2017 INDEX

Thoughts from Quail Thicket - 

Observations from a Country home

MARCH, 2017

March 4, 2017	*
March 3, 2017	Bouquet of Daffodils
March 2, 2017	Blind Daffodils
March, 1, 2017	March flowers

FEBRUARY, 2017

February 28, 2017	Joy Journal - an entry for my husband
February 27, 2017	Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock
February 26, 2017	Reclaiming the back property line
February 25, 2017	UP? DOWN?  Anemone De Caen bulbs
February 24, 2017	Cutting back Maidenhair grass – Miscanthus sinensis
February 23, 2017	Every woman should own a pair of bolt cutters
February 22, 2017	The mysterious shadowy figure
February 21, 2017	Open letter to a new widow
February 20, 2017
February 19, 2017	*
February 18, 2017	Snickerdoodles and seed starting
February 17, 2017	*
February 16, 2017	*
February 15, 2017	*
February 14, 2017	*
February 13, 2017	*
February 12, 2017	*
February 11, 2017	*
February 10, 2017	Do you think money grows on trees?
February 9, 2017	*
February 8, 2017	Where are you in life?  Where do you live?
February 7, 2017	Celebrate your life every day.
February 6, 2017	*
February 5, 2017	*
February 4, 2017	*
February 3, 2017	*
February 2, 2017	Proud Yankee and proud Patriot
February 1, 2017	*

                  

JANUARY, 2017

January 31, 2017
January 30, 2017
January 29, 2017
January 28, 2017
January 27, 2017	Could you make potato salad?
January 26, 2017	Joy Journal – A little tidbit from a “joy” celebrated.
January 25, 2017	January winter joys in the vegetable garden
January 24, 2017
January 23, 2017
January 22, 2017
January 21, 2017
January 20, 2017	Monique – my sewing mannequin
January 19, 2017	Reclaiming old garden space – stone mulch
January 18, 2017	In the dark – what again?
January 17, 2017	Marie Kondo’s tidying up magic – Part 3 – Books
January 16, 2017	Marie Kondo’s tidying up magic – Part 2 Folding
January 15, 2017	Marie Kondo’s tidying up magic
January 14, 2017	Awkward Family Reunion
January 13, 2017	A surprise compliment.
January 12, 2017	*
January 11, 2017	*
January 10, 2017	*
January 9, 2017	Red sun at morning, sailors’ take warning.
January 8, 2017	Winter storm damage – Mother Nature’s natural pruning
January 7, 2017	The morning we left Delaware.
January 7, 2017	Apology
January 6, 2017	Another floor mopping story.
January 5, 2017	How do you wash the kitchen floor?
January 4, 2017	Winter landscape review
January 3, 2017	Meeting an old friend and bumping into a friendly ghost.
January 2, 2017	A place for everything, and everything in its place.
January 1, 2017	My New Year’s Tradition: Planting peas – French Style FOR 2016 INDEX, PLEASE REFER 2016

Blog Index - February 2017

February 2, 2017	Proud Yankee and proud Patriot
February 7, 2017	Celebrate your life every day.
February 8, 2017	Where are you in life?  Where do you live?
February 10, 2017	Do you think money grows on trees?
February 18, 2017	Snickerdoodles and seed starting
February 20, 2017	Pull pots for spring planting
February 21, 2017	Open letter to a new widow
February 22, 2017	The mysterious shadowy figure
February 23, 2017	Every woman should own a pair of bolt cutters
February 24, 2017	Cutting back Maidenhair grass – Miscanthus sinensis
February 25, 2017	UP? DOWN?  Anemone De Caen bulbs
February 26, 2017	Reclaiming the back property line
February 27, 2017	Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock
February 28, 2017	Joy Journal – an entry for my husband

February 28, 2017 – Joy Journal – an entry for my husband

          Often I find something of “joy” to put in my journal, but yesterday when my husband came home from the pharmacist, I smiled at him as he told me something that gave him much delight.  It gave me joy just to see him so delighted.

          However . . . .let me tell the little story from the beginning.

          Yesterday morning I had a friend drop in to visit and at the same time my husband was telephoning the pharmacy to re-new his medication.  He consults with a “real person” instead of the “touch number” system that many pharmacies have these days because he prefers it.

