John had me choose a few plants for Mother’s Day, neither of us dreaming we’d have yet another cold spell. I brought three pots inside, and each night he’d cover up one outside. There was one advantage of having an impatiens on the kitchen counter. I greatly enjoyed the bright red flowers close up. They were as cheerful as could be and seemed to be saying thank you for not having to shiver outside.
Two days in a row we saw neighbor Warren’s garden swathed in white. John remembered I called neighbor Dawn’s covered plant a Mother’s Day ghost.
He asked, “Do you see lots of ghosts here?”
“No,” I replied. “This is tent city.”
A garden bed with sheets but no blankets or pillows
Warren always has an impressive scarecrow, and every year I wave at it a few times. This year he put up the scarecrow after we walked in the morning. As we drove past later, I lifted my hand as high as the window before I realized it was not a human. I must ask him if the scary man has a name. I’m sure we would be on a first-name basis.
Getting together during the COVID-19 pandemic presented problems for many families. It wasn’t difficult for us, because we couldn’t have been together, anyway. I had a lovely chat with son John $pencer. I couldn’t find a recent photo of him to post here. He cuts his own hair, so he probably didn’t look as shaggy as the rest of us who rely on currently non-working professionals to do the job.
Daughter Kate texted early, and we saw her sign in to watch our church’s video of today’s service. I knew people were asked to send in short clips of themselves with Mother’s Day greetings, but I was totally surprised when she appeared. The series was shown just before the service began. This afternoon I downloaded one frame to include here. She was standing before running water, so she must have gone to the center of her town in New Jersey to record it. This was certainly the most novel greeting I’ve had in my 139 years of collective mothering.
Later in the day, daughter Lise phoned from Denmark. She continued talking as she used two phones and a mirror to send me her self-portrait. You couldn’t be more immediate than that across the ocean. She said Kate contacted her and $ about the video for church, but they were unable to do it. It makes me smile to think they were conspiring behind my back to send special greetings today.
I hope all mothers I know were able to be with their children in some way this Mother’s Day.
Now that I’ve gotten my wish, I’m not so sure it was the best thing. All the years I spent in Tennessee and New York, I longed for Spring to last as long as other seasons. The heat of summer and raw cold of winter lasted far too long. Autumn’s glory and Spring’s new life got short shrift. This year we had a hint of Spring, enough that we began to eat outside on the porch, at least for the noon meal. That was followed by several cold snaps, ending Mother’s Day weekend with hard frosts. The spring season was stretched almost to the breaking point, at least my breaking point. John helped me cover two tender plants outside three nights in a row, and I brought in three others that were in pots.
While walking, we passed neighbor Warren’s garden that was totally swathed in white. He had covered his plants with white cloth and topped it with plastic. While we were at the creek, he uncovered everything to let the sun beat down on the plants. The coverings were folded, because they will be used another night. I laughed as we walked toward our house. Dawn and Jeff covered something that made it look like a Halloween ghost guarding their house. Having Halloween on Mother’s Day was not proper at all. I promise I’ll never again wish to prolong Spring.
Grandson David brought me a photo taken behind the counter at Burger King. Although they were not allowed to have customers in the dining room, they were preparing to reopen in the future. I laughed that David said they had installed a spit guard. Thankfully, that was relaxed talk at home. A bit later he referred to it as a sneeze guard. I was glad he had more refined words for the new screen.
On David’s day off, he and John repaired the fence. It took hours to dig out the old concrete and set up the new post. Son John $pencer replaced one several weeks ago. As John observed, the fence is old, and he foresees having to replace all the rotting posts.
It’s too bad the horses were not there to observe the action.
There are many horse chestnut trees lining Jonathan Creek. One was just upstream from our usual viewing point, and I wanted to see a bloom close up. It was beautiful, much more intricate than I thought it would be. John was my assistant, holding the branch steady in gusty breezes. Spring is really here, despite freezing temperatures overnight.
