Gardening

The Desolation of Clif

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Before I describe the Desolation of Clif, I need to provide a bit of backstory for readers.

Item one: crappy siding

Our house was built in 1969, and in an extreme effort to pinch a nickel until the buffalo screamed, the builders put a kind of paper/cardboard siding on our home. (We, of course, did not buy the home in 1969. I was twelve, and my husband was eighteen. We came together in 1977 and bought the house in 1984.)

Considering the siding’s material, it held up reasonably well for quite a while. But about ten years ago, it started peeling and rotting. Because we are a family of modest means,  new siding for the whole house was not within our budget. So Clif, being handy, removed the worst of the old siding, replaced it with sturdier material, and painted it to match the original siding. All around the house, he has worked with little trouble until he came to the front.

Item two: yew hedges

In the U.S. in the 1970s, it was all the rage to put yew hedges along the front of the house, and so it is with our home on the edge of the woods. American readers of a certain age will know just what I mean. While it might be fair to describe the hedges as “common,” it also must be pointed out that the hedges are as tough as a bag of hammers. Over the years, those hedges grew until there was the narrowest of passages between house and hedge.

Here’s a picture of our home with the yew hedges in all their glory.

Now we come to the crux of the matter. The front of the house needs to be patched and painted. Clif maintained he could not work with those hedges so close to the house. While I’m not a huge fan of the hedges, I built my gardens around them, and they provide the backdrop. Not the smartest move, perhaps, but we really couldn’t afford to have a landscaper come in and make everything right.

Clif, though, was undeterred. He had a chainsaw. He said he could take the hedges down all by himself and thus work on the house. I didn’t doubt this, but I knew what the front garden would look like if he hacked the hedges down.

I was not wrong.

The Desolution of Clif

The first time I saw the damage, I could hardly breathe. It looked as though all the back teeth of the garden had been knocked out, and the bed is twice as large as it was before the hedges were cruelly taken down. Now, this bed is a problem bed, and I have lost many plants that were put in with the naive optimism of a new gardener. What the heck was I going to do with more space?

I might have snarkily obeserved commented that it is easier to destroy than it is to create. Clif made no reply. I might have made some other rude observations. In the end, I calmed down and considered what I could do next spring to repair the damage.

Clif’s suggestion: Put in some ferns and let them fill in the way they have out back.

Not the worst idea.

I love ferns. They are low-maintenance and elegant. But do I really want that bed to be half ferns? I’m not sure.

Then I had another idea. When I dug up the lawn, all those years ago, to make a bed, I did it with the sublime ignorance of the novice gardener. I didn’t consider how hard it would be to work in such a big bed, how I would have to trample the dirt to add plants, compost, and fertilizer. Instead, what if we, Clif, removed all the plants, put in walkways, added a nice but not hugely expensive focal point, and replanted what had been removed: black-eyed Susans, phlox, evening primroses? Maybe add something else that I haven’t thought of.

Clif wisely did not object to this scheme.

So, readers who garden, I turn this over to you.

Any suggestions?

 

 

 

 

Celebrate, Food, Movies, Music

An Enchanting Evening

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In the United States, last Sunday was Father’s Day. As longtime readers might recall, our philosophy for special days is to celebrate early, celebrate often. Accordingly, on Saturday, we met our daughter Shannon and her husband Mike in southern Maine at When Pigs Fly Pizzeria in Kittery.

Clif and Mike reflected on their beer choices. Did the beer measure up? Yes, it did.

There was pizza.

And for Clif, a tofu bowl with perfectly fried tofu and ever-so-fresh pea pods.

We had a wonderful time eating and chatting. Even though we are homebodies, we so enjoy our southern Maine adventures with Shannon and Mike.

On Sunday, which was actually Father’s Day, did we stick to our usual routine and stay home? We did not. We went to a movie, The Death of Robin Hood, a violent,  grim take on the famous outlaw. No merry men cavorting in tights here. This movie is not for the faint of heart, so readers be warned if you decide to see it.

After the movie, we cheered ourselves up with drinks at Margaritas in Augusta.

Duly cheered, we headed home to spend the evening in our gazebo on the patio.

With the addition of lights, our special spot has gone from very sweet to enchanting.

We stayed until dusk came, and the solar lights in our yard blinked on. Despite the grim movie, it was a very happy Father’s Day indeed.

