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Plant a row for the hungry

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The master gardeners have been getting some good press here lately. This story appeared in today’s paper and describes how this year’s class has been donating all of the produce raised in their garden to the local food pantry as part of the Plant a Row for the Hungry program.

Unfortunately I’ve not been able to participate due to my work schedule (it’s that way for me with most of the really neat things the MG’s do), but I’ve been ogling the garden since June on my lunch breaks – it’s located in back of the building I work in. So far they’ve raised and donated more than 500 pounds of produce. Wow! Way to go.

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Decoys!

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I’ve been casually collecting decoys for the last year or two; I especially like shorebird decoys. My favorite of this little group is the American Avocet. I bought it last year when my husband and I went to the Ocean County Decoy and Gunning Show at the Tuckerton Seaport. The seaport is a great place to visit if you’re interested in the maritime history of the Jersey Shore, specifically the Barnegat Bay region. The show features local artists and carvers and has some fun contests like duck and goose calling, decoy rigs, whittling, and model sneakboxes. There’s also usually retriever contests and lots of Lab puppies running around. I’m already looking forward to this year’s show on September 24th and 25th.

Today’s great accomplishment was cleaning off my desk so that I could take a pic and show off my decoys. You can see the rest of my little collection along the top of the bookshelf. What a project! I’m amazed at the way things pile up around here in just one month’s time, despite my being good about throwing stuff away. So now I’ve got a clean dust-free desk and lots of surface space to pile more stuff on. All the important papers have been filed away never to be seen again. Someday I’ll learn to be organized.

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The rockery – Deep Cut Gardens

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Should you not have the chance to travel to Naples to see Mount Vesuvius you could settle for this miniature replica in the rockery at Deep Cut Gardens. At one time this thing actually spewed smoke – crime boss Vito Genovese once owned the property, which he fashioned after an Italian estate, and hired Italian workers to build hillside rock gardens on the steep slope behind the renovated farmhouse.

The Sargent’s weeping hemlocks are the jewels of the rockery. They are impressively sized and form a shady green canopy over the cascading pools set into the hillside. These pools were dry and quiet for years, but have recently been refurbished, bringing a delightful cooling effect to this area of the park. On the day that I visited it was more than 90 degrees, but cool enough in the shade of the hemlocks. The gardens here are planted with many of the ericaceous species one expects to find in a rockery, and recently the pool borders have been planted with a variety of ferns and other moisture lovers. The small waterfalls were very popular with birds like the robin that I photographed, as well as goldfinches and chipping sparrows that seemed to have a nest at the bottom of the hillside garden.

The shade of the hemlocks leads down the hillside and into the blazing sun of the parterre, which is finally a work in progress. It looks like park staff is beginning to lay down the outlines of what will be a colorful perennial and rose display garden. At the end of the parterre you can just make out the vine-covered pergola. I met an older gentleman on the day of my visit who told me that he comes to the park and practices his tango steps beneath the pergola! He says it is quiet and cool and like a whole other world there. Farther in the distance is the meadow and pond, beneath which lies the swimming pool that Genovese had built. I’ll share those pics on another day.

I also blogged about Deep Cut Gardens on 7/24/06.

I like to make lists, Whatever

5 weird things on Friday night

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Tdharma tagged me with this because I’m clear across the country from her. Guess she feels safe that I won’t come looking for her to get revenge for making me come up with a list of 5 weird habits/things about me.

Here’s the rules:

The player of this game starts with “5 weird things/habits about yourself “. In the end you need to choose 5 people to be tagged and list their names. The people who get tagged need to write a blog about their 5 weird things/habits, as well as state this rule clearly, then tag 5 more victims. Don’t forget to leave your victim a comment that says “you’re tagged!” in their comments and tell them to read your blog.

So here’s my list:

1. I talk to myself. A lot. I try really hard not to do it when someone’s in earshot, but I’m sure I’ve been caught. I work with a lady that talks to herself in public; we all think she’s nuts.

2. My first kiss was in the 5th grade, in front of the whole class.

3. I always read the last page of a novel first.

4. I could easily be a vegetarian, but I have a hard time giving up the really bad stuff, like bologna, keilbasi, salami, or meatballs.

5. I had shingles when I was 22. Shingles is mostly an illness of the elderly.

That’s the best I could come up with. My friends might say otherwise. I’m not sure who to inflict this on, but will start with Susan because she’s a good sport, Diva Kitty’s Mom because it’ll be fun to hear about the weird habits of her bunnies, maybe Bunnygirl and Tidbit would like to play along too, and how about you, Michelle – you don’t have a blog – but you can add your weird list in the comments on this post. A 5th tag I’ll leave up to anyone who is just dying to share their *dirty laundry* 😉

Feel free to ignore my tag, please.

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Scorched, baked, and parched

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Too many of my container plants look like this one. The heat of the last week has been too much for them, despite my morning and evening watering routine. I’m embarassed even to post a photo of the pot of nasturtiums that was so pretty a month ago; it has long since given up the ghost. The geraniums are happy, though. So are the flowering maple trees and the angel trumpets. Anything in a small pot is toast.

