  The other two will be potted up with flowers in a couple of weeks.  They sit outside my kitchen door.  It's handy for snipping fresh herbs for cooking.  The overflowing pots will welcome me home each evening when I return from work this summer.  They will bring a smile to my face.

To plant the herbs, remove them from the pots by holding the plant in one hand and tapping the pot with the other.  Loosen the roots gently if they have become pot bound.  Make a hole for them with a scoop and place them in the hole at the same depth they were in the pot. Firm slightly. That is all there is to it.  It was not possible for me to plant and photograph at the same time. 

Here are the herbs at home in their pots. They look kind of spindly right now, but they will take off as the temperatures warm. 

..

Below is the list of the starring characters, along with some information about the uses of each herb.  I hope this information will be helpful if you decide to start an herb garden.  Happy snipping! 



This is rosemary.  It loves a dry harsh environment.  When you brush the needle-like leaves,
they release the most wonderful smell.  It is used in meats, stews and spice mixtures.

This is oregano.  I am using both oregano, and its milder tasting cousing marjoram.
Oregano is used in Italian-American cooking.  It is generally thought of as the pizza herb.

This is thyme.  There are many varieties of thyme, all of them aromatic.  Thyme is used
in soups, stews, sauces, and in spice mixtures. 

This is sage.  It always makes me think of Thanksgiving stuffing, for which it is used. 
It can also be used with other meats as well.

This is cilantro, used in Mexican and South Asian cooking.
 You either love or hate the flavor.  It gives salsa its distinctive flavor

This is basil. Two varieties will make their way into the pots,
Genovese and Sweet.  My favorite summertime salad is sliced basil over
garden ripe tomatoes, fresh mozzarella with balsamic vinegar and olive
oil.  If you add it to cooked food, do so at the end.  It loses its flavor quickly.



These are chives.  Think of chives as very mild onion flavored stalks.  The green stalks
are snipped and used as a garnish.  I like them in dips and salads. 
They sport a beautiful lavender bloom.  You can see the buds just coming out.

This is parsley.  I am potting up both flat leaf, shown above, and its
more decorative cousin, curly.  Parsley can be used in a wide variety
of dishes, and is a stalwart garnish.  I like a sprig of it in salads.









New Kids on the Block

The "old" kids on the block

A couple of years back, raccoons decimated the ranks of beautiful fish that lived in our backyard pond.  We noticed one, then another, and then another missing.  It was kind of hard to tell they were gone at first, because a thick layer of lily pads hides them from view in the summer.

That same summer, after falling asleep in the back yard watching a meteor shower, I awoke to find a mother raccoon and four babies scampering about in the moonlight.  Last time I slept in the back yard for a while.

We watched nightly raccoon parades across the back porch from our perch in the family room.

Something had to be done.  Koi make for very expensive raccoon feed.  I began to be afraid of happening upon one each time I went outside after dark.

Better Half to the rescue - he fixed 'em good.  He brought home a huge cage.  He baited that contraption with all manner of good things, most notably peanut butter.  It worked.  Night after night he caught a raccoon.  He carefully removed each one of them to the farm. 10 raccoons in all joined the resettlement program that year.

Just last weekend, we finally got around to thinking about replacing the fish.  2 shubunkins and 2 koi joined our fish family.  They came home in these big plastic bags.  Here are two of them getting accustomed to the pond water temperature.  You can see the other fish are curious.
   

Better Half is untying the bag.



Into the pond they go.  The Welcome Wagon has assembled to greet them.

Here is one of the new koi.

Here's Big Spot shubunkin getting neighborly with that cute pink fish.  See the great big dot on his back?

Here's Little Spot shubunkin coming up for food.  See the tiny little spot on top of his head?  Yes, I know he is covered in spots, but the little one in that sea of orange catches my eye.



There is also a small yellow koi that we haven't seen since the night we put her into the pond.  I hope she hasn't been a victim of bullying.  I'm sure she is down in the depths somewhere.

Welcome to the block, kids!



Hat's Off - No. 1

Recently, my parents, ages 81 and 84, have been worried about the state of the gutters that carry the water from their roof to the street.  Water overflows them every time it rains.  Dad, who worked as an engineer, pays particular attention to things like this.

Their worry is understandable.  You see, my parents, in their mid-50s, (age not decade) built the house in which they live, actually built it with their very own hands.  Subcontractors were called in by Dad for just a couple of jobs.

