Cheryl is the oldest. My first memory of Cheryl was when I was 10. She was around before I was ten, I just don’t remember those days. She graduated from high school when I was ten and we made the cross-country trip to Durand for her graduation. She was the only one of the cousins to spark a family reunion.
Cheryl is one of my closest cousins. I don’t feel any age difference when I am with her – I just feel the love. OK, she treats me like “the baby” and I’m not even the youngest. I love Cheryl.
Pegi is next in age. I love this woman. She waved at me in every photo I took (except one). Hi Pegi! (Waving back).
Parade wave, of course.
I only wish her husband, Dale, could have come. Dale is pretty cool. Her youngest son, Keith, came but I did not get any photos of him. I did, however, wave him down when he idled into the campground on his Harley. He must have sensed that I was a “Melrose” because he obeyed my wave and came over. I mean, would you just go over to a stranger waving at you??
“I’m too sexy for my shorts…” Oh wait, that’s a song by Right Said Fred. Wait. That was SHIRT.
Wait. That’s my BROTHER. Bother. Bother Brother.
Terry is next in line, age-wise.
Patti has had white hair for as long as I have known her.
Well, maybe just since she turned 21. I don’t know. It seems like she’s been white-haired forever. I do remember she had dark hair as a kid. She’s a tad younger than Terry. Janis (in the background) is next in age.
Patti is Cheryl & Pegi’s sister. Just in case you are trying to keep track.
Ellen cheering on her Aunt Patti.
Janis. Janis is a few months older than I am. She put this whole thing together. Her dad picked the site and everything went from there. She organized the games, the events, the camping, the food. Janis is awesome.
I love you Janis.
My sweetheart with my cousins Cheryl & Pegi. I swear that is *not* dog poop in Pegi’s hands. I don’t know what it is, but it is *not* dog poop.
Not shown: Val (she was out shopping) & Wendy (she turned her head in every photo I took that had her in it).
Also not shown: Tori (she stayed in Wisconsin. She lost her youngest daughter this spring. Times are hard for her right now) & Jonn, the “baby” (he was chained to his job).
Next year, we’ll all try to gather in Wisconsin to celebrate the nuptials of cousin Aaron and lovely Heather. Heather is assimilated: this is the second family reunion she’s braved.
The time was too short and now it’s back to regular life without my cousins. Randi, Val, Danielle, Jerry, Tad, Ellen, Heather, Aaron, Terry, Pegi, Lloyd, Wendy, Patti, George (and Bubba) & Jan. I miss you guys!!
I get car sick so I always get the front seat. Someone once suggested I keep a stash of Dramamine for riding in the car? I dead-panned with, “Why would I do that? I get car sick; I get the front seat. I don’t get car sick; I ride in back. Car sickness has its perks.”
I got the front seat with cousin Cheryl driving.
Cousin Patti had control of the GPS. She sat in the second seat and played with the controls until we were driving a Monster Truck and the GPS had the sexy Australian male voice of someone named “Lee”. We changed Lee’s name to “Mick” because it sounded more Australian. Probably had nothing to do with Mick “Crocodile” Dundee.
Mick continually reminded us when we missed a potential turn to Cape Meares.
“Recalculating,” he would say politely. “Turn left on Bay Oh-see-an Drive.”
Bay what? Oh-see-an. you know: Australian computer for Ocean.
We turned left on Bay Oh-see-an Drive behind the rest of our party. We made certain we had our load secured (the signs beside the road warned us to) when we began the climb up to the point the lighthouse sits on.
The lighthouse has been vandalized but it still is an interesting landmark, the volunteer staff was wonderful, and the day was a perfect summer day on the Oregon Coast; the fog burned off and the wind hadn’t started.Cormorants called to each other from flocks floating on blue water. A sea lion played in the waves. We looked through telescopes at tidal pools. Some of us spent a little money stimulating the Oregon economy and purchased trinkets in the gift shop.
Then we headed back to Highway 101 and, eventually, Tillamook.
Mick couldn’t find the cheese factory. We just followed the car in front of us. They turned right when they should have turned the other right. We drove out to the Air Museum instead of the cheese factory. We turned around. Mick now knew where the cheese factory was and started recalculating.
I’ll skip the cheese factory: all of Portland was packed inside the building, there was only a self-guided tour, the lines to the lunch counter were almost out the doors, the aroma of cow manure and ice cream was overwhelming outside, you could not have a personal bubble inside the building, it was noisy and there were too many people.The elderly among us opted out and went to Denny’s for lunch (elderly=over 80).