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In the United States, last Friday was Juneteenth, a federal holiday. According to Wikipedia, “It is celebrated annually on June 19 to commemorate the end of slavery in the United States. The holiday’s name, first used in the 1890s, is a portmanteau of June and nineteenth, referring to June 19, 1865, the day when Major General Gordon Granger ordered the final enforcement of the Emancipation Proclamation in Texas at the end of the American Civil War.”

In honor of this day, here is one of my favorite songs, “Blackbird,” written by Paul McCartney, who was inspired by the Civil Rights movement in the United States.

Music, summer

A June Night

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Mid-June is here. The planting is done, including the row of begonias in the back garden. They provide a welcome splash of red and white to go along with all the green. The begonias will bloom from now until the first hard frost hits. They never get leggy; they always look good. Begonias are not showy flowers, but they are perfect for the backyard, which is part sun/part shade.

The days are long—it’s not dark until nearly 9:00 p.m.—and last Saturday the night was warm enough for us to sit on the patio until late into the evening. Here is the view from inside the gazebo, looking out into the garden at dusk.

As the darkness settled around us, we heard a wood thrush’s song, one of the benefits of living by the edge of the woods. What a treat it is to hear that beautiful song.

Slowly, our solar lights came on, and my favorite is the glowing moon.

More darkness, and then there were fireflies, little points of fairy lights blinking on and off, on and off.

An enchanting evening, and how lucky we feel to have all of this in our very own backyard.

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Listening

Johnny Blue Skies & The Dark Clouds: Situation

Yesterday, as Clif and I were coming home from doing errands, I heard the song “Situation” on the radio. The song’s rock/funk sound immediately drew me in. But who, I wondered, are Johnny Blue Skies & The Dark Cloud? I had never heard them or the song before.

Turns out that Johnny Blue Skies is the alter ego of the country singer Sturgill Simpson, who apparently wanted to branch out and try something completely different. And The Dark Clouds is his band.

The official video is a lot of fun, beginning with Dr. Johnny Fever from the delightful 1970’s television sitcom WKRP in Cincinnati. From there, the video goes to dancers—some real, some not—from around the world. It seems to me that, without being preachy, Simpson illustrates how dance and music unite us, regardless of culture.

But watch and listen for yourselves. And if your knees are limber enough—mine certainly aren’t—go ahead and groove to the music.

 

 

Birds, Environment, Movies, summer

One of the Sweetest Months of the Year

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In Maine, June is surely one of the sweetest months of the year. Everything is new and green. The days are warm, but not too hot. The nights are cool enough to snuggle under blankets, which I love to do. Right now, as I work at my desk, the window is open, and I can smell the scent of early summer coming from the woods.

Living on the edge of the woods brings many pleasures, but there is a disadvantage in the summer—mainly,  mosquitoes. Now, they have their place. Mosquitoes provide essential nutrition for adult birds and their babies, and I would never begrudge food for those fluttering, singing beauties. Unfortunately, we provide food for the mosquitoes, and sitting on our patio in June and July after the sun goes down is no fun at all.

What to do? Douse our yard with pesticides? Yeah, right. As if this family of green beans would ever do such a thing, especially as the mosquitoes in Maine do not spread diseases such as dengue fever, malaria, or yellow fever.

Here, then, is our solution for this year, a Christmas present from our daughter Dee.

The gazebo, roomy and airy, allows us to sit on the patio at any time of day. Occasionally, we thumb our nose at the mosquitoes, who cluster longingly around the screen. Outside. Where they belong.

Last week, we had our friends Dawna and Jim over for wine and appetizers, and eating and talking, we spent hours in the gazebo. Green is still the predominant color, but, as Dawna observed, there are many different shades. So there are, and soon, there will be other colors as well.

Dawna brought cheesecake and made the most delicious strawberry-rhubarb sauce to go with it. I could have some right now.

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Readers might recall that several posts back, I featured a bird’s nest that had fallen onto the patio. I love the way feathers were woven into the nest.

I left the nest on the patio, and a week or so ago, as Clif was working on the gazebo, he noticed how a bird came to the nest, picked at this and that, and then flew away. The bird returned over and over, until the nest looked like this:

What a great example of recycling! Years ago, my dear friend Barbara Johnson, who has been gone for over twenty years, told me that when we come upon a nest that has blown down from a tree, it is best to leave it there, as birds will reuse the material for a new nest. Barbara, how right you were.

And, yes, I still miss you very much.

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Watching

Movie

Power Ballad
Directed by John Carney
With Paul Judd and Nick Jonas

If you like Ireland, music, and character-driven stories, then Power Ballad is the movie for you. Paul Judd plays a wedding musician who yearns for more. Nick Jonas plays a boy-band musician who’s lost his mojo. Their stories come together in a bittersweet way, and the movie’s ending is so generous and kind that it moved me to tears and made me think maybe that there is hope for us as a species. Really, I can’t recommend this movie highly enough.