          Jack dog, barks when anyone comes to the house.  He is the supreme ALARM DOG.  He barks to advise when the mailman is dropping the mail and he barks at just the sound of the UPS truck or FedEx truck coming down the road.  It doesn’t even have to stop at our house – he barks. 

          Jack thinks he is doing his job.  He barks – and the threat usually goes away.  His barking has been reinforced over the years by his vast success that the mailman, the UPS, and the FedEX trucks all go away after they have been barked at.

          My husband is trying to speak and Jack is barking. He has to pause and say, “Jack, shut up” and then go back to the gal on the phone at the pharmacy.  “No, not you, the dog.”  He explains.  Of course, the gal on the other end of the phone is amused and my husband is put out with Jack’s continuous barking. Jack simply will not stop barking.

          That is when I notice a friend has just driven into our yard. Once I let my friend into the house, he stops barking.  Jack thinks, “I know her voice, she is friendly.”  He goes and lies down quietly.

Later in the day when my husband comes home from his round of errands he says:

          “I picked up my prescriptions.” Since he is announcing it to me, I am expecting a problem, like they didn’t have his prescription and have to fax his doctor, or they ran out of pills and he will have to go back for them or they over charged him  . . . any of the usual problems that arise.

          “They had another bag with my prescription bag.”  He mentions with a cheerful voice.  He's now piqued my interest enough that I looked up from what I am doing to see a delighted smile on his face.

          “They gave me a little plastic bag with a handful of puppy treats.   They said it might make my dog stop barking.  Wasn’t that nice of the gal that took my prescription?”

          Delight was in his eyes and on his face as he turned away saying,   “The gals up there are always nice.”

February 27, 2017 – Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock

          I switched to an old fashioned Big Ben alarm clock a few months back.  I had an electric alarm clock that had giant effervescent green numbers that lite up half the room at night when I would try to get to sleep.  I eventually had to turn it face down and cover it with a box or that eerie green light would keep me awake.  And, when the power flickered just a little during thunder storms, I couldn’t figure out how to re-set it.  That simply drove me insane.

          So, Santa Claus brought me an old fashioned Big Ben alarm clock – which has batteries, but that is okay, I also have a little black alarm clock I took traveling with me on the side dresser and when I look for the time, I consult both of them.  I seriously doubt that they will both need batteries at the same time.

          For some strange reason, I am not sure why, but maybe it is the food I am eating, or the fresh air, or who knows what, but my hearing has suddenly improved.  It is usually the other way around. As you age, your hearing normally declines.

          The other night my traveling clock seemed like it was on steroids or something and I got up at 1:30 a.m. and moved that incessant tick-tock, tick-tock to across the room.  It didn’t help.  I laid there in the dark and could hear it just as loud, but I swear it was even louder. 

          How could that be?  As I was laying there in the dark I noticed that the Big Ben on the tall armoire was now in complete sync with the traveling alarm and the two were tick-tocking at the exact same time and it seemed like a snipe drum was playing in my dark bedroom.

          First I tried the pillow over my head; but, then I got too hot and hadn’t fallen asleep and I could actually still hear tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock through the pillow.  I was tired. I wanted sleep.

Finally I got up.  I was thinking of putting them both in the adjoining bathroom, but then I figured they would only echo more off the porcelain of the sink if I placed them there or on the edge of the tub which would create an echo chamber.

I opened the door of the armoire and set the Big Ben inside it and shut the door.  No sound.

I opened my lingerie chest top drawer and put the traveling alarm in there. Again, no sound.

Silence . . . . how wonderful.  Sleep, even more wonderful.

Except, when I do get up in the middle of the night I can’t tell if it is just pre-dawn and I can safely get up or if it is 3 a.m. and I need to go back to bed and get more sleep. I have to grope around and open a drawer and press a light button on the traveling alarm to consult the time.

Not only grouping around in the dark, I added another duty in the morning after making the bed I have to retrieve the clocks and set them out so I actually know what time it is.

I can’t have it all – silence and knowing the time.  

February 26, 2017 – Reclaiming the back property line

          Today’s work outside was predicated by obtaining some leaf mold.  Leaf mold is what is left of leaves that have been raked and tossed in a pile to rot down.  I do my best to segregate my leaves from other items.  I put the clean garden debris in the main compost pile with the kitchen peelings, the maidenhair cuttings in one pile, the weeds in their own compost bin and the leaves I toss under a maple tree east of the potting shelf at the back of the large shed. 

