Category Archives: Nature

Flowers, Nature

Of Lupine and the Lake, of Pink and Frothy White

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Yesterday, Clif and I went on a bike ride. As we have been, ahem, a little inactive this winter, we only went five miles. (Somehow, riding on the road to nowhere on the exercise bike just doesn’t do it for us.) No matter! It was a glorious five miles, and as June wears on, we will build up our strength. For our birthdays in September, we hope to go on a fifteen-mile trek and then cap it off with fish and chips at a local pub.

For yesterday’s bike ride, we started from Norcross Point, a small but lovely waterfront park in town where residents can launch their boats or come for a picnic or just plain relax and enjoy the view.

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We went past the public beach and down pretty Memorial Drive, a great road for bikers, and I came upon these lupines, which are early this year.

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Here is a closer look. Always fascinating to see flowers up close, where they are nearly unrecognizable.

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We also stopped to take pictures of a friend’s garden, which right now is vivid with pink. Later in the summer, it will be cool blue and yellow. I love how gardens change color with the seasons.

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On we went by the lake, and although we were slow, we were steady. The sun was hot, but there was a gentle breeze to help cool us. When we got back to Norcross Point, I noticed a froth of white by the edge of the lake. Naturally, I had to take a picture.

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Two women from my book group were sitting nearby. They had brought their lawn chairs and lunches, and were reveling in the fine weather and the beautiful sweep of the lake. “A bit of paradise,” one of them said.

I couldn’t argue.

This afternoon, Clif and I will go on another bike ride. This time I hope to get good pictures of a hawthorn tree that is in glorious bloom in my friend’s yard.

Fingers crossed!

Nature

Farewell, Beautiful May!

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It’s the last day of May, a bittersweet time when we say farewell to one of the loveliest months in Maine. (Yes, autumn is beautiful, but May is so green, so full of promise, the beginning rather than the end.)

In the backyard, the ferns are nearly mature, and the woods are filled with shades of green.

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Jack and his brethren are now full grown.

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The large irises are in bud.

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The dwarf snapdragons have been planted.

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And in the front yard, Lester keeps an eye on things.

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The squadrons of dragonflies have arrived—no pictures yet, but I will be on the lookout when I have my camera, and ditto for the swallowtail butterflies, another recent arrival.

Tonight Clif and I will go for a bike ride along Marancook Lake, where we will be held by the warm air. Ahead of us, we have three more months of beautiful summer, and we intend to squeeze as much joy as we can out of these precious months where we can spend much of our time outside—payback for the many months we must spend inside.

So, adieu, adieu, lovely May, until you return next year.

 

Flowers, Food for Thought, Nature

Memorial Day Weekend, 2016

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On Sunday, our friends Joel and Alice and Diane came over for a Memorial Day gathering that featured grilled bread, salads, and homemade strawberry ice cream with homemade shortbread. Accordingly, Saturday was a busy day of getting ready. However, I did find time to work a bit in the garden, and I came upon this tiny fellow—a spring peeper?  (Eliza, what do you think?)

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The little creature, about an inch long, bounced around as though it were on a spring, but I did manage to capture a picture.

Sunday was a little cloudy, but it didn’t rain, and it was warm enough to eat on the patio. We toasted loved ones who had passed as well as service men and woman who had sacrificed themselves for this country.

Clif’s legendary grilled bread was the centerpiece of the meal, and we had salads to go with the bread. I’m always afraid there won’t be enough to eat, but with the huge grilled bread, there was more than enough with the salads that Alice, Diane, and I made. (We, of course, had appetizers beforehand—chips and salsa and cheddar popcorn. ) We all decided that the bread and salad meal was a tradition we should continue. (Thanks, Alice, for providing the dough.)

I had enough presence of mind to snap a picture of the bread and salads, but not enough to get a picture of dessert.

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Among other things, we talked about politics—lots to discuss!—and, as is our way—we also talked about movies. Diane made an interesting point. She is mentoring a student at Bowdoin College, and this student and her friends hardly ever go to the movies. They do, however, watch movies. One of the students has a TV, and they regularly get together to have pizza and watch a movie.

Diane reflected as to how our generation was the movie generation. We grew up going to the movies, and it was the thing to do with family and friends. But now, with the changes in technology—the quality of the image on flat screens is pretty darned good—combined with the high price of movie tickets and popcorn, going to the movies is not the regular event it once was. Someday, perhaps, when we baby boomers are gone, the cinemas will close because of lack of business. (I recently read in the New Yorker that the average teenager goes to the movies six times a year, and this matches Diane’s experience with her college students.)

