Gardening: The Good, the Bad, and the Vile

Important things have been happening around here.  If you consider tomatoes important, that is.  I really don't know why you wouldn't.

This was my first tomato of the season, a Mortgage Lifter heirloom tomato from a plant generously given to me by Derek's mom.  I picked this lumpy fellow and then immediately sacrificed him for my BLT needs.  He was delicious.

I got the first two of what promises to be several hundred yellow pear tomatoes, if their blooms are any indication.  

These look like they should have cartoon faces, canes, and tap shoes for a jaunty little dance number, don't you think?

This means I now get to add diced yellow tomato to almost every dish I make.  This also means my family now gets to leave a pile of diced yellow tomato on their plates after they've eaten everything else.  I don't know why I insist on planting more than a single tomato plant every year when I'm the only one in the house who will eat them.  The heart wants what the heart wants.

My rain lily yet again went from the pot-full of brown, withered leaves I pulled from its winter perch in the basement to magically full of blooms.  Every year I am amazed by this plant, and tell it so every day when I water it, whispering, How are you so amazing?  I don't understand how you do this every year!  

Sometimes I feel like I wasn't meant to live in town, where other humans can bear witness to me doing things like whispering to something that can't whisper back.  Oh, gosh, but thank God it can't.   Whisper back, I mean. Looks like I'm supplying my own nightmares tonight.

The roses were particularly beautiful this year.

It almost made me want to plant some more rose bushes, which is a little miraculous, as I've tended to look at roses with no small amount of disdain in the past.  I'm really not big on divas, floral or otherwise, and any plant that needs to be pruned in a specific way and lovingly tucked in and catered to every fall is really too much for me to handle.  Our local public garden had some really beautiful Buck Roses last time we were there, though- Buck roses being a variety developed by an Iowan bearing the last name of Buck who wanted roses that could actually survive an Iowa winter.  

I particularly liked these, as they were a beautiful peach color that I managed to capture not at all in this photo, but still- "Sunbonnet Sue."  Someone remember that for me.

If you follow along on Instagram, you've seen that anytime I leave our yard, my plant-related activities don't go so swimmingly.  To summarize, what started as a gorgeous blackberry crop

ended in maggots.  In my kitchen.

And yet somehow, I still believe this:

Thanks Cassi (I think it was Cassi) for sharing!

For now, though, I think I'll stick to my own yard.

Injurious

It's front porch season.  Hallelujah.

While I love how this kind of weather beckons each member of our family outdoors, it also means that our children are finding new and inspired ways to wage war against one another.  

I got a call from Derek while on a run recently.  He wasted no time in saying an incident had occurred, please come home.  Thankfully I was less than a mile from our house, so I was able to dart right home, up the stairs, and into the bathroom, where Atticus was bent over the tub, face covered in blood.

I quickly looked him over, saw the giant goose egg on his head, found the source of the bleeding, and overall decided that the actual wounds were much less concerning than their cause:  Knitting needles, thrown at him by his sister in a fit of pique.  

By the time I got there, she was more upset than he was, yet still managed to inform me between sobs that yes, she had thrown her knitting needles at her brother, but that she never thought they would actually hit him; she had no idea her aim was that good!

Caedmon didn't have much to say about the whole thing, but still maintains that "Atticus deserved it," as he has informed a number of people.

At this point Atticus the Injured has mostly healed, although he had two relatively deep holes in his scalp for days.  No telling on any emotional injuries.  

Speaking of running (were we?), I've found the perfect design for asthmatic runners:

Ideal t-shirt design would also include a little pocket for our inhalers, of course.  

My peonies had a short season this year, and one bush didn't bloom at all.  I still managed to bring a few indoors.

The kaleidoscope container planting at Reiman Gardens has been changed again:

Succulents!

Kaleidoscopic succulents!  

And last but not least, I have finally found the most perfectly thoughtful gift for my sister who, when we were children, couldn't sleep for terror of her china doll, even after it had been removed from her room, her closet, anywhere within crawling-up-onto-her-bed distance.

Baby is angry.

Gracious Goodness

Here is my excuse for my lack of posts lately:  "........"

I have none.

Mostly it's just that I've been so busy enjoying the embarrassment of riches this time of year brings, I haven't made time to write about it.  Which is a shame, so I've made an internal deal with myself to post with a certain frequency throughout the summer.  I'm not going to tell you how often that is, because the end of spring/ beginning of summer always turns me into a foolish optimist ("We're going to do a craft every week!  And go on many educational excursions!  And do two separate library summer reading programs!  And volunteer this many hours!  And blog every day!" whoops); not to worry, come mid-July, the children will have whined/bickered/ground me down into submission, and I will be back to my somewhat cranky self.

Still, it's not July yet!  It's spring, and it's Atticus and Adelaide's last day of school- as a matter of fact, they'll be home for lunch- and my mom and Mark are coming for a visit, and we're eating at Zombie Burger tonight, and I have so many things blooming in my yard!  Exclamation points!!!!!!

