Three months

Mound of rosemary

I've long thought that it takes about three months for behaviors, moods, and patterns to change. We're in about the third month of temperate weather now, and I can tell by my general mood that I've been out of the heat long enough to recover from the five months or so of torture it inflicts on me.

Of course it's been in the high 70's this week, but somehow spring warmth seems different than fall warmth. 78 degree autumn days seem like a horrible post-script to summer, yet they are delightful in March. That's because by now we've had three months of not baking in the heat, so once again the warmth is welcome.

Speaking of welcome, we've welcomed two new chicks into our home, Daisy and Delilah. Daisy is a Welsummer, Delilah a Cuckoo Maran. Both will lay dark brown eggs once they are mature. And they have their own personalities, even at this early age.  Daisy is a mellow, calm chick and Delilah is full of drama and quite noisy. The day I brought them home Delilah regaled me with shrill peeping that let me know she was NOT happy about riding in the car, and even now, if she can't locate Daisy or feels a little chilled, she sings out. 

Delilah (L) and Daisy (R)

It makes me wonder what her personality is going to be like as a full-grown chicken...we've already had one psycho hen who attacked people, a psycho rooster who attacked other hens, and so we're just hoping Delilah ends up relatively well-adjusted and calm.

In this household there is not much chance of that, but hope springs eternal.

I also got hit with the dreaded spring creeping crud, which laid me out flat in bed for two days and severely sapped my energy for about another five. They say you don't miss your health until it's gone and that's certainly true. Same goes for energy. So of course now it looks as if someone has set off a dust bomb in the house, since when I am sick the house keeper (me) is also. The advantage to that is that I will never be woken from my sickbed by the vacuum. The drawback is that the dust is right there waiting for me, doubled in thickness, once I recover.

Glorious mulch. And a shout out to the trees that lost their lives to provide it. It's nature's cycle.

Another tidbit is that the trees which were uprooted in the storm last month were chipped by our neighbors and so everyone got as much mulch as they wanted. What a bounty! We covered our raised bed area with it and really like how it looks now. Plus it will keep the weeds down. That was my first task upon feeling better and it really felt great to be out in the sunshine with the wheelbarrow. Plus it gave one more legal excuse to procrastinate cleaning house.

In the garden there are blossoms, potatoes sprouting, lettuce and a brand new irrigation system. In the house there is soon-to-be-restored order and cleanliness. 

All things pass away eventually...sickness gives way to health, winter gives way to spring, and dust gives way to clean surfaces.

The counterbalance is, of course that health does eventually give way to sickness once again, spring ushers in hot summer, and dust always returns (sometimes within just a few hours, it seems).

So enjoy it all while you can, because tomorrow will be different. As I said, if you get three months of something, it's enough to change your attitude or life, so I hope all your changes are good ones from now from now 'till summer, and beyond.

The Race Is On!

Ready...

At the 48 hour mark, it's easy to see who is winning the germination race. It's the zinnias, by a huge margin. But there is also activity in the Sugar pie pumpkins, the Waltrip butternut squash and the Black Beauty Zucchini.

Set...

I love watching seeds sprout. They are each so different in how they grow, but for some the speed with which they germinate and get started is quite amazing.

Go!

There's also a whole mess of transplants in the sunroom, which have had several weeks to grow and will probably get planted next week.

The Long Goodbye

"Late Summer" painting by Bev Bunker

The end of summer is always the same -- like a loud party guest who has overstayed their welcome and is the last person present, summer is the equivalent of that person -- sitting on the host's sofa at 2 a.m. relaying long stories about their trip to Europe last summer while asking if that vodka bottle they saw in the kitchen is empty yet. This is what late summer boils (literally) down to here in wine country. Summer has no dignity, and no clue when it's no longer wanted.

Summer, you were so much fun back in May. Now, if I may state things bluntly, you suck. Go home.

Harvest is in full swing out in the vineyards, and the 105-degree temperatures mess with the work schedules of all involved, since that's just too warm for anything to really do well out in the fields -- both the humans as well as the grapes themselves. And to have this kind of late-summer heatwave (a regular, normal occurrence around here) hitting when pumpkin spice everything is clogging up the shelves in the shops, and when the grocery aisles have featured products staged on clumps of fake fall leaves and hay bales, well, it's just depressing. For me anyway. It's like the best event is going on someplace, but not where you are, and you know you're missing out.

But at least there's a partial remedy for the frustration. And that is for me to take down the summer garden.  Because if I've had it with triple digit temps, it's a pretty good bet the squash plants I put in last spring agree with me. Oh, they're still producing squash, I'll be honest. I'm guessing squash plants will keep on producing after the last nuclear holocaust happens on Earth. The Bible is wrong -- it's not really the meek who will inherit the earth -- my bets are on the squash. 

But right now if I see another dish with squash in it I'll scream. Ditto for eggplant. Tomatoes are not high on my list of favorite foods right now either. They, like the party guest I mentioned in the first paragraph, have just spent too much time here and need to go elsewhere to continue their show.