          I needed leaf mold for the Anemones I am planting and I had to go out and pull back the newest leaves to get down to the old leaves.  With my gloved hands I scooped up crumbly leaf mold and I filled my large green trug half full, then I moved over to the oldest compost pile that I had removed the wire bin sides from a few weeks ago and cleared off the rubble.  I scooped several handfuls into the trug as well.

As it was 60 degrees in the shade, I carted the large trug out into the sunshine where it was warmer along with my small sieve to processed it. 

          After many years of wearing out gardening gloves in one day, I have found Nitrile Touch garden gloves made with a Nitrile coating which have a breathable Nylon liner and are also machine washable.  My favorite gardening place here in Forest City, Horn’s Home and Garden always keeps them in stock.  [Santa Claus bought me two pair.]  If you are looking for a wonderful garden glove – a real work horse that you can wear for hours at a time – check them out – they are fabulous.  They machine wash up just like new – as long as you don’t put them in the dryer.  Lay them to dry.

With my trusty gloves on, I rubbed handfuls of leaf mold and compost through the metal mesh of my garden sieve and tossed the rubble to the side.  Eventually I ended up with some lovely humus that was soft and flaky and I filled 3 of the 4 planters I intend on planting with Anemones.  I will have to do some more tomorrow to finish the project.

But, having an issue with Kudzu vines trying to wrap about my ankles tripping me up on the way out of the compost bin area made me realize the back property line was in hideous shape and couldn’t be ignored any longer.

It is time to reclaim the back property line from the Kudzu and the brush that magically appears along with all the downed limbs that seem to shake loose in the winter months.  Every 3 or 4 years I have to beat the jungle back and reclaim my land.

It is 313 feet long, per the survey which I have lovingly taped to the back of a bedroom door to remind me that I am a “land baroness” as my husband calls me.   About 7 years ago I had the rusty old barbed wire fencing that ran the length of the back line removed after I tore a triangular piece of flesh out of my right forearm which cost me plenty at the hospital for sticthes. [Can you believe that having a handy man come and remove the entire fence and put in square posts every 20 feet or so to mark the line was cheaper than the emergency room bill?]

Today I started the attack near the current compost bin and the old compost bin.  My goal was to make a swath from the lawn to the back property line about 25 feet wide by 15 feet deep by cutting the brush and removing the kudzu vines and raking the debris to the back of the line.  As I did so, I tossed the large limbs out onto the lawn to be hauled away.  I chose this area first because several years ago I emptied a compost bin near the ancient dogwood tree and planted bleeding hearts and day lilies in the half-day sun.  Those bleeding hearts will be coming up soon and I don’t want to miss out on them.

Of course I couldn’t be seen from the house and the worried husband felt I was outside too long. [It is never too long for me when I am working contentedly in the garden.]  When I get tired or thirsty or hungry I come in.  I wasn’t any of those.  But, it was nice that he checked on me that I hadn’t gotten snake bit or something.

I also had a “Monet” chair close by if I got tired.  [I once owned a book about Claude Monet’s gardens at Giverny that mentioned when Claude got older he would garden a while and sit a while and at one point ended up sitting more than he was gardening.]  I am following Monet’s habit.                                                             

Up until that point I hadn’t taken advantage of the “Monet” chair and I finally did sit down to assess how much I had accomplished.  It felt good and I wasn’t tired. Yes, only another 5 feet and I was at my 25 foot wide swath goal.   I accomplished the 5 feet and then put up my tools and bounded into the house for a very late lunch with a mental plan of attack for tomorrow’s agenda to continue to recover my back property line by going east to encompass the largest of the tulip trees and half way to the next maple tree. 

It was a good gardening, I hope the weather holds.

February 25, 2017 – UP?  DOWN?  Anemone De Caen bulbs

          I am ready for someone to solve this mystery for me.  Last night I prowled the internet and came up empty handed except for conflicting information.  Plant the claws up, plant the claws down, the rounded portion is up, the rounded portion is down, plant 4 inches deep, plant 1 inch deep.  Plant them on their side and they will all come up.

