Early morning surprise

 I did not intend to get up at 5:00 this morning, but that was when Terry came into the bedroom to announce that a doe had just dropped her fawn at the far end of our field. It was too far away for great pictures. I have not cashed in my retirement savings to get a Really Big telephoto lens yet. By the time I had my camera, the doe had licked the baby and nudged it until it was on its feet.

Nudging the baby to its feet

A better view of the fawn

The baby nursed for just a moment.

Breakfast

It then went off to play.

And off to explore the big new world!

That was quite an exciting start to the day!

Last week Terry found a tiny nest with “jelly-bean-sized eggs” in one of his dwarf Alberta spruces. I did a stake out, which took about 30 seconds, and identified the parents as chipping sparrows. I haven’t been back to check if they’ve hatched. I’d be devastated if I found out that a racoon got them.

Chipping sparrow nest in a dwarf Alberta spruce

I took a picture with a ruler for a size reference. It seems that the eggs are about 1 cm long. Very cute.

Sparrow eggs with ruler for size reference

I have seen both male and female orchard orioles, but only the male hung around for a photo op.

Orchard oriole at the jelly

The irises and columbines have bloomed.

Iris

Columbine

I’m excited that the first poppy has opened up in my pollinator garden. There are many more ready to go soon. I love poppies! I note that this one has white spots and yellow pollen. Last year most of them had black spots and dark pollen.

First poppy

I am learning that things grown in the high tunnel can reach unusually large sizes. Look at this spinach leaf!

Giant spinach leaf

I don’t know if the large size is because the plants are sheltered from the wind or because it is like a hundred damned degrees in there every time the sun comes out

I also harvested a whole lot of oregano and thyme, which is now in my dehydrator. I normally wait until the last moment, when the herbs are all full of holes from little critters, but not this year. I realize that in years past, the herbs were ready for harvest at the same time as everything else, but no more. We’re months ahead of schedule.

A bin full of oregano with thyme in the upper left corner

I’ve been picking peas from the high tunnel also. Here is the first picking. I threw them in a stir fry with some of the giant spinach and enormous “baby” bok choy. The high tunnel is certainly a lot of fun so far!

First picking of peas--maybe half a cup.

Spring goes on

 Somehow spring progresses even without Hilda. I took a walk back to the creek last week. She loved it back there, and she would have been delighted to see all the violets blooming in the grass.

Violets in the grass by the creek

In addition to being delighted at the grass and violets, I was delighted in the absence of the dreaded garlic mustard. We really do seem to be winning the war, not by pulling it all up, which would take forever, but by weed whacking it before it flowered two years in a row. Garlic mustard is a biennial, so the first year of weed whacking, the two-year-old plants will fail to set seed while the seeds in the soil sprout into immature plants. If those plants also cannot set seed, there will be no plants in the third year. This will only work if there is no seed bank, which is seeds that lurk unsprouted in the soil for more than a year. Evidence suggests that our soil does not have much of a garlic mustard seed bank.

My jack-in-the-pulpit came back, but does not appear to be spreading. My friend Huck just brought me two more jack-in-the-pulpits to plant in Hilda’s memory, which I have done.

Jack-in-the-pulpit. The orange is plastic tape to keep Terry from weed whacking it.

The mayapples, on the other hand, are finally starting to take off.

Spreading mayapples

Up by the garage, the trillium that I transplanted from Camp Pokonokah Hills many years ago are doing well. This brings me a great deal of joy. I will probably divide them this year or next. I haven’t picked a place to put them yet.

Trillium

Lots of fun things are happening in the high tunnel. The first planting of peas are flowering. It won’t be long before we’ll have swelling pods. Because I have no idea how many plants it takes to make a serving of peas, I won’t be surprised if we have three peas apiece for our first meal.

Pea flowers in the high tunnel

I planted two cucumbers in the soil of the high tunnel. One germinated and is growing ever so slowly. I planted three in a pot in the house, and they are growing like crazy. I soon had to transplant them to the high tunnel because they outgrew their pots.

The cucumber that germinated in the high tunnel on the left; one that I started indoors on the right

I have been carrying on with the tomato and pepper seedlings as best I can without Hilda's guidance. I haven't killed any yet, and the germination was nearly 100%, much higher than I anticipated when I planted two or three seeds per pot. Thus I have roughly 2.5 times the number of seedlings that I need. I hate making those life and death decisions.