As someone who grew up going to the movies, I must admit that it’s a little sad to think of this. But times change, and with services such as Amazon Prime and Netflix, there are plenty of good shows and movies to watch at home.

And who knows? Perhaps somehow cinemas will manage to hold on.

Finally, today—Memorial Day—is the 105 anniversary of my grandmother’s birthday. How old that makes me feel! Josephine Lena Jacques was born in northern Maine, in North Caribou, in a farmhouse that I expect did not have electricity or running water.  French was her first language, although by the time I was born, she was fluent in English. Her mother and father were potato farmers, and they went to town in a horse and wagon. The changes my grandmother saw in her lifetime.

Happy birthday, Mémère. Here is a pansy, one of my favorite flowers, in your honor.

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Food for Thought, Nature

The Cusp of Summer: Memorial Day Weekend, 2016

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In Maine, despite what the calendar says, we are on the cusp of summer. In less than a month, we’ve gone from darling buds to nearly full-grown leaves on the trees. May is like that.

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The same is true of the ferns.

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Except for my beloved purple irises, the front garden is mostly foliage. Strangely enough, I love the gardens at this stage, when the slugs and snails have yet to launch an assault, and the Japanese beetles are a month away. The leaves of the plants look so green and fresh and new. While the garden is more beautiful with flowers in July, it is also more tattered.

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Spring wild flowers continue to bloom on the lawn and on the edges by the wood.

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In the United States, this is Memorial Day weekend, a time when we remember those who have passed. Usually, this involves some kind of gathering, often a barbecue. This year, we will have a small get together with friends, and unless it is pouring, Clif will make his legendary grilled bread. Whatever the weather, I will be making homemade strawberry ice cream.

And I’ll certainly be thinking of loved ones who have passed—my  mother, my father, and my dear friend Barbara. They all died too soon, but my love for them continues and will do so until I die.

In this most beautiful of months—for Catholics, the month of Mary—it somehow seems very appropriate to remember those who have passed from this green, green world.

Flowers, Nature

Wild Flowers at the Little House in the Big Woods

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As regular readers of this blog know, I refer to our home as “the little house in the big woods,” a nod, of course, to Laura Ingalls Wilder. (As a child, I loved her books.) Yes, we have neighbors, and yes, a road goes right by our house.  Nevertheless, our home is tucked into the the woods at the edge of a watershed that protects the Upper Narrows Pond, which is used as a source of drinking water.

Many years ago, a college friend of my daughter’s came here to visit. Because he arrived at night, he really didn’t get a sense of the lay of the land. The next morning, my daughter found him looking out the dining-room window into our backyard.

“I have never seen so many trees in my life,” he said. As he is from Long Island, from a tight neighborhood, I’m sure he wasn’t exaggerating.

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Our wooded backyard

 

Because we are so much in the woods, my flower gardens are a constant challenge, and when you add dry shade to this, it is easy to understand why I frequently grumble that I have the worst yard in Winthrop in which to garden.

However, nature often compensates. What it lacks in one way, it provides in another. For the shady yard at the little house in the big woods, this means spring wild flowers, which bloom in modest profusion on the lawn and by the edges of the woods. These flowers are not bright and showy but are nonetheless lovely, and I look forward to them every spring.

There is Jack-in-the-Pulpit, the pride of the backyard.

Jack, the pride of the backyard

Violets, of course.

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Yellow Clintonia, or the much prettier name, blue bead lily.

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A closer look.

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Dandelions also pop up here and there,  They are considered a weed, I know, but the bees love them. And if bees love them, then so do I.

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We also have a small patch of wild blueberries. I hope they spread.

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More wild flowers are on the way, and as they bloom, I’ll feature them along with my garden flowers.

Nature

Iris at Twilight

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Because of insomnia, I am not a morning person, which means I will never be up at the crack of dawn taking pictures. Never mind! Not only do I get a lot of reading done well past the time when most sensible people are asleep, but I also have the light of twilight for taking pictures. As twilight’s light is very beautiful, this more than compensates for my inability to get up when the sun rises.

Last night was such a golden night. As the sun set, the newly-opened Irises positively glowed. Out came the camera and snap, snap, snap. Within minutes I had taken thirty-six pictures.

