Christmas Presents

Given the teenageness of my sons, I wasn't too excited about buying them a lot of Christmas presents. A piece of coal and a stick seemed just about right. Of course, their desires were of the expensive electronic variety: PCs, ipods, cell phones, games.

Hubby and I finally faced shopping for them the Wednesday before Christmas. We reminisced about their younger days as we strolled through the toy aisles and decided it was much easier to buy for an 8-year-old than a 16-year-old.

We bought mostly functional items, exciting items such as underwear, grooming products (AXE, yuck, but the boys douse themselves with it), new sunglasses to drive in winter's glare, umbrellas so they can stand at the bus stop (yeah, we're too mean to let them drive to school and too lazy to drive them to school every morning), battery operated toothbrushes (an impulse buy), and electric shavers . They have razors but they wanted to try shavers. Oh, and a pro-sized football and a new skateboard.

On Christmas morning they found that Santa did indeed stuff their stockings and set wrapped presents under the tree. They emptied their stockings before breakfast and then we went to church before they opened their presents. They are such cool kids. Each present was greeted with enthusiasm (even the boxer briefs) and thank yous. There were no complaints about the lack of electronics, but they took pleasure in what they received.

So the next day I ordered a Dell computer powerful enough to run their games.

College Days

Overhead at Christmas Eve services: Pastor's wife asks my niece, who attends Purdue University, how school is going. Niece responds, "I'm having fun."

My sister-in-law was aghast, but that would have been my response also at age 19.

Corporal Blair

Thursday, Corporal Jonathon Blair, 21 years old, was laid to rest. I met him when he was just a toddler and I last saw him at a campfire by the river before he went to basic training.

My tears were for the loss of a young man. A young man who planned to marry his sweetheart and become a chef when he got back. A courageous young man killed by the terrorist cowards in Iraq. A young man full of laughter who invented veggie baseball at the river.

My tears were for his mother. A single mother who did a marvelous job raising a son. A mother who drove over 400 miles last September to give him another hug when his deployment was delayed two days. A mother who brought home medals instead of a son Thursday afternoon.

My tears were for the rest of his family. His grandmother and grandfather who helped raise him in his youngest years. His aunt, one of my best friends, who is grieving for herself and for her sister's incredible pain. His six-year-old niece who decided just to pretend that he was still alive.

My tears were for my son who wants to join the army, who only sees honor in a fallen soldier, especially a soldier honored by his comrades. My need to let my son go, make his own decisions, become his own man.

And as I followed the funeral procession, my tears were for the outpouring of respect and thankfulness by the community. Staff Sgt. John Beville, who trained Blair and served with him during his first stint in Iraq, said "I wish all soldiers got this."

Going Overboard

Several years ago, I left my mop and bucket sitting in the hall outside the bathroom before my garden party. This week, I left my To Do list sitting on the counter. My niece Laura and sister-in-law Terri had a laugh about one item that wasn't crossed off: Scrub laundry sink and wipe down laundry walls.

Contrary to all Flylady's mandates, I do go overboard in cleaning when I have a party. It's my way to do the spring/fall cleaning. There are downsides to this approach, other than being exhausted when your guests arrive. My husband announced that, the next time I entertain a large gathering, he and boys would be leaving for a week. They enjoy hosting and would show up for the party though. OK, perhaps I stress out a little and perhaps I become demanding and perhaps my sense of perspective is skewed. I don't care. I love having people in my house.

Enough whoopses already

Thursday afternoon, hubby was warming the car while I finished my hair on the way to Thanksgiving dinner at my inlaws. The boys were dressed and waiting. I heard an outburst and started for the front room. Hubby stopped me. "You don't want to go out there." Scary words. When I worked up the nerve, I saw droplets of milk on the living room ceiling, milk dripping down the living room walls, milk covering the piano, milk on the carpet, milk on the leather chair and even milk on the french doors in the dining room. Seems Ron was drinking a glass of milk, not in the living room which is against the rules, but on the very edge. He decided that he would stop his twin brother from wrestling with the dog with one hand while holding the drink with his other hand. Well, brother didn't like it and responded by kicking out with his leg not knowing his brother had a glass of milk.

I decided to cook the turkey today since the oven would be busy with ham, dressing, bread, etc. for my family's Thanksgiving here tomorrow. Ricky was helping by thoroughly cleaning the range. He removed the burners and knobs and did a good job cleaning. I was mopping the floor, and gave him the (rather clear, I think) instructions to spray and wipe the oven door. When I checked his progress, I discovered he had somehow turned on the Clean oven switch and the oven door was locked, charring a 20+ pound turkey. The outburst, this time, was mine. Hubby finally managed to get the door unlocked and the turkey proceeded to cook normally.

