the abelia

Outside the kitchen window is a mature abelia. It was trimmed back last fall, which appears to have prompted rampant growth. I’m hoping to have it removed this autumn, so I can see out the window.

My cottage, which comforts me in all seasons, has been added onto, back and far side. The side addition is my bedroom, complete with bath. The bedroom windows look out at trees and a farmer’s lane. Because of this addition, I’ve lost windows on that side of the “great room.” The back room addition is a laundry/mudroom, with windows overlooking the creek. Unfortunately, that cuts off any views from the great room. The only window in the main room is the kitchen window. Because of the abelia, I can’t see out that one. Well, I can, but all I see is the abelia and the bees and moths imbibing nectar from it.

I like to feed the birds, particularly in the winter. I’ve positioned the feeders under some evergreen trees that, under the right conditions, are visible from the kitchen. Much as it pains me, the abelia must go!

Life or Death

I was sitting on the dock at the creek, when a great blue heron glided by. He (or she) was only about four feet off the water, maybe twenty feet from me. Absolutely beautiful.

Then I went to the front of the house to check out my bug residents. I’ve been blessed by a garden spider, who has had to re-build her web a couple of times, in response to my cleaning up of the flower and herb bed. She’s gotten it back to her usual wonder web, complete with the zigzag stitching in the center. She doesn’t move much, so I can admire the beauty of both the web and her yellow and black markings.

I’m hesitant to pull up the tomato plant that Judy gave me in the spring. I originally had it in a pot, but my raccoon (or groundhog) neighbor kept digging in the pot, so I moved it to the herb garden, along with the basil seedlings. I noticed that there are a number of small green tomatoes on it, now that it’s finally gotten some growth. All I have to do is pick them, before the tomato hornworms get them. There are two of them nibbling on the leaves. One is infested with wasp cocoons, so I’m told I should leave it where it is, so the wasps can hatch, after they’ve eaten enough of the hornworm. It’s horribly fascinating to watch. You can tell the cocoons are having an effect, by the actions of the hornworm. It will suddenly whip its head around, as if in response to a mosquito bite. It’s also looking a bit desiccated and discolored. It certainly would be easier on my head to just pull up the plant and pitch it in the yard trash pile, but that would disrupt the garden spider, whose last web is attached to the tomato plant!


Constant challenges. Life or death issues in the garden!

The end

That's all she wrote.

Habits

The first thing I noticed, as I tried to come to grips with the idea that I had had a stroke, was how pernicious habits can be. After being in the hospital, where none of my routines were acknowledged, I came home with all sorts of good intentions.

I hadn’t been able to smoke while I was there and didn’t seem to think about it much. (Of course, I had no idea how to get to the outside from the sixth floor and wore an open back gown, which probably would have been as good as a sign saying, “This woman shouldn’t be here.” Even walking with authority and conviction probably wouldn’t do the trick, in that outfit.) Unfortunately, I had about 5 packs left from a carton, so although I rationed them, I was still smoking. They lasted about a week, after which point I was doing with the occasional mooched cigarette. Then last Sunday, I decided I couldn’t stand mooching and got a pack. That was a mistake. I think I’m going to have to trick myself and buy a pack, give it to a co-worker, who will be generous enough to dole one out to me, periodically. Somehow, the idea that I can NEVER have a cigarette scares the piss out of me.

I didn’t eat much in the hospital, wasn’t hungry, and thought this would be a good time to follow through with changing my admittedly lax eating habits. Again, that lasted for a few days here at home. Then I was back to my usual peanut butter on a spoon in the evening routine.

Habits are hellishly hard to break, once you’re back in your regular surroundings, doing your usual tasks.

stroke

On July 22nd, I was hit with a mini-stroke.

I was working for a friend in her produce stand. It was about 9:30 in the morning, on a Thursday. Fortunately, I was alone for the duration of the initial attack. When I could move, without much fear of falling, I was able to get to the cell phone and call her to ask for a replacement. Sharon came to relieve me, and I drove home. I called in sick to my regular part-time job, informing them that I doubted I’d make it in Friday or Saturday.

During the course of the day, I periodically lost power on my right side. I endured. I can’t tell you what I was thinking. It wasn’t until Friday, late afternoon that I called a friend in Roanoke and asked her to come out for the night. Within an hour of her arrival, she called the rescue squad. I was in the hospital for three days.

I’ve made an almost full recovery, but a number of issues have arisen that I feel the need to document.

birds, again

Something is going on. I’m not sure what, exactly.

A male cardinal keeps ramming into the laundry room window. He’s been doing this for two days. He sits in the rhododendron, maybe two feet from the glass. If I come into the room, I see him fly off, around the corner of the house, and land in a cedar tree. I leave the room and listen to the rhythmic sound of him banging into the window. Is he seeing himself in the glass, as a competitor? I can’t imagine there’s anything in the laundry room that would entice a bird.

Meanwhile, Doof is sitting under the forsythia, next to the birdfeeder, waiting patiently for a bird to fly into his mouth. The titmice and chickadees are safe, as they come to the feeder, pick a seed, and take it into the tree above. The goldfinches don’t fare as well, as they spend some time on the perches, picking over the seeds. He doesn’t kill them, but he bats them around a bit. He loses interest when they quit moving. I probably shouldn’t be feeding them, but in the winter the color and activity are entertaining.

shrew and earthstars

Talking to Rita on Sunday, as we sat on her porch, she informed me that the critter Doof has been bringing home is likely a shrew. I had thought he was digging up small moles, because he was obviously digging, and the little things had short tails and longer snouts. As she has lived in, and loved, the country far longer than I have, I’ll take her word for it.

Having access to the Internet, I went on an information expedition. Blarina brevicauda is the formal name for the northern short-tailed shrew. Their preferred habitat is woodlands, but unfortunately, they also like my flower gardens. They may not burrow as deeply as moles, but I can attest to the fact that they DO burrow. Just walking across the middle level of the yard, on the way to the fire pit, you have to be careful not to twist an ankle. According to the University of Michigan Museum of Zoology website, they are 3 to 4 inches long and have soft slate gray fur. They are not sociable but are territorial and mark their areas with a foul-tasting secretion. They have poor sense of smell and vision, using a form of echolocation, similar to bats. Female shrews can have multiple litters, averaging 6 babies, throughout the warm months of the year, starting at about 65 days old. Shrews are voracious eaters; it’s estimated they consume and metabolize as much as three times their weight, daily. As squirrels do, they store food for the winter. Their salivary glands produce a toxic substance which is effective in subduing their prey, which enables them to kill and eat animals much larger than themselves. Because they eat insects, snails, and mice and have such voracious appetites, they help control crop pest populations. For my lawn and garden, Doof can keep up the good work. As far as the slugs and snails go, kudos to the shrew!



After the rain eased yesterday, I found a number of interesting growths around an oak stump. I knew it was a fungus of some sort, but I had never figured out what kind. So, back on the internet, I found the earthstar, botanically geastrum saccatum. I hadn’t noticed them in their pre-adult phase, a smooth, egg-shaped ball with a pointed beak. The ones I found had opened, the outer skin peeling back to form 4 to 9 triangular petals, with a soft looking punctured ball in the center. The petals are thick and tan. It makes a pretty flower. I’m going to try to keep a couple, see if they’ll last.