News

Monday, Monday

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Even though Clif and I are retired, we follow a work-week schedule because our eldest daughter Dee, who lives with us, has a traditional forty-hour a-week job. We arrange our schedule to match hers so that we can eat together and go to the movies on Saturday and Sunday. Therefore, after a  free and easy weekend, Monday always comes with a bit of a thud

This Monday’s thud hit us a little harder. We woke up to find that our hot water heater had stopped working. No hot water for showers or for doing dishes. No hot water period.

It could be worse, and indeed it has been. We still have cold water, and we can flush our toilets.  (Trust me, this is no small thing.) However, not having  water has thrown a bit of crimp into our usual routine.

Therefore, this week’s post is shorter than usual as my husband and I tend to this and that. But hot water or not, the gardens are thriving, and a couple of pictures of green and growing plants seems like a good place to end.

 

 

Flowers, Movies, Spring

Almost Summer

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In Maine, Spring isn’t quite over, but we are edging ever closer to summer.

The view from my living room window shows how the trees are almost in full leaf.

Green, green, green is the predominant color in my yard.

Minerva, our guard cat, watches over the garden.

I always complain that I have one of the worst yards in Winthrop in which to garden. These sweet speckled violets prove my point. Once they were in the bed featured in the picture above. Did they like it there? They did not. Even though the conditions seemed just right in the bed, the violets abandoned ship to take up residency on the lawn.

By the side of our house, we also have traditional violets that look especially fetching alongside the beloved ferns.

I’m still busy with gardening and will be for the next couple of weeks. It looks as though I won’t be able to accomplish all that I set out to do with composting and fertilizing.  I am seriously considering letting the leaves stay in the hosta beds for natural composting and fertilizing. After all, to quote my friend Jim, those hostas are as tough as a bag of hammers.

Anyway, we shall see.

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Watching

Movies

Pressure, with Brendan Fraser and Andrew Scott

In the United States, Memorial Day was on Monday, May 25. Memorial Day is not only a time to remember loved ones who have passed, but also to honor the service and sacrifice of those who are and were in the armed forces.

Therefore, when we saw that the movie Pressure was playing at our local Regal Cinema on Monday, May 25, we figured this was the perfect day to see it.

Pressure is a movie about the weather. Specifically, what the weather would be like when the Allies planned to invade Normandy on June 5, 1944, also known as D-Day. (I expect most readers are at least familiar with the broad outlines of what happened on D-Day, and that no spoiler warnings are necessary.)

General Dwight D. Eisenhower (Brendan Fraser), an American, commanded the Allied forces, and his concern about the weather was warranted. Bad weather would make landing impossible, thus putting the whole invasion in jeopardy. But postponing the event also had its perils, not the least of which was that crucial information might be leaked to the Germans.

Enter the meteorologists—James Stagg (Andrew Scott), a prickly Scotsman, and Irving Krick (Chris Messina), an overconfident American. (Is there any other kind?) The movie opens seventy-two hours before the planned invasion on June 5. Krick, going by the weather in the past, predicts that the day will be sunny and calm. Stagg, receiving reports of storms approaching Great Britain and France, thinks otherwise.

The decision to attack on June 5 or to postpone the invasion is the central tension of the movie, and Pressure does a terrific job of ratcheting up this conflict. We all know the outcome, yet I was still on the edge of my seat as Stagg and Krick fought about the weather, and Eisenhower had to decide what to do.

Andrew Scott and Chris Messina were perfectly cast as the feuding meteorologists. The stakes couldn’t have been higher, and I was sympathetic with both men. Unfortunately, Brendan Fraser’s volatile performance as Eisenhower was not quite as good. I have read that Eisenhower took pride in being calm and measured, in not having meltdowns under pressure, which must have been considerable in the lead-up to D-Day.

Still, the movie is very much worth seeing, a timely reminder of the courage and wisdom our leaders displayed when the outcome of the war lay in balance.

Once upon a time, we had great leaders who did the right thing. Perhaps, someday, we will have them again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Books, Cats, Gardening

Done Da Done! And: Ferns, Ferns, Ferns

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Garden Report

Last week, I did it. Creaky knees and all, I raked the leaves from the last bed. Did I feel good about this accomplishment? You bet I did.

