tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45900210303319743452024-03-13T12:02:54.747-04:00the north forty chroniclesBarbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.comBlogger212125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-72702810820180273342017-05-29T08:27:00.000-04:002017-05-29T08:28:59.285-04:00Three Steps Forward, Two Steps BackWere it not for the tiny thriving plants pictured below, I would be ready to throw my hands up into the air, screaming, "What in the world was I thinking when I decided to start a flower farm?" Flower farming looked like a fairly manageable venture as I read each beautifully scripted blog post and scanned the glorious photos of perfectly manicured rows of equally perfect flowers. Sure, it would be work, but I have never shied away from work. How bad could it be, I reasoned.<br />
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Half my first planting of sunflowers did not germinate in the cold wet soil, nor did the phlox seed. In my eagerness, I did not prepare the beds as well as I should have. With hundreds of plants outgrowing their tiny containers in my basement, and no place to put them, I dove at the chance to be able to plant them just about anywhere.<br />
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Rocks, roots, timber, and old pieces of iron continue to be unearthed with almost every shovel full of soil.<br />
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The well, the only source of water for the flower farm beyond rainfall, was outfitted with a brand new pump. It ran beautifully for a very short time, and now is bogged down. The well person will be on site tomorrow to have a look. He and Better Half believe there is sediment in the bottom of the well. <br />
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The weather this past week was cool and wet, and, while I appreciate the rain, the flowers and vegetables need some warm sunny days. <br />
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I set up a domain name for the farm, and began the work of setting up a web site, only to realize I know as much about setting up a web site as I do about flower farming.<br />
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Expenses continue to mount. <br />
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Lots of days, the endless chores in front of me loom large, and threaten to overtake me. Then, I retire to the farm for a walk about, plucking a few weeds as I go, noting the new growth on each little plant, and my faith is restored, at least until the next crisis rears its ugly head.<br />
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On a more positive note, the deer remain at bay, though each day I pull up to the farm, I look for signs of devastation. Better Half and I built a cover for the well pit after he almost fell head long into the pit after tripping on a root. We used old metal roofing on a new wooden frame. It actually turned out quite nicely, though it weighs a ton. The big field has been limed and disked. It will be worked again when the land dries out. I am beginning to think the old hog lot was a swamp, given the soggy conditions that persist. The grass seed I planted on the grassy knoll above the garden is gorgeous. It may be this year's best crop. Views from every angle of the garden are spectacular.<br />
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This row of zinnias should be straight, but some of the stems have twisted, giving the bed a slightly disheveled look.<br />
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This bed contains cosmos. I admit to feeling very professional as I stretched this mesh netting over the bed. The flower plants will grow up through the holes and be supported by the netting, producing long straight stems. We shall see.<br />
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This row contains feverfew, butterfly weed, and rudbeckia, with Queen Annne's lace to the left and cosmos to the right. I feel pretty good about the way this row looks.</div>
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A panorama of the garden from this past Saturday. Check out the luscious grass in the foreground.<br />
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Better Half, hard at work, on the well pit cover.<br />
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The finished cover sits on the grain scales, waiting to be hauled to the well pit.</div>
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New electricity, a new pump, tank, sump pump, hydrant, and associated innards have been installed. The well worked well for the first day, then became clogged shortly thereafter. Once it is operational, it will enable me to use drip irrigation, as I expand the scope of the project.<br />
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I am quite certain that my grandfathers, both of whom grew gorgeous flowers, one on a narrow city lot, the other on a lot beside his home, are peering down from above with smiles on their faces wondering what in the world I am doing. Most days, so do I.<br />
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<br />Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-66784048258045467102017-05-09T21:15:00.000-04:002017-05-09T21:15:16.144-04:00Come Hell or High Water . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was determined to have some presence on my newly cleared parcel of land this summer, you know, the one I've been raving about since February. </div>
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So, about a week and a half ago, I got out the trusty tiller and began to till, 18 inch widths at a time - soil, rocks, roots and buried logs. What a jolting job! Last week, I tilled even more, until I now have an area about 90 by 75 on which to plant. While it is only a fraction of the land, it is a start!</div>
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Hundreds of seeds have been sewn and hundreds of seedlings have been tucked lovingly into the soil and saturated with deer repellent. Seeding is ongoing in fits and starts as temperatures and rain permit. If the temperature is above 50, it is not actively raining, and my boots do not sink in the mud deeper than 6 inches, I am at work at the farm. I am smitten with this project. It combines so many things I love - fresh,colorful flowers and the just picked goodness of vegetables, being outdoors, the smell of dirt, and the overwhelming joy that growing brings.</div>
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Last Saturday, Better Half and I went to the farm to pick up my old Suburban. Upon arriving, 5 large deer bolted from the area of the garden. My spirits took a nose dive and my feet scurried to the seedlings. Nothing had been munched, but in that moment, I knew a deer fence had become an urgent necessity.</div>
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Sunday afternoon found us, once again, feasting on popcorn in the aisles of Rural King, as we bought fence posts, a half mile of wire, a fence charger, and other electric fence components. (This little project of mine has introduced me to a variety of the most interesting subjects. Not only can I carry on a conversation about electric deer fence, I can discuss wells and pumps, soil test results, seed starting, and the merits of various small tractors on the market today.)</div>
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A brisk bright Sunday afternoon saw the burn pile getting under way and the first fence posts driven.</div>
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Better Half posing with our half mile of wire as we begin to fasten it to the posts.</div>
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Once the fence was up, I smeared peanut butter on aluminum foil. These tidbits were fastened to the wire fencing in hopes the deer would be attracted to them. I know this sounds brutal, but I have countless hours invested in the seedlings, lots of dollars in seed, and huge hopes for a magnificent harvest of flowers and vegetables. I know, from experience, that deer and gardens do not co-exist.</div>
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The mechanics of the electric fence - charger, marine battery, ground rods, all connected to the wire that encloses the field. The ground rod is the tennis ball covered pipe on the right.</div>
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We decided on a second ground, and as I handed Better Half the tool to pound in the post, I accidentally touched the fence, which we had armed. Holy Moly! I won't make that mistake again.</div>
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And, if I were a deer, I would most certainly steer clear of the peanut butter smeared fence.</div>
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Shadows are long as we wrap up the project. Here is the western side of the quite unassuming fence.<br />
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This is my beloved Hog Lot Flowers at Davis Farm 2017 with a dazzling view in the background.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBitQFBRh1fDNEketD7TLhiheDEqAJsFIoo1G4bariOyZFflAXpmZ0owPZMVEdo8K8sWDvNCGy_AD6AoBINd7mvzQOwF5_W1ajxXHYcLqumlkxRsdXSkZ3AROzzwA-Gx3Wt0tUOgbiK6M/s1600/IMG_4676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBitQFBRh1fDNEketD7TLhiheDEqAJsFIoo1G4bariOyZFflAXpmZ0owPZMVEdo8K8sWDvNCGy_AD6AoBINd7mvzQOwF5_W1ajxXHYcLqumlkxRsdXSkZ3AROzzwA-Gx3Wt0tUOgbiK6M/s320/IMG_4676.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
And, here sit my tiny seedlings, safe behind two wires festooned with caution tape and smeared with peanut butter.<br />
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Much more to come . . . Stay tuned.Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-41050761335975191082017-04-25T22:00:00.001-04:002017-04-25T22:00:42.248-04:00Sunset<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sunset approaching quickly as I piddled about the farm tonight.</div>
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Time to treat myself to a ride in the bottoms to enjoy the end of the day.</div>
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Peace pervades my soul as I turn the truck toward home.</div>
Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-53466173912902479572017-04-23T21:41:00.000-04:002017-04-25T21:44:53.194-04:00Inching Ever Closer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The land for the flower farm has been cleared and graded.</div>
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When the ground has dried, lime will be applied and a disc will break up the dozed land.</div>
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The farmers have all stepped up to help me get started with this venture, </div>
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for which I am very grateful</div>
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Introducing the future home of</div>
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Hog Lot Flowers </div>
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at</div>
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Davis Farm</div>
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The flowers will be grown on an ancient hog lot on the Davis Farm, which has been in my husband's family since 1852, While not a flowery name, it comes steeped with family history.</div>