I missed out on almost all the construction as I was having and tending babies.  However, Better Half, my brothers, and their friends put in lots of hours.  They poured concrete.  They set roof trusses.  They helped with the huge tasks that required many hands.  Mom and Dad did the rest, even the roofing.

My parents love to talk about those days.  While it was hard, back-breaking work, it was very satisfying for my parents.  My mom, at the end of most days, noted their progress in an old notebook.  From time to time, she will get out the dog-eared journal and read to my dad and me.

But I seriously digress . . . . . . . .

Mom turned to the phonebook, then internet, to search for gutter contractors. She found two.   She also found gutter information and a gutter profile which she printed for my Dad to study.  Mom is the internet guru in the family. 

Dad calculated the square footage of the roof. He is the calculation guru.  He began to think he had installed gutters that were too small to adequately carry the water from the roof.

Armed with phone numbers and calculations, they made the call to the contractor.
 
Yesterday, I stopped for a visit.  They were both perched expectantly in the dining area.  I thought they were just excited that my brother was coming to visit.  They were.  But they seemed even more excited that the gutter contractor was coming to assess the overflow situation.

The doorbell rang.  Dad went to the front door and disappeared onto the porch.  After several minutes, Mom and I joined the men on the front porch.  I was stunned at the words I was hearing.

Bill Boggs, The Gutterman, told my parents they did not need new gutters.  He told them the gutters could handle the flow.  He was not interested in selling them a product they did not need.

He, patiently, and with great kindness, suggested they remove some filters they had installed to catch debris.  Taking care to use my dad's first name, he then suggested they flush out the black corrugated pipe that carries the water to the street.  He told them what to look for in terms of flow.  They asked him about installing gutter guards.  He did not even want to sell them the guards, for the time being.

I could scarcely believe my ears.  My parents are fairly savvy, with it folks.  But I do believe my dad was ready to buy new gutters.  And, if Bill had recommended it, I think the deal would have been done. 

Bill Boggs, The Gutterman, is a man of character.  He is the kind of man we hear about too infrequently.  I should have known all along that he was a good man.  He carries a 30 foot yellow Stanley tape measure on his belt.

My hat's off to you, Bill Boggs!

Mindless Meandering

Have you ever experienced a time when so much life happens that you can't quite take it all in?  Well, I've experienced one of those almost 48 hour periods, when life has come at me so quickly and from so many directions that I really haven't had the chance to sort it out.  So, tonight, in the wee hours of Sunday morning, I've given up trying and . . . resorted to mindless meandering.

A Wednesday Walk

Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.

Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.

                            Just walk beside me and be my friend.                                

                                    

                                                      Albert Camus

I spent last evening walking with IVee and Sister Golden Hair.  We walked, though sauntered might be a better word, in a 5K run/walk which took us along the riverfront and past the murals which grace the floodwall.  We were in no hurry. The air was sparklingly clear, the temperature perfect.

We talked easily, laughed a lot, and had a thoroughly enjoyable time as we made our way through the streets.  It was nice to have the two of them just to myself. I don't mean to sound selfish, but so often we are in a crowd. 

IVee reminded me of words I used to say to him. "Don't walk behind me, walk with me." I suspect there were times he was sludging along behind me on trips he did not want to make during his surly teen years. Those words were my way of trying to hurry him along.

There is such spirit in IVee and Sister Golden Hair.  I laughed at them and with them.  They dispute, of all things, where they had their first kiss. The dispute still rages, as it was not settled last night.  

There is much love between them. A kind of comfort, an easiness, if you will,  exists between people who care deeply for each other.  It was a beautiful thing to witness. 

After the walk, we had a delicious dinner at the Port City Pub, then went our separate ways.  

Thank you, IVee and Sister Golden Hair, for a memorable evening.  I am counting my blessings this evening.

 I am hopeful you will both  

"just walk beside me and be my friend"

forever. 

 This was to have been a photo of IVee and Sister Golden Hair before the walk.  However, they were clowning around so much (OK, IVee was clowning around so much) that the photos were definitely not something Sister Golden Hair would want me to share with you. So instead, we'll enjoy a photo of tiny, dewey bluets, a tough little wildflower that will grow anywhere.    

 

Last Respects

Tonight, Better Half and I went to a funeral home in a small nearby village to pay our last respects to a man who was part of the farm family for more than 30 years. We visited with his children, their spouses and his wife.  It was not an easy thing to look at his grandson.  His sadness tore straight to my heart. 

The farmer spent decades of spring days preparing and planting the fields.  In the fall, he spent hot, dirty, dusty days and nights in the driver’s seat of a combine, bringing in the corn and soybeans.  When he was not in the fields, he worked to make the farm a better place, always taking care of the rutted roads.