This heatwave is supposed to break tonight with a *cold front* moving through from the west. Forecasts for tomorrow promise highs in the upper 80’s, rather than the 100 degree temps we’ve had since Tuesday. Hopefully the humidity will go down; the heat index the last few days was between 110 and 115 degrees! Entirely too hot for the likes of me. I feel like I’m living in a cave, with the shades drawn and all the windows closed to keep the heat out. I’ve even been working in the near dark at my job – we’ve had all non-essential lights and appliances off for the last few days in an effort to conserve energy. Ridiculous considering that the AC keeps the building so cold that I have to sit at my desk with a blanket over my shoulders. Today I decided to do a little energy conserving of my own and took the afternoon off and came home and went to sleep, in hopes of gettiing rid of the headache I’ve had for the last 3 days.

The promised thunderstorms haven’t come yet. While I was out watering this evening and adding some frigid well water to the pond (the fish haven’t boiled yet – what were we thinking putting that pond in full sun?) there were some distant rumblings of thunder and a light hot breeze, but that’s it so far. I’m hoping for a spectacular thunderstorm with drenching rain. I want to be able to turn off the AC, open the windows, and fall asleep listening to the katydids and crickets.

Bunnies

8/2/06 Mid-week bunny fix

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Blogger is not my friend. I had an informative expose written on rabbit bot fly that just went poof! and disappeared.

;-(

Probably a good thing because a discussion of rabbit bot flies is probably not what you were expecting.

So instead I offer this old pic of Freckles, Missy and Mr. Bean. I tried to bond the three of them after little Peanut died. They made an adorable threesome and Missy loved Mr. Bean, but Freckles was not happy with the arrangement. She doesn’t seem to like boy bunnies. So, for a few months after Peanut died and before Mr. Bean passed away, the three would visit together. Mr. Bean would get it into his head that he wanted to play and would sprint out of his homebase in the bathroom and venture onto the sun porch where the girls live. I’d open their pen and the three would play together peacefully for a little while. Missy washed Mr. Beans ears which he looooved! Before long, Freckles would get jealous and pick a fight with Mr. Bean, who was at least twice her size. Mr. Bean always looked all wounded and confused that this girl bunny didn’t just melt for him the way Missy did. Soon enough he’d wander back to his spot beside the bathtub, the rejection forgotten until the next visit.

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August is…

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“August is the year at early harvest, a farm wife with a baby napping in the crib, a preserving kettle on the stove, fryers in the freezer, new potatoes in the pot, and a husband in the hayfield baling the second cutting. August is tomatoes ripening and the insistent note of the cicada punctuating the heat of midafternoon. August is the smell of corn pollen, and the taste of roasting ears, and the stain of blackberry juice on the fingers.

August is the flame of phlox in the dooryard and hollyhocks down by the roadside blooming now up at their tips. August is Summer squash by the bushel, and Winter squash swelling beneath the broad parasol of trailing leaves. August is ripe oats. August is a languid river and a springhouse brook reduced to a trickle.

August is a few impatient asters trying to compete with late daisies; it is daylilies all through blooming and looking ragged and outworn; it is the first sprays of goldenrod in the uncut fence row. August is baby rabbits almost grown, and pilfering in the garden; it is fledglings all feathered and on the wing; it is a cow, her Spring calf forgotten, chewing a leisurely cud in the shade of a tired elm tree at the side of the meadow.

August is the heavy grapes in the vineyard, and the lacy leaf where the Japanese beetle feasted in metallic glitter; it is wild grapes festooned on the trees at the riverbank; it is algae on the pond and the fat green thumbs of cattails in the swamp, and ironweed purpling, and vervain in full bloom. August is a hastening sun, earlier to bed and later to rise. August is Summer thinking of the cut and color of her Autumn costume.” – Hal Borland, Sundial of the Seasons, 1964

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Hawks on display

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HURT HAWKS by Robinson Jeffers
“The broken pillar of the wing jags from the clotted shoulder,
The wing trails like a banner in defeat,
No more to use the sky forever but live with famine
And pain a few days: cat nor coyote
Will shorten the week of waiting for death, there is game without talons.
He stands under the oak-bush and waits
The lame feet of salvation; at night he remembers freedom
And flies in a dream, the dawn ruins it.
He is strong and pain is worse to the strong, incapacity is worse.
The curs of the day come and torment him
At distance, no one but death the redeemer will humble that head,
The intrepid readiness, the terrible eyes.
The wild God of the world is sometimes merciful to those
That ask mercy, not often to the arrogant.
You do not know him, you communal people, or you
have forgotten him;
Intemperate and savage, the hawk remembers him;
Beautiful and wild, the hawks, and men that are dying remember him.
I’d sooner , except the penalties, kill a man than a hawk; but the great redtail
Had nothing left but unable misery
From the bone too shattered for mending, the wing that trailed under his talons when he moved.
We had fed him six weeks, I gave him freedom,
He wandered over the foreland hill and returned in the evening, asking for death,
Not like a beggar, still eyed with the old
Implaccable arrogance. I gave him the lead gift in the twilight. What fell was relaxed,
Owl-downy, soft feminine feathers; but what
Soared: the fierce rush: the night-herons by the flooded river cried fear at its rising
Before it was quite unsheathed from reality.”