Seedlings in the greenhouse

We had a little rain two weeks ago. We need more quite desperately. We thought we might get some this morning, but so far it’s nothing but a drop here and there. “Nuisance rain” Terry calls it. The last rain provided evidence of my suspicion that raccoons go over every square inch of the property every night.

Raccoon prints by the patio

More of our bird friends have come back. The first rose breasted grosbeak I saw looked pretty moth-eaten, perhaps a first-year male. I don’t know how much mating success he’s going to have with such washed-out plumage.

A not very rosy rose breasted grosbeak

The second male I saw was more typical.

A better specimen of grosbeak manliness

We have seen both male and female Baltimore orioles. I have only seen a male orchard oriole, and never long enough for a picture.

Male Baltimore oriole

Three white crowned sparrows have been hanging around longer than I expected. In previous years, they have come and gone almost as quickly as the white throated sparrow.

Three white crowned sparrows

We are finally seeing hummingbirds. Just this morning, I saw two on the feeder at the same time. Normally, they spend more time chasing each other away and defending their turf than actually drinking. It seems maladaptive. In this case, the female was first, but she held her ground when a male approached. She does seem to be regarding him with some suspicion.

Female hummingbird, right, regards an approaching male suspiciously

She even stayed while he settled in for a drink. Maybe this was their first date.

Still not quite sure about this guy, but letting him perch anyway

Oh, those turkeys. Two toms looked like they had a female interested. She walked right in front of them…

A female walks in front of two toms.

And kept going.

Hey! Where are you going? Come back!

Then headed back, and walked away for good.

Wait! Don't go! Check out this plumage!

The two toms then displayed to each other as if asking each other if they did or did not look sexy, or perhaps where they should try their luck next.

Do I look okay? What should we do now? I heard there were some babes across the road....

 

Farewell, Hilda

 

Hilda Norine Campbell Dow

October 22, 1930—April 25, 2021

Hilda on her 90th birthday last October

“I’m not going to put up a Christmas tree this year,” my mother announced in November. “It’s too much work.”

“Of course you are having a Christmas tree,” I said. “I’ll help you decorate.”

When we found out Hilda had a large malignant tumor on her colon in early December, she changed her mind. “Since this will be my last Christmas, I suppose I’ll have to have a tree.”

Once the tree was up, Hilda told me several times a day how much she enjoyed the cheerful colored lights. A week after her colonoscopy, she fell in the coop and cracked her collar bone. She had to sleep in a chair in the living room, and we kept the tree lights on all night. They made a good night light when she had to go to the bathroom.

We had to take the tree down before she came home from the hospital on January 5. The doctor had not been able to remove the tumor because it had already invaded her liver and pancreas. He re-routed her colon around the tumor. She was discharged to my care with Hospice support. We put the hospice bed where the Christmas tree had been, in the living room by the west windows overlooking the field, the apple orchard, and the fifth oak. I hung a string of colored lights in the window. She liked that.

She got better as she recovered from surgery and then worse as the cancer sapped her strength and energy. Doug and Pam brought her flowers and a balloon for Valentine’s Day. She loved that balloon. She marveled at how perfectly round it was, the result of it being made of four panels. She wouldn’t let me get rid of it even as it started to deflate. She kept it by the bed where she could play with the ribbon, pulling the balloon down and letting it rise up again. Throughout her life, she retained child-like joy in small things like balloons and Christmas lights. I admired that. The Hospice booklet said that as death approaches, the patient will often start talking about travel. Hilda wasn’t sure where she was going, but she asked me if she could take her balloon with her.

“Absolutely,” I said. When the time came, I did a ritual sacrifice of the balloon, sending its remaining helium to be with her. I couldn’t just set the balloon free. Mylar is very bad for the environment.

Hilda's view from the hospice bed--back yard, Christmas lights, Valentine's balloon and dragonfly suncatcher

It is difficult for me to write an obituary for my mother. We have a 62-year history, after all. So many memories.

It is amazing to think of how much changed during the course of Hilda’s life. She was born at the beginning of the Depression. Her father left school after 6^th grade. Her mother made it to 8^th. In spite of their own lack of formal schooling, they valued education and encouraged their first two children to go to college. Carl went on to get a Ph.D. Hilda got a Masters. Dick, the youngest, finished high school, went into the army, and then returned to work the farm with his parents.

Hilda grew up without indoor plumbing, central heat, vaccinations, and antibiotics. They had a goose who hated everyone except my grandma. Hilda had to take a stick with her to the outhouse to fend off goose attacks.

