Summer is gone

This little guy made me smile.

 

It was a crazy summer.  You can tell that by the dates on my last blog post!  Shame on me for being neglectful.  I have a few excuses.  My two adult sons were home for the summer and I was busy feeding them.  I trained for and ran a half marathon with a new running buddy.  I was blessed with a new grandson and I spent a few days in New York via an air travel experience worthy of documenting – later.  I participated in the Grand TetonRelay with friends and family – also to be documented later.  My 91 year-old mother passed away and we gathered in the land of my roots for a celebration of her life. I had my grandchildren home for a visit. The list goes on …

 Oh, and we put in a new lawn! I didn’t do a lot of the physical labor.  Hey, I had two grown boys around to help and I was feeding them.  There were times, however, that I thought the grass would never grow!  So much dirt.  So much dust. So much patience!

How can this make a lawn?

When these few blades of grass poked through the ground I was both excited and skeptical.  How would they ever fill in to create a green carpet?

Time has a way of repairing and rebuilding things.  I stepped outside the other day to discover a lacy mushroom – the likes of which I had never noticed before - poking his little head through the now thick green carpet of grass. Gone are the weeds and piles of dirt that plagued our yard this summer.  Gone is the dust!

Gone is the summer. 

Another Reason to Love My Life

Eagle Island State Park

I have a bowl of tomatoes on my counter - remnants of a bountiful garden. There is a pot of Butternut Squash Soup simmering on the stove top – my first attempt. The squash is also part of the last of the harvest. A batch of cinnamon rolls is baking in the oven – an overdue gift. As I look out the window, gold colored leaves scatter the green lawn, reminding me that there is work to do outdoors. The swaying trees also remind me that there is more work to come. The weatherman is promising snow for the weekend.

Scotch Pines Golf Course

I am trying to live in the moment. In the spring I can't wait for my newly planted garden to produce. In the fall I pray for a frost to slow the workload! Today, however, I am enjoying the season with its beauty, its unpredictability, and its ever changing vistas. As I roam the country roads, I marvel that the green and gold fields so recently blocking my view have become beige carpets neatly groomed and awaiting the interruption of spring. The wind, tho it hinders my forward progression, cleanses the air and clarifies the horizon.

I know that the thundershowers and snowstorms are coming. They, too, will have a beauty of their own. Today, I glory in the colors of the season.

Dear Blog, I've missed you!

I've been neglecting my blog a bit. I won't blame it on writer's block this time.  I've just had other things on my mind as in:

• How many hoops will Spence have to jump through to obtain his Utah Residency status and have out of state tuition waived to the tune of $6000 per semester?
• How many times will I tell my married kids and granddaughter "Goodbye" before they actually leave for Pennsylvania?
• How sad will it be?
• How long before I hop a plane to Pennsylvania?
• How am I going to get through another year with a high school senior?
• How much money will it take to fix the pickup so the "Service Engine" light will go off and an emissions test can actually be performed?
• How many pints of beans will I can this year?
• Ditto for quarts of tomatoes.
• When does An Eclectic Collage: Volume II (A collaborative work on relationships by female authors) come out so I can tell all my friends?
• What's for dinner?

 Well, I have some answers and they are all good!

• As many as it takes.  Residency Awarded!  No more out of state tuition hanging over his head - nor mine!
• About three.
• Sad.  Very sad.
• Five and one half weeks until I make my first visit to Pennsylvania and welcome a new grandchild into the world.
• Hang on!  It's a wild ride!  However, I am wiser and more seasoned than the first two times I rode this attraction.
• $175
• Between 50 and 60.
• Who knows?  They are just coming on.
• September 15!  I am one of the authors of this book.  More info to come!
• Whole wheat waffles - or maybe BLT's.  After all, the tomatoes are ripening!

A New Adventure!

I'm diving in!  I'm jumping on the band wagon!  Nothing ventured - nothing gained! Everyone is doing it!
No, I'm not going to self publish the novel I have been trying to peddle to agents and publishers.  Nor am I trying the latest fad diet for rapid weight loss.  Coloring my hair?  I already do that. Nope, none of the above. I'm going to get a Bountiful Basket tomorrow!