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This little remnant of a block building may become the first office of Hog Lot Flowers if it can be salvaged. It will need some shoring up - windows, door, and roof - at a minimum.</div>
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Daylight can be seen through some of the block joints.</div>
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It sits perched on a little knoll at the southwest corner of the farmette, </div>
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commanding a beautiful view of the entire field.</div>
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Sunsets, too, will be sensational once the view is opened up a little.</div>
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Quite a gem!</div>
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Today, I spent the afternoon continuing to reclaim this stunning land that has lain forgotten for so many years. I stumbled upon daffodil bulbs unearthed by the dozer that cleared the land. Other daffodil greens circled an ancient tree and more were scattered about the overgrown yard of the abandoned farmhouse. </div>
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It was necessary that some of these overgrown bulbs maintain a presence on the farm. It felt important that they be part of this new endeavor. Somebody, a long time ago, must have loved daffodils dearly, given the numbers of bulbs. </div>
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I dug a curved row of holes at the crest of the knoll. The bulbs were dug and separated from their massive clumps. I tucked a couple of the biggest bulbs from each clump into each hole. One row became two, then two became three. A couple hundred bulbs have found a new presence on the farm. </div>
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The first flowers have officially been planted at Hog Lot Flowers at Davis Farm. </div>
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I can hardly wait for next spring.</div>
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I so hope the ancient bulbs will grace the farms with their blooms once again.</div>
Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-60820064035286515212017-03-28T20:31:00.000-04:002017-03-28T20:38:43.800-04:00Water Witching<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My son, Orion, and I were at the farm last Saturday. More work on the flower farm to be. He helped me empty the flooded well pit, so that it could be inspected. Two very knowledgeable brothers, the Ruby's, gave us their thoughts and taught us both a lot about wells. They declined my offer of compensation. It seems their relative, Alfred Ruby, had worked as the farm manager a very long time ago. </div>
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As we waited for the brothers, we talked about using city water instead of the well water, and the conversation turned to water witching. Orion jumped into his jeep and headed out the lane to pluck a utility marker flag from the ground. He carefully bent the metal stick it into an "L" shape, and told me he could locate underground water. He apparently witches for water quite often in his job to locate underground water lines when conventional methods fail. He even carries witch sticks in his vehicle.</div>
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I had some familiarity with water witching, which is also referred to as dousing, divining, or, my very favorite, doodlebugging. Decades ago, my father hired a water witch to search for an area to drill a well. That douser used a "Y" shaped stick. He walked back and forth over the land until the point of the stick bent towards the earth. I was fascinated then, and was even more fascinated now.</div>
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I always assumed dousing was based on scientific principle. As Orion lightly held the bent stick with the longest edge pointing straight ahead, he told me there is no scientific basis for dousing. My research since then confirms that. All at once, his stick turned 90 degrees. He scraped the sod with his boot. He walked several feet away and repeated the same process. Again, the stick turned. After several more marks, he told me we had found the location of the water line. Then, he stomped his foot once, twice, and the flag returned to its original position. He told me the line was two feet under the ground. By this time, I was in awe of the entire proceeding, and anxious to try it, believing everyone had the ability to witch.</div>
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To prove his point, Orion dug a hole where he had marked the sod with his boot. Sure enough, the line was right there, 18 to 24 inches under the ground.<br />
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I begged to try dousing. It was difficult to get the stick balanced, parallel to the ground, and lightly held, all at the same time. But, after some coaching from Orion on positioning the stick properly, I met with success. It is the weirdest sensation to have this stick turn in your hand for no apparent reason. It is an uncanny experience. Our dousing was interrupted by the arrival of the well men, so we turned our attention to the well.<br />
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I tucked the witch stick into my Suburban, determined to try it at home. I picked up the water line, gas line, downspouts, and french drain. There is something that runs across the middle of our side yard, though I do not know what it is. Better Half, my husband, watched, bemused, from the comfort of the patio as I slowly paced around the North Forty, witch stick in hand. Who knows what the neighbors and passersby thought!<br />
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I took the stick to my parent's home Sunday to see if I was descended from a long line of witches. Mom met with some success. My brother had no trouble. The stick danced in his hands. He, too, was as confounded as I. Dad had met with little success in the past, so he did not try his hand at it. My other brother pronounced us to be a bunch of kooks, sort of like the scientific community at large.<br />
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I, nonetheless, will add a new skill to my resume - Water Witch.<br />
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<br />Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-88785873631456344442017-03-27T21:37:00.001-04:002017-03-27T21:37:23.436-04:00Daffodils <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The North Forty is awash with daffodil blooms. </div>
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They are fresh, bright, and gleeful.</div>
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Over the years, I have planted daffodil collections from <a href="http://www.whiteflowerfarm.com/">White Flower Farm</a> -</div>
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all colors, shapes, sizes and styles.</div>
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They never fail to delight.</div>
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I like to think of this as the family photo.</div>
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This little orange and white stunner is one of my favorites.</div>
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This bouquet of rather unorthodox of daffodils came to my garden</div>
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from the Davis farm, the future sight of the North Forty Gardens.</div>
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They grew on a little knoll on the south side of the farmhouse.</div>
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I carefully dug some of them years ago and brought them to my home,</div>
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where they have been fruitful and multiplied.</div>
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They are a wild, unruly profusion of bright yellow and light green petals with no central trumpet.</div>
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They are heirlooms, having been named in 1620 by a Flemish man named Von Sion.</div>
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The bulbs made their way to the United States with early settlers.</div>
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They were planted in Appalachia on the grounds of homesteads,</div>
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where they still bloom, hundreds of years later.</div>
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I am grateful to have them bloom in the gardens.</div>
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Both families of blooms agreed to a joint photo - </div>
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the tamed with the wild.</div>
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Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-80294620596385335832017-03-11T08:26:00.002-05:002017-03-11T08:32:23.830-05:00Two Steps Forward . . . Three Steps BackWhile my body and spirits have soared into Spring, the temperatures have reverted to January. Rain has been frequent. Not good news for the budding flower farm.<br />
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The dozers remain idle. The well pit is flooded. The ground is sodden.<br />
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Enthusiasm has been tinged with anxiety this week. A look at the forecast going forward does little to alleviate the anxiety. <br />
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I, however, soldier on. <br />
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The work is dirty, cold, and decidedly non-glamorous. Not the picture that comes to mind when you think flower farm.<br />
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The area around the well was cleared, some of the water was bucketed out and a makeshift well cover was put in place. </div>
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A burn pile was started<br />
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On the brighter positive side, all planted seeds have germinated and are steadily growing under their lights in the basement. A soil sample was delivered for testing. Names of men who work with wells were secured. An Excel spreadsheet was begun for farm expenses. Market research is ongoing.<br />
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The glorious view of the river bottoms as rain pushes its way across the valley delights me as I muck about. Even in the cold, wet, bleak early March dusk, beauty abounds.Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-55635988756857643992017-03-04T19:35:00.001-05:002017-03-04T19:41:57.413-05:00A Dream Realized . . . well almost<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
For many years, I have longed to be a grower of flowers, lots and lots and lots of flowers. I have been inching toward that goal each year. Rows of vegetables in the community garden gave way to rows of flowers. Last year, two garden plots overflowed with zinnias, cosmos, celosia, snapdragons, and sunflowers. More flowers grew on the North Forty. Sunny summer bouquets made their way to the Portsmouth Main Street Farmer's Market each Saturday morning.</div>
