The patio is ready for Memorial Day. Now, if only those dratted black flies would go away.
The end of May is just around the corner, and what a busy time it is for the residents of the little house in the big woods. Gardening and planting have reached a fever pitch, and as I am someone who does not like to hurry, that along with writing and other household chores would be plenty to keep my days full.
However, next week our library will be having all sorts of events to celebrate the grand opening of the new addition—a speaker on Tuesday; on Wednesday a chainsaw carving of an owl for the children’s room; and on Friday a true open house where a “book” cake will be served.
To add to the jolly chaos, we will be babysitting our granddogs, Holly and Somara. I am praying for good weather so that the dogs can spend much of the day outside in the backyard.
In addition, we’re having friends over for a barbecue on Sunday, to celebrate Memorial Day. I’ll be making the first potato salad of the season, and we’ll be having the first grilled chicken, too. And grilled bread, of course.
Next week on the blog, I might focus more on images than words. Naturally, I’ll want to write a little something about the library’s grand opening. Just a little something.
And in honor of Memorial Day, as I work in the yard, I’ll remember family and friends who have passed. They are missed and are certainly not forgotten.
Despite the scourge of blackflies, this is the time of year when I can hardly stand to stay inside to do household chores. I want to be outside, where even hanging the laundry is a pleasure. I force myself to dust, vacuum, and clean the bathrooms, all the while looking outside at the deep blue sky and the tender yet exuberant burst of green that surrounds the little house in the big woods.
My gardens come into their own in June and July, and right now there is not much in bloom. But never mind! There’s more than enough going on with the trees and the yard to keep this amateur photographer happy.
And because we live on the edge of the big woods, there are spring wild flowers to admire.
Even the dandelions. I like their sunny heads, and when it comes to the lawn, my philosophy is that if it’s green, then it’s good. No herbicides allowed in our yard! However, should dandelions stray into the flower beds, I must admit that I dig them out.
Then there are the ferns. I admire their green grace, and I have encouraged them to take root all around our house. Ferns do well in deep shade, which this yard has in abundance.
With so much time spent outside, taking pictures and working in the yard. there hasn’t been much time for cooking, and our meals have been very, very simple—baked, breaded chicken, wraps, scrambled eggs and toast. Last night I soaked some black beans, and I cooked them this morning. Tonight we’ll have black bean burgers—from a Mark Bittman recipe—with oven fries.
I’ll make the burgers this afternoon and put them in the refrigerator to chill. Then, after a satisfying day of taking pictures and yard work and household chores, I’ll have those burgers ready to pan fry.
Every spring for the past few years, Jack has come for a visit. He stays quite a while—into early summer—but he is such a thoughtful guest that he never wears out his welcome. Conscientious about how much space he takes up, Jack neither intrudes nor dominates. Flashier friends might attract more attention, but Jack’s modest qualities make him especially dear to me, and I always wish he would stay longer than he does.
This year, I was afraid Jack was not going to come back for his annual visit. I looked and waited, but no Jack. My heart felt a little heavy. Spring just wouldn’t be the same without Jack. It had been such a hard winter. Was this the reason for Jack’s absence?
But then, a couple of days ago, he arrived, and I was so happy to see him. Jack was a little late, but then so is everything else this spring after the long, cold winter.
I am also happy to report that Jack’s offspring have come with him, and when they emerge, I will be sure to post pictures of them.
Jack and his kin have settled on the edge of our yard, which is lined with trees and dips into the forest. I feel very fortunate to have a patch of Jack-in-the-pulpets in my own backyard. I love the little pulpit flower, and when the flower passes, as all flowers do, its bright red fruit is interesting, too.
In a couple of weeks, we will be babysitting the granddogs for quite a few days. Jack and his brethren are in the large fenced-in area in the backyard where the dogs can safely roam. I think I will put a little barricade around Jack and his family so that he is not accidentally trampled by enthusiastic dogs.
After all, I want to be sure that Jack comes back not only next year but for many more years as well.
Between the little flowers on the trees, the new green leaves, the blue sky, and the birds, I seem to always be looking up. Except of course, when I’m working the gardens.
The weather in Maine is supposed to be fine this weekend. Shannon and the dogs are coming over on Sunday—Mike, alas, has to work. Shannon and Clif will cook me a Mother’s Day brunch, something I look forward to every year. (If only Dee lived closer!) Pictures will follow next week.
In the meantime, a very happy Mother’s Day to all mothers.
In Maine, May is a month when everything gallops. Each day brings some kind of change—the grass is a little greener, the plants in the flower gardens are a little taller, the red buds on the trees are now tinged with green. Every year I think, “Slow down, slow down you lovely month.” And I wonder why oh why March couldn’t speed ahead the way May does. While May rushes headlong, March drags its mucky yet icy heels. It’s funny how two months with the same number of days can feel so different.
In two days, the hyacinths have bloomed. The blossoms are not fully opened, but in another day or two, they will be.
In two days, new green leaves have begun to emerge on the trees, displacing the delicate flowers that preceded them.
In two days, I have cleared half the gardens out front, and if all goes well, they will be three-quarters cleared today.