I headed straight for the ice cream line and got myself a mint chocolate-chip ice cream cone. Then I looked around for the rest of the family.
They were in line behind me.
We ate ice cream and left. Scratch that off of my “to-do” list forever.
I was with Cousins Cheryl, Patti, Wendy and Janis. Patti, Wendy & Pegi are all accomplished seamstresses and quilters. Everyone else headed to the Air Museum; we headed to the Latimer Quilt & Textile Museum.
Pegi, both aunts and Uncle Bob caught up with us at the quilt museum. Uncle bob is a saint: he didn’t want to go to the quilt museum; he wanted to go to the air museum. His wife of 59 years wanted to go to the quilt museum. He took her to the quilt museum. What a guy.
It was a very cool museum and we coerced some guy into taking a group photo of all of us that went.
Then we went to the air museum. I would have liked to have gone in but my ride was not interested. That’s OK: I know I can get Don to go down there with me and we can do it together and that would be a whole lot more sun for me. My ride wanted to get back onto Highway 101 with Mick and search for a grocery store.
Nevermind that we just drove by a Fred Meyer in Tillamook. That was back towards the cheese factory and the quilt museum. No looking back: we were going to let Mick find us a grocery store on the way back to Pacific City. We wanted one large enough to have a bakery where we could purchase a cake for Uncle Bob & Aunt Phyl’s 59th wedding anniversary. Did I just mention we passed a Fred Meyer in Tillamook?
That’s OK: Mick apparently didn’t catch the significance, either and began calculating the distance to the next corner grocery/bait shop between Tillamook and Lincoln City (24 miles on the other side of Pacific City from Tillamook). I happen to know where the Safeway is in Lincoln City. But it was much more fun to let Mick give directions.
Mick had a sexy Australian voice. And he told us where every store in every small town was. Sadly, the store in Cloverdale was closed so we had to head for the store in Hebo. And that was where Mick failed us entirely.
If you read my blog, you know how I feel about relying on GPS for directions. And you know how I feel about venturing out with only a GPS and no paper map to guide you. Yet here I was with my cousins, enjoying the front seat, letting Mick the Australian Voice GPS tell us where to go in my own backyard, the Oregon Coast.
Hey, I don’t get out often.
Mick said to turn left in Hebo. As we turned left, I saw the market/bait shop on the right. And Mick immediately began recalculating. He told us to turn left at the next intersection.
It looked like a private drive. But Mick insisted we go straight .35 miles and turn right.
“He’s turning us around!” some bright soul cried out.”
Someone cued “Dueling Banjos”.
Cheryl pulled into the driveway of an abandoned garage. Cheryl started laughing so hard she had an asthma attack. We all started laughing so hard we peed our panties. Did I mention we now had two more bodies in the car? Ellen & Heather had joined us. Ellen and Heather are young and don’t know what incontinence is. The rest of us wished we were old enough for Depends.
Some guy in a pick-up truck came down the road and stared at us. He drove on by.
When Cheryl could finally breathe and drive again, we turned around (how hard was it to say “Turn Around Here”, Mick? How hard?). We did not stop at the bait shop in Hebo.
Cousin Janis suggested the grocery store in Pacific City might have what we needed.
“There’s a grocery store in Pacific City?” Cheryl intoned.
Well, yes. There is. We drove by it on our way to Cape Meares in the morning…
We didn’t get a bakery cake, but we got a nice cake at the Pacific City store. Happy 59th Aunt Phyllis & Uncle Bob! Love birds.
P.S. – Uncle Bob got to see the Air Museum. Aunt Phyllis waited for him.
My family reunion was this past weekend. Every three years, the Melrose clan gets together for a fete of food and family. There’s usually at least one game of Mexican Train, a lot of cheese, and more laughter than one pair of panties can handle. We’re older now: we pee our panties a whole lot easier.
I won’t elaborate.
I’m sure you’re wondering how one family reunion can be associated with ‘a lot of cheese’. It’s easy: the family hails originally from The Cheese State and several members still reside there. And this year’s reunion was less than 100 miles from the Tillamook Cheese factory (the West Coast contingent’s rebuttal to Kraft and all those Wisconsin Holsteins). Wisconsin brought the cheese curds.