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Yet, I continued to long for my own slice of land on which to grow flowers. I beseeched Better Half to find me a little parcel of dirt on his family's farm.</div>
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And, here it is, in all its glory, on a gloomy February afternoon. All the trees to the right of the grain bins and elevator leg will soon vanish. 2.25 acres will be available to me for gardening. I was fairly dancing with glee.</div>
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Some pretty hefty equipment will be required to turn a forest into a garden plot.</div>
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The garden will be sited on an abandoned hog lot not used in decades. Fairly sizable trees, grape vines, and old wire fences litter the property. </div>
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The soil is heavenly - dark loamy top soil, almost a foot deep. I spent a Sunday afternoon with Better Half digging test holes around the property, delighting in the glory beneath my feet. But, wow, what a lot of land. Glee is giving way to apprehension.</div>
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My new favorite Saturday morning hangout. Fencing, mowers, Kentucky 31, seeders, seed starting, discs, and garden sheds - the stuff of a flower farmer's existence. The free popcorn is a welcome treat, as we wander about the aisles.</div>
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I am schooling myself in electric fencing - joules, voltages, impedance, ground wires, batteries, t posts and the like. Deer inhabit the space I will now call my garden. They will have to be dealt with.</div>
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Seeds are arriving daily from <a href="http://www.johnnyseeds.com/">Johnny's Selected Seeds</a>. Better Half helped me to set up a dandy growing station in the basement.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELzjYD6uDvA4LAG38YEZAGVzfvgJ1cscCCxsOi0CBOvD63liMKKtlhg8cxocbdNm_kNTB6FVVZ9Rp75IjgRdfTCNyP01ApOXjeu5D1JtGMVDnWVHcLzLphCWXYVHStg04cJ8Phe5ZHeM/s1600/IMG_4233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiELzjYD6uDvA4LAG38YEZAGVzfvgJ1cscCCxsOi0CBOvD63liMKKtlhg8cxocbdNm_kNTB6FVVZ9Rp75IjgRdfTCNyP01ApOXjeu5D1JtGMVDnWVHcLzLphCWXYVHStg04cJ8Phe5ZHeM/s400/IMG_4233.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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And, we are underway! The first tiny Rudbeckia seedlings have germinated. Many more will join them as spring progresses.</div>
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Torrential rains have prevented the dozers from commencing their work. As the list of tasks before me grows, I become ever more anxious to get started. I content myself with research and organization, as I wait for the fields to dry.</div>
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This gorgeous book has been a valuable source of information and inspiration.</div>
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The <a href="http://www.floretflowers.com/blog/">Floret Flower Farm</a> blog, a thing of beauty in itself,</div>
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is providing me with a wealth of information about growing. </div>
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<a href="http://muddyfeetflowerfarm.blogspot.com/">Muddy Feet Flower Farm</a>'s gorgeous arrangements spur me on.</div>
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A tour of <a href="http://www.sunnymeadowsflowerfarm.com/">Sunny Meadow Flower Farm</a>,</div>
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minutes outside Columbus Ohio,</div>
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on a blazing June afternoon last year, showed me, firsthand, </div>
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how much effort, hard work, sweat, and persistence</div>
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goes into the business of flower farming.</div>
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And yet, I persist in the dream.</div>
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Much more to follow . . .</div>
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Please come back and share in this dream with me.</div>
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Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-75679349293187496442017-01-14T08:34:00.001-05:002017-01-14T08:34:33.363-05:00Ella and Ben<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Introducing<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii28KxosVF3sj9LiABgAEkc6FZ1plcxX_2SZXE5yd85HXqjsWtWIY1ZFvEfokpoKweVVstu_1ZYnZQUBB5daNFfpIFjCun2bZCpsKflZa2O-ecUJegiz_mpGoQsLjJiuuIbqbtiSO_j0Q/s1600/Ella+%2526+Ben+%25282%2529.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii28KxosVF3sj9LiABgAEkc6FZ1plcxX_2SZXE5yd85HXqjsWtWIY1ZFvEfokpoKweVVstu_1ZYnZQUBB5daNFfpIFjCun2bZCpsKflZa2O-ecUJegiz_mpGoQsLjJiuuIbqbtiSO_j0Q/s400/Ella+%2526+Ben+%25282%2529.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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Feeling the need to flex creative muscles this January.</div>
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Hence, a new Etsy shop is born.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzrz68rvsQ3lOVnk8G0mR-7tE-b2af9S5b4HZH6MCD9ISBAtfzFKtyKKJ-UgpTG3pgWUx97Nn1w5ncXUBBoB9DsZnlXKZZT8vSKJoxnkfSyAAdGGgGodaFLBAIQ0GNZGARgoBbQsJQgE/s1600/Ella+and+Ben+002-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGzrz68rvsQ3lOVnk8G0mR-7tE-b2af9S5b4HZH6MCD9ISBAtfzFKtyKKJ-UgpTG3pgWUx97Nn1w5ncXUBBoB9DsZnlXKZZT8vSKJoxnkfSyAAdGGgGodaFLBAIQ0GNZGARgoBbQsJQgE/s320/Ella+and+Ben+002-002.JPG" width="319" /></a></div>
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<br />Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-47356658057361922172017-01-07T18:16:00.000-05:002017-01-07T18:16:15.323-05:00Saturday Sunset<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">“A large drop of sun lingered on the horizon and then dripped over and was gone, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">and the sky was brilliant over the spot where it had gone,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"> and a torn cloud, like a bloody rag, hung over the spot of its going. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">And dusk crept over the sky from the eastern horizon,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"> and darkness crept over the land from the east.” </span></div>
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<br style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">― </span><a class="authorOrTitle" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/585.John_Steinbeck" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">John Steinbeck</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">, </span><span id="quote_book_link_4395" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Merriweather, Georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><a class="authorOrTitle" href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2931549" style="color: #333333; font-family: Lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none;">The Grapes of Wrath</a></span></div>
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<br />Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-61070574930820201342017-01-04T19:32:00.000-05:002017-01-04T19:32:21.453-05:00January Day Brightener<div style="text-align: center;">
With snow in the forecast, </div>
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following a couple of dreary all gray days,</div>
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time for a day brightener. </div>
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These are the dahlias I wrote of planting in April of 2016. </div>
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They are every bit as magnificent as I remembered.</div>
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Enjoy!</div>
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Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-29918602307768803982017-01-03T21:09:00.000-05:002017-01-03T21:09:19.765-05:00A New Year . . . A Fresh (and Organized) Start<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">The object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"> It is that we should have a new soul and a new nose; </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">Unless a particular man made New Year resolutions, he would make no resolutions. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">Unless a man starts afresh about things, he will certainly do nothing effective. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">Gilbert K. Chesterton</span></div>
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In the spirit of starting fresh, I set about ordering my workshop, a tiny little gem of a room tucked away in the corner of the basement. My poor little sanctuary had suffered mightily from Halloween to Christmas. I am way better at planning, creating, and doing, than I am at cleaning up afterwards. It was way past time to clean, organize and purge. The results were even better than I imagined. I now look for reasons to head to the workshop. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIIXvCumm9Bl7ZdC8qIcGVeHbPULz1plxuMocCx64V62tNA6yP1vsTpJ6CXRBRTfVnPOGzuTcylhE9-aUBxb_pDejo0I8PlX09QYyMmeoBPyGiwPiSyONPNk9fFBQCAVeR6jddL9svek/s1600/IMG_3921.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAIIXvCumm9Bl7ZdC8qIcGVeHbPULz1plxuMocCx64V62tNA6yP1vsTpJ6CXRBRTfVnPOGzuTcylhE9-aUBxb_pDejo0I8PlX09QYyMmeoBPyGiwPiSyONPNk9fFBQCAVeR6jddL9svek/s320/IMG_3921.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Starting afresh in the workshop has already given me inspiration for 2017. </div>
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More to come as inspiration progresses.</div>
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<br />Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-78398747003488833962017-01-01T19:01:00.000-05:002017-01-01T19:01:47.634-05:00New Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In the waning daylight of this first day of 2017,</div>
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I wish you much joy in the coming year.</div>
Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-86079486433633110982016-06-07T23:02:00.000-04:002016-06-07T23:02:39.132-04:00A Garden Outside the Door<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
To "come full circle" means "to<span style="text-align: center;"> complete a cycle of transition, returning to where one started after gaining experience or exploring other things:, according to Wiktionary.</span></div>
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The side entrance to my home, which serves as the main entrance to my home, has always been a prime spot for a container garden. Lots of display room, sunlight, and access to water. Early in my gardening career, I would fill five or six pots with a geranium, some petunias, a couple spikes, and call it done. By midsummer, the flowers and I were both tired - tired of watering, fertilizing, and deadheading.</div>