          I cannot believe that there is not a picture on the internet that shows the sprout of an Anemone De Caen bulb coming up.   It would be so simple as to dig one up and wash it off and take a picture.  Trust me – I will be doing so IF I can get one of the bulbs to actually sprout stems.

          ME THINKS:  The florist industry doesn’t want to let the secret out because then everyone would be growing their own beautiful Anemone De Caen bouquets.

          I then consulted my gardening library and it has the same conflicting information.

          My first experience with Anemones was with St. Bridget Mix – and “Bridget” is one of my nicknames that my husband gave me when we were dating.  It is also one of those nicknames that my mother used on me when I was a “bad girl”.  So, at the first meeting with my parents, of my now husband, then boyfriend, my husband turned to me at an exclusive Italian Restaurant and said, “Bridget, what are you having?”   My Mom sent dagger looks at him.  I am sure she felt it was her private name for me.  But, I guess I look like a “Bridget”. [Don’t get me wrong; Trust me, my Mom loves my husband.]

          But . . .  back to my story.  One fall I was in Greenwood, South Carolina, visiting a friend and she knows I love gardening stores and we bopped into one for an all-purpose-look-see. The proprietor had his summer bulbs on ½ price sale and I noticed a pretty picture of St. Bridget mix on a package and picked it up to inspect.  “Half price, you just soak them overnight, and plant them – they will come in the spring.” 

          At half price, I grabbed a package and later when I got home I hunted for cultural instructions.  I came up just about empty handed and planted every other one up or down.  I had a lean-to greenhouse made of two old glass windows from someone’s house [16 panes on each window as I affectionately recall].  A friend of my husband’s mentioned them to him and he brought them home and I staked them up in an A-Frame arrangement. I planted the Anemones in rows under them as my first “Southern Gardening experiment”.    The A-Frame lasted several years – and I even learned the ancient art of “glazing” – putting in new glass panes to fix it.  But, eventually the wood rotted and we had to toss the whole thing out.  At the end, I did obtain a huge slice into my left thumb from a broken piece of glass that needed a massive amount of stiches – again, another story. 

BUT, late winter, early spring – I had ample St. Bridget Anemones to cut.   I especially remember the dark blue ones were stunning and they did last a long time in the vase.

          Since then – thirty years have elapsed and I haven’t been able to get a row of them to stand and I am not sure why.  I’ll get one or two to come up and then I will get one or two flowers and that is the end of it.  I’ve tried them in the spring and in the fall and when I think back to that A-Frame I can’t remember if I amended the soil - but that garden was heavy mucky clay and all the horticulture tips I find indicate they don’t like heavy mucky clay.

          So, I am trying again.  I bought two packages.  One I intend on planting and the other one I am going to set aside for fall [as in ½ price sale] left over bulbs.  Maybe they need to “sit and wait” – that is one theory.

          I am going to put them in planters, and I am going to give them leaf mold and sharp sand.  Right now they are soaking and I will be able to get the planters ready for the planting later this afternoon.

          Am I going to plant them up or down?  AHHH – that is the question.  I am going to follow the horticultural instructions of the older of my two conflicting garden books that actually go into detail.  I am opting for the 1924 instructions.  Maybe “old” gardeners have the answer. And, when the bulbs break the surface – I will be digging one or two of the tubers up, washing them off and taking a picture so that I can post it on the internet for all to see.

Maybe I can solve this age-old mystery, [of “up” or “down”], as no one else on the internet seems to think in such a simplistic way.

February 24, 2017 – Cutting back Maidenhair grass – Miscanthus sinensis

          This week has been especially warm in the garden here in the North Carolina and now Saturday and Sunday we are expecting a cold front that will probably nix all the beautiful flowering trees.  My Bradford pears, Forsythia, and Lonicerea fragrantissima [winter honeysuckle] are all in bloom.  The show-stopper is the flowering quince at the mailbox garden.  The prettiest it has ever been.  Also, the corkscrew and weeping willows have their first tinge of green leaves and lots of crocus and daffodils are in bloom.  Lastly, of course, the scourge of my land the weed, Henbit, is in its glory.

          The weather has been warm enough so that I don’t even have to layer my garden clothing.  I just wear long sleeves so that I don’t get my forearms cut by the sharp dry Maidenhair grass.  I cut to the ground a few of the largest ones the end of January, and I have been dallying a bit on the last two groups as I want to work in warmer weather and sit on a “warmer” ground on a non-windy day.