 I hear spring is just getting started in New Zealand, so may I suggest there?

But as far as taking down the garden goes, some rituals are held not because of a season, but in anticipation of it. So although it feels nothing like fall here right now, I will take out the garden because I know, sure as the sun rises, that fall is coming (someday, hear oh Lord my prayer). 

But I will tell you that although I know the change in the seasons is most assuredly coming, it does nothing to decrease the resentment and restlessness I feel every late summer when I see all those hay bales and pumpkin-spice flavored crap in the stores everywhere. Because fall is my favorite season, and I know its happening somewhere. Just not here.

For now though, here in wine country we'll keep our shorts and tank tops on, harvest the grapes, and just dream of a place where pumpkin-spiced stuff seems right for the time of year. And maybe drink some wine to console ourselves. 

The good with the bad

We've had our first official wildfire of the season, which started about a half-hour's drive from where we live, moving away from us, so no worries there.  But several folks have lost their homes, which is always tragic, and so, to some extent, we worry for them -- for all the homesteads and farms in the line of the burn.

In the drawer of my coffee table, I have a list of things to grab if we are ever evacuated in case of a fire.  I have a five-minute list and an hour list, depending on how much notice we have.  On the five minute list are our animals, my computer, our memory boxes for the kids and our fire safe, where we keep pink slips for the car and mortgage documents. On the hour list is a few more things -- our antique sideboard, our clothing, and other items I'd be hard-pressed to replace.  And so we prepare, we hope, and we do everything we can (including keeping the brush on our own property trimmed down) to dodge the fire bullet. But really, it's anyone's guess where it's going to happen.  The entire state is crisp, dry, and ready to burn.

So within this summer season, there is most certainly that bad.  But there also good. The vegetable garden is currently yielding its summer bounty and everything is green and growing.  The skies are clear (the fire is burning away from us so the smoke is moving away from us too) and the evenings are warm and inviting. All over the vineyard at work there are cottontail rabbits, California Quail, and even some wild boar. There are lots of parties in and among the vineyards for industry types, and it's a time when everyone gets together and makes their best guess whether this year will be a vintage for the ages, or one to forget. (it's too soon to tell, really, but it's looking good right now.)

Like everyone else, here in Wine Country we take the good with the bad and hope for the best in all things. It's going to be a long, dry fire season, but also a lovely season for ripe tomatoes, squash, eggplant and onions, so we'll take it all and say a prayer that the rain comes before anymore folks have to check off their evacuation lists and drive away from their homes and ranches, hoping and praying for the best.

All Is Well

Garden growing strong.

Pumpkin and lettuce seedlings in the conservatory.

Well, it appears that we are done with crises for the week, today all the plants are growing strong, the two chicks that Ellen is raising are just getting to that adorable, jumping-around stage, and the two late hatches are in the brooder eating, drinking and generally resting after their traumatized start to life. To some extent, in the animal world there is often a decision made whether to live or die when a creature is tiny and new; a baby rabbit can be picked up and it will become so scared its little heart will speed up until it dies, with no trauma involved, and sometimes, a picked-on, motherless chick decides it's going to live despite its beginnings, stages a comeback, and thrives. 

Recovering nicely.

In the non life-and-death areas of life, there was an art show in town featuring a coastal artist I really like, and so I headed downtown this morning to snag another print of hers for the house. We already have one in our living room and wanted one more to round out the space. The painting is of  a barn we always see as we're driving home from the beach, meaning it's something I generally see late on a weekend afternoon (the same time of day the painting seems to have been done) when I'm feeling very content and happy. Since it reminds me of happy things, I figured why not look at it all the time?

Peaceful barn.

It's also time to harvest the lavender, which means lavender iced tea, lavender ice cream and the house smelling very lavender-y and perfumed (in the most natural way possible, not the AirGlade stink that modern life tells us is a good and clean smell. Blech.)  Every season has its challenges, but late spring especially also has its rewards. Lavender is one of them.

Life goes on in other ways, too. Groceries is two weeks into his Navy basic training and called us this morning very homesick, and Big Ag is learning the ropes at his new job as a vineyard manager, enjoying good days but also having some bad ones. 

Those things are just the stuff that life is made of, and I think the trick is balancing the not-so-good with the blessings, in order to remind yourself that although it's never perfect, maybe for just one day -- perhaps today -- all is well in your corner of the world, and it is  always appropriate and right to celebrate that.

Lots of lavender and some red hot pokers.

Homegrown

Nothing like shopping in the garden for dinner....which was a generous slice of frittata, made with freshly laid eggs, plus harvested-today spinach and onions.  Over the last decade or so, eating food that was collected or harvested 10 minutes before dinner has gotten a bit more routine for me, and I will admit I don't feel the same beginner's thrill I did when first doing it. 

But I'll tell you what: it's no less delicious than it was the first time.