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I tried different combinations of flowers and foliage, with each year becoming more simplified. I had tired of the look and work of containers. Five or six pots, became only two, in time. The last several years have seen huge macho ferns take center stage, as they were a dependable specimen, easy to take care of, and provided a lot of bang for the gardening buck.</div>
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This year, however, the yearning for a bright, fussy garden outside my door took hold, after laying dormant inside my soul for years. I had to have lots of color, and lots of blooms greet me each time I opened the door. It had been a long difficult winter. Summer, warmth, and flowers seemed to be just the ticket to throw off the doldrums.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbchg_Dvo6FED95hUIfqFkU4XHaApkijvZ5fH5fQF-W7rZkgfnYcY2Cbk3JGE-1nNb2prWvQRj5kYt1cKt4q_Ys3mUTtSMhTiMsquZXqu_ptuBnXMwRbdjJry5gA_FpF8cymAm_VidYPY/s1600/houses%252C+flowers+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbchg_Dvo6FED95hUIfqFkU4XHaApkijvZ5fH5fQF-W7rZkgfnYcY2Cbk3JGE-1nNb2prWvQRj5kYt1cKt4q_Ys3mUTtSMhTiMsquZXqu_ptuBnXMwRbdjJry5gA_FpF8cymAm_VidYPY/s320/houses%252C+flowers+004.JPG" width="320" /></a>Since I gave up on multiple containers full of blooms years ago, I also gave up on keeping lots of empty containers around. So, it was off to several garden centers in search of containers. This group sits to the left. Note the photobomb by Mama the cat.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Em42jsrLwAo-Ez9a5Q4jSmd09_p3m3E1lWshKYhoerHWIxlTQ0vH-xAcVWyjmvxlK6y8xQvVSJVhbfl6N3LIYhC1WBaZfyXmyGepKtoaUjdqzpsdXCGzL5QulwCpTFMGIlrd0ADS7mE/s1600/houses%252C+flowers+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Em42jsrLwAo-Ez9a5Q4jSmd09_p3m3E1lWshKYhoerHWIxlTQ0vH-xAcVWyjmvxlK6y8xQvVSJVhbfl6N3LIYhC1WBaZfyXmyGepKtoaUjdqzpsdXCGzL5QulwCpTFMGIlrd0ADS7mE/s320/houses%252C+flowers+005.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
This group sits to the right of the door. Just off to the side is a bale of Pro-Mix, my material of choice for potting up plants. It is a soilless potting mixture. I start all my seeds in it in the winter. I have used it for all outdoor containers for years. It is a stalwart product found in my garage year round.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9XZcx4aN05Rk9NGinjO9ITC9VOlad7G4cNJLoZVwiNT5N0PApfnzEtQrhZPJLnhVqhDzn1XooydMT_zEm85o72OAE-jNbJlon9m63l7OSm6VH_IrwyPIoWpDnuScDxJoVduDnqN4_jOI/s1600/houses%252C+flowers+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9XZcx4aN05Rk9NGinjO9ITC9VOlad7G4cNJLoZVwiNT5N0PApfnzEtQrhZPJLnhVqhDzn1XooydMT_zEm85o72OAE-jNbJlon9m63l7OSm6VH_IrwyPIoWpDnuScDxJoVduDnqN4_jOI/s400/houses%252C+flowers+010.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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And, here are the stars of the stage. Each and every color is represented. The range of color and texture available at garden centers is remarkable. This year, I particularly thrilled at the deep scarlet reds and oranges, from coral to peach to pumpkin. </div>
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There was no theme, no consistency, no plan. I bought what I liked. And, then, I became a little afraid. What if this madcap collection of color and texture looks terrible? What if orange, and pink, and yellow, and blue, and white and red and purple don't look good jumbled together?</div>
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Forging on, I began to plant the containers one cool day in late April. As you can see, I am not a neat gardener. Once I got started, I threw caution and just about everything else to the winds.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7C2C-eTFggsJ_C2WNUBcm2RN7LcA0qISyL5NetyuAo-Oqpomhyphenhyphenvx6J1xap8skLHCjF6KafOrgSwOSKnUnxSZXKNNv2g6ROXvGbdjxFyCi9SBGDkTCKs-S1frLnOb-chuZ7eKpIP2eW8/s1600/houses%252C+flowers+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU7C2C-eTFggsJ_C2WNUBcm2RN7LcA0qISyL5NetyuAo-Oqpomhyphenhyphenvx6J1xap8skLHCjF6KafOrgSwOSKnUnxSZXKNNv2g6ROXvGbdjxFyCi9SBGDkTCKs-S1frLnOb-chuZ7eKpIP2eW8/s400/houses%252C+flowers+013.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Here are the pots after planting, seemingly lost in their containers in late April.<br />
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By May 17, the plants had settled into their new homes, and had begun to fill out nicely.<br />
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This morning, June 7, the pots are almost overflowing their pots. They are bright, exuberant<br />
and thriving.<br />
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Pinks and oranges share the same pot, and sit comfortably next to one filled yellow and blues. My favorite combination is the primary color pot featuring red, 2 yellows and a blue which sidles up to a white and purple combination. Huge zinnias and snapdragons are just about ready to bloom, and who knows what colors they will bring?<br />
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Closeups of some of my favorites, as they gleamed in the early morning sunshine. </div>
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My "walk on the wild side" this year has already given me more joy than I could have hoped. One cannot help but smile at the carnival outside my door. I am glad to have "come full circle".</div>
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Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-13967569001384209152016-06-05T22:35:00.001-04:002016-06-05T22:35:30.443-04:00A Soulful Potting Bench<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Better Half and I spent the "better half" of a day recently building this utilitarian potting bench, which fairly brims with history. She was designed for dirty work. Hers will be a hard life. She will sit in the elements after her photo shoot in the garage. She will never look this good again. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX4nCE4VzH1PuUThUFutB62dhgp7P4WB1dEt34Fzc719Wy05RV3BrSIqJdt5ci64yr8Z15OGx60lD-GPjl07KX843V5bScwvSYk1Y_B6M4RqnHcb2DJqauawN1us60-g-M044dJSwosOU/s1600/potting+bench+043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX4nCE4VzH1PuUThUFutB62dhgp7P4WB1dEt34Fzc719Wy05RV3BrSIqJdt5ci64yr8Z15OGx60lD-GPjl07KX843V5bScwvSYk1Y_B6M4RqnHcb2DJqauawN1us60-g-M044dJSwosOU/s400/potting+bench+043.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I have yearned for a potting bench for years. My yearning usually takes place when I am awkwardly potting plants on the uneven stone wall that surrounds the garden or as I kneel in the pea gravel, tiny pebbles digging into the flesh of my knees. This year, however, I began to yearn early.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit36-tK3LyZrEX7dzKeTzAy35_RZ5bjFaQHg0ieQ_pT2uTDkVP_KlEs6CWvrlYEWvMJbP8SAL33Y838HJ67ayBHHunaAmQB1r3NlEC-Dvi-29znwCV-vOhaBNk3TTU80IKLM1hyUF6Pjk/s1600/IMG_7370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit36-tK3LyZrEX7dzKeTzAy35_RZ5bjFaQHg0ieQ_pT2uTDkVP_KlEs6CWvrlYEWvMJbP8SAL33Y838HJ67ayBHHunaAmQB1r3NlEC-Dvi-29znwCV-vOhaBNk3TTU80IKLM1hyUF6Pjk/s320/IMG_7370.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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As Better Half and I drove to pick up sod (another post in itself), I began to design a potting bench. For ease, the bench would be constructed of all 2 x 4s, with finished measurements of 48 x 21 1/2 x 36. 4 legs, each 34 1/2 inches high, would be enclosed by two aprons or skirts on which the top and shelf would sit. Easy enough. I chose pressure treated wood because the bench would sit outside and because I did not want to spend a fortune for cedar. After all, the bench was designed for work.</div>
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The initial plans, hatched Saturday morning, were tossed to the wayside by Sunday midmorning, thanks to the intervention of Better Half. I will be eternally grateful for his intervention.</div>
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Better Half remarked that he had salvaged some 4 x 4s, real oak ancient 4 x 4s, from the old grain scales on the farm. The beefy timbers formed the bed over which tons and tons of grain wagons and tractors rumbled. I stood on those timbers while pregnant with my first son to allow my husband to weigh me. I did not weigh a ton, but it sure felt like it..</div>
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My curiosity was aroused, so a quick trip to the farm was made to inspect 4 x 4s. They were perfect. Stout. Sturdy. Aged. Grey </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUPOHncVY8qE53OJE9luAtHDOGSKFLbO5bJUNnlgFVzC2rBOFm-hU1CoN3b6EJ4PdSeyrQsfSig_BNmxVbNvwCo87L-j2J1jx9i2XM_MdIah-_MWXFBx1iBLsC-GgreEYlvU9qupL6Ec/s1600/potting+bench+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUPOHncVY8qE53OJE9luAtHDOGSKFLbO5bJUNnlgFVzC2rBOFm-hU1CoN3b6EJ4PdSeyrQsfSig_BNmxVbNvwCo87L-j2J1jx9i2XM_MdIah-_MWXFBx1iBLsC-GgreEYlvU9qupL6Ec/s400/potting+bench+008.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Here they are after having been cut to 34 1/2 inches. Aren't they gorgeous?<span style="text-align: center;"> (And remember, measure twice, cut once. We didn't..) There was no way in the world I intended to wrap those gorgeous legs in common treated 2 x 4s. </span><br />
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<span style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgRCBvchOeF6rrDVthvHS7rWTy4pVc2DiWEDPSraMquIpuS_ocAIOQ037m43J6j15bYxXdx0s3CJWzxmBM-Lhj9vJjKwfZSW9oPdXV3h8XYpYLkkBRF5nKb-Qm49LFexkvWu8j54o4zA/s1600/potting+bench+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVgRCBvchOeF6rrDVthvHS7rWTy4pVc2DiWEDPSraMquIpuS_ocAIOQ037m43J6j15bYxXdx0s3CJWzxmBM-Lhj9vJjKwfZSW9oPdXV3h8XYpYLkkBRF5nKb-Qm49LFexkvWu8j54o4zA/s400/potting+bench+002.JPG" width="262" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"> A walk to the last almost standing barn on the farm revealed a wealth of weather battered lumber, protected well by more poison ivy than I have ever seen in one place. Carefully, we were able to harvest enough boards for the aprons, both top and bottom.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Z4kWb_mPrpnXhGoRGvvf1ko5rlW60SZLUkHygCaoV8nhUW8xlbrL_7BZOFGKC5sTkuckNJc7gt4M66Lv-g2G9cEe8KLJrjdpK33V7sug0V4QascnBTMwL2Pub33gS4uuZTqF1y0wm9k/s1600/potting+bench+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_Z4kWb_mPrpnXhGoRGvvf1ko5rlW60SZLUkHygCaoV8nhUW8xlbrL_7BZOFGKC5sTkuckNJc7gt4M66Lv-g2G9cEe8KLJrjdpK33V7sug0V4QascnBTMwL2Pub33gS4uuZTqF1y0wm9k/s400/potting+bench+009.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Rather than sitting the pressure treated boards on top of the apron, we added three 2 x 4 su<span style="text-align: center;">pports to the inside of the apron and recessed the top boards to the level of the apron top. While a general plan had been developed for this project, most of the construction was done "on the fly", so it is impossible to give step by step directions.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuzgVqyf3yjtJBMneLcsm-ZTo7CYaCQod3VqaxhUjayITMD42Q151Wct9vP66g4p8JK7HF6ooLWTpFxFMumnRYlzQf6H4KfP84KugY2kOq_8SOXQuDrS_eHehY7BlT1-HPYim4ywUCfgk/s1600/potting+bench+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuzgVqyf3yjtJBMneLcsm-ZTo7CYaCQod3VqaxhUjayITMD42Q151Wct9vP66g4p8JK7HF6ooLWTpFxFMumnRYlzQf6H4KfP84KugY2kOq_8SOXQuDrS_eHehY7BlT1-HPYim4ywUCfgk/s400/potting+bench+016.