A few hours late, Ricky cleaned the refrigerator for me. He took all the food out, threw away the mysteries, and wiped everything down with soapy warm water with a little bleach. As he put the food back, he announced how he was organizing the food. I went over and opened the door preparing to praise him, when the bar that holds the bottles on the shelf in the door fell out along with the bottles. Only the very large, almost full glass bottle of hot sauce broke splattering sauce and glass shards all over the kitchen. By now, I just had to laugh. Seems he thought the bar was removable and it broke. He pressed it in place but that doesn't work too well with plastic.

I'm a few hours behind schedule for tomorrow's influx of relatives (31 in all), but I know they won't care if I don't do everything on my list. I am so thankful for my family. I'm even thankful for my teenage boys.

Prayer Request

Yesterday several soldiers from the 3rd Brigade Combat Team of the 101st Airborne were killed in a roadside bombing north of Baghdad. They knocked on the door of my friend last night. She refused to open it at first, but that won't change the fact her son will be forever 21 years old. RIP, Jon, you grew up to be an honorable man.

Important Scientific Information

I just discovered an important scientific study from MIT that is not getting the press it deserves. Please go here and read carefully.

First Snow

It snowed yesterday, with a strong biting wind. I worked yesterday. Luckily, I had some indoor work to do - cataloguing the plants in the garden beds, documenting plans for next year's garden, and researching the history of the garden.

It has been a warm, dry fall. Not best for the plants, but wonderful for someone who is working outside for the first time in her life.

Here's another picture of the garden. This is on the lower east side of the garden with a sitting bower to the left and the lake behind it. My plan is to plant this bed more densely and to group the plants for more of a dramatic effect.

Mama Bear Restrained

One of the hardest things for me to do as the boys approach manhood is to shackle my mama bear instincts. Several nights ago at dinner I asked about their day. Ron, with a fleeting expression of pain and disappointment, told me that he was not going to be the basketball manager this year. He was led to believe by the coach that he would continue this position from last year and I was there when the new coach told him he didn't have to attend try-outs. When Ron asked the coach about the scrimmage game this Friday, the coach told him that he wasn't the manager as it was given to one of the boys who attended try-outs.

OK, so the coach can select whomever he wants for this position. Just don't mislead the boys. Just play fair. Just give him a valid reason. I was ready to contact this man and ask some questions, but when I suggested it to Ron as we said prayers that evening, Ron told me to drop it. I think he was pleased that his mama was so much on his side, but he doesn't need his mama to step in anymore.

I'm so proud of how he has handled this. I know he hurts, but no one else would know. He decided not to ask about the decision, but go on with his life. A friend who teaches high school told me once that some kids just have to survive high school and then blossom as adults. Nonetheless, I think it is important for the boys to be involved in school activities, to belong to a group, and I hope (pray) he finds his niche.

Thursday Three

Here's today's Thursday Three from Terry.

1) If you had an unlimited amount of money, what sort of house would you like to have?
This is the hardest question. For certain, I'd spend more money on the land than on the house. The house would overlook the sweeping vista of a valley (all mine!), surrounded by old growth timber, wildflower meadows, lakes, rivers, swamps. Can I also throw in a desert and ocean? I thought I knew about the house until Terry linked to the Gamble House. So in this Arts and Crafts style, my house would have two angled wings connected to the main house by glass enclosed, heated and cooled, covered walkways overlooking the gardens. One wing would be mine and the other wing would be my husband's. My wing would include a conservatory, craft room, multimedia room, and library. Hubby's wing would probably include a woodworking shop and his library. It's not that we don't love to spend time together, but we need room to spread our stuff.

2) If you decided to chunk it and go the full Thoreau route, what sort of hovel would you like to have?
Probably not much different from Thoreau - cabin in the woods. It would be a wildflower woods and have a river running by it instead of a pond.

3) What is the one thing you’d most like to change about the house or apartment you live in right now?
One thing! You're kidding, Terry. We remodeled about six years ago after much thought and deliberation, but there are still things I would change. Since this is one sentence, I'm going to count it as one thing (don't you love colons, semicolons and parentheticals!): make the boys' bedrooms larger; change the entryway; include a baking center in the kitchen; at least double the size of the laundry room; use wood flooring; add soffits to better define the open living space; enlarge the closets; and add more storage. Don't even get me started on the outside.

