Although the "official" first day of spring hasn't quite arrived, in my book, St. Patrick's Day marks the start of the season of green. Despite the still chilly weather (and wind!) there is no missing the evidence of spring: tender golden-green shoots peeking up through the sodden garden soil, swollen forsythia buds and the feeling that the sun is getting warmer.
It sure was one memorable winter....not too bad at all until the one-two punches of snow in February and it just didn't stop coming. The cold was brutal. Driving was particularly hazardous, with the narrowed streets, ice and mountainous snow banks that obstructed any clear view at an intersection. All that contributed to a lot of time not doing much after work. I just didn't have the fortitude to brave the miserable elements and go anywhere or do much of anything besides surf the net or read. Oh, I did lug in firewood, but otherwise, was undoubtedly a total couch potato, a cringe-worthy description but true nonetheless.
So this little glimpse of early spring means it is time to abandon the scourge of Facebook and get to some projects around the house and spending some time outdoors. I have a few overdue interior painting duties ahead of me, but waiting until it's just a little warmer to open the windows and let some fresh air in. And the dooryard -- now that the snow is starting to melt, the piles of sunflower seed hulls have emerged around the bird feeder and are now being tracked into the house every time someone comes in. The seed hulls, and some mud....which reminds me that I need to get the old pickup fired up to get some pea stone for the walkway.
The barn and house need some scraping, priming and painting, too. Old houses just don't hold paint too well. The barn is stained and has been a little less maintenance-intensive, but this year it needs a little work, too.
When the remaining snow is pretty much gone from the north-facing slope I'll have the garden tilled and maybe for once, get the early crops in on time. Somehow the last of the lettuce crop always bolts, because it gets too hot.
And I would like to get all this done by June 1 to get an unobstructed summer of sailing in. No big deal, right?
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Sunday, January 18, 2015
January: The Longest Winter Month
I hear myself bemoaning January in New England. Why do I live here? When will this cold ever end? Dressing in layers, heavy winter coat, boots.....I feel the weight of it, the still short days, the bitter cold, the ice. This year, my ex-husband has now retired and moved south to be near our oldest daughter and her family. And one of my best girlfriends has done the same, moving even further south, away from the New England winter.
My Aunt Ruth used to always say that after this longest month, February flies by and at St. Patrick's Day, she would declare that it was now spring. I've adopted that view and it helps. Although I do think her frequent sojourns to the Southwest probably helped quite a bit. When I was much younger, I didn't dread this long cold month; it was a time to hope for a storm to cancel school, skate at the frozen salt marsh, sled with neighborhood schoolmates.
But it is really not so bad. It is easy to enjoy a roaring fire in the wood stove in the evening and fun to make a nice stew to warm up with after a Saturday of running errands. Being somewhat more housebound can get tiresome, but there are always closets and bureau drawers to clean and organize, interior painting projects or painting and writing. In the deepest time of winter, it is a time for solitude and reflection and perhaps some self-improvement, too. January is the springboard to a new year, and brings a time to look ahead and close old chapters that we need to leave behind, that weigh us down and hold us back. And in the words of New England's poet laureate, Robert Frost, "there are miles to go before I sleep".
My Aunt Ruth used to always say that after this longest month, February flies by and at St. Patrick's Day, she would declare that it was now spring. I've adopted that view and it helps. Although I do think her frequent sojourns to the Southwest probably helped quite a bit. When I was much younger, I didn't dread this long cold month; it was a time to hope for a storm to cancel school, skate at the frozen salt marsh, sled with neighborhood schoolmates.
But it is really not so bad. It is easy to enjoy a roaring fire in the wood stove in the evening and fun to make a nice stew to warm up with after a Saturday of running errands. Being somewhat more housebound can get tiresome, but there are always closets and bureau drawers to clean and organize, interior painting projects or painting and writing. In the deepest time of winter, it is a time for solitude and reflection and perhaps some self-improvement, too. January is the springboard to a new year, and brings a time to look ahead and close old chapters that we need to leave behind, that weigh us down and hold us back. And in the words of New England's poet laureate, Robert Frost, "there are miles to go before I sleep".
Monday, December 8, 2014
A Cold Rain
Late November...early December. This darkest time of year always brings a definite feeling of foreboding, my personal ides of March.