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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While we were salvaging barn wood and beams, I noticed a pile of pickets from the old first fence on The North Forty. I thought they would make a great lower shelf, having the same weathered appearance as the barn wood and aprons..<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp59gmqWlTjOwV-QD3yeWbqc7as1wpulF6q5E1mP-gPHKuXBhYO0CVcOSTz54qiAIZ0YIVXJjllNwfEnUuBkhZ7DZpwlza7aKazK9No5E9FFCaJvZvPHH5UjfvFu0jorUvu-6QwiA5-qw/s1600/potting+bench+055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp59gmqWlTjOwV-QD3yeWbqc7as1wpulF6q5E1mP-gPHKuXBhYO0CVcOSTz54qiAIZ0YIVXJjllNwfEnUuBkhZ7DZpwlza7aKazK9No5E9FFCaJvZvPHH5UjfvFu0jorUvu-6QwiA5-qw/s400/potting+bench+055.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The rounded picket ends and the nail holes added even more character. Better Half even saved the screws from the old fence and used them to affix the shelf to the apron. The old fence holds a dear place in my heart because it was one of the projects I completed with my dad many years ago. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIb1QA1-YSjH0g_hxgp6EB-tIXhELCDA8HgK9LFkMnj02H6xhZ2hnyTj-3hS8wqO6UrBW5hBf9jDs3nvcmd63iNjjR8GbA4mIJLW2GSQOLo29Iwmt2PSuqp2yKY2C9opiMJmhLKaiYIYQ/s1600/Squirrel+nest+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIb1QA1-YSjH0g_hxgp6EB-tIXhELCDA8HgK9LFkMnj02H6xhZ2hnyTj-3hS8wqO6UrBW5hBf9jDs3nvcmd63iNjjR8GbA4mIJLW2GSQOLo29Iwmt2PSuqp2yKY2C9opiMJmhLKaiYIYQ/s400/Squirrel+nest+018.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Once the top and shelf were attached it was time to figure out how to recess the blue tub into the top. I created a paper template tracing the outside of the basin, then cutting it down to account for the size of the lip.<br />
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The circle was traced onto the wood and Better Half patiently cut the circle with a jigsaw.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcHnkV9Ten8uj-n2ZiZPe_bDrx21yMtiSrzNhsamlB91pjaW9zmGkZTRgSodIwmxCnC6gMnQHGZdr-tdazmueZ5gRb_yb5xfJGjPSs8Ba8hVvepnes_dI3PQROctQkS0FPBBt_W0WW1U/s1600/potting+bench+044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRcHnkV9Ten8uj-n2ZiZPe_bDrx21yMtiSrzNhsamlB91pjaW9zmGkZTRgSodIwmxCnC6gMnQHGZdr-tdazmueZ5gRb_yb5xfJGjPSs8Ba8hVvepnes_dI3PQROctQkS0FPBBt_W0WW1U/s400/potting+bench+044.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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Voila! It fits! Check out the beautiful knot and pattern on the front of the apron!</div>
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A little styling and then it's time for photos. From the side. From the back. </div>
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I just can't get enough of this beauty. </div>
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And now, my soulful potting bench as she does the work for which she was intended. </div>
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<br />Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-27941843296424407862016-05-14T22:35:00.002-04:002016-05-14T22:35:42.395-04:00The Squirrel NestYesterday, as I finished the last of the day's garden chores, I glanced out to the front yard. Piles of fresh green leaves lay all around one of the majestic oak trees that surround The North Forty. I picked up the piles of leaves, believing Better Half had done some pruning and forgotten to pick up the clippings.<br />
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Today, more piles of leaves were strewn all about the yard, so I asked Better Half what he had been doing. He drew my attention way up to a fork in the tree, professing his innocence.<br />
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Sure enough, he was not the culprit. Squirrels have been busy building a new nest in the oak tree. </div>
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Here is another look at their handiwork. I have never seen a squirrel nest under construction. </div>
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It looks to be about 2 feet around. </div>
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It is quite impressive and quite large.</div>
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My reading tells me that the interior measures only 6 or 8 inches in width and is lined with grass, moss and leaves.</div>
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Many spring evenings, as darkness approached, Better Half and I have watched a family of three squirrels flit from oak tree to oak tree to reach this home, located in another of The North Forty oak trees. We have enjoyed their acrobatics as they scamper about the branches. This nest has seen better days. All that remains are twigs and mulch. </div>
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Movin' on up!</div>
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<br />Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-43389000918856083182016-04-20T22:10:00.002-04:002016-04-20T22:10:42.498-04:00The Dahlia Adventure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
God willing and the creek don't rise, dahlias will make a debut appearance on The North Forty sometime in July. I can't wait!</div>
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My Papaw Bauer grew dahlias in the garden that graced the north side of his house, a garden whose layout remains etched in my mind, 50 years later. Dahlias, of the hot pink variety, occupied the southwest corner of the garden, every year, without fail. They were supported with beefy posts of locust. I LOVED those dahlias, just as I loved the zinnias, the gooseberry bushes, the rambling red rose, the lettuce patch, and the Kennebecs. I loved the smell; I loved the perfect arrangement of the petals; I loved the bright, clear, almost fluorescent color. But mostly, I loved going to the garden with Papaw to pick luscious armloads of them with their stout straight stems.</div>
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It would seem only natural that I should want to grow dahlias myself, and I can't imagine why it has taken me all these years to finally do so.</div>
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This past February, I placed my first dahlia order with <a href="http://sunnymeadowsflowerfarm.com/">Sunny Meadows Flower Farm</a>, an urban flower farm located just outside Columbus, Ohio, one day before beginning my cancer journey. In placing the order, at a moment in my life when certainties were few, I believed that, one way or the other, life would go on. And if life were to go on, then gardening would follow right along behind it.</div>
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Life is going on. So is gardening. While the physical mechanics of the cancer journey will end in May, the emotional remnants and worries will rattle around in my brain forever. I am grateful, however, beyond measure, to be a survivor.</div>
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As so frequently happens, I seriously digress or did I digress seriously. On to the dahlia adventure!</div>
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This afternoon, while Toddler Grandson napped, I nabbed a thermometer from the kitchen drawer and strolled up to The North Forty to take the temperature of the soil. No, I haven't told Better Half I used a food thermometer to take the temperature of dirt. He would have difficulties with that concept. It read 78 degrees, well above the 60 degree planting minimum recommended by dahlia growers. Looks like it's time to plant the first 13 of the 28 tubers I ordered, but in order to do so, I needed stakes and bonemeal for the bottom of each planting hole. Better Half willingly agreed to fetch both stakes and bonemeal from the feed store. </div>
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Armed with tools, tubers, bonemeal, stakes, and loads of determination, I made my way to the fortress on The North Forty, which used to be called a garden, in pre-deer days. These days, one must unlock a gate, remove bright orange string hanging across the entrance, and wind through a maze of black plastic fencing to gain access to the garden. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Qt6F73OIdKMVGLrAzt11LH6p17Nod9R3gwvUObTpH1RK6-XkfmrFXmSUE64foYLy_ObPxCE7O3XJKwVtuA0s4MHxoUP6GQZzpLp6loI54GN83MKOoNOoI51myaDiR4MP3qrWgjopc4c/s1600/Dahlias+Spring+2016+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-Qt6F73OIdKMVGLrAzt11LH6p17Nod9R3gwvUObTpH1RK6-XkfmrFXmSUE64foYLy_ObPxCE7O3XJKwVtuA0s4MHxoUP6GQZzpLp6loI54GN83MKOoNOoI51myaDiR4MP3qrWgjopc4c/s320/Dahlias+Spring+2016+002.JPG" width="320" /></a>In preparation for planting I arranged some of the splintery 6 foot stakes and began to pound them into the ground, only to have the heads of both hammers fly off the handles. The first head collided with my hand, bruising my knuckle, while the second head actually flew over my shoulder, landing with a thud in the dirt behind me. The green tape holding the handle together should have been warning enough</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESHEPB-tnCFJj4c6PDottfFKSg-NBeGhJlgwmNLKLHZ7nCkhaLWyeBHJeEFpDkZdOfZ0w1J4lyivlPvGhh0G3Dg7fHbuNp0jbMgQTZiPAutmy_kE3AApf2pMv9vVv25qzolh8LquJ738/s1600/Dahlias+Spring+2016+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESHEPB-tnCFJj4c6PDottfFKSg-NBeGhJlgwmNLKLHZ7nCkhaLWyeBHJeEFpDkZdOfZ0w1J4lyivlPvGhh0G3Dg7fHbuNp0jbMgQTZiPAutmy_kE3AApf2pMv9vVv25qzolh8LquJ738/s400/Dahlias+Spring+2016+007.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I was left to use a sledge hammer and a plywood stool to pound 6 foot oak stakes into the ground. Needless to say, I pounded in only enough stakes for the tubers I intended to plant. Wow, what a workout! Better Half assures me he has repaired the offending hammers. </div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Next to each stake, I dug a 6 inch deep hole, and threw in a small handful of bonemeal. There is nothing I like about bonemeal after my experience with it. It smells weird, and the powder flies everywhere. But, dahlia gurus recommend the addition of it to the planting hole.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5AyPob1hxEQ2mafVYl1WzDvGNmIguMYx-21LvLYcVF7FiMwkyvHKFvSRb5kcbZpYd3utKt3NG9YFyU4mVn5tw4vbR74sO3KsoEtwDkwX9Tzi1AT0buO5vQ2ZvZj8SIm3EhiGfSa7OX7E/s1600/Dahlias+Spring+2016+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5AyPob1hxEQ2mafVYl1WzDvGNmIguMYx-21LvLYcVF7FiMwkyvHKFvSRb5kcbZpYd3utKt3NG9YFyU4mVn5tw4vbR74sO3KsoEtwDkwX9Tzi1AT0buO5vQ2ZvZj8SIm3EhiGfSa7OX7E/s400/Dahlias+Spring+2016+003.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Each variety took up residence next to its personal stake in preparation for planting. Here, Eggplant patiently waits its turn to be planted.</div>
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The first 13 of 28 tubers are ready to go into their homes for the next several months.<br />
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This beauty, called White Dinnerplate, was planted horizontally at the bottom of the hole. You can see the white bonemeal residue. Only a splash of water was added to the hole, as dahlias, at this stage, do not like excess water. The tuber was enormous. I am expecting big things of White Dinnerplate given its expansive name. I closed each hole by pushing dirt over it with my workboot, just as I saw Papaw Bauer do decades ago.</div>