Urban Experience

Chicago. Saturday night. Somewhere near Garfield Park. Hip Hop Poet night at an urban church. Several groups performing. Request goes out for a male and a female volunteer. A young black female volunteers. Another call for a man. A skinny 16-year-old boy stands. Mouths drop in disbelief at this white boy in glasses. They shrug, motion him forward and hand him the microphone and tell him to rap about his glasses. "Nah, breakdancing." And off he goes. Brings the house down.

This is the story related to me, his mother, by several people when I picked Ricky up from the mission trip to Chicago. No, he didn't breakdance (surprise!) but he sure rapped about it.

All Saints Day

We celebrated All Saints Day this morning at church by displaying the names of those who died during the last year, by communion (with the saints) and by lighting a candle in their memory. This is the picture I shared of my mother.

A Typical (?) Friday

What shall I post about on this quiet fall morning? Another chapter of The Slaughterer? Where the boys are? A Night at the River? OK, here's a recap of yesterday.

The boys are on fall break and headed separate ways. I dropped Ricky off at the church at 8:30 for a missions trip to Chicago. They are taking the bus to South Bend to catch the South Shore train and then taking a city bus to First Church of the Brethren near Garfield Park. This church has an active missions program and Ricky will be doing some type of work project on Saturday, with a "cultural event" Saturday evening. He blew hot and cold about going on this trip (if you have an image of teenage uproar in our house for several days, you are right), but I have a strong sense that this trip will change him more than anyone he serves. He called in the evening to let us know he got there and that he loves us. The call was unexpected and sweet.

After I dropped him off, I headed to work. I was planting tulip bulbs in the West Arbor Bed, when fellow sane gardener whispered, "I think The Slaughterer is in the gentians." I ran across the garden and found three out of the four transplants in her wheelbarrow. I let out several pathetic mews. "My gentians, my sweet gentians!" She felt truly sorry, but how could she have not known? She suggested they be planted there, they were in sunken pots (which she said was confusing), and they were surrounded with stakes and a chain. I dug them out of the wheelbarrow and replanted them, but they are extremely difficult to transplant and the seeds I had oh so gently shaken onto the soil were lost. Of all I've done in these gardens this fall, I was most pleased with the gentians.

I raced home, fed Ron and took him to his weekend activity - Go Mad - sponsored by Youth of Christ. This is essentially a weekend of games and fun with some devotions which caused his twin the angst about having to work in Chicago while his brother played. And why did they ever name this event Go Mad? Say it aloud. That's the last thing teenage boys need to be reminded of.

Then I raced across town, picked up some Subway sandwiches and met hubby and friends for a campfire at the river. We talked and laughed and enjoyed the evening. And hubby and I have a

WEEKEND

TO

OURSELVES!

Fall Gardening at Wildflower Woods

I know it's been a while since I last posted and this may be cheating, but I've been asked to write a garden article for the site's newsletter. Here's the inaugral article for my column called "Under the Arbor."

With a riotous backdrop of chrysanthemums, asters, sedums and cosmos and the sound of school children touring the garden, the gardeners have been busy this fall getting the Formal Garden ready for winter.

Before the heavy frost and snows, most beds have been weeded. The west Arbor bed has been readied for renovation next spring. With deep shade, competition from the wisteria vines and lack of irrigation, this bed was overtaken by wildings, to use a Gene Stratton Porter term. Others may call these wildings weeds, but a weed is only a plant where it doesn’t belong. Wild ginger was running rampant in the arbor bed, but it is a delightful plant along the paths in the woodlands.

Fall is also the time for planting. We are planting spring bulbs, but this fall we had a very special addition to the garden. One of the Board members discovered that a large bed of fringed gentians were in danger of being destroyed by a gravel pit. We dug four plugs, about six inches square, and transplanted them near the flagpole. They were planted in sunken pots filled with gravel, in order to mimic natural conditions. Since fringed gentians are biennial, with seeds germinating into small plants the first year and blooming the next year, we may not see their fragile blue blooms again for two years if we were successful in this tricky transplant.

Seeds have been collected to plant next spring with the extra seeds packaged for sale in the gift shop, benefiting the Society. We are attempting this winter, for the first time, to save the especially beautiful or rare tender annuals by pottings or cuttings. These annuals are spending their winter in the big bay window at the farmhouse.