A decade ago now, the last year serving as the Commander of a rural municipal emergency medical services department, a fall and winter of horrific motor vehicle crashes and attending to the dying, friends and neighbors, teenagers the same age as mine at that time, and the soul-shaking aftermath. It's strange how some experiences that would make most people faint with shock don't leave as much of a mark as some small, seemingly insignificant events do. And while most of the sad stories involved patients who were also residents of our small town, others were just as sad stories about total strangers, who fell asleep while driving home from a night at the casino, or were taken down while on that last ride on the Harley before winter set in for good. I can close my eyes and hear the rescue radio crackling with the dispatcher's desperate-sounding updates on the awaiting carnage, the wail of the sirens, running toward the crumpled wreckage, the body in the road.
And now, three days every week, I drive past too many ghosts, and I haven't forgotten. I think of the victims, the maimed, the friends and family, and my comrades...one of them, my husband, who understands.
So lest we forget, my dear friends and readers: your life or the life of a loved one might be shorter than what you've planned. So love deeply and fully, make sure every moment is special, even the most mundane moments. Appreciate what you have and this holiday season, leave petty grievances and useless worries behind. Because you never know what is around the bend.
A decade ago now, the last year serving as the Commander of a rural municipal emergency medical services department, a fall and winter of horrific motor vehicle crashes and attending to the dying, friends and neighbors, teenagers the same age as mine at that time, and the soul-shaking aftermath. It's strange how some experiences that would make most people faint with shock don't leave as much of a mark as some small, seemingly insignificant events do. And while most of the sad stories involved patients who were also residents of our small town, others were just as sad stories about total strangers, who fell asleep while driving home from a night at the casino, or were taken down while on that last ride on the Harley before winter set in for good. I can close my eyes and hear the rescue radio crackling with the dispatcher's desperate-sounding updates on the awaiting carnage, the wail of the sirens, running toward the crumpled wreckage, the body in the road.
And now, three days every week, I drive past too many ghosts, and I haven't forgotten. I think of the victims, the maimed, the friends and family, and my comrades...one of them, my husband, who understands.
So lest we forget, my dear friends and readers: your life or the life of a loved one might be shorter than what you've planned. So love deeply and fully, make sure every moment is special, even the most mundane moments. Appreciate what you have and this holiday season, leave petty grievances and useless worries behind. Because you never know what is around the bend.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
September Musing
This time of year is my favorite, despite what comes next, the too-long New England winter. The front garden has taken on a wild, raggedy look, which I suppose any serious gardener might not like....but I love its untamed look and earthy smell. The ornamental grass has gone to seed, the leave tips now a rich burgundy red. Some of the herbs -- notably the tenacious mint, oregano and lemon balm -- are even more richly scented. I gather all these botanical delights for the last fresh bouquets of the season.
Late September sharpens the senses. The air is crisper, cooler and reminiscent of days starting school, a newness with the waning of summer. Here, we start reluctantly preparing for the colder months. Some of the tasks: taking the window air conditioning units out. pulling down some of the old storm windows, taking an inventory of cut cord wood, and what needs to be cut, perhaps doing some exterior painting. And, debating on when we should have the boat hauled out for the winter. We don't give up on that too easily: one year, we decided to sail through Thanksgiving, and I'm not sure if perhaps we had lost our rationale minds, because when we finally did have it transported home in early December, that required motoring a few miles into 25 knot winds and blowing snow. So probably this year, we'll give up by the end of October.
Canning and freezing the garden's yield is almost done. But I do have enough green tomatoes for piccalilli and this time, I am going to use an old hand grinder that a dear friend gave me, instead of a food processor. It is time to think about baking apple crisp, butternut squash and roasts in the oven, and soups and stews.
This morning, the dog is snuggled under the bed covers and is in no hurry to get up, obviously sensing that there is a chill in the air, a chill that makes going out a little less appealing. (This is a rescued pit bull with the characteristic short hair and an intense dislike for cold air.) The cats are back sleeping with us, now that lying on the windowsills enjoying the balmy summer nights isn't an option.
And all is fine in our little corner house, our piece of heaven on earth.