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The sunshine is about gone from The North Forty by the time I finish planting my fledgling group of dahlias. The next group of 15 will be winging their way to The North Forty soon. They are coming from <a href="http://www.dahlias.com/">Swan Island Dahlias</a>, a family farm in Canby, Oregon. </div>
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As I return to the house, I am grateful for this new dahlia experience. I am grateful for the exquisite beauty of the waning April day. I am grateful to be able to garden. I am grateful to the remarkable team of medical professionals who have helped me to regain my health. I am grateful, most of all, for life.</div>
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<a href="http://www.dahlias.com/">Swan Island Dahlias</a>Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-13723935425108400242015-06-01T23:20:00.000-04:002015-06-01T23:20:55.360-04:00Rhinegeist Brewery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Ivee and Sister Golden Hair presented me with tickets to a Cincinnati Reds baseball game this year as their Mother's Day Gift to me. Not just any Cincinnati Reds ball game, however. A Friday night home Cincinnati Reds game which features a fireworks display at game's end. Ivee, knowing how I love fireworks, chose this game particularly for me. In our discussions about the game, we decided to spend the entire day in Cincinnati together, then make our way to the stadium in the evening. Sister Golden Hair works on Fridays and could not join us. While I loved the idea of the game and fireworks, I loved the idea of spending the whole day with my son even more.</div>
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With an hour or so to kill in the afternoon, Ivee asked if I would like to visit one of the breweries in Over-the-Rhine for a craft beer before the game. Because I enjoy craft beer and because I have never been to Over-the-Rhine, he received an enthusiastic "Yes" from me. </div>
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It is my nature to digress as I write, when I think an explanation might be necessary. I so want to tell you how Over-the-Rhine got its name. I found it fascinating. </div>
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Over-the-Rhine is a historic Cincinnati neighborhood. It is listed in the National Register of Historic Places and is one of the largest urban historic districts in the country. Over-the-Rhine was populated by German immigrants in the mid 1800s. The neighborhood was separated from downtown Cincinnati by the Erie and Miami Canal. Bridges spanned the canal.The German immigrants, many of whom worked in downtown Cincinnati, crossed the canal to walk to work downtown. The canal was nicknamed "the Rhine" for the river in Germany of the same name. The neighborhood to the north of downtown then became known as "Over-the-Rhine". </div>
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Over-the-Rhine fell on hard times as the number of industrial jobs plummeted and the German immigrants moved to the suburbs. It became a poor inner city neighborhood. After the riots of 2001, developers began to purchase and renovate the Italianate buildings. Revitalization continues to this day. The neighborhood is thriving. </div>
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Back to the story.</div>
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Ivee directed me to park in front of a warehouse which housed <a href="http://www.rhinegeist.com/our-story">Rhinegeist</a>, "Ghost of the Rhine". The building originally served as part of the Moerlein Brewery early in the century. Visit the website to read about this venture. Theirs is an interesting story, beautifully told. </div>
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We entered the building and walked up half a flight of marble stairs. The smell of stale beer greeted my nostrils. This building in no way met my expectation of a brewery. I expected some slick, dark, gleaming woody type of environment. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDJ2cnPUOMThBf58WrIpNydC51KOoIygcuMp9BO1AZuA8tIIy9kD-WKnxQC0tQxYcs4rrGSlP_32Y7DpSZoheBI_EAqdGLprVmve2RPWVkjj8z4LxjMvR0IrDXcWvH8M2tyOO7lFuRfk/s1600/Rhinegeist+8-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWDJ2cnPUOMThBf58WrIpNydC51KOoIygcuMp9BO1AZuA8tIIy9kD-WKnxQC0tQxYcs4rrGSlP_32Y7DpSZoheBI_EAqdGLprVmve2RPWVkjj8z4LxjMvR0IrDXcWvH8M2tyOO7lFuRfk/s400/Rhinegeist+8-001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Our feet clattered up the old decorative iron staircase. New cement blocks were laid right next to the old concrete portions of the building. Each landing featured terrazzo floors, though there were visible cracks. While there were elements of beauty, the whole building felt confusing, a little lost. I eyed Ivee suspiciously as we walked up flight after flight of stairs. Surely, this couldn't be a brewery. Finally, we exited the stairway at the very top of the building to walk into a huge open room, unlike anything I had ever seen.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Ze7ZExxbTE6Otbum8FRfwckG1rizcmcwQ2WADPz8qgnTwLrQPIuIfqMSMCFbpYNuNaPuplyds7j5TGkc3TILIlPMu2tf-2ie_ARy_btJOOmeOObVEo_rdE9nwFpn3vsqnOcg-d0xXsY/s1600/Rhinegeist+10-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Ze7ZExxbTE6Otbum8FRfwckG1rizcmcwQ2WADPz8qgnTwLrQPIuIfqMSMCFbpYNuNaPuplyds7j5TGkc3TILIlPMu2tf-2ie_ARy_btJOOmeOObVEo_rdE9nwFpn3vsqnOcg-d0xXsY/s400/Rhinegeist+10-001.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The immense room had enormously high ceilings and was flooded with natural light. Rhinegeist offices lined the perimeter of the room to the west. Light strands hung haphazardly from one concrete post to another.</div>
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At one end sat the bar, a tap for each of the 14 beers. The man in the red straightbill is Ivee, buying us a pint. I selected A-side, "India Pale Ale brewed up with flavor beats of dank baritones, sticky-icky pine and citrusy high notes for a symphonic hop explosion". Ivee selected another India pale ale named Truth, "brewed with a nod to the Pacific, hops sizzle with tropical fruit aroma, grapefruit and mango notes and a dry finish."</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-FO37JabscBeY-XHL8bc2W4WZJ-HsWzj5CY0HvuidFf-3l4qsJgn1V0e29FqVBlTnaiFqeM0H_KCu6pwSmdolOFKBkJVYB-_26RhhhOZrAfFiqaIDMEhH5TFwEkTs5FtJ0CyOfmgJdE/s1600/Rhinegeist+2-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX-FO37JabscBeY-XHL8bc2W4WZJ-HsWzj5CY0HvuidFf-3l4qsJgn1V0e29FqVBlTnaiFqeM0H_KCu6pwSmdolOFKBkJVYB-_26RhhhOZrAfFiqaIDMEhH5TFwEkTs5FtJ0CyOfmgJdE/s400/Rhinegeist+2-001.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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While I waited for Ivee to return with my beer, I began to take note of the room. Remnants of moldings from a century ago remained. Gleaming stainless tanks filled the north end of the room, next to the bar area. Beautiful heavy long pine tables were set up around the room, as were both corn hole boards and ping pong tables. People of all ages gathered in groups around the tables and games. Music filled the air This was a place where people came to have fun. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaip7Gr-CPNoqbyIFM8SBAzyb9UnGiDJvZEkKZQ3qn7Xe7TQFUb8DWV07AuV89-puT23zJQCl9nddk28uCB6vMDzTdk4suQurRFD9HRWLuc6kY7bPpCHIWwO27UVCZNWDax7kdgWLOyVI/s1600/Rhinegeist+7-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaip7Gr-CPNoqbyIFM8SBAzyb9UnGiDJvZEkKZQ3qn7Xe7TQFUb8DWV07AuV89-puT23zJQCl9nddk28uCB6vMDzTdk4suQurRFD9HRWLuc6kY7bPpCHIWwO27UVCZNWDax7kdgWLOyVI/s400/Rhinegeist+7-001.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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Two enormous ceiling fans kept the room from being stifling, as there was no air conditioning.</div>
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Artwork covered the walls, where blocks had been laid to block up old openings. This was surely a work in progress, as posters around the room announced, but what an interesting work. We took it all in as we sipped our beer. </div>
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Ahhh! What a gorgeous glass of beer in the late afternoon sunlight! Cheers!</div>
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Should you find yourself in Cincinnati, Ohio, with a hankering for an exquisite adventure, drive yourself to Over-the-Rhine and visit <a href="http://www.rhinegeist.com/our-story">Rhinegeist</a>. You will not be disappointed.</div>
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By the way, Cincinnati beat the Washington Nationals, 5 - 2.</div>
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The fireworks were the best I have ever seen!</div>
Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-47207473629422446422015-05-23T22:36:00.001-04:002015-05-23T22:42:10.577-04:00Farmer's Market Evolution<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I, with great trepidation, tiptoed into the waters of the Farmer's Market world last May to sell daylilies and expand my market for the felt food I sell on Etsy. The makeshift display</div>
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was thrown together in a week's time. In retrospect, it certainly looks like it. It did not hold up well in wind, cards clothespins, and burlap taking flight on numerous occasions. The plants were stuffed into tiny pots, making them top heavy and subject to tipping. But, it was a start, be it ever so humble.</div>
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By September, the daylilies had worn themselves out in the summer heat. They were replaced with bouquets of bright summer flowers, produce from the garden and baked goods. The display had</div>
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became a little cleaner, a little more focused, with everything displayed around a six foot folding table. The garden themed quilt added a nice punch of color.</div>
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Today was my first Farmer's Market of 2015. Transformations continue. North Forty Daylilies has become North Forty Gardens, as proclaimed on a makeshift chalkboard of plywood and chalkboard paint. Several people took photos in front of the table and sign. The more robust daylilies are potted in larger black pots. Baked goods have become a staple of the market stand. A changing variety of breads, muffins, and cookies are offered each week. The menu and prices are listed on a separate chalkboard, replacing tiny paper signs on each item.</div>
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The daylily display has become grounded and simplified. It is easy to pick up the board to display to customers, touting the virtues of each variety offered for sale.. Some type of fresh flowers will always be part of the display. The oxeye daisy bouquets sold quickly, and at day's end, a woman begged me to sell the bouquet I had intended for display only. The quilt has been replaced with green burlap with a green ticking overlay, toning down the exuberance of the quilt, which may make a display again when the bright summer blooms make their appearance. </div>