Afterwards, Clif and I sat on the patio and had drinks.

“The blackflies aren’t too bad,” I observed, and Clif concurred.

As if that weren’t enough, a hummingbird whirred to the new feeder and then whirred away.

And earlier that day, a blue heron flew overhead, the first sighting of the season for me.

Ah, May!

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Nature

Firsts, Firsts, Firsts

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One of the things I love most about May—indeed about spring—is how it is a month of firsts. Item (to borrow from Shakespeare): First hermit thrush singing its pan-pipe song. Item: First hummingbird whizzing past the shrubs in front of the house. Item: First Iris bloom in its rich purple glory.

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After the first sighting of the hummingbird, I figured it was high time to get out the hummingbird feeders—the one on the right I bought new this year. In a pan  I mix one part sugar to four parts water and let it boil then cool before filling the feeders.  So far there haven’t been any visitors, but soon there will be.

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Yesterday temple dog, aka Mei Ling, came out for the first time to guard the garden. She takes her job very seriously, and this year we added a little solar light to help her with her work. Her turtle friend Terrance also keeps watch.

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Today, more garden ornaments will be coming out, and I will continue my task of sprinkling ash and organic fertilizer on the beds. Next comes the compost, which we get at our transfer station, and this adds a rich cover to the dirt.

There will be more firsts. We haven’t heard the first loon call or seen the first fireflies or heard the first thrum of June beetles against the screens in the windows. No dragonflies yet. Or butterflies.

But soon these things, along with other new blooms, will be coming. And I’ll be waiting with camera, pencil, and notebook.

Nature

More Down and Up

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This is the time of year when the velocity of change outside is breathtaking. Exactly a week ago, the ferns by the edge of the garden looked like this.

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Today, they look like this.

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Who can blame me, then, for bringing my camera with me when I hang out the laundry? I just can’t resist taking pictures every day, especially as it almost seems that if I sat in one place and stared long enough, then I could actually see the plants grow.

It was on the ground for me to take this picture of violets, a feather, and little white flowers whose name I do not know.

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And to snap a shot of baby Jack.

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Then, off the ground and a little higher to take a picture of the budding irises. (When they are in bloom, I will be back on the ground as I lie on the patio and try to get a good shot underneath.)

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After that, I went from flowers to birds, a real challenge for my little camera. Even though I took pictures of woodpeckers and chickadees, the only decent shot I got was one of this mourning dove.

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Finally, higher up to get a picture of sky, sky, sky and the fringe of budding leaves. (If I stare at this photo long enough, I swear I can see the clouds moving across the sky.)

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Readers, stay tuned for more pictures.

Nature

On the Ground

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When I am outside, I sometimes feel as though my head is on a swivel. I look up. I look down. On the upside, there are leaves, sky, and flowering trees. On the downside, moss, flowers, acorns, and insects. Sometimes, I actually lie on the ground to take pictures, and I’m happy to report that even with extremely creaky knees, I’m able to get up on my own. I’m slow, and I’m clumsy, but up I clamber.

Everyday, there is always so much to look at, especially this time of year.

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Animals - especially dogs, Nature

Spring Abounds

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Spring abounds at the little house in the big woods. Ferns are unfurling, and violets and bluets have begun dotting the lawn.

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In the sun, budding leaves glow like little lanterns, lighting the way for the delightful month.

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My gardens are late gardens, coming into their own in July. So far, the only blooms are pink hyacinths. But the foliage of the growing plants is lush, green, and healthy, a good way to start the season.

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A couple of days ago, the evening was so warm and free of blackflies—thank you, little breeze—that Clif and I had drinks on the patio. Birds called as they fluttered from the trees to the feeders, and we had the usual suspects—goldfinches, chickadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, cardinals, and tufted titmice.

Uncharacteristically, Liam—no rodent dog—was on red squirrel patrol, and he had positioned himself under one of their favorite trees. Recently, Liam had had what might be called a little tête à tête with a red squirrel, and since then he has been obsessed with them.  Well, it gives the old dog something to think about, and he does them no harm. In true herding dog fashion, Liam trots after the red squirrels and stares at them, and I have not seen him snap or bite at them.

Soon, the blackflies will be gone, and good riddance to them. Weather permitting, we will be able to have our supper on the patio most evenings. We will be planning grilled bread and salad gatherings with our friends. In Maine, the time of warm weather is short, and Clif and I want to squeeze in as much as we can.