The luxury of doing without

Remember when it was actually a big deal when watermelons arrived in the stores and farmer's markets in the summers? I can remember being really excited about eating ice-cold slices of sweet watermelon right about the fourth of July- and the anticipation of it was as good (or almost as good) as the watermelon itself. That absence of melons in the fall, winter and spring enhanced the olfactory experience when they came into season. Now, because melons apparently ship well from warm climates (the thick rind and relatively long shelf life assist with this), watermelon tastes pretty good year round. And as a result, it lost some of its magic.
Thankfully, we haven't figured out how make winter tomatoes taste like summer tomatoes. And although I'm all for horticultural innovation, I hope that breeders and growers never figure this out. There's nothing I dream of more than a tomato sandwich on white bread made with tomatoes ripened in the southern summer sun. Tomato sandwiches should only be eaten when you're wearing a short-sleeved shirt while in the shade of a porch. I don't think a tomato sandwich (no matter how good the tomatoes) would taste as good while wearing a sweater sitting by the buck stove.So there's my plea. No good tomatoes in the winter. Keep them mealy and tasteless.
This idea transfers into the landscape as well. I'm tired of azaleas the bloom in the spring and fall. I don't want a garden where every plant blooms all the time. If all plants flowered year round, they'd lose their magic. Just like watermelon did.
I think we've forgotten than doing without can actually be luxurious. The anticipation makes it something to be acknowledged and savored when they come into our worlds, much like a vine-ripened tomato.

Sweet Home Alabama - The Little Zoo that could!

The Gulf Shores Zoo was swamped by storm surge and floodwaters by both 2004's Hurricane Ivan and 2005's Hurricane Katrina. All 270 of its animals had to be evacuated — to zoo director Patti Hall's Elberta home.

Lama

Baby Tigers





Crested Crane







Why Lemurs don't drive

















Little known fact: Wallabys are deathly afraid of bunnies

First Thunderstorm of

Ah, the joys of spring! Even if it is a bit early, I do love the signs of spring. Perhaps the most exciting sign of spring (for me, anyway) is the return of the thunderstorm. Last night we had a whopper of a thunderstorm make its way over Grand Portage. This was a very localized storm, with brief but heavy rainfall and some medium-sized hail. Oh, and an awesome display of lightning! I was up late last night working on editing some photos when I started seeing flashes of light outside my living room window. At first I thought I was seeing things. I thought "That can't be lightning... it's only mid-March!" But, sure enough, as time passed I noticed more and more flashes and soon it was apparent that it was indeed lightning. I grabbed my camera gear and headed out to do some shooting.


I went to a location just a half-mile from my house, one that afforded the best view of the approaching storm and one that would allow me to photograph the storm before any potential moisture hit. After photographing the lightning flashes for about 15 minutes, I noticed something that is not often discernible with an approaching thunderstorm in this area. I could HEAR the rain and hail approaching! Before the storm hit shore the conditions were incredibly calm, not a lick of wind and the lake was smooth as glass. But, out behind the island, the hard rain and hail was hammering the surface of the lake. What I heard was an ever-increasing sound, a haunting WHOOOOOOOOOOOOSH as the lake was pummeled by the rain and hail. Soon the sound was quite loud and when the lightning flashed I could see that at any moment the moisture was going to hit shore. A good time to get back in the truck, I thought! So I packed up my camera and walked back to the truck. No sooner had I taken just a few steps when the rain started to fall. It was only about 100 feet back to the truck and by the time I got there it was pouring. By the time my gear was put away in the back seat and I was sitting in the driver's seat, the sound of hail was all I could hear as it pelted the sheet metal of my truck. I drove around to the other side of the bay to see if I could get a different angle on the storm, and it was barely raining just two miles away! Short but sweet, as they say. The rest of the night we had a crystal-clear sky exploding with stars.

35

Thanks to all who sent me birthday wishes for Saturday, most of them came via facebook which means I really should try actually logging in there one of these days. To be honest, I hadn't expected to be sitting at this particular computer typing this. Had things gone as I had planned them, I would have been in the South of France, but a red light runner put paid to that. Then, of course, I had some bones that needed to heal so I could get back on my feet, so here I am.
It's quite interesting the way a crash like that can change your perspective on the world. There are some things I appreciate more than ever, and there are other things about which I have become even more cynical than before (even though I didn't previously think that was possible). I did manage to buy myself an early birthday present (pictured above), so that is some compensation for the lost time.
Either way, I'm glad to be here, hopefully with many more adventures to come.

I CAN Go Home Again

This is the view from my parents' front yard looking down the road toward my grandparents' farm.  I grew up across the road from their house which is the last building on the left.  The barn is the red-roofed building. 
I spent my childhood running through these pastures and climbing these trees.  We moved up on the hill when I was a freshman in high school.  
When I think of coming home, this is what I see in my mind.  This is the barn in which I spent so many hours reading curled up in the hay.  I also attempted to spend the night in it when I was about ten.  I had a hard time convincing Mama to let me.  About midnight, Daddy climbed up the ladder and said I needed to come home.  Mama was afraid somebody would get me.  
I can't remember if I argued with him or not.  Knowing me, I probably did.  I wasn't scared, and I really wanted to stay. 
As we were walking home, in the northern sky we saw the most incredible display of colored lights.  That was the one and only time I've ever see the northern lights.  It's one of the best memories of my childhood made even better by sharing it with my daddy.

Sometimes the Gift Outlives the Giver

I thought about my Aunt Phyl a few days ago. At the beginning of November the Mexican holiday of Dia de los Muertos and the Feast of All Souls remind us of family members who have died and my aunt has been gone for many years. Remembering her now might be appropriate but the calender didn't bring her to mind - it was an unexpected bud on a plant.
Phyl loved clothes, parties, plays and gourmet cooking, but she was also a gardener. I can remember being a child in her flower border, watching as my aunt showed me how to squeeze the sides of the blossom to make Snapdragons talk. A few decades later, when impatiens was a newish, trendy annual, she showed me how to snap off a few flowering stems and arrange them on needlepin holders for a sunny table, telling me that way they'd look good while growing roots to make more plants for the garden. She handed out divisions of Siberian iris and Annabelle Hydrangea and Jack-n-the-Pulpit - all still growing in the gardens of my family back in Illinois.

Aunt Phyl gave me starter plants of another passalong back in the late 1980's. It grew as a houseplant in Illinois but has been a porch plant since I brought it to Texas. Here's that bud unfolded:
Its names are Starfish flower, Carrion flower, and Stapelia - possibly Stapelia gigantea. The thick stems look almost like a cactus but are relatively soft and have no spines.

I brought one plant with me and have started several more in the last 8 years. I lost a few to sudden cold snaps - this plant is happy outside in mild weather but the pots must be taken in and out of the garage when the temperatures approach freezing. This was the first flower in a couple of years - strange and spectacular, with long hairs all over the edges, and they emit a faint scent of meat to attract a pollinator - flies!
Once the flies showed up I realized that white shelf was a little too close to the door and the floral display moved down to the other end of the veranda.

It seems ironic that such an odd plant brings memories of my rather glamorous, well-groomed aunt - but it's the only passalong from her that made it to Texas. Maybe she'd be amused.

Can One Ever Have Too Many Books?

I came across this quote in a small book called The Wisdom of the Desert Fathers. It was under the title of True Wisdom.
A brother said to Abba Serapion, "Give me a word." The old man said to him, "What shall I say to you? You have taken the living of the widows and orphans and put it on your shelves." For he saw them full of books.
I used to think that you couldn't have too many books. After reading this quote, now I'm not so sure.