Why doesn’t Tillamook sell cheese curds? They’d make a killing. Cheese curds are awesome.
This is the first time the family has come to Oregon (or as my cousins from WisCONsin say, “Or-uh-GONE”). Which is why the West Coast side of the family imitates the nasally WisCONsin.
My cousins who live in California put this reunion together. I know: I live here. But my life went sideways after January 1, 2011 and my cousin Jan was just having way too much fun organizing. I was her “yes” person, a bobble-head who just nodded and did what she was told. Uncle Bob (Jan’s dad) picked out Cape Kiwanda. I’d never even heard of it.
Apparently Good Sam has.
Uncle Bob is 81 and we all felt he should have some say in the reunion even if he’s only related by marriage. He’s earned it. He’s been married to Aunt Phyllis for 59 years.
We bought them a cake to celebrate.
There’s a long story about the cake which is best left to another blog post. It has to do with Mick, the Australian GPS voice. It also has to do with having to change our panties. Uncle Bob and Aunt Phyl were very lucky to get a cake for their anniversary.
Aunt Phyl is the oldest of the Melrose girls. Aunt Donna is the middle child.
My mother was the youngest. They’re looking good for 83 & 81, aren’t they? Aunt Phyl is 2 weeks older than my dad.
The Melrose girls were hot in their day.
I arrived on Thursday evening after work. It was a harrowing commute down to the coast. Not really, I just wanted to say that. I took Oregon 18/22 through Dundee and made it through town in five minutes. It must be a personal record: usually the one stop-light in Dundee holds up traffic for a half hour either direction.
I drove into the setting sun on Oregon 130 and worried about deer (or elk) jumping out of the thick brush on either side of the 30 mph curves. There are exactly 4 one-lane bridges on that section of highway. It was scary.
Not really. I just wanted to say that. There was no traffic going west to tail-gate me and very little traffic coming east. There was only glare on my windshield.
It was wonderful to arrive and find my own personal cheering section when I tried to squeeze my car into the narrow slot left beside my brother’s gi-hugic diesel truck. Hey, as long as I didn’t hit anything and I could open the car door to get out, I was happy. But they cheered anyway.
That’s my family.
Snide, sarcastic, out-spoken. You have to have thick skin. You also have to understand it is all for comic relief. OK, some of it is catty (meow) but most of it is really just for comic relief.
Which is why Mick the Australian GPS Voice got fired on Saturday.
So what did we do for one weekend in Oregon?
Well… We did a few things.
We toured up to Tillamook (a post in which Mick gets a supporting role).
We surprised Aunt Donna.
We bought cake for Uncle Bob Aunt Phyl (Mick, again).
We caw horses, elk, sandhill cranes, cormorants and and abandoned boat.
We watched the dories land on the beach at Cape Kiwanda.
We watched people get stuck in the sand on the beach at Pacific City. In cars. You can drive on the beach there. Or not: a lot of people got stuck.
It is pretty funny. He comes to a perfect point and holds. Then he inches forward, slowly, deliberately, cautiously. He never loses his point until he gets to where he thinks the imaginary cat should be.
Then he tried to crawl under the fence.
Fortunately, he is 10 pounds overweight and can’t fit in a cat-sized hole.
Unfortunately, he is 10 pounds overweight and is now on a diet.
I was thinking about Llewellyn (English) Setters last night. When I was a little girl, I read all of the Big Red books by Jim Kjelgaard. Like so many others of my generation, I dreamed of owning an Irish Setter. I never dreamed there was a more beautiful setter out there until I met my first Gordon Setter.
And I never dreamed there was a more beautiful setter out there until I met my first English Setter.
Each time, I have been in love.
This is the first time I have actually owned a Setter. And he’s hysterical.
I told my husband tonight that I think Harvey is trying to push his way under my bamboo screen. But it isn’t the way you’d think: I formed the bamboo screen into an “L” shape: most of it screens the neighbor’s yard but there’s one section that blocks the narrow strip of our yard behind our shed. Guess which way Harvey is pushing?
Yep: he’s trying to “escape” into his own yard.
In other random news: The Anna’s hummingbird has been busy at the feeders and on the gladiolas. Unfortunately, I have not had a camera when the hummingbird is present. You just have to trust me that it is an Anna’s.