And in two days time, the black flies have emerged. There is something in my body chemistry that draws them, and they swarm in a black cloud around my head. Any bit of exposed skin is fair game for those little bighters, and at times I resort to wearing a cap sprayed with insect repellent.
The black flies will be gone by June, and good riddance to them. Unlike the flowers on the trees, I don’t wish the black flies to stick around one day longer than they do.
Yesterday, Clif and I had the most delightful Sunday we’ve had in a very long time. Our friends Beth and John came over for brunch, and they brought their little dog Bernie with them. Clif made waffles, cooked fresh at the dining room table and then passed around on a plate. I had made a blueberry sauce and an apple sauce to go with the waffles, and there was, of course, real maple syrup. We also had homefries and scrambled eggs with smoked cheddar—from Pineland Farms.
Good as the brunch was—Clif’s waffles are pretty darned tasty—the best part came afterwards, when we had coffee, tea, and Beth’s delectable blueberry cake on the patio. The day was sunny and warm but not too hot. There were a few bugs but not enough to be a problem.
For several hours, we sat with the sun warm on our faces. We drank coffee and tea and ate cake. We talked about retirement—Beth is retired and John and Clif will be retiring soon—politics, and how hopeful we are that the millennial generation will continue with the course they have started. Although there are always exceptions, by and large this generation is tolerant, liberal, and concerned about the environment. Many of them have eschewed the excessive consumerism that has characterized this country and are living a modest but comfortable and creative lifestyle. They are gardening in the cities and the suburbs. They are riding their bikes. They are building tiny houses. Kudos, kudos to them.
We are surrounded by trees—I don’t call our home the little house in the big woods for nothing—and this is perfect for the birds, who have secure places to perch as they fly back and forth to the bird feeders. The birds must have been particularly hungry yesterday afternoon because as we sat at the patio, we were treated to the visual delight of fluttering birds as they came to the feeders. We had the usual suspects: chickadees, nuthatches, tufted titmice, woodpeckers, and gold finches.
A goldfinch casing the yard
Little chickadees
We also had a pair of cardinals—the first ever who have decided to take up residence in the woods by our house. It’s such a thrill to have them nearby.
Mr. Cardinal, in all his red glory
“I wish I had brought my camera,” Beth said.
“Next time,” I said, taking picture after picture with my little Cannon, which is a wonder with food and flowers but not so much with birds. Still, I got a few decent shots.
At around 4:00, Beth said, “We need to leave.”
“Yes, we do,” John replied.
But we sat at the table for another half hour. They didn’t want to go, and we didn’t want them to leave. Finally, of course, they left, and we will see them again the end of May, at John’s retirement party.
What a Sunday! As we Mainers put it, it was the finest kind of afternoon filled with food, friends, birds, and dogs. Who could ask for anything more?
This morning, I flipped my various calendars, and now it is the lovely month of May. Today, a French-Canadian friend wrote on Facebook, “C’est le mois de Marie…C’est le mois le plus beau.” The lyrics are from a French song: “It is the month of Mary…It is the most beautiful month.” Indeed it is, even with blackflies to plague us. (Luckily, they haven’t arrived in central Maine yet.)
For native Mainers, it goes like this: March is the cruelest month, April is a month of hope, and May is a month of such dazzling beauty that it almost makes you drunk just looking at all the flowers and budding trees and rich green grass. C’est le mois le plus beau.
It is also a month of much work for this home gardener. I am happy to report that at the little house in the big woods, the lawns are nearly raked, and that chore will be finished today. Then it will be on to the flower beds—removing the leaves, adding compost, organic fertilizer, and wood ash. With so many coniferous trees surrounding the house, the beds always need something to reduce the acidity in the soil.
Although my creaky knees complain at the end of the day, I so enjoy working in my yard. As I’ve noted before, it is amazing to me how yard work always trumps such inside chores as dusting and vacuuming. I even find it pleasurable to hang laundry on the line. In short, I love being outside, especially after a long, hard winter of being mostly inside. By March—and here we return to that charmless month in Maine—being inside so much comes to feel a little confining, to say the least.
The dog is now in his glory. I let him out mid-morning, and he spends most of his day by the gate that leads to and from the backyard. From this spot, he can survey the comings and goings on Narrows Pond Road. Nothing escapes Liam’s notice: walkers, bikers, other dogs, and they all get what they deserve—much barking and racing back and forth.
Liam by the gate
Liam is a Sheltie, a herding dog, and I expect he is guarding the yard. It is a job he takes seriously, and like most herding dogs, he is very intense about it. I hesitate to ascribe feelings to another creature—human or not—but if I had to guess, then I would say that Liam gets a lot of satisfaction from his job of guarding the yard. When Liam is inside, it is clear that he wants to be outside, ready to race and bark at a moment’s notice.
So at the little house in the big woods, both the dog and the human are happy. We each have our work to do, and while we take our jobs seriously, they give us great pleasure, too. (Alas, this is not true for all people with their jobs, but this will be a topic for another time.)
C’est le mois de Marie. For those who live in the northern New England, rejoice!