Many bulbs have been dug and dried on screens in the Garden Shed (reminiscent of The Harvester) before being stored in the cool, dark farmhouse basement for the winter. These include gladiolas, begonias, canna lily, peacock orchid, and dahlias.

The hardy plants overwinter in the garden. Some have been cut back, but those with attractive foliage or seed heads remain intact, as they are especially beautiful in winter laden with snow.

Perhaps the best part of fall gardening is planning for the next season. We have inventoried the plants in the formal garden beds, noted what works well and what hasn’t thrived. We then cross-referenced the existing plants with the plant list maintained by Gene Stratton Porter from 1912 through 1922. And we talk about the “what ifs.” What if we plant these in drifts for more impact? What if we revive the yellow bed, perhaps adding this plant? What if we make part of the herb bed into an herbal tea garden? What if we outline these beds to draw the eye to the layout? What if we move this to the rock garden? What if we add some cabbage roses to the rose bed? What if? What if?

If you have some “what if” ideas to share, now is the time.

Spirit

The imagination imitates. It is the critical spirit that creates.
—Oscar Wilde

All By Myself

Remember when your toddler wanted to do it "all by myself?" Nothing changes when that toddler becomes a teenager. While the boys constantly test the limits of "all by myself," life is easier now that they independently mow the lawn, cook dinner (their menu of course), do the dishes, sweep the floor, do their own laundry. I'm afraid we will get used to this and then they will be gone and we will have to do it "all by ourselves" again.

Ron signed up to bring cookies to school today. Last night, as I was leaving the house for a meeting, he asked me if two sticks of butter equaled a cup. When I got home, he had stirred up and baked a large batch of chocolate chip cookies to take to school. He even pointed out that he washed the baking dishes and wiped the counter. That sure beats me staying up late to bake treats for school.

This morning, Ricky asked me when he could bake cookies "all by myself." Hmmm, Christmas baking may have gotten a whole lot easier.

More Wisteria Hysteria

School was out due to teachers' inservice (they never had these when I went to school!) and Ron came with me to work about a week after I stopped the Slaughterer from cutting the supporting above-ground roots off the venerable wisteria. When we arrived at the gardens around 9 am, I found the Slaughterer standing in a large hole swinging an axe underneath the arbor. In the middle of the hole was a large root, all that remained of a hundred year old vine. Without asking, Ron hopped in the hole and took over the axe. To my horrified "That vine was still alive!", she replied, "It was getting in the way of the beautiful clematis."

It's been several weeks and things have calmed down around the arbor...but there are stories to be told about her love affair with invasive plants.

Pick up some quantum dots while you're at the store, honey

This is such a fun thing to consider: the end of light bulbs and the start of light dots.

Crime Scene Photos

Wisteria Histeria - Continued

When we last left Slaughterer, she was randomly attacking the wisteria vines. Next, though, she gets down and dirty.

The arbor, designed by Gene Stratton Porter, is about 200 feet long, made of rustic logs over a stone path. She planted wisteria, trumpet vine and Tara vine. Wisteria is a hardy plant once established, (thank goodness-that's my only hope!) and her original vines were still there when the garden was rennovated in the 1950s. The bed along the west side of the arbor was overgrown with weeds and invasive ground cover. It is shady in the morning and sunny in the afternoon and there is intense water competition with the wisteria. We decide to clean the bed out and start over. The plan is to mulch 2/3 of the bed where the wisteria is planted and to replant the other third with suitable plants. (That means I haven't decided yet what to plant!)

As we clean up the bed, we discover lots of runners and suckers from the wisteria. "Sure, Slaughterer, it's ok to cut off that growth." But she cannot forget her intense hatred for this vine and starts pulling up the smaller top roots and calling them runners. I explain the difference (and she is has almost attained the status of Advanced Master Gardener) and once again think I have the situation under control....

until I look up and see her with a bow saw poised to cut an extremely large root running along the arbor which provides not only nutrition to the vine but also support.

Wisteria Hysteria

I was warned. Eddie warned me when he first talked to me about this job. He needed someone to guard the garden as he couldn't be there all the time. He told me several horror stories about one of the part-time gardeners, including the time she started randomly cutting the thick trunks of the 100 year old wisteria covering a long arbor, the showpiece of the garden. The gardener then justified her actions to Eddie claiming the top foliage was dead, even though the vine was very much alive until she snipped it off. Of course, at 80 years old she couldn't climb up and remove the entangled, now dead, vines.

But I was enchanted by the garden, the site, the history of the garden and the challenge of restoring it. And I wasn't too concerned about this gardener because I've managed people for many years, some who were very difficult.