The goldfinches have nested somewhere nearby. Usually they move on. I have never kept thistle seed out for them during the summer but this year I have refilled the feeder once and it appears I will have to refill it a second time. This is exciting to me. They are bringing their fledglings to the feeder. Birds have a long genetic memory and I know I will have goldfinches every year now.
The towhee nested nearby, too.
I finally have a garden that attracts insects! When we first moved into this house the yard was sterile. We sat out in the yard and lamented the lack of insect life and bird sound. There were no bees, butterflies, or birds. We don’t use chemicals (or use them sparingly) and I’ve painstakingly planted to attract bees, butterflies and birds.
First the bees came: bumblebees, honey bees, other bees, wasps. I killed the yellow jackets. Sorry – some things just have to go. I allow the mud-daubers to stay.
Then came the birds. This is the first year that the hummingbirds and the goldfinches have stayed.And the first year the robins have discovered the bird bath.
And this year I have more butterflies than the little white cabbage moths (which are a pestilence, no matter how pretty).
And in another random note, Murphy thinks he is a human and he ought to be able to sit in the lawn chair. I think Wire-haired Pointing Griffons have a human complex.
Ummmmm Hello? I was just sitting there, Mr. Murphy!!
Isn’t it wonderful how butterflies can move only part of their wings?
Yes, I did get that close. Western Tiger Swallowtail.
I will be gone for a few days as my family reunion is happening at a resort along the coast. Don is staying home to dog-sit the dogs and will come up for one day.
I think that is it for random notes.
Just watch out for a Llewellyn Setter hunting imaginary cats!
Day Four of Summer. The weather gurus are predicting temperatures in the low 80’s/upper 70’s for the next week. It has been so cool for so long that 80 degrees actually feels hot to me. Have I finally acclimated to the lower Willamette Valley? I would hate to think so!!
It’s just that I have been so “summer-starved” that I am taking “upper seventies” and running with it.
Today I spent an hour trying to get a good photograph of the mud-dauber wasps that are always hanging out around the garage. I like mud-daubers. They can sting and they do carry a “whollop” of a sting but they are not aggressive wasps. You really have to piss them off to get stung. Most wasps fall into that category (including yellow jackets but they *are* aggressive wasps). In fact, the only two “aggressive” bees/wasps I am somewhat “afraid” of are yellow jackets and bald-faced hornets.
I don’t jump around and freak out. I might duck, but I try to avoid sudden movements with wasps. I’ve allowed yellow-jackets to crawl on my arm and bite me: did you know they like to taste you? They won’t sting unless you jerk suddenly. Bald-faced hornets are a whole lot more aggressive but I’ve never had one land on me.
Truth is, I have been stung by more bees than I have been stung by wasps. I once stuck my arm into a wasp nest (I didn’t know it was there, I promise) and I got enough stings to make my arm swell for days. But usually I feel something crawling on me and give it a swat only to find it was a bee – and the bee stung me as it tried to defend its life. bees can only sting once. They lose their stinger and die.
Wasps can sting multiple times.
On a side-note: as a hobby entomologist I HATE it when people confuse bees and wasps. They aren’t the same thing. Yellow jackets are NOT bees. Honey bees don’t attack you (unless they have been crossed with the aggressive African honey bee (aka “Killer Bees”) unless you seriously piss them off. I am teaching my grandsons to respect the hordes or honey bees and bumble bees in my yard.
Bumblebees are pretty mellow, too, unless you start jumping and swatting. I like to stand in the rhododendrons when the bumble bees cover them. The bees buzz and look at you, but they aren’t willing to sting you (and therefore die) unless you hurt them. Only times I have been stung by bumblebees was when I picked a flower where one was sleeping and I didn’t notice. OOPS.
Bees die when they sting you.
Wasps go on living unless you stomp them.
Anyway, the mud-daubers are especially black this year. Usually they are more yellow. I am not sure what makes the difference. This year they seem to be more black than yellow. Whatever. They are fascinating creatures.
For one thing, they are fairy-like in flight.
For another, I am not sure what they are looking for: water? They don’t go to flowers for nectar but they do like the the hummingbird feeders.
They are solitary. But they are not. They build individual cells for one-time hatches out of mud-and-water.
It has been three days of edging over that 80-degree mark and I am in heaven. SUNSHINE and I can actually go around without having to wear a sweater. Hear me sigh in contentment?
I didn’t think the day could get much better but when I set the sprinkler out this evening, it did.