          I have two ways of cutting them back.  I use a pruning saw or I use a pair of snippers.  I use a Kobalt angle saw – which is pretty handy.  It is lightweight.  I sit on the ground on a folded up old yoga pad and take a handful of grass and bend it to the ground and then cut if off in a jiffy with the saw.  I then neatly set that handful aside and make nice neat piles so that cleanup isn’t a hassle.

           Or, I use my Melnor 83300 Garden Snips – which I buy 2 or 3 pairs at a time each year.  I wear them out, but they fit my hand, they don’t hurt my hand and they are my “go-to” for most of my gardening needs.    I am very rough on them, so they don’t last.  I even snip the roots of weeds in the soil with them – so you can see why they don’t last.  But, I have a collection of them so I know when they are just about worn out – I use those for snipping dandelion roots below the soil.

          Again, when I work on the cutting back of the maidenhair grass I often lay a large tarp along the base of one or two of them, plunk my yoga mat on top and sit and cut away – putting the handful of cuttings on the tarp so I don’t have to go back and rack the cuttings up.

          Prior to sitting down – I take a leaf rake [I have one with a lightweight fiberglass handle that I love] and I take the rake, turn it upside down and force the prongs into the base of the Maidenhair and pull up and I get a rakeful of those “curls” that are so sharp on the forearms.  I coax those curls off the rake onto the tarp and I go once around the clump before I start.  Then, I can easily sit down in front of the clump without them in my face as I cut with my snippers or saw.

          When the tarp is half full – I get up, wrap it up like an eggroll – that is tucking the ends in and grasping both long sides and carry it to the special “maidenhair only” compost pile and dump it.

          Last week I did seven maidenhair grass clumps at the far side of our sweeping back lawn.  I was out of the house early with my cup of coffee and I was done by the time my husband had made his breakfast, washed his dishes and was bringing Jack dog out for his morning walk with the kitchen compost pail to be dumped in the compost bin.  “You sure made fast work at that.”

          If there is one thing my husband admires when he sits and watches me in the garden, it is my garden cleanup or my weeding.  Often he says, “You make that look easy.”

          Part of me actually enjoys the weeding because I am in complete control and when it is done I can sit, bask in the sun and enjoy the satisfaction of “weed-free-ness”.

          Yes, fast work – that is what you need to do with Maidenhair – find the right tool, clip or cut, and keep your cuttings neat so that you don’t waste precious gardening time raking up difficult wisps and grass blades that want to go anywhere except where you want them.

          Hopefully, you too can get out in the garden soon and enjoy the spring sunshine and your awakening from winter gardens.

February 23, 2017 – Everyone woman should own a pair of bolt cutters.

        I believe in beautiful things that are useful like a crystal decanter or a chef’s knife which are useful and beautiful to work with, but a 24 inch-handled bolt cutter ranks right up there as a “must have” beautiful and handy tool for a DIY women like myself.

        I use bolt cutters for cutting cattle feedlot panel into smaller panels for use in my vegetable gardens.  I trellis my cucumbers, tomatoes and I am one of those fools that actually plants morning glories in the South – much to the chagrin of local farmers.

        Few years ago I simply wore my bolt cutters out.  They had become dull with chipped blades.  I was having trouble cutting the 4 gauge wire by myself and I simple hate to ask my husband to do simple things – because I am SO IMPATIENT . . . I’d rather do it myself.   [That is a serious flaw in my makeup.]

        So, a year or two ago I went out and bought a new 24 inch-handled bolt cutter and it is stashed where only I can lay my hands on it when I want it.

        Our “cuss project” for the week is revitalizing our two park benches.  Both have wrought iron ends and wooden slats that are bolted to each side and back to create the benches.  One is at least 30 years old and will be the 2^nd or 3^rd time it has been redone, and the other is about 12 years old and on its first revitalization.

        Our biggest hurdle was locating the fresh bolts we needed for the project after going to three stores.  My husband calls them carriage bolts and finally after 20 minutes of his searching and about to walk out of the store empty handed I suggested we hand the store clerk the sample we brought with us and ask for “help”.   [Why can’t men ask for help?  What is it?]  It was like magic – the store clerk found the bolts and the nuts and the washers and counted them all out for us. All we had to do was PAY.

