It's flower time! There are wildflowers around, and I have a few plants blooming in my so-called gardens. I've done a little work on the gardens but there's so much more to do. Too hot for a tender girl like me to move around, let alone work.
This is physotegia. It's a cool plant because you can move the blossoms around, facing another direction, and they'll stay that way. A plant with hinges.
Friday, July 16, 2010
july mud 026
These are really cool flowers, I'm pretty sure I brought them from my mother's garden. I have no idea what they are. They look like miniature foxglove (which would be called digitalis if my father were alive). The plants just come bck every year, sort of moving around the garden. I need to help them, make their lives easier by weeding.
july mud 022
I stuffed this into the ground last year, much later than it deserved to be planted. Imagine my surprise when this showed up. I'd forgotten about the specialness of the color.
july mud 020
In the wild. This is a harebell. I like the name Carpathian harebell but I'm not sure this is the same thing. Maybe it's the wild version of the domestiated plant. Or vice versa, more likely.
july mud 021
Yarrow. Pretty, huh. I bought some yarrow this spring--the color is called Terracotta. Should be pretty.
A friend of mine moved once and she wanted to store her perennials somewhere so I offered my perennial bed. One of the plants she brought was a huge yarrow plant, a pretty red color. The thing was so happy to be in Hawkeye that it grew and grew. Tall, like, 6 feet, and wide across, like, 4 feet. I finally cut it down enough times that it gave up and disappeared. Now I sort of miss it. Life is full of things like that.
A friend of mine moved once and she wanted to store her perennials somewhere so I offered my perennial bed. One of the plants she brought was a huge yarrow plant, a pretty red color. The thing was so happy to be in Hawkeye that it grew and grew. Tall, like, 6 feet, and wide across, like, 4 feet. I finally cut it down enough times that it gave up and disappeared. Now I sort of miss it. Life is full of things like that.
july mud 018
Indian pipes. Once again, we name something racist-ly.
These are really nifty flowers. They are white, white, then turn black when they've finished blooming. It used to be a special thing to find them so I still think it's a great thing t spot them.
These are really nifty flowers. They are white, white, then turn black when they've finished blooming. It used to be a special thing to find them so I still think it's a great thing t spot them.
july mud 009
The bog in early morning fog. Wow was it ever pretty. As soon as the sun came up it all disappeared (the fog, not the bog). I was lucky to be there when it was so great.
july mud 006
I know she looks dejected and miserable, but this is how Chances usually walks the bog. Tess wags her tail the whole time we walk, but Chances rarely does. Maybe Tess is special and can do 2 things at once (walk and wag) but Chances can't be bothered to.
july mud 014
Tess dives into the little pool that's along the boardwalk. It's a really nice little pool, and before the dogs stir up the mud & silt on the bottom, it's condusive to an Esher-like view. 3 worlds, now made into 4 by Tess.
july mud 029
And this is what my comforter looks like, after Chances did her favorite post-swim dance. She likes to rub along furniture, preferrable beds, wiping her sides off. I'm not sure wha the appeal of this exercise is, but she grunts & groans when she does it (very cute) so it must be something special.
july mud 032
My latest acquisition. It's quite nice, a Montgomery Ward piece of furniture from the 20's. Has some veneer problems and needs stripping and/or painting. But it's pretty cool, and was free. Has shelves inside, shelves: something always crave.
Thursday, July 01, 2010
foot 008
How cool is this? Fred Flintston's foot. This is on the trail that goes beyond the bog boardwalk, up to the top of the bluffs at the end of the lake.
This is the trail that Tess loves to walk with strangers. I get phone calls from people, asking if Tess made it home OK. Pretty much everyone tells me what a nice dog she is, and how she stayed with them the whole way. I try to clip her wings by hooking her to a cable at home, but if I don't get to it before the first bog visitors, she's off like a shot. Not even the promise of a milk bone will bring her back. She looks over her shoulder to let me know she doesn't care what I want, then off she goes, barrelling down the driveway. She takes off when she hears a car door slam; I don't always hear it but she sure does.
When I drive back from camp, Tess always looks up the road to the bog parking lot. "Hah! No one in the bog," is what I like to say, but she perks right up if there are cars in the bog lot.