I no sooner set the sprinkler than I heard a familiar “pip! pip! pip!’ as a flock of Bushtits hurried in to take advantage of the sprinkler.
I grabbed my camera and attempted to get some close-ups of these tiny, nervous, “drab” little birds as they flitted around in the camellia and the Hawthorne catching bugs and drops of water. I shot 30 photos.
I miss my old 35mm when I am faced with something like this. I could “push” the f-stop and I usually had 400ASA film in my camera just for shots like the Bushtits in motion. My current cheap Canon Rebel XT DSLR doesn’t afford me the option (or it is broken, like the “manual” setting on the lens is).
Still… the Canon served me well tonight. Out of 30 shots, I got 4 that I am happy with.
Where’s the bird? There are three of them in the photo. You’ll have to click on the photo to view it full size, but I promise you there are three little Bushtits in there.
A Bushtit spreads his feathers.
She has a miller (moth) in her beak.
I like this photo precisely because I do not think of Bushtits as “drab” little birds. They’re beautiful little creatures that are no larger than a hummingbird and they tend to fly in large family groups, but I simply would not refer to them as “drab” or “plain”. Charming little grey birds.
This is the photo I like the best. Two Bushtits playing in the sprinkler while one sits on the branch and enjoys the water. Click on the photo to view it full size: you can see the water from the sprinkler in the air.
I did not know I had that photo until I downloaded all 30. I knew I had some of Bushtits in mid-air but I was certain they were out-of-focus and far too blurry to use. But there was this.
(But don’t say anything or it will evaporate in morning mist and afternoon clouds):
(soto voce): summer.
Cross your fingers, knock on wood, throw salt over your left shoulder – wait! That’s only 8if* you spilled the salt.
I know, I know, I know: you are reading this from your sweaty domicile in the Midwest or Arkansas or Texas or parts of the Northeast and you’re thinking “I wish summer would just end or cool off or…”
It hasn’t been so here in the Pacific Northwest where we are not starved for rain water or cool temperatures. It has edged up over 80 a handful of times. I’ve been wearing a jacket EVERY SINGLE DAY for at least half the day.
Today was one of those beautiful days that edged up over 80 degrees. The weatherpeople are promising us eight more days of this (I never trust them so if I get three nice days out of it, I’ll be quite content for about 30 minutes). Eight whole days of summer! Woot!
And to herald in summer, my grandsons came to visit me.
Well, my son-in-law came over to help me move a large item of furniture from the garage to the studio but he brought my grandsons and my daughter along with him. Good son-in-law.
Yep, Eli is walking.
They came in the gate and Z said, “Where are my digging tools?”
“I don’t know! Where are they?”
Pointing at the garage, he offered, “In there.”
“Well, if you knew where they were, why did you ask me?”
He had to think about that.
Z and Javes hauled all the toys out. Eli toddled around unsteadily. Javes asked if he could “pay with eggs.”
WHAT? OH. Play in the hazelnut mulch. I guess the little hazelnut shells look like egg shells…?
We are eternally grateful for a handicap ramp. Every home should come with one (why do I hear a resounding “YES!!” from the handicapped section? I mean for little kids you silly people!).
Some kids get the hang of it faster than others.
“I win!” the winner proudly proclaims. Except there wasn’t a race.
We took a walk around the yard. Grandma cleaned up most of the dog poo but we stepped carefully anyway. We found: a horse, a crocodile, a goose, a frog, some mushrooms, an owl and some butterflies. And apples and green tomatoes.
Grandma has a very fun yard even if you have to watch out for dog poo.
Too soon they had to leave.
What a perfect way to bring in the warm weather. Thank you, Sam, for bringing your family over to visit me.
Oh. And thanks for moving that ridiculously large piece of furniture upstairs. I know it was a great sacrifice.
My dear friend from over at Tea With Dee was taking a Facebook poll yesterday about our favorite tunes from 1970’s. She admitted she had no Beatles’ tunes on her list and someone rightly pointed out that the Beatles disbanded prior to the ‘Seventies.
I did not participate.
But that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it. I was just getting into Bob Dylan in the 1970’s.
And I have a couple (or more) favorite ex-Beatles songs from the 1970’s.
Imagine and Give Peace a Chance by John Lennon, for instance. Band on the Run by Sir Paul McCartney (1973) comes to mind as well.