Late September sharpens the senses. The air is crisper, cooler and reminiscent of days starting school, a newness with the waning of summer. Here, we start reluctantly preparing for the colder months. Some of the tasks: taking the window air conditioning units out. pulling down some of the old storm windows, taking an inventory of cut cord wood, and what needs to be cut, perhaps doing some exterior painting. And, debating on when we should have the boat hauled out for the winter. We don't give up on that too easily: one year, we decided to sail through Thanksgiving, and I'm not sure if perhaps we had lost our rationale minds, because when we finally did have it transported home in early December, that required motoring a few miles into 25 knot winds and blowing snow. So probably this year, we'll give up by the end of October.
Canning and freezing the garden's yield is almost done. But I do have enough green tomatoes for piccalilli and this time, I am going to use an old hand grinder that a dear friend gave me, instead of a food processor. It is time to think about baking apple crisp, butternut squash and roasts in the oven, and soups and stews.
This morning, the dog is snuggled under the bed covers and is in no hurry to get up, obviously sensing that there is a chill in the air, a chill that makes going out a little less appealing. (This is a rescued pit bull with the characteristic short hair and an intense dislike for cold air.) The cats are back sleeping with us, now that lying on the windowsills enjoying the balmy summer nights isn't an option.
And all is fine in our little corner house, our piece of heaven on earth.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Life Out Here
I just enjoyed a few days off. Nothing grand, just working on some little projects at home. This old house sits rather precariously on a crossroad corner, and with all the windows here -- twenty-four despite the diminutive structure -- life goes by and you just can't miss it.
Today was quiet because of the torrential rain. But yesterday, tractors, old Fords and Farmalls, started chugging by before 8 a.m., with their mowers, rakes and balers, undoubtedly on a mission to finish up the haying before the weather today. And, by sunset, back they came, hauling flatbed trailers piled high with fragrant bales.
Periodically, teenage boys with fast and furious ideas, roar up the hill on the north side of the house, stop at the intersection, and then lay on the gas and scream around the corner. A band of motorcyclists roar by. Then, the quiet of the country again.
The deer traverse the stone wall on the west property line; you can barely see them among the trees and dense brush. We had to finally put up a hot wire around the vegetable garden after they ate the beets, or perhaps more accurately, sampled them, along with a nibble of a tomato plant or two. The corn wouldn't have lasted long, I am quite sure. I'm grateful that they seem to be too timid to get near the house and eat the hosta plants.
The garden has produced beautifully this year. I have canned zucchini relish, bread and butter pickle, and dill spears. I have made just about every zucchini and summer squash recipe out there, and then finally blanched and froze the rest...and it's still coming in. Had a delicious eggplant parmesan last night, and the here come the tomatoes, finally.
And today I noticed some of the sugar maples starting to change. My mother remarked on the phone this evening that the eel grass at their place on the river was going to seed. My father always brings a small bouquet of the grass to the family plot; his mother always wistfully observed this natural sign of the change of the season, heralding the end of summer.
Today was quiet because of the torrential rain. But yesterday, tractors, old Fords and Farmalls, started chugging by before 8 a.m., with their mowers, rakes and balers, undoubtedly on a mission to finish up the haying before the weather today. And, by sunset, back they came, hauling flatbed trailers piled high with fragrant bales.
Periodically, teenage boys with fast and furious ideas, roar up the hill on the north side of the house, stop at the intersection, and then lay on the gas and scream around the corner. A band of motorcyclists roar by. Then, the quiet of the country again.
The deer traverse the stone wall on the west property line; you can barely see them among the trees and dense brush. We had to finally put up a hot wire around the vegetable garden after they ate the beets, or perhaps more accurately, sampled them, along with a nibble of a tomato plant or two. The corn wouldn't have lasted long, I am quite sure. I'm grateful that they seem to be too timid to get near the house and eat the hosta plants.
The garden has produced beautifully this year. I have canned zucchini relish, bread and butter pickle, and dill spears. I have made just about every zucchini and summer squash recipe out there, and then finally blanched and froze the rest...and it's still coming in. Had a delicious eggplant parmesan last night, and the here come the tomatoes, finally.