This is the trail that Tess loves to walk with strangers. I get phone calls from people, asking if Tess made it home OK. Pretty much everyone tells me what a nice dog she is, and how she stayed with them the whole way. I try to clip her wings by hooking her to a cable at home, but if I don't get to it before the first bog visitors, she's off like a shot. Not even the promise of a milk bone will bring her back. She looks over her shoulder to let me know she doesn't care what I want, then off she goes, barrelling down the driveway. She takes off when she hears a car door slam; I don't always hear it but she sure does.
When I drive back from camp, Tess always looks up the road to the bog parking lot. "Hah! No one in the bog," is what I like to say, but she perks right up if there are cars in the bog lot.
june bog 045
A lucky and prosperous balsam--look at the new growth (the lighter needles on the ends of the branches).
june bog 051
This is a special fern in the bog. It's different from the other ferns, which are cinnamon ferns. The other ferns grow to be huge, taller than I am (OK, so that doesn't make them very tall, but bear with me). I always thought this fern was called the Queen Elizabeth fern, but I recently found out it's a Royal Fern. Rats, I was hoping I would be forever linked to the bog.
june bog 053
I really like the effect of grass growing through a boardwalk. It reminds me of two things: our time on Cape Cod, and my mother's town beach.
When we were young we would leave our beloved, entertaining Adirondacks to drive to NJ to visit my mother's parents. They lived in a suburb, actually a very pretty place, but there was not much for us to do. Sometimes my grandfather would take my brother on field trips. My sister and I played with the coolest doll house, down in the basement. Mostly what I remember was that it was hot, humid, and boring. It was, however, the place I first heard what blue jays sound like. Maybe we didn't have blue jays in Ill., anyway I thought it was really cool.
One of the best things was watching television--they got all the NYC stations, and at home we were limited to the three networks. We'd sit in front of the set for hours, first fighting over who got to sit in the rocking chair that is now at my mother's (where there's still competition for who gets to sit in it). It's a nice, big, upholstered chair, very comfortable.
When we became teenagers we were REALLY bored in NJ and my grandmother wisely noticed this. She started renting a wonderful place on Cape Cod (Wellfleet). 9 acres of dunes, right on the water. A beautiful old house.
We loved the Cape--there were great beaches as well as beautiful freshwater ponds. We'd stop to swim in the ponds on our way home from the beach, rinsing off the salt from the ocean. I always wondered if those ponds got salty from so many people rinsing off in them. They were crystal clear, with white sand on the bottom. Although our lake is clear, there's silt on the bottom so it's brown. Seeing the white sand was way cool.
I also remember driving with my brother (I think he wanted to get away, having just gotten his driver's license) in my father's 1964 silver Buick, listening to the Doors. Even now the sound of Jim Morrison's voice transports me back to Rt. 6 on the Cape, cool air through open car windows, feeling lucky to be with my brother. Light my Fire, and Riders on the Storm. ahhh.
When we were young we would leave our beloved, entertaining Adirondacks to drive to NJ to visit my mother's parents. They lived in a suburb, actually a very pretty place, but there was not much for us to do. Sometimes my grandfather would take my brother on field trips. My sister and I played with the coolest doll house, down in the basement. Mostly what I remember was that it was hot, humid, and boring. It was, however, the place I first heard what blue jays sound like. Maybe we didn't have blue jays in Ill., anyway I thought it was really cool.
One of the best things was watching television--they got all the NYC stations, and at home we were limited to the three networks. We'd sit in front of the set for hours, first fighting over who got to sit in the rocking chair that is now at my mother's (where there's still competition for who gets to sit in it). It's a nice, big, upholstered chair, very comfortable.
When we became teenagers we were REALLY bored in NJ and my grandmother wisely noticed this. She started renting a wonderful place on Cape Cod (Wellfleet). 9 acres of dunes, right on the water. A beautiful old house.
We loved the Cape--there were great beaches as well as beautiful freshwater ponds. We'd stop to swim in the ponds on our way home from the beach, rinsing off the salt from the ocean. I always wondered if those ponds got salty from so many people rinsing off in them. They were crystal clear, with white sand on the bottom. Although our lake is clear, there's silt on the bottom so it's brown. Seeing the white sand was way cool.
I also remember driving with my brother (I think he wanted to get away, having just gotten his driver's license) in my father's 1964 silver Buick, listening to the Doors. Even now the sound of Jim Morrison's voice transports me back to Rt. 6 on the Cape, cool air through open car windows, feeling lucky to be with my brother. Light my Fire, and Riders on the Storm. ahhh.
june bog 054
Chances thought a picture should include a dog, for scale. Like when archeologists put their picks or pencils next to their finds.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)