Off the top of my head I can come up with a list – mostly early 1970’s:
Sylvia’s Mother Said by Dr. Hook (1972)
Mandolin Wind by Rod Stewart (1971)
When the Levee Breaks covered by Led Zeppelin in 1971
Aqualung (and every other song on the LP) by Jethro Tull (1971) – I remember that Jethro Tull played the casinos in Reno that summer and I. Could. Not. Go. I also remember some girl out at Stead (Reno) who did not like Jethro Tull because he was “anti-Catholic”. Made me like the band even more.
Walk on the Wild Side by Lou Reed (helps that this is one of a very few songs that has my name in it. Not that I relate to the Jackie in the song.)
Sisters of Mercy and Suzanne by Leonard Cohen.
Pieces of the Sky – the LP – by Emmylou Harris. I fell in love with Emmylou in 1974. She has never disappointed me.
Running on Empty (1977), Doctor My Eyes (1972) and Stay Just a Little Bit Longer (1978) by Jackson Browne.
My Sharona by The Knack (1979).
Bicycle Race by Queen (1978)
Pinball Wizard by The Who (1975)
I could go on and on.
But one song really stands out and this one is especially for Deanna. It was written before a 1972 performance at a casino in Reno. Please enjoy Loudon Wainwright Jr:
This is not my passion but it is a fun outlet and takes a minimum of effort. I’m still figuring out what glue works best (yes, I know: search, search search the Internet and maybe someone who does this for a living will dish on the secret to gluing porcelain and having it hold through torrential rains…)
Two saucers, two vases and a new marble. I like the colors but it really isn’t a work of art – just two saucers, two vases and a marble glued together.
A tie-dye vase with a leaf-shaped saucer, a votive holder and a ceramic frog… Tie-dye garden flower! I like this one. I should have angled the camera so you could see the leaf-shaped saucer and the frog a little better. It is hiding in the penstemmon.
Willy Wonka tea cup flowers! They aren’t yellow daffodils but they were such a perfect find at Goodwill! Three little flower-shaped white porcelain cups, 3 saucers (from Pier One according to the label on the bottom) and three funky and very different stems. These are my favorites. Of course all yard art will have to come in when winter sets in but how fun to have a bit of whimsy in the garden!
THIS is what I have been spending a lot of time on. This is the underside of the glass top to my outdoor magazine rack. I used craft paint. According to my online research it is the recommended medium for outdoor window painting. Surprised me but then it is what I used before and the previous painting lasted several years and was still a bear to scrape off when I decided it needed a new painting this summer.
The “right” side of the glass. I should have painted more orange on the two butterflies, but I took artistic license with the whole design anyway, so who cares? The butterflies & owl are courtesy Dover Books. I love their copy-right free stuff.
In place in my garden.
The magazine rack was one of those little brass ones. My boss decided to throw it away because it didn’t match any of the office decor (he was right about it not matching anything) but I couldn’t bear to see it reduced to scrap metal. I brought it home and my husband nearly croaked.
Not in his house, he said.
“I have no intention of bringing it INSIDE the house,” I retorted. And then I painted it flat black and painted the glass top.
Since then I have added the hens and chicks and the new painting on the glass top. I love it.
My goal last night was to do some gardening today.
I woke up this morning to find that Mother nature was refilling my rain barrel at a very steady rate.
I decided to take photos of the front yard in lieu of actually working on it. It was a great sacrifice: by the time I got back inside the house my jeans were soaked to the knees, my hair looked like I had been standing in the shower, my windbreaker was dripping and I badly needed another cup of coffee.
My lovely prickly pear cactus that never blooms.
A touch of front porch color. I haven’t killed it (yet). I usually end up killing my hanging basket flowers. I think the rain we’ve had this summer has saved this one (so far).
The pale pink rhododendron is much prettier in bloom, when the bumblebees cover it. I planted the hostas two summers ago and they have eked out an existence under the rhodie. I think I need a better plan for the hostas but I haven’t come up with one.
Oh look! Raindrops on the camera lens! This is the dark pink rhodie under which I have a hosta, some honesty plants (now past), some lilies and the forsythia. There’s some foxglove back in there, too, but I am afraid it is year one for that pretty biennial. I lost the established foxgloves last winter. It’s sure weird what plants you lose and what manage to make it through the winter.