Oh, but my eyes have been opened.

The first week was uneventful. The next week, when I got to work, I discovered that she (hereinafter known as Slaughterer) had been pruning the wisteria for over an hour. Slaughterer has an interesting pruning technique, reaching up and snipping the middle of any vine that catches her eye, even though these plants are mature enough to have clearly defined collars where the vine leaves the trunk. The other gardener, a gentle woman in her 70s, was ineffectively trying to stop her. Slaughterer emphatically stated how much she disliked wisteria. I managed to convince her to take a break and we went into the garden shed (an original structure) to research how to prune wisteria. We agreed (I thought) not to prune it until after it bloomed and to contact the horticulture guru at the Extension for guidance.

On my way back to the garden, I happened to see Eddie and filled him in on the morning's murderous activity. He meandered over as we were discussing how to apply what we just learned to the arbor wisteria. While we were filling him in (and I subtly set-up Slaughterer to respond so she would have some ownership in the decisions), she reached over his head and snipped another vine! And then she reached over my head to snip a vine. Was I going to have to tackle this woman to keep her from mutilating if not killing the cherished arbor plantings?

The saga continues. More tomorrow.

I was reticent to blog about this at first, thinking it was resolved, but after a month, my gardening gloves are off. I have little hope that the story has ended yet.

Watch Out World

Ron has his driver's license as of an hour ago and he's just itching to drive without a parent. Our challenge now is to make him understand that a driver's license does not mean he can drive anytime, anywhere he wants. It also does not mean that we will give him his own set of keys.

Rick's broken hand slowed his driving progress a bit. He drove home the day the cast was removed. It was drizzling and he hadn't driven for over a month and it was rush hour. As we pulled up to a stoplight, a car stopped beside us and the driver gave us an angry look for the slow and rather erratic driving. Then he smiled as he saw the young man behind the wheel and the mother griping the dashboard.

I was so struck by the way this grass and the mums complement each other, that I mentioned it to a girlfriend on the phone. She told me to post the picture. Next year, I'll move the mums next to the grass. There is a large bed of pink and white cosmos inbetween. They fell over in the last windstorm so the scene is not really as pretty as it looks in the picture. I think I'll clean it up and put some pumpkins there. Following are more pictures from my October garden.

This is one variety of Toad Lily in my garden. This is a lighter color than the other Toad Lily and it blooms along the stem while the other one sends up flowers on small stems.

Here's the other Toad Lily variety. It's next to my front step and easy to see these small, unusual flowers.

My garden in October. I like the way the repetition of the sedums draws the eye through the garden. I also like how the color of the grass heads picks up the color of the sedum. 

Blackberry Lily seed pods in front of Sedum 

Fringed Gentian

It is the week for rare sitings. Yesterday at work we were called to rescue a colony of fringed gentians from a gravel pit operation. I took my camera to work but forgot to bring it to the gravel pit, so you will have to settle for an Internet photo. It is a biannual so we tried to find some first year plants and we tried to find some seed pods. We did not take the whole colony but five large plugs.

The transplants are in a holding bed now and I will try to recreate their natural habitat tomorrow. They like a sunny location that is consistently damp but well-drained, which is why you find them in sand/gravel next to water. The site has damp/well-drained locations but they are all in the shade. I'm thinking about burying a large tub in one of the gardens with several drain holes with the bottom filled with gravel and a thin layer of rich topsoil. We will have to water it frequently but I hope the tub will help keep it damp. They have a symbiotic relationship with mycorrhizae fungi so I took a lot of soil with the transplants and hope the fungi is present. I also determined that you can buy the fungi but there are over 2500 types of mycorrhizae fungi so it may be difficult to add this to the soil.

It would be nice to have fringed gentians in Gene Stratton Porter's garden as it was her favorite swamp plant and is mentioned in many of her books.

Comments

This is not a comment heavy blog; probably because someone has to read it first before commenting. The exception are the spammers. I'm tired of deleting comments. I have a rather full life outside of my blog and comment spam is an irritant I don't need. So I just added a small barrier to commenting. You have to verify you are human by entering a squiggly word.

Osprey Sitings

Osprey are endangered in Indiana and two years ago chicks were reintroduced but not in this area. So it was with great excitement last night that Steve and I observed an osprey take off from the river bank, circle over the riverboat and head downriver . We watched it land and as we went downstream, it took off again. Tonight Steve was on the river and sited the osprey again. Both sitings were at dusk on the St. Joseph River north of Leo.