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Overall, I am satisfied with the refinements made to both the style and content of the Farmer's Market stand. I guess it feels more like me. It is, however, the people with whom I sell and the townspeople who frequent the market each week that bring the greatest satisfaction - happy chatter, shouted greetings, frolicking children, market bags full of locally grown, baked and created products - all of us gathered under the bright Saturday morning sunshine for a common purpose.<br />
It just doesn't get much better than that!<br />
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Main-Street-Portsmouth-Farmers-Market/121334127915677">Main Street Portsmouth Farmer's Market</a><br />
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Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-87978156088133932002015-05-16T22:41:00.002-04:002015-05-17T07:46:52.422-04:00Ole, Ole, and Congratulations<br />
A celebration was in order as Sister Golden Hair graduated with her bachelor's degree last Saturday. Friends and family came together at the home of Ivee and Sister Golden Hair this evening to celebrate her accomplishment. <br />
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Sister Golden Hair asked me to bring the recipe I am sharing with you today, Corn Black Bean Salsa. While I have listed specific quantities and ingredients, this salsa can be made with a variety of different ingredients, in varying concentrations, according to the tastes and likes of the cook.<br />
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Because the salsa was going to be served with tortilla chips, I wanted the individual pieces to be small and uniform in size. I also wanted a nicely balanced salsa, balancing the creamy with the crunchy, the sweet with the tangy. Because I did not know the tastes of the people at the party, I opted for a milder flavor, and cooked the corn in boiling water. I think the salsa could benefit from grilled corn and some jalapeno flavor.<br />
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All that having been said, here is the recipe, which was well received by the party goers. Scrumptious food and high spirits, amid intermittent downpours, ruled the evening.<br />
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Congratulations Sister Golden Hair. Your persistence, motivation, hard work, and dedication brought you to the goal you desired. My hat is off to you!!!<br />
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<b>Corn Black Bean Salsa</b><br />
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3 - 15 oz cans black beans, drained and rinsed<br />
5 ears corn on the cob, cooked and cut from the cob<br />
1 to 1 1/4 cups chopped onion<br />
1 pepper of your choice, chopped<br />
2 cups diced cherry tomatoes<br />
5 small cloves garlic, minced<br />
Zest of one lime<br />
Juice of four limes<br />
2 tbsp. extra virgin olive oil<br />
2 tsp. cumin<br />
1/2 cup cilantro, chopped finely<br />
Salt and pepper to taste<br />
4 avocados, diced<br />
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Place corn in boiling water. Cook until barely tender, then cut from the cob. <br />
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Combine drained and rinsed beans, corn, and all other ingredients, except avocado and the juice of one lime, in a large bowl.</div>
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In this instance, the bowl was just about too small for the salsa. </div>
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Here is the salsa before the cilantro and avocado were added. A quick trip to the grocery became necessary when I realized I had forgotten to buy cilantro. Once the cilantro is added, refrigerate the salsa. Just before serving, dice the avocados and coat them with the remaining lime juice. Gently fold it into the chilled mixture. Adjust seasonings if needed.</div>
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Spoon salsa into a clear serving dish, as the colors and textures are outstanding. Garnish with a small leaf or two of cilantro, if desired. Serve with tortilla chips and enjoy!<br />
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Black Bean Corn Salsa - all ready for the celebration! <br />
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<br />Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-65601884251846201772015-05-06T21:51:00.001-04:002015-05-06T21:51:33.625-04:00Robin Update<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In just four days time, look at how these baby robins have grown!</div>
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Their eyes are open. They have darkened considerably and grown feathers. </div>
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And, they are so much smarter!</div>
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When I stole close to the nest for a photo, all had their necks craned and their beaks open, as 4 days ago. But unlike, four days ago, when they discerned I was not Mama Bird, three of the four clamped their beaks tightly shut, and hunkered down in the nest.<br />
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I have concerns for the fourth. </div>
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Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-63742772017071094462015-05-03T22:23:00.001-04:002015-05-03T22:23:18.707-04:00Spring BeautiesBet you thought this post was going to be photos of more blooms. No, not today, though you can be sure there will be more as the seasons progress.<br />
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Today was a perfect May Sunday, the kind of so warm you can walk in the grass barefoot and your feet don't get cold kind of warm. Lots of garden chores were accomplished, to the point where I can now begin work on the community garden tomorrow with Mayor and Sis. Seems that we are taking on the job of laying out the garden plots for the entire garden. Each 20 x 30 foot plot will be delineated with four stakes and twine. Should be a fun job. Mayor and Sis just finished plowing the entire space this weekend, rearranging the layer of new silt left by flood waters that covered the garden earlier in the spring. Photos to come!<br />
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But, I digress badly. No spring beauties yet!<br />
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Sunday evening found me, as Sunday evening always does, visiting my parents. And, as so often happens when the weather is fine, Dad wanted to have a stroll around the back yard to have a little look. Doesn't really matter what we look at, though tonight he was bemoaning the few dandelions which have popped up in the yard. I assured him that if he can count them, then it's not such a big problem. As we stood in the back yard enjoying the fine light and warm air, I spied this.<br />
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When Mama Bird did not materialize, I moved closer to the nest, intent on a tighter shot with my phone.</div>
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So, I was fairly jumping up and down with excitement by this time, while Dad stood quietly observing from a distance. Look at the size of those orange and yellow mouths! Those babies never closed their mouths as we watched, though they had some difficulty keeping their little heads from bobbing. </div>
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Seeing the blue on their wings, I assumed they were baby blue jays. Mom came out to have a look, I continued to be surprised that no Mama Bird had materialized to run us off. Mom assured me the birds would come back to the yard later in the evening. I thought Mama Bird was being a little remiss in her maternal duties.</div>
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Dad commented that he thought a story might be brewing, as we returned to the house.</div>
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One last shot. How are these for spring beauties? Look at the fuzzy head on the little guy on the left.<br />
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Later this evening, Mom called me to let me know that the baby blue jays had a robin for a mommy. Oops.<br />
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Speaking of spring beauties, there are few greater garden joys than fresh picked asparagus, brushed with garlic infused olive oil, grilled until barely tender, then sprinkled with a smattering of lemon juice, a tad of Parmesan cheese, and some salt and pepper. The flavor of the almost sweet asparagus intensifies on the grill. I loved the bright green of the asparagus against the yellow orange fire. <br />
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Of course, the baby birds have absolutely nothing to do with the asparagus, other than one following the other in fairly quick succession. Wait, there is orange and yellow in both photos.<br />
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In my little corner of this world, both classify as true "Spring Beauties".<br />
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Have a lovely first week of May, and remember to stop and enjoy the splendor!Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-71974851325614540202015-04-26T22:37:00.000-04:002015-04-26T22:37:35.905-04:00The Floridian Kentucky Derby Hat<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In researching Kentucky Derby hats, these are the images I conjured up - large brim, ribbons, flowers, feathers, and veiling. The bonnets are<span style="text-align: center;"> gorgeous, over the top, fanciful creations worn by equally stunning women.</span></div>
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My research also brought to light these equally stunning images. These folks take the Kentucky Derby hat image to new and interesting heights.</div>
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I began to research Kentucky Derby hats, after receiving a request from a Florida friend for a purple and green bejeweled beige starfish fascinator, measuring somewhere between 12 and 17 inches, with some seaweed thrown in, attached to a headband She is attending a party Derby Saturday where the women will wear not-so-serious Kentucky Derby hats. </div>
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This will be fun!!!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTD8RoG7Tn3bXmSSr7QccEOBe-yP1cz6rm1VADtc8JuSYP-iMZyWEjnPJW8LKsMgicJH1T-ckSdT5fnjcL8nauN9PT0J_MTs9hniIy_Ub5JG6dN8bO-5y0d2Gj4WLUitxrmhevSn_m0XI/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B003-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTD8RoG7Tn3bXmSSr7QccEOBe-yP1cz6rm1VADtc8JuSYP-iMZyWEjnPJW8LKsMgicJH1T-ckSdT5fnjcL8nauN9PT0J_MTs9hniIy_Ub5JG6dN8bO-5y0d2Gj4WLUitxrmhevSn_m0XI/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B003-001.JPG" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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First things first - a pattern. </div>
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I think this sea star pattern is perfect, not to serious, waving little arms, about 15 inches across. </div>
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I cut two pieces of beige felt, one about a half inch larger than the other,</div>
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and sewed them together. This gave me room for stuffing.</div>
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Isn't my thread holder great! My dad made it for my mom decades again.</div>