This is the mid-pink rhodie, not as dark as the one and not as pale as the other. It needs so much pruning! There’s a stack of pruned branches sitting there on the base of it because I got in there and trimmed it up, cut out a bunch of dead stuff and tried to open it up. Don hauled half of it off already. I need to trim more.
I have bear grass under this rhodie, some wild licorice ferns, bunchberries that need to be moved to a better location (they don’t like the rhododendron and the constant layer of fallen leaves, and fringe cups all growing under this bush – all native plants I have gathered and transplanted (with a permit, of course). Nothing grows right under the rhododendrons except the native “Boston” -type ferns. Even the licorice ferns appear to be trying to escape the alkali soil and lack of sunlight…
The side closest to the front door with my store-bought picket fence. The Dianthus (Sweet Williams) are all falling over themselves in an attempt to escape the rhodie.
I planted this hydrangea seven years ago. It is nestled under the lone tree in our yard, a half-dead Lodgepole pine that we hang our bird feeders from. I chose the spot carefully: I wanted my hydrangea flowers to be blue. The color of the flowers is dependent on the acidity of the soil.
This poor bush doesn’t grow very quickly. The tree saps the water from the soil. I forget to water it and it is in direct sunlight most of the day. But after seven years, it has begun to hold a nice round shape and it shows signs of surviving the Lodgepole pine.
The pine has a fungus inside of it. I don’t want to cut it down because it holds my bird feeders. It isn’t a big tree and our house is in no danger should it ever fall. It’s just that it is our only tree and the birds love it.
Rain drenched day lilies. These were salvage plants. I brought them home and planted them in the grass in front of the retaining wall and hoped they would live. Day lilies are rather like irises and Shasta daisies. You have to work hard to kill them. I picked a place where I knew I would never want to move them from. They thrive on lack of water and neglect and they reward you with a couple weeks of beautiful blooms.
And, yes, my car door is open in the background. I was still unloading groceries when I decided I needed to take some photos of the front. In the rain.
The ever-popular bird bath, overflowing in the rain.
I had no idea how popular a bird bath would be when I bought my first one last summer (it froze and broke in half. Don purchased this one-piece concrete one for me to replace it).
Last summer, I had the bird bath closer to the house. This year, I put it closer to the retaining wall and the day lilies, where the birds could see cats coming. The change in location seemed to help: it gets used by crows, the band-tailed pigeons, robins and more.
Robins especially like the bird bath. This guy was so soaked that he had to sit on the edge a few minutes to allow his feathers to dry! Robins won’t use the bird feeders but they love-love-love bird baths.
The water in the yard art more than doubled since yesterday. Little rain gauges.
A lovely shot of the weeds in front of the garage door: forget-me-nots, dandelions, false dandelions and more. I was going to pull weeds today but instead Mother Nature watered and they will grow taller before I get to pulling them.
Last (but not least) my lovely yucca. It was also a salvage plant. The guy up the street had it sitting on the curb with a sign that read “FREE”. that was five years ago. It’s grown, it’s bloomed every year, and I completely forget about it when it isn’t blooming. I love my yucca and it loves me.
There’s a weed growing in it that is nearly as tall as the yucca itself. I keep forgetting to pull the weed.
The creek beyond the yucca is the street I live on. Lovely how it turns into a creek when we have nearly an inch of rain fall in one morning.
That’s the tour for now. I have so much work to do. So much work… But it is all worth it.
Cheryl is the oldest. My first memory of Cheryl was when I was 10. She was around before I was ten, I just don’t remember those days. She graduated from high school when I was ten and we made the cross-country trip to Durand for her graduation. She was the only one of the cousins to spark a family reunion.
Pegi is next in age. I love this woman. She waved at me in every photo I took (except one). Hi Pegi! (Waving back).
“I’m too sexy for my shorts…” Oh wait, that’s a song by Right Said Fred. Wait. That was SHIRT.
Ellen cheering on her Aunt Patti.
My sweetheart with my cousins Cheryl & Pegi. I swear that is *not* dog poop in Pegi’s hands. I don’t know what it is, but it is *not* dog poop.
Next year, we’ll all try to gather in Wisconsin to celebrate the nuptials of cousin Aaron and lovely Heather. Heather is assimilated: this is the second family reunion she’s braved.
Randi, Val, Danielle, Jerry, Tad, Ellen, Heather, Aaron, Terry, Pegi, Lloyd, Wendy, Patti, George (and Bubba) & Jan.
I miss you guys!!
Jaci Dawn 