And today I noticed some of the sugar maples starting to change. My mother remarked on the phone this evening that the eel grass at their place on the river was going to seed. My father always brings a small bouquet of the grass to the family plot; his mother always wistfully observed this natural sign of the change of the season, heralding the end of summer.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Deary Brothers Stand: A Slice of Americana
There are many things to love about our town, Putnam, CT. But one of the things best loved by many is Deary Brothers/Mike's Stand. Open from April through September, Mike's Stand serves up ice cream, fried seafood, burgers, chowder and clam cakes to its adoring patrons. The stand is located on a side street off Route 12, originated in 1937 and has been family owned since then. In fact, old school Coca-Cola signs and lights still adorn the tiny red stand, which is kept as good as new by current owner, Mike Deary. The stand was an offshoot of the Deary Brothers dairy, which was formed in 1913, and offered home delivery of bottled milk and dairy products. Today, the stand's fresh food and friendly service, delivered by perky local teenagers, is excellent, but equally enjoyable is the gestalt of the place, and that means: the customers.
At any given time, a swarm of people form loosely formed lines for ordering meals, and ordering ice cream. And among those people are farmers in overalls, businessmen in suits, young mothers and babies, an elderly lady with a toy poodle in her arms, bikers in leather, teenagers in goth black, high school jocks, aging hippies, middle-aged couples. The rich, the middle class, the working poor, oldest and youngest, conservatives and liberals are mingled together without regard for their differences. Sitting at one of the shaded picnic tables, you know you're part of an American scene...an old-fashioned one, full of good values and mutual respect.
At any given time, a swarm of people form loosely formed lines for ordering meals, and ordering ice cream. And among those people are farmers in overalls, businessmen in suits, young mothers and babies, an elderly lady with a toy poodle in her arms, bikers in leather, teenagers in goth black, high school jocks, aging hippies, middle-aged couples. The rich, the middle class, the working poor, oldest and youngest, conservatives and liberals are mingled together without regard for their differences. Sitting at one of the shaded picnic tables, you know you're part of an American scene...an old-fashioned one, full of good values and mutual respect.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Gardening and Life
I guess it must have been the winter of our discontent....I've been AWOL because I have felt compelled to be outdoors in my every waking moment that I'm not at work. Despite the blanket of pollen that has persisted into late June, I've pruned, planted, added some new shrubs and perennials, expanded the vegetable garden. As in life, there will be successful and unsuccessful ventures, and that's OK....although I hope my efforts yield beauty, nectar for birds and insects, and healthy food for us. I did again plant some squashes although the squash beetles always seem to get the better of the crop by August. I researched some potential solutions for this year.
Last week, a big turkey found its way into the vegetable garden. I suppose it must have just walked through the opening in the fence, which is just one of those low, white wire decorative garden fences that probably doesn't really keep much out. Tom Turkey kept walking around the inside perimeter, looking a bit alarmed although it certainly could have probably hopped over the fence with little fanfare. Finally it got to the mulch pile, and made its escape. I'm expecting that there will be a new wild turkey generation soon.
We have a sweet little dooryard with flowers and herbs, including a New Dawn rose that was planted by the prior owner's wife in 1951. That just started to bloom. The rosa rugosa is blooming too; these are the indestructible "beach roses" which I have since learned are banned in some states because of their propensity to spread. They are considered a "nuisance plant". I had willingly planted a few that my father had purchased and quickly saw that they were spreading like mint. Only they are armed with the nastiest thorns, like needles, making them quite challenging to remove. I can see they are not going to give up!
Gardening is so much like life: live and learn. Laugh at mistakes, try to do better next time, love the imperfect.
Last week, a big turkey found its way into the vegetable garden. I suppose it must have just walked through the opening in the fence, which is just one of those low, white wire decorative garden fences that probably doesn't really keep much out. Tom Turkey kept walking around the inside perimeter, looking a bit alarmed although it certainly could have probably hopped over the fence with little fanfare. Finally it got to the mulch pile, and made its escape. I'm expecting that there will be a new wild turkey generation soon.
We have a sweet little dooryard with flowers and herbs, including a New Dawn rose that was planted by the prior owner's wife in 1951. That just started to bloom. The rosa rugosa is blooming too; these are the indestructible "beach roses" which I have since learned are banned in some states because of their propensity to spread. They are considered a "nuisance plant". I had willingly planted a few that my father had purchased and quickly saw that they were spreading like mint. Only they are armed with the nastiest thorns, like needles, making them quite challenging to remove. I can see they are not going to give up!
Gardening is so much like life: live and learn. Laugh at mistakes, try to do better next time, love the imperfect.
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