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My mom gave it to me several years ago to use in my workshop.</div>
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It is a treasured possession.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RVvydFy_sA6l5AJbr9LYqUMkxKclJOhrdGj8z8i_COUrRlnHBQkduMBftFsRoY5ukO5NBh8kmm3Xnn0AkD7Li5lZL8W1ONN1S8OAmV-cz5-iCZp-ZTuQWE46-1BZe5frgtOsBBtXyYU/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B006-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6RVvydFy_sA6l5AJbr9LYqUMkxKclJOhrdGj8z8i_COUrRlnHBQkduMBftFsRoY5ukO5NBh8kmm3Xnn0AkD7Li5lZL8W1ONN1S8OAmV-cz5-iCZp-ZTuQWE46-1BZe5frgtOsBBtXyYU/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B006-001.JPG" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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My cute little naked starfish is all ready for bejeweling and seaweed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9H5m23jmmlESPQVQuzqy0UTAU5SPuXcS3FP1WFaA-BDuVQRH33ukPbyFVAnadsXelZ9OunriGP00EHNtgd6Bdk4AS5kCjb-5KgQckEPmoHfLQIoZX7tMROitqlCyD3Ft-S0a7sZ0BMUA/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B009-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9H5m23jmmlESPQVQuzqy0UTAU5SPuXcS3FP1WFaA-BDuVQRH33ukPbyFVAnadsXelZ9OunriGP00EHNtgd6Bdk4AS5kCjb-5KgQckEPmoHfLQIoZX7tMROitqlCyD3Ft-S0a7sZ0BMUA/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B009-001.JPG" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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Seaweed was created from strips of chartreuse felt with a pipe cleaner sandwiched in between. I used a zig zag stitch to secure the pipe cleaner in the layers. The pipe cleaner allows me to bend and twist the seaweed.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgErn_fAMXL69pdvXEH-VUwgKsSPZEBDu_BCYLcIs1prZQD_Bqkk6TaYdXpvISwlkrNNgZKIUooz6mVVsHSfP5EOlTOpeCQAiJVJy2MhrxKbDjlHeMfHvFg-w0eQ_WOv9JIvTkXx_uSQ/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B010-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfgErn_fAMXL69pdvXEH-VUwgKsSPZEBDu_BCYLcIs1prZQD_Bqkk6TaYdXpvISwlkrNNgZKIUooz6mVVsHSfP5EOlTOpeCQAiJVJy2MhrxKbDjlHeMfHvFg-w0eQ_WOv9JIvTkXx_uSQ/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B010-001.JPG" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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Seaweed and assorted dark green sea life ready for assembly.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwOmlpsivTNrzl4sx6fwY3o7PRBakNoy48jABY17qozdQwUcqzE3P3QeLAuxf0gYrow8TXjQ38WKYM-Ql1z45LF8CkzhXa_gqCU917m5EouNr7JEuYrP9bwudFbLIHuKeJD5Et7pKIUU/s1600/Starfish+hat+010-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFwOmlpsivTNrzl4sx6fwY3o7PRBakNoy48jABY17qozdQwUcqzE3P3QeLAuxf0gYrow8TXjQ38WKYM-Ql1z45LF8CkzhXa_gqCU917m5EouNr7JEuYrP9bwudFbLIHuKeJD5Et7pKIUU/s1600/Starfish+hat+010-001.JPG" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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Pompoms of light green tulle, topped with the seaweed and pipe cleaners, were sewn to each inside corner of the starfish, so it would appear as if it were floating on a bed on sea plant life.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmG38HrGabAhDmUsVgGTB-Myb5BP9JTBhQUiz2LF2_0uRoop8xzn_NgBD6s49ONTMFm49g9Yo-6yF2gTROd9j9IzNlW_O9fndoAEl5cfrYS1zydD5sfGXGg-YCvXNKMmL91nYXanztJQ/s1600/Starfish+hat+011-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmG38HrGabAhDmUsVgGTB-Myb5BP9JTBhQUiz2LF2_0uRoop8xzn_NgBD6s49ONTMFm49g9Yo-6yF2gTROd9j9IzNlW_O9fndoAEl5cfrYS1zydD5sfGXGg-YCvXNKMmL91nYXanztJQ/s1600/Starfish+hat+011-001.JPG" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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Purple and green jewels were then added to the starfish with a hot glue gun.</div>
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A headband was sewn to the back of the starfish.</div>
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That is how my friend will keep the fascinator on her head.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinPDa9HGP1zTR9YPi85CAphko_XhA3rq-B_BATnPdxdn4XmwrdPNQu7wtTgxdsg3ReaJOvwlfXhsm6fLtmtQ_pmQIElRej-ik6lpES04-lkerpgwHfsmmBu_qmXR6z-fabwWCIWeXN0TM/s1600/Starfish+hat+007-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinPDa9HGP1zTR9YPi85CAphko_XhA3rq-B_BATnPdxdn4XmwrdPNQu7wtTgxdsg3ReaJOvwlfXhsm6fLtmtQ_pmQIElRej-ik6lpES04-lkerpgwHfsmmBu_qmXR6z-fabwWCIWeXN0TM/s1600/Starfish+hat+007-001.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Voila! A bejeweled starfish ensconced happily in a bed of seaweed.</div>
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This creation is winging its way to Florida for my friend's Kentucky Derby party.</div>
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It is another in the long line of interesting, lively Kentucky Derby hat interpretations.</div>
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Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-84481724498786864342015-04-25T23:15:00.002-04:002015-04-25T23:15:37.492-04:00Clintonville Farmer's Market 2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Better Half and I happened upon the <a href="http://www.clintonvillefarmersmarket.org/">Clintonvlle Farmer's Market</a></div>
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this morning, three years less one week from the first time we visited.</div>
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Opening day found people bundled up against temperatures in the 40s and</div>
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sprinkles of rain. Baked goods, beddings plants, herbs, meats, baskets, cheeses,</div>
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and flowers were offered by vendors lining the sidewalks and streets of the downtown.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRP4WINsueVFhywEgSORJ6IqnrcjOPY_lbA4VXMJ7un3CNjYiDMdRGIfR_TKJ6Nof_W4guHCoKRCaRuvca3Q_E1_3a1swOS1N4EprmLWzKsQKALUqC9GZ_hFz_8g5ghNCaYLX_g4GfQM/s1600/Clintonville+2-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBRP4WINsueVFhywEgSORJ6IqnrcjOPY_lbA4VXMJ7un3CNjYiDMdRGIfR_TKJ6Nof_W4guHCoKRCaRuvca3Q_E1_3a1swOS1N4EprmLWzKsQKALUqC9GZ_hFz_8g5ghNCaYLX_g4GfQM/s1600/Clintonville+2-001.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Spirits were high, the music was magical, and square dance lessons were being offered.</div>
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A kind gentleman standing next to me must have noticed my tapping foot</div>
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and asked me if I would like to try the dance.</div>
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After shooting a quick glance Better Half's way, I decided against</div>
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stepping out into the street with a complete stranger to stumble around</div>
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with the other brave souls trying to master the complicated set of movements.</div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAV3zLwqsDIEHGyTErubtvhS3pJIkZvdFsTfGkHE7nj0ghf1Jvgd_BsG3yBUBMdopWkAQTHkJ13-s7qOQZDShny2lfRd6YLQoPHRXP6oIEPERW2PFAxP5qJDlnQO_gKvcfn8OpxsbpMR4/s1600/Clintonville+3-001.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></div>
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This fabulous willow basket was, by far, the most beautiful thing at the market.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxtq7lTQaw8MkmPJ4YdBzDLVcE5JJTq5hLdP8oXHV-UQQa3aKSvSGtB_aT9YEd0C6utKuSZcqBo59frY5zVejs141KKatxPEhfaoMKsofDIYWifDyuJW44nFaaguhjbyB8ZE3oVWfqCI/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B012-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxtq7lTQaw8MkmPJ4YdBzDLVcE5JJTq5hLdP8oXHV-UQQa3aKSvSGtB_aT9YEd0C6utKuSZcqBo59frY5zVejs141KKatxPEhfaoMKsofDIYWifDyuJW44nFaaguhjbyB8ZE3oVWfqCI/s1600/Starfish+derby+hat+and+Clintonville+Farmer's%2BMarket%2B012-001.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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As we did three years ago, Better Half and I bought ramps and homemade bread.</div>
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Ramps are an onion/garlic type spring crop, from the alium family, grown for their unique flavor.<br />
They are available from late April to May.<br />
They will be on tomorrow's breakfast menu, along with the bread.</div>
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See Ramps post from May, 2012.</div>
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<a href="http://dan-the-baker.com/">Dan the Baker</a> created this stunning loaf of sesame bread. Just look at the remarkable texture. It tasted every bit as good as it looked. </div>
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I was most interested in observing how the vendors set up their wares and displays. Always looking for good ideas. The <a href="http://www.mspohio.org/farmers-market/">Main Street Farmer's Market</a> debuts in my town on May 16. </div>
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Hope to see you there!</div>
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<br />Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4590021030331974345.post-73025563046070307312015-04-19T21:54:00.003-04:002015-04-19T21:54:35.735-04:00<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A gentle rain overtook the North Forty late this morning.</div>
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While most rains come from the west,</div>
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today's rain brought heavy grey clouds and fitful breezes </div>
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from the southeast.</div>
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The raindrops were a welcome sight, </div>
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freeing me from the non-stop garden chores</div>
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which consume my April weekends.</div>
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I meandered about,</div>
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balancing camera and umbrella,</div>
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to capture a few rainy day images.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoS2U7lBvXUW2NehEXRvmcLlGchdeldKZqkkDQvHQ1NU3CTTwG7MJh6TyvnW112SKgv6R1YZ9dh66ABKQmtFPRRzyGThzi-KYzX4u2pCIaNw4nprojVT6-BzO6_4WeylW6CWIgkMXHfmE/s1600/Mid+April+Spring+Homegrown+popcorn+069-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoS2U7lBvXUW2NehEXRvmcLlGchdeldKZqkkDQvHQ1NU3CTTwG7MJh6TyvnW112SKgv6R1YZ9dh66ABKQmtFPRRzyGThzi-KYzX4u2pCIaNw4nprojVT6-BzO6_4WeylW6CWIgkMXHfmE/s1600/Mid+April+Spring+Homegrown+popcorn+069-001.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNdyVi5PhFcJWpoB4vHkWRpFQCfvj2E7InfSWdXS5H7LOw63q3Urz_peKjHFTWReC_IHFLC2t42Knn9R8c6S3JuckEJELjPvwTtdwhXnYBdsgj5T1vHKj7F1ZUsvOIw4bgJgOk_gYdmg/s1600/Mid+April+Spring+Homegrown+popcorn+025-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNdyVi5PhFcJWpoB4vHkWRpFQCfvj2E7InfSWdXS5H7LOw63q3Urz_peKjHFTWReC_IHFLC2t42Knn9R8c6S3JuckEJELjPvwTtdwhXnYBdsgj5T1vHKj7F1ZUsvOIw4bgJgOk_gYdmg/s1600/Mid+April+Spring+Homegrown+popcorn+025-001.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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Barbara Davishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09460497881036668140noreply@blogger.com0