She got her first ball point pen as a gift when she graduated from high school. Her teaching career began in 1952. She taught every elementary grade before settling on fourth grade as her favorite. She always said that she could tell the difference in students before and after televisions became common. Attention spans got much shorter. It was a good thing she retired before cell phones were invented. I wasn’t that lucky.

Hilda touched hundreds of lives over her 30-year career. It’s hard to see any accomplishment as a teacher. You do your best with every student, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing, but hardly every really knowing how anyone turns out. It’s like standing at the edge of a lake chucking in pebbles. The waves ripple out, interacting with other ripples, disappearing from sight. You just have to believe that it mattered somehow.

She did get to see how Doug and I turned out, and she was proud of us. She was always game to try something new. For example, she endured and even participated in my interest in wild foods when Euell Gibbons published Stalking the Wild Asparagus. We helped her in the kitchen and garden from the time we could stand. We couldn’t have been much help and probably made more work for her, but she understood that letting us help when we were young enough to want to would set a precedent for doing our part to run the household when we were surly teenagers. Most importantly, we always knew we could count on her unconditional love. She was a great mom.

Hilda was a big fan of my writing. There is an entire file drawer in her bedroom filled with the letters I’ve written over the years. I knew she was in decline when I couldn’t get her interested in reading my blog posts any more. She had always dropped whatever she was doing to run to her computer after I told her I’d posted an update. She would read it and say, “I LOVE your blog!”

These last seven years living with Hilda were a great gift. It was a privilege and an honor to care for her in her final months. My goal was to keep her at home until she died and know that I’d done as much as I could. I can put a big check mark by that one.

All Hilda ever wanted from death was eternal rest. As exhausting as the cancer was, I’m sure eternal rest was more welcome than ever. Sleep well, my dearest Hilda. I will love you forever.

Bird-a-liciousness

 In answer to last week’s cliffhanger, I made rhubarb crisp, or crispy as it is known in Costa Rica. Crisp is certainly the path of least resistance. Easier than cake and WAY easier than pie.

Rhubarb crispy

We have a large fairy ring in front of the house. The name allegedly comes from an ancient believe that these circles marked where the fairies danced. That is a lovely image, but in reality, it’s from fungus. This particular fungus releases nitrogen and/or holds water, either of which would cause the grass to be greener on this well drained-slope. The fungus starts in one place and grows in all directions, dying back in the middle where the resources are depleted. If we are really lucky, we may see the fruiting bodies (a.k.a. toadstools, which never actually serve as chairs for warty amphibians—that’s another folktale) in a big ring on the lawn.

A fairy ring

The male goldfinches are nearly all gold these days, having overcome that embarrassing spring molt. I’ve also seen goldfinch couples hanging around the feeder. Nesting can’t be far away, although today feels more like fall than spring. It got down to 28° last night, and while today started out sunny, the sky is now gray, and we even had a very brief snow shower.

Goldfinch on the weathervane

We have only had blue jays around the property for a few years. I didn’t miss them, as they are generally noisy and aggressive toward our other birdie friends. Still, some consider them beautiful. I assume those people don’t know them very well.

Blue jay

I see a cute little chipping sparrow most days. He’s such a nervous little guy that it’s hard to get a photo. This is the best I’ve gotten so far.

The chipping sparrow wears a rust-colored bike helmet

The most exciting bird of the week was a solitary white throated sparrow. I have never seen white throated sparrows on more than one day each spring and consider myself fortunate if I see them during their brief stay. This is the first time I’ve been observant enough to notice the yellow eyebrows. It’s a beautiful little bird that almost always serenades us during our trip to the Boundary Waters every summer.

Best-focused picture

Most adorable picture

I had to cover everything in the high tunnel because I can’t quite trust it to not freeze during cold weather. In the house, my cucumber, watermelon, tomato, and pepper seeds are sprouting. I need to get them out in better light soon, but I have to wait until it’s warmer. They get so spindly when they don’t have enough light. Artificial light just isn’t the same.

Seedlings

The forecast for next week has temperatures into the 80’s. The poor trees won’t know what to do!

 

Verdure

 

As Terry says every year at this time, “The first spring rain paints the whole world green.” He’s such a romantic! I took this picture during our rainy weekend, and even though the weather was dreary, the new grass and budding trees lifted my spirits. Green is a soothing color, and the natural green of plant life is the best!