 He was joined in the fields, as time went on, by his son, and then later, by his grandson.  This past fall, when he was ill, it was his son and grandson who brought in the season’s crops. 

He was a big burly man, kind and hardworking, yet soft-spoken.  His was a comfortable presence on the farm. He always referred to Better Half as Porge.  There are only a handful of people in the world who refer to Better Half by his childhood nickname. 

Until this evening, Better Half and I could not recall a time when we saw him without  a John Deere or seed corn cap on his head.

One of this farmer’s proudest moments was being named Farmer of the Year by the local farm bureau.  The yellowed newspaper clipping hung alongside family photos at the viewing.

Bettter Half told his family a funny story. Some years ago, Better Half had a very sore wisdom tooth.  The farmer gave him some chewing tobacco, telling him to chew on it.  It apparently cured the pain.

It was comforting to spend time among the community of friends and family that had gathered to tell him good-bye.  While there was grief, to be sure, there was also a huge outpouring of support and strength within that room.

Frank was a loved man. He lived a good life.  He will be missed.  Good-bye Frank.    

.

Life Experience No. 2

Eveybody has a hobby or something they enjoy doing in their free time.

Some people play golf.
Some people shop.
Some people collect baskets.
Some people garden.
Some people travel to exotic places.
Some people attend sporting events.

And . . . some people gather on top of a mountain to shoot guns - at vehicles, old washing machines, spent fuel tanks, and uniquely, last Saturday, a 60 ton sand sculpture.

If that were not enough, a television crew filmed the whole event for a show called Sand Masters, to be shown later this summer on the Travel Channel.

Orion and his friends were besides themselves with excitement as we made our way to the top of the mountain.  I was beside myself at the sights before my eyes.

 

Orion took this photo.  Didn't he do a spectacular job?  These bullets were at least six inches long.

The initial explosion and barrage of machine gun fire was intense and deafening, even with ear plugs in. 

The shooting continued.  Fires erupted.  Smoke billowed.  And look at that weird blue cloud.  I honestly have no idea what it is.

Then the heavens opened up and it began to rain.  We took cover under the assorted canopies, where we signed our release to appear on TV. They even took our pictures.

By this time, I was cold, wet, tired of the ear plugs and longing to sink into the comfort of my Suburban for the ride home.  30 minutes of steady machine gun fire and the assorted pandemonium had taken its toll on me.  I bid Orion and his friends goodbye and trundled down the now muddy mountain.

Orion got his chance to fire the big guns after I left. 

He took another great photo at what remained at the end of the day.  Gonna need a really big shovel to clean up that mess.

This has been one Saturday I will not forget for a very long time. 

Chickens, Rust, Guns and Cages

Yesterday, I had two new life experiences.  The first was Swap Days, a bigger than big flea market, held at the local fair grounds.  To give you some idea of the enormity of this event, I live just over ten miles from the fairgrounds.  I left the local MacDonald's at 8:17 a.m., chicken biscuit in hand, and did not enter the fairgrounds to begin my adventure until 10:00 a.m.  One hour and 43 minutes to travel 10 miles.

All was well and good, traffic moving smoothly along, until the last two miles of the journey. Everything then came to a grinding halt.  Those last two miles cost me an hour or so of my life. My text to Better Half, as I simmered in traffic with more than half the tri-state area,  "A great deal of patience is required."   Now I know why he declined the invitation to go with me. 

As I simmered, somewhere off to my left, I could hear a voice calling out to me.  There was Orion, of all things, with two of his friends.  They were stopping at the ATM to get some cash.  They wanted me to let them cut in line.  Now, mind you, there were dozens of great big he-man pick-up trucks behind me, all of whom had waited patiently in the traffic jam, just like me.    Nobody, and I repeat nobody, was in a sure-I'll-let-you-cut-in frame of  mind. Nevertheless, I let Orion in.  I've lived to tell the story. 

We parked, and began the trek to the fairgrounds.  We fairly bubbled with excitement.  I saw my first gun-toting person 20 feet or so inside the gate. Then another, and still another.  Everybody, it seemed, was carrying guns.  Soon, I lost my apprehension, and gave myself over to enjoying the day.  I walked with Orion and his friends for a while, but our roads soon diverged, and I was left to wander on my own.

I love Swap Days.  Enjoy it with me . . .

Tomorrow, part 2 of the weekend adventure - Southern Ohio Machine Gun Shoot.