        We had just purchased the lumber, and now the bolts, and I grabbed a can of black rust oleum paint.  I am still debating on the wood sealer or varnish – that will be tomorrow’s decision.

        After we carried the two sad looking benches to the patio, my husband expected he would unbolt the boards.  HA HA.  He spent over ½ hour looking for all his tools and then a half hour trying to get rusted bolts undone.  I decided to work on the older bench by myself.

        I soon discovered that nothing was going to budge those rusted bolts.  And, I noticed most of the boards on the older bench were rotted near the bolts and I took a hammer and chisel and got the boards off exposing the bolts so that we could work on them better.    He eventually came to the same conclusion and chisel off the mostly rotted wooden slats to expose the bolts on his bench also.

        My husband then decided to heat the bolts with a propane torch to help loosen them and actually got a few of them off – but about 90% were not budging no matter who held the wrench holding the nut and who worked on the other side.

We were both about to CUSS.   I declared it was cold beer time and after a few refreshing swigs I actually had an idea – I thought, cut them off with a hacksaw.  But, then I remembered I owned something called “bolt cutters”.  Isn’t that what bolt cutters are for?  And, if the tool bolt-cutters were not for this exact situation I was going to ask the impertinent question – “Then why are they called bolt cutters?”

        I didn’t suggest or even mention “bolt cutters” I merely retrieved my almost new, bolt cutters from their secret hiding place and brought them to the patio.  I knew I didn’t have the strength to squeeze the handles together to cut the bolts as 4 gauge cattle panel fence is about all that I can manage with the bolt cutters.  But, as soon as my husband saw the bolt cutters, he made darn fast work at snipping the rusted bolts off as I held the wrought iron bench ends up for him to work on them.  Good team work.  We had another beer to celebrate our success.

        Let’s see how much trouble we can get into with the next few steps.  I guess first stop is to buy more beer.

        

February 22, 2017 – The mysterious shadowy figure.

          I was engulfed by the inky darkness of the night as I held Jack’s leash tightly.  Recently I’d become afraid of new ruffians in the neighborhood, so I picked our way cautiously across the lawn to his toilet area extremely alert to all that was around us.

          Just like the night before, I saw in the shadows someone creeping along the white blockade fence that surrounded my neighbor’s pool near the property line.  I stopped in my tracks holding my breath in the cold night air.  Suddenly I heard the  ‘who-who’ of an owl as I often did on these evening strolls, but now it put a shiver up my back instead of my usual “all is peaceful” sentiment. 

Jack was now finished with his business, and the menacing shadow was still there.  I tugged Jack’s leash and we made haste to return indoors.

          “I saw someone in the shadows again.” I called to my house guest in the next room as I unleashed Jack then put up his leash and gave him his treat.

          “Now you have me worried.” She said looking at me as I settled into my favorite chair to watch the early news.

          Later that evening getting ready to take Jack out for his “last call” until morning, I clipped on his leash and called to my guest.

          “Come on, you said you’d come out with me.” 

          “I’m already in my pajamas!”

          “You only have to come down the front steps and keep watch. That’s all I am asking.”

          “All right.” she said as she grabbed her winter coat and pulled it on.

          Jack tugged me quickly down the steps and out across the lawn as was his usual routine and the shadowy figure was there again.  It must be stalking me. Jack was doing his business and I turned to look over my shoulder at my guest who was hugging herself to keep warm in the dark, deathly silent night.

          As soon as Jack was done, I tugged on his lease and ran back to the safety of the front steps.

          “Did you see it?  The shadow was there again.” I gushed.

          “You ninny, that was your own shadow.”  She laughed at me shaking her head. 

          “No it wasn’t.”

          “Give me the leash, go back down there again.  But don’t turn to come back – walk backwards and you will see for yourself.” 

          I did as told and as I walked down the lawn the stealth shadow appeared on the fence.  I stopped, it stopped.  I walked on, it moved along the fence.  I stopped, it stopped. Then, I walked backwards and the shadow receded and slipped from my neighbor’s white blockade fence.

          “It’s your neighbor’s security light you idiot.”  She gave me a hug and said – “Now make me a cup of hot chocolate.”