Green grass on a rainy day

I noticed this year that the house finch males turn a bit redder for the breeding season. Not sure why this took me so long.

Mr. and Mrs. House Finch. Note Mr.'s extra-red forehead.

It did not take the ground squirrels long to discover the sunflower seeds under the bird feeder. They’re so cute with their cheek pouches stuffed full. There are not a lot of them so far, but I have seen two at once. More are undoubtedly on the way.

Sunflower cheeks

We had a parade of turkeys in the field on Thursday. I think there were 7 hens and 3 toms. I don’t know how they ever make more turkeys. Every time I see them the hens are totally uninterested in the strut and bluster of the toms.

A parade of turkeys, 7 females and 3 toms (larger, in the middle of the pack)

A tom and two wingmen seemed to have two hens interested. The toms seem to be saying, “Hey baby! Look at me! Am I not majestic?”

Guys! Guys!  They're looking at me!

But soon the hens’ interest waned….

Over here! Look back over here!

And disappeared. The whole thing reminds me of a Junior High dance. The boys hunt in packs, and the girls laugh in their faces.

Shoot. We lost them

I read up on mâche and learned that I should harvest it by cutting at ground level. I cut all the mâche and a few of the larger lettuces from the raised bed in the high tunnel. I also cut the larger leaves from the spinach. It filled a pink tray and will provide salads for awhile.

First high tunnel harvest for 2021

With space cleared in the bed, I transplanted my lettuce seedlings.

Transplanted lettuce seedlings

I also planted some herbs in the herb bed. One pot of parsley was really 4 plants. Had I know, I would have gotten only one pot instead of three. We won’t be short parsley. I cut out half the chives to make room. I don’t use chive much. Why do I grow it? It’s so aggressive.

Newly planted sage, parsley, and rosemary next to the overwintered chive, thyme, and oregano

The rhubarb will soon be ready. Every year I am amazed at how quickly it grows. Pie, crisp, or coffee cake? Decisions, decisions. I'll have to consult with Terry.

We moved the hens to summer pasture last night. When Terry opened the coop this morning, several of the girls flew over the ramp rather than walking down. I left the food in the coop today so they would get used to going in and out. They all spent time in the orchard last year. I wonder how much they remember.

Free to roam!

In any case, once out, they were just as happy as can be. They start un-mulching the apple trees immediately. We like to think that they are finding and eating apple pests. There is anecdotal evidence that the apples have fewer bugs since we’ve been running the chickens in the orchard. Hard to say if there is a cause/effect relationship there, though. It is irrefutable that the chickens love having more space to run around. Maybe now the Wyandottes’ feathers will grow back.

Scratching and pecking in the mulch beneath the apple trees

Nice weather

 Seems like summer these last two days with temperatures in the high 70’s. I took a walk to the creek to see what was going on. The creek is low. We were supposed to have rain this afternoon, but it went around us. We are still hoping to get some tonight. Every time we see an updated forecast, the chance of rain goes down, though. It has been very dry, which means that Terry is griping about having to water his trees, and I have to listen to it.

Not much water in the creek

Most of my transplants are not sprouting yet. The ramps are up. They are not spreading the way I hoped they would. Perhaps I’ll plant more one of these days.

Ramps by the creek

The scilla, on the other hand, are propagating. Each one I planted last spring has several new plants around it. I know it’s not native, but my plan is to replace the garlic mustard with something that at least has a prettier flower.

Scilla

The peas in the high tunnel are leafing out. Terry has turned on the outside hoses, so watering the high tunnel is a breeze. Also, I don’t have to haul water to the coop from the kitchen.

Pea sprouts

One morning, four deer walked across the field in the dawnzerlee light. I think it was Beverly Cleary’s character, Ramona the Pest, who thought that was how the national anthem began and wondered if it was some kind of lamp. Cleary died last week at 104. I loved her books and also that we shared our first name.

Deer at sunrise

The ground squirrels have ended their hibernation. I shouldn’t speak for all of them. I’ve only seen one at a time, and I do not have the kind of intimate relationship with them that would enable me to tell one from another.

13-striped ground squirrel taking in the view

What are YOU looking at?

The Asian ladybugs are out in force. There’s one crawling all over my laptop even as I type this. Terry keeps vacuuming them off the walls and floor, but there’s always more. He says they will figure out soon that there is more food outside, and then they will leave us alone. I say, “Ha ha, good one.” I am of the opinion that they will pester us until the soybeans are up, and that will not be any time soon.