Four of us sat on neighbor Shawn’s lawn, happy to chat outdoors while keeping our distance. I’ve not written about neighbor Holly before. Normally I wave at her as she drives to work while I’m walking, and that is the only contact we’ve had. During the virus lock-down, she has been working from home. Shawn’s last chicken, Ariel, was wandering near us. This chicken likes to be around people, though perhaps there were too many strangers for her. Holly lured her closer with a piece of bread that Logan brought out for that purpose. I was sure I had a good photo of her, but she veered just as I pressed the button.
Someone saw on Facebook that May 2 was Front Yard Neighborhood Cookout. People were encouraged to bring grills to their driveways to cook and visit at a distance. Shawn took up the cause and asked us if we’d do it. Holly hoped to wheel her mother out to take part, and Joyce said she’d drive down and stay on one side of my drive. We texted Dawn, and husband Jeff’s response was a yes. The party was on! We chatted a while longer until we began to shiver.
The next day we assembled near two driveways. Neighbors included Jeff, Holly, Bob, the “awns” (Shawn and Dawn), Logan, and Joyce. It was wonderful to be together again within hearing distance of each other. Jeff cooked the meat we brought on his gas grill. Dawn shared macaroni and cheese, and both Holly and I brought Brownies. There are never too many Brownies at a party!
Joyce had her neat newspaper grill. She wadded up ten pieces of newspaper and cooked her hamburger in five minutes. If we still had a newspaper delivered, I’d want one of those little grills. There was no muss or fuss,and the meat was ready almost instantly.
After we ate our dogs and burgers, we walked up to Holly’s house to visit with her mother Jean. Jean is on oxygen and needed to stay a good distance from the rest of us. We stood around at a safe distance from each other to chat.
Dawn, Joyce, Holly, and Shawn visit Jean on the porch
Logan loves dogs, and he clung to the railing at Jean’s house to pet the two little dogs. I never got a good photo of the fast-moving animals, but Logan was able to pose for me. I really appreciate his willingness to be photographed. It’s what boosts my readership on the blog.
When dog Mazie settled down a bit, Logan held her quietly for a long time. I loved this shot of them.
Everyone scattered quickly, leaving Joyce and me looking at each other and wanting more visiting time. We sat on my porch until the silvery half-moon and Venus shown down on us. I enjoyed hearing about some of the dogs she owned and the period when she raised Chows.
I hope all of you have had a chance to be with or talk to someone special. It can make a big difference!
I know, I know. People talk about relative humidity, but I am dealing with relative temperature. It was 42 F (5.5 C) when I went out to walk yesterday. I dressed as I would when it was the same temperature in January and February. The difference is that I shed my hat and windbreaker halfway through the walk. This morning I saw 42 again and wore one outer layer – a sweatshirt. Despite wind roaring along the ridge line, I was comfortable. Why is 42 not the same year round? Is my brain relatively warmer when it thinks it is Spring? Am I so eager for Spring to be real that I dress for it and expect the weather to follow?
I walked through the house and went straight out to do weeding. This time I attacked a small bed under the old oak tree, one that I had never touched since we moved here six years ago. Every year hostas and other shade-loving plants appeared magically. I noticed there were saplings, some three feet high, lording it over the hostas. The defining stones around the edges had begun to disappear under creeping weeds. The area looks somewhat better, but I must go back and remove lots of sticks. I am conjecturing that through the years, people who mowed the lawn threw offending sticks into the plants.
I should have focused my eyes on the ground and come straight back in the house. No, I stopped to admire the area I weeded yesterday and got sucked in. There was a sapling that would come out easily after yesterday’s rain. Next to it was a bunch of yarrow. The yarrow was not as willing to come out of the earth. Those plants had to be persuaded with the sharp jab of a weed digger and a firm tug with my hand. Maybe I should follow neighbor Joyce’s lead and let the yarrow have an area of its own. Do any of you have an opinion of yarrow?
A few weeds at the edge of the iris bed beckoned when I saw the first bloom of the year. After dispatching the weeds, I took a photo of the iris to send to SIL Beth and grandson Nathaniel. The two of them dug up the non-performing plants and put them back almost on top of the ground. This bloom and other buds are saying thank you nicely now. I love it when plants are properly appreciative.