This is the only poem I know by Robinson Jeffers, but it has troubled me since I first read it. I sense the author’s great respect for the hawk and understand how that respect led him to give it *freedom* as he did, but don’t know that others would appreciate why it was the proper thing to do. Proper isn’t the right word for it, maybe truthful or honest would be a better word. Truthful to the nature of the hawk and all birds of prey. I might even extend that to all predators in similar circumstances.

I feel a deep sense of reverence for birds of prey. For wild birds of prey. For those that are captive, like the Bald Eagle above, I feel pity. Something so great as an eagle, an owl, a Harris’ hawk, or even a little kestral is diminished by being held captive. That is a given, I’d guess. Captivity has its’ merits, but I question whether what is in the bird’s best interest isn’t sometimes lost in the name of *education*.

These birds were on display last week at the county fair. Very popular show; this guy brings his act there most years. Usually I stay away because it bothers me so. This year I waited out a thunderstorm in his tent and took some pics and tried to decide if I was just being overly critical. After mulling it over for a few days while Blogger decided if it would let me make this post with pictures (it won’t) – I’ve decided that this guy and his *show* aren’t doing right by the birds. The general public loves being able to get so close – within arms reach- and the opportunity (for a few $$$) to be photographed *holding* one of these birds is a big draw. But to anyone who knows anything about them, or who respects them and can recognize the signs of their stress; it is something very far from worthy. Their was no respect or reverence here. Very little in the way of education – all show, no substance.

There are organizations that do this right. I volunteer for one of the best and know its educators to be fierce protectors of the birds in their care. That is how is ought to be.

Note: I apologize for the links to pics on Photobucket, but Blogger just won’t load these.

Pond

Sunday by the pond

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A volunteer in the bog garden.

Fishies playing around in the shallow end of the pond.

Dragonfly whose name I can’t come up with. Maybe a blue dasher?

Sweet baby robin, looking for a place to put in for a bath.

Joe Pye Weed blooming in the bog.

I spent the afternoon doing some work around the pond. The heat is causing the usual algae problems in the shallow end of the pond. The water is crystal clear (thanks to the UV light), but the little pebbles that line the beach are covered with slimy algae. I have this contraption called a *Muck Vac* which I use to suck up some of the junk that accumulates in the pebbles, but using it is a nightmare! Whoever thought to combine a vacuum with a garden hose must have been delirious. I spend most of the time fighting with the various hoses and trying to keep some sort of suction going. What isn’t sucked out I blast away with the hose. Labor-intensive, but it works and now the rocks are clean and it doesn’t look like a swamp out there. For a few days anyway. I trimmed the yellow and brown leaves off of the water-lilies and hacked away at the mint that is taking over the edge. The parrot’s feather and water lettuce were reduced by half, but I still have too much of both. They provide a lot of shade for the fish, but do get carried away with themselves!

Bunnies

My tummy hurts!

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Peeper the stray bunny had her spay yesterday. She’s feeling much better today and has started eating a little, but is spending most of her time flopped on her side in the litterbox like you see here. She’s dug most all of the litter out (and onto the floor, thank you) and pushed the hay up to the opposite end so that she’s got a clear spot to flop. She’s peeping at me a lot and lunging whenever I put my hands in her cage – poor cranky thing!

I used a new vet this time because my regular vet would have charged a huge amout for the spay (nearly $500.00!!) and this vet spays/neuters for the rescue I adopt from, so I felt I could trust her. Everything went okay, but I think the vet was a little startled with just how stressed out Peeper was by any handling. She quickly checked to see if she was a boy or a girl, listened to her heart, palpated her to check for babies after I told her about Peeper’s nesting behavior, and then put her back into the carrier and whisked her away. I returned a few hours later to pick her up, after an hour of frantic unanswered phone calls, to discover that the animal hospital had lost power in the thunderstorm.

Some people might wonder why they should spay/neuter a bunny who lives alone – Peeper is a perfect example. Her hormonal behavior probably would have continued, making her a less than enjoyable pet. The reproductive urge is very strong in rabbits (you know their reputation!) and her nesting, circling, and mounting, plus her cage aggression would have gone on forever. There is also a very high likelihood of uterine cancer in unspayed females. There is a risk to any surgery with a creature as sensitive as a rabbit, but the benefits outweigh the risks associated with the surgery.

So Peeper will be cranky for a few days, but I’ll spoil her until she feels better. Then we can go about getting to know one another, without the threat of babies in our future. Thank goodness! Over the next month, as the hormones leave her system, I can expect her to calm down and learn to be a loving house-bunny. Welcome home, Peeper!

Just me rambling about birds, books, bunnies, or whatever!