I am a little leery of the unknown.  I don't know what I would do with Japanese radishes the size of sugar beets, and I am quite certain that artichokes will "go begging" at the Green house, but why not try?  (Not to be confused with Y-Not Tri)  My friends are all raving about the great produce, its longevity due to its freshness, and the fun of trying new things.  It's those new things that could be an issue!  I was dragging my feet, but the man of the house said, "Let's try it now, while we have company."  That might mean that my company gets to eat the unknowns!
Wish me luck!

Have I Lost My Touch?

Maybe I should reconsider baking. As noted in my seldom read and less often purchased book, "Gold Pans and Iron Skillets," I believe baking serves as therapeutic activity for many ailments not the least of which is hunger. Let's just name a few - boredom, frustration, aggravation, depression, and a down turned economy! However, I've been having a little trouble lately.

My zucchini bread was squishy inside. That was weird since I added five minutes to the timer and then another five. Hmm. The tomatoes I was bottling at the same time proved to be very well-done. As it turns out, I had my timers confused. The bread needed another ten minutes. The tomatoes, on the other hand, should be very safe to eat.

Zucchini is plentiful so I baked more bread a few days later. This time I was cautious to use only one timer. That would have worked out fabulously if I had been in the house at the moment it buzzed! I believe I made up the ten minutes that I shorted the previous batch. This bread did not want to come out of the pans. I suppose it had been there so long it thought it was supposed to stay.

Unleavened bread happens by mistake. At least that's how it happens at my house. The focaccia bread I stirred up to go with the tomato bruschetta sauce that I made from my garden produce smelled delicious. It looked like a cracker. It chewed like leather. It tasted fine, but I am now wondering what is happening on my insides as it was difficult for the sink disposal to chew it up!

I'm wondering if I've lost my touch.

Mine's a Boy!

Once upon a time an odd plant hung in Grandma Nelson's front entryway in Driggs. The Wells Nelson kids knew this plant as Grandma Nelson's Hoya. I discovered the real story behind the Hoya at Grandma's house. When Wells and Esther lived in Montana, Esther received the plant from a friend. When they moved back to Driggs, Esther took the Hoya to town and hung it at Grandma's house. There it remained until after Grandma had passed away. Then Esther took the Hoya to Idaho Falls and began making starts from it.

Occasionally, and in some cases rarely, and in my case never, the Hoya will bloom clusters of tiny pink stars that appear plastic and artificial. I have a Hoya that is the grandchild of Esther’s original plant. He’s a boy.

Kaye claims there is no such thing as a boy Hoya. I disagree. Kaye claims my boy Hoya was a girl Hoya until I stole it from her. It bloomed at Kaye’s house. That was ten years ago! It hasn’t bloomed since. Mine’s a boy.

The sad thing is … I made a start from my boy Hoya for my niece. Hers blooms. It’s a girl!

Kaye tired of my complaining and gave me a girl Hoya. I think she can’t tell them apart. No blooms. It’s a boy!

I stole a start from a Hoya hanging in a restaurant. Guess what? It’s a boy! No blooms – not in six years!

Skeptics will argue that my plants aren’t getting the proper light and hydration. Wrong – O! I’ve tried scorching them by the window and hiding them in the dark. I’ve drenched them and dehydrated them – all to no avail. They’re boys and they aren’t going to flower!

My sisters, all successful Hoya bloomers, continue to give me advice.
“Put it in a window.”
“Don’t water it.”
“Water it a lot!”
“Put it in an East window.”
“Fertilize it.”
“Put it in a South window.”
“Let it dry out.”

Yeah, I’ve tried all that. I used to search for blossoms, signs of blossoms, or little nodes where blossoms might appear. Every new leaf bud was scrutinized as I watched with anticipation until it produced exactly what it intended to produce – another leaf. I’ve given the poor thing haircuts, trimming it back to stimulate growth and with luck, flowering.

There are other indications of gender – for instance, my Hoya is happy sitting by the recliner, looking out the window. He isn’t sentimental – after all, he did come from Conrad, the place of my birth. That ought to be motivation enough to produce lovely blossoms. But, alas, he is a boy. He cares not for ornamentation or sappy foolishness. I’ve talked to him. He doesn’t listen!
I’ve given up hope. I’ve simply come to the realization that my Hoya is a boy and I’m not going to change him!