Now, onward to compost, wood ash, and fertilizer. Plus, moving things here and there. For me, as I’m sure it is for most gardeners, May is as busy a month as December. For different reasons, naturally. However, just as I love the holidays, I also love the month of May with its intense gardening.

Let’s hear it for hands in the dirt and a garden cart at the ready. Trowel, shovel, garden shears, cultivator. Check, check, check, and check.

For a gardener, life becomes pretty basic in the spring. But oh so good.

Fern Report

I’m not sure if I love ferns because I live on the edge of the woods, or if I live on the edge of the woods because I love ferns. But as readers might have noticed, I’m crazy about ferns.

Let’s take a look at the ferns I’ve been following since they poked their pretty little heads up at the end of April.

Here they are on April 27. Such dear little things.

And here they are, twelve days later: elegant, tall, and feathery.

Amazing, isn’t it? They really are all grown up.

But never fear. There are more ferns emerging for me to marvel at.

Soon, these little ferns will be grown-up, too, gracing the yard with their beauty, for which we are grateful. One of the best things is that, for the most part, I don’t have to do a thing to encourage them. They spread and grow on their own. (All right. I will admit that I might have bought a fern or two for my beds. But most of the ferns by the house and in the yard came here on their own. Seems like a miracle.)

Finally, a pleasing combination of pink and green.

First Drinks on the Patio

Saturday, May 16, was a banner day at our home on the edge of the woods. We had our first drinks of the year on our patio.

The owl wine glass belongs to my daughter Dee, who loves owls just as much as I love ferns.

Cheers to blogging friends near and far. Our happy time on the patio is here, and soon there will be a new addition in the backyard, which will add to our enjoyment.

Stay tuned.

Reading

When I Was a German, 1934–1945: An Englishwoman in Nazi Germany
(Original Title: The Past Is Myself)
By Christabel Bielenberg

When I Was a German, a memoir by Christabel Bielenberg, is a heavy book to read in the merry month of May. But maybe it’s good to read this kind of book when the weather is lovely, and things are green and growing.

In the book’s foreword, Christabel Bielenberg acknowledges that although there is ample material documenting this terrible time in Europe, she has “one advantage…I am English; I was German, and above all I was there.”

Indeed, she was. In England in 1934, Christobel married the tall, handsome German Peter Bielenberg. When she married, Christabel Bielenberg gave up British citizenship and became a German citizen. (Twelve years later, she would relinquish her German citizenship to “become a British subject once again.”)

At first, Christobel and Peter lived in Hamburg, Germany.  Both Peter, a law student, and Christabel were upper-middle-class and well-connected. From the jump, they thought that Hitler was “a clown” who would not be in power long. Turns out, they were wrong.

The Bielenbergs had friends who were staunchly opposed to Hitler, and they persuaded the young couple to stay in Germany to help bring down the government. Peter took a job with the Ministry of Industry and Commerce in Berlin to be closer to the Nazi government. By then, the couple had children, and they moved to Berlin, to the heart of darkness.

Things, of course, go from bad to worse. Friends are hanged, and Berlin is relentlessly bombed by the Allies. Christabel moves with her three children to a small village in the Black Forest, where they live in relative safety. Peter stays in Berlin and is eventually imprisoned because of his association with the men who tried to assassinate Hitler. (Peter himself was not involved in the attempt.)

All of this is riveting reading, and I especially liked Christabel’s descriptions of village life in the Black Forest, far away from Berlin. While the village and the villagers were officially allied with the Nazi party, they were kind to Christabel and her sons, and for the most part, they were not fanatical followers of Hitler. (This, of course, does not absolve them of their complicity, but it does add nuance.)

My one complaint about the book is that it covers too much territory too quickly. Those were, after all, eventful years. At times, the book felt rushed, and I think the material would have been better served by being expanded into several volumes, in which the various aspects of Christabel’s life could have been described in more detail. As it is, the book jumps from person to place, and I had a hard time keeping track of those not in the author’s immediate family.

Still, When I was a German is well worth reading, not the least because of Christobel’s insights.

I’ll conclude with one of her reflections, which seems all too relevant in today’s world, where the Right Wing is, alas, in ascendance once again.

“There would be few to pity them {the German People] for the wheel had turned full circle, as deluded by piffling ambition, bent on taking revenge for their failure, they were now slaughtering everything that was best about their country. No nation could afford such extravagance, there was no excuse,  no pardon for such things. This was the punishment, ruins, ruins and more ruins….When I married Peter ten years ago…I did not realize that I would be binding myself to the fate of the whole of this unhappy race.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

News

The Week that Was: Part II

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Somehow, I posted this week’s piece when I was only halfway done. Here is the rest of what I intended to post.