For the most part, bloggers have quit complaining about the restrictions placed on all of us to limit the spread of the virus. We’re in the same boat around the world. They are writing about kindnesses done, benefits of family togetherness, and things seen because there is time to notice. I’m sure I would have noticed our freaky weather, with or without a mandate to stay in place. Wind had been fierce for hours, but I didn’t see our Bradford pear tree ripped apart until some time later.
The very same afternoon our day was as peaceful as could be.
View from the deck on the north side
Two days later I took a photo of tiny bits of hail on the front porch.
The sound was deafening. You can hear the rattle of hail hitting the steps and the car. I cut the video short, because the sound remained the same throughout. In the first second, a robin flies from the tree to its nest under the eave. The bird was upset with us for being too close, as if he knew we should be practicing social distance of six feet.
Our kind neighbors, Dawn and Jeff, offered to cut up the pear tree limbs. What a team they were! Jeff wielded the chainsaw, and Dawn piled up the branches. Neighbor Logan appeared, wearing a protective headset for his ears.
A still picture didn’t tell the whole story. I noticed Jeff make a small cut with the saw and lift the saw so that the blade was horizontal. He marked the limb with his eye and made the next cut at that spot. What a neat way to cut firewood into equal lengths! Dawn waited for him to cut the top, which she then pulled to the side. I was amused that Logan, who is often blurred in photos because he moves so fast, was as still as a statue. Who knew he could be motionless?
Limbs of a Bradford pear tree were blown down by wind. I think it may have happened in the middle of the night, because none of us heard it. John left in the early hours of the morning when it was still dark. He didn’t mention it when he called to let me know he had gotten to the train club. This is the view from our front porch.
Neighbor Bob the Builder was working on his grounds. He used the equipment to dig and was picking up ties from his truck. We stood there spellbound as he maneuvered it deftly.
We scooted out of the way as he swung around and deposited the ties in place. We were very impressed. And to think, he didn’t have video games to play with as a child!
My favorite photo was taken a few days earlier. When I came back from walking, I saw Bob’s hat hanging on a light fixture. It made me laugh, and the camera wanted to know what was amusing.
If we’d had wind that night like we did last night, that hat would have sailed into the next county.
Some days ago grandson David mentioned what he’d like his brother Nathaniel to prepare for his birthday. The background is that Nathaniel owed David pancakes. David slept late the morning Nate cooked breakfast several weeks ago. We ate all the pancakes, so chef promised David he could have whatever he wanted another time.
Nobody knows what the restrictions for COVID-19 will be like in five weeks. Nathaniel could still be in New York, or he could be back in Charlotte. Chances are slim that he would be with us on June 1. I was interested in what food David had in mind. He developed his idea, verbally musing about pancakes, chocolate, and fruit. The fruit should be in the batter, and it would be lovely to have chocolate in it, too. Blueberries would be great. That’s how Dark Chocolate Blueberry Pancakes were born. David has been working six days a week, and I thought it would be nice for him to have a treat. Of course, a treat for one meant a treat for all. What a start to the day!
Nathaniel is not off the hook. David still hopes to have our chef create fabulous pancakes when he gets back here. (Note to Nate: He is leaning toward fresh pitted cherries and chocolate.)
“Can you find me where the stream recedes after a storm?”
“There I am!”
“Come closer.”
“I’m floating.”
“I’ll rest awhile.”
“It’s your turn to continue the story. Your guess is as good as mine, because I was gone 24 hours later. Did a boy climb down to pick me up? Did a raccoon have me for his pre-washed dinner? Might a skunk or possum have eaten me? It was nice chatting with you. Goodbye.”
My name is Suki, my human is a writer, and this is about my world. The world according to Suki The Cat. My humans smell funny, look weird, and I can't understand a thing they say, but they feed me, so hey, what are you gonna do?
Mehrling Muse 