On Saturday, I went to a lovely poetry reading at my library. Jeri Theriault was the poet, and as she read, her husband, Philip Carlsen, accompanied her on the cello. This was a striking combination, with the words and music enhancing each other. I especially liked the way Jeri wove art and the classics into her everyday experiences, giving the poetry depth and a larger meaning.

Sunday was Mother’s Day. Did we celebrate? Of course we did. We met our daughter Shannon and her husband Mike in York, a halfway point for both of us.

First, we had Chinese food.

Then we went to Stonewall Kitchen.

I particularly liked this fine fellow.

After shopping in the store, with its many temptations, we had tea and dessert, which included my favorite, a whoopie pie.

After that, it was on to the movies, to see the fun and charming The Sheep Detectives. Quite a change from the past couple of movies we’ve seen, which have been more on the horror side. What can I say? We have eclectic tastes.

We went to a cinema in New Hampshire, and to get there we had to cross The Bridge. Every Mainer who heads south to New Hampshire and beyond knows this bridge. It is a solid demarcation that gives Maine the feeling of an island. A true Mainer crosses that bridge with a hint of sadness and then returns with a feeling of joy, a feeling of coming home.

Here, we approach the bridge.

Getting closer

and closer.

And then we were in New Hampshire.

But we were back home again in the same day, as my mother might have said.

A perfect trip for this homebody who thinks home is best and loves sleeping in her very own bed.

News

The Week that Was: The Last Leafy Bed

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There is so much going on right now—at least for this homebody (I can’t hold a candle to many of my lovely blogging friends)—that I’m going to touch on several things rather than just focus on one or two the way I usual do.

First, the incredible growing ferns that grow so fast I swear I can see them shoot up in real time.

Here they were two weeks ago:

Here they are now:

What will they look like next week? Never a dull moment at the home by the edge of the woods.

Last week, most of my free time was spent gardening. Because we live by the edge of the woods, leaves blow into my beds in the fall, and it takes a fair amount of time to remove those leaves. (All in all, those leaves are a good thing as they help protect the perennials from the cold that Maine winters bring.)

I am happy to report that I am down to the last leafy bed.

With any luck, the last of the leaves will be gone by the end of the week.

 

 

News

May the Fourth, 2026

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Spring, Spring, Spring is here! Is there a sweeter time of year? I don’t think so. Brief, green, frothy, and glorious, Spring compresses her beauty in one short month in Maine. And that month is May. (When I went to college in Indiana, I was astonished by how long Spring lasted. I found the extended Spring to be a little too intoxicating, making it hard to study.)

First, I want to show you how those sweet little ferns have grown in just one week. I took this picture on April 22.

And this one on April 29.

They grow so fast. Sniff, sniff.

My yard continues to be a constant delight. Clif and I moved the big table to the patio. There’s no umbrella yet—it’s actually been rather cool, which I like. But we have chairs clustered around the table, and all we need is a nice warm day so that we can raise our glasses to Spring.

The seed in the backyard feeder is disappearing at a furious rate. Setting up housekeeping is hard work for the birds, and we are happy to provide sustenance. In the picture below, a hairy woodpecker (I think, but birding friends, do correct me if I’m wrong) comes to eat. I really like the angle of the woodpecker’s body.

Male goldfinches look especially fine among the red flowers of the maple tree. Can you spot Goldy? Should be pretty easy, even though the picture was taken from afar.

This will be a week of gardening when the weather allows—lots of rain in the forecast, which is good, but it does interfere with the yardwork. Just as the ferns grow at an astonishing clip, so do the plants in my garden. Most of the gardening must be done by the beginning of June.

The countdown begins.

But it’s not all work and no play.

Surprise, surprise, we did manage to slide in a movie—the creepy Hochum, featuring Adam Scott. (If horror is not your thing, this is definitely one to skip, but for readers who like horror, add Hokum to your watch list.)

After the movie, we went to Cushnoc Brewing Co. in Augusta for pizza and flatbread.

Both were mighty tasty.

Our friends Dawna and Jim separately decided to go out for pizza, too, and we were delighted to see them. Our server was more than willing to pull over a table so that they could join us, and we had a jolly Sunday evening of talk and pizza.

You might even say it was a finest kind of evening.

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Listening

It’s May the Fourth, so what else? Has it really been forty-nine years? Yes, it has.

A blog about nature, home, books, movies, television, food, and rural life.