So, what haven't I told you about that May brought to us in all her glory?  First off, these gorgeous petunias, courtesy of Derek's mom:

Adelaide was with her grandma when they walked by these at a nursery, and Daughter was immediately besotted, saying they looked like a starry night.  And wouldn't you know?  

Becky then generously got them for us.  Thank you, Becky/Grandma/Mom/Flower Enabler!

The rhubarb has been plentiful, but because my rhubarb is somehow always very green with little lovely, traditional red coloring, the desserts I make with it end up tasting delicious but appearing very questionable indeed.

That rhubarb cheesecake bar is topped with rhubarb sauce, not salsa verde, as it might appear.  Señor Google informs me that my rhubarb is most likely green because of the cultivar I have, and that if I want red rhubarb, I will need to plant a different type, which means I need to get that in this year, as we all know of the cruel constraint that requires you to keep your dirty gardener's mitts off of rhubarb until the second year after you've planted it.

Other May happenings:  Adelaide turned 10.  TEN.  DOUBLE DIGITS.

That is the long bow Caedmon made as a gift for his sister out of a tree branch, twine, and kebob skewers.  More on Adelaide and sharp objects soon.

Speaking of Adelaide, Caedmon was organizing our art cabinet (Caedmon loves to organize spaces- drawers, corners, whatever, if you have a mess, he will have a blast organizing it for you.  I can only think he gets this from Derek, because it sure as heck isn't from me.), and found some old coloring and activity books.  One was Adelaide's that she filled in when she was four, maybe five years old, and it sure brought me back to that fun-yet-always-morbid stage went she through.

It reads, "Pinkalicious Likes to Sing- Can you make up a song?  Write the words here."  (Adelaide's words edited for clarity.)  "I love Jesus I pray the Lord God to keep me safe when I'm scared and when I think my family's dead."  

If I had a time machine, it would behoove past Me to go back a few years and tell myself, "DON'T WORRY.  She grows out of this."  Except according to Back to the Future and Albus Dumbledore, those time-traveling sages, one should never meet up with oneself.  Paradox!

And speaking of our resident Organizer, he graduated from preschool.

Cute as a dang button, both of them.  Adelaide there in the background, well, she's also cute, but in a ferret-y kind of way, at least in this shot.

We do still have an Atticus.  He's been lying the grass, responding to my queries of, "What shapes do you see in the clouds, Bud?" with answers like, "Mostly cirrus.  Wait, there's a nimbus cloud!"  So much for sweetness and whimsy.

He's also getting ganglier and bigger-footed by the minute, I swear.  

In other good news, apparently today is National Doughnut Day, a made-up holiday I can actually get behind.  Here's to grossly unhealthy rings of doughy goodness I plan on consuming with wanton abandon!

Tulips and I Need Some Help

It's been a colorful spring for our yard.  The tulips have been productive, although I've definitely noted slowing in the cultivars I planted several years ago.  Shayla's Favorites (I have no idea what these are actually called; in my mind, they are always and forever Shayla's Favorites) are still producing the same number of blooms, but they're beginning to show their age with multiple blemishes on the petals.  Just not quite as hale and hearty as they used to be.  If I can find more of the exact same type- or more accurately, if I can remember to look for them in the first place- I'd like to fill in this bed with new bulbs of the same shade this fall.

I did the thing last fall where I plant a bunch of new tulips, don't write it down anywhere (except maybe here), forget over the winter, and surprise myself with fresh flowers in the spring.  I am so dang thoughtful.

These were unusual in that both Derek and two of the kids commented on how pretty they are. Every so often I drag various members of my family around the yard, forcing them to admire all the beauty I'm filling it with, but they don't generally make comments on the contents of my flower beds.  I was a little shocked to hear these compliments, and may or may not have made each person repeat themselves several times just to make sure we were talking about the same thing.  "Hang on- what?  Which flowers?  Those?  The tulips?  You think those tulips are pretty?  You like those?  Did Daddy tell you to say that?  He didn't?  Well, say it again.  Please."

They're possibly even better when viewed from above.  Excuse my favorite running shoes, photobombing a perfectly good tulip photo.

I always wonder why I planted the tulips below when their buds first form, as they're a somewhat unflattering yellow hue with just a hint of purple on the edges- "Shirley" tulips, because it turns out I do keep a label or two.  This photo is a few days after they first opened.

Over a period of weeks, however, they only become more beautiful as time wears on, and I remember how much I love them.  They bloomed for around three weeks, so they're some of the hardest working tulips we have.

Caedmon's getting better the older he gets, too.  Actually, all our kids are.  It's fantastic.

These surprised me.  I'd forgotten Derek's mom gave me some Gryffindor tulips last fall ("Gryffindor"- another tulip name I made up to suit my own whims and fancies).

I took that picture early in the morning as my family waited in the car, all packed and ready for a trip.  I was afraid the tulips wouldn't still be blooming when we returned, and just had to snap a picture before we left.

I think it's safe to say I was not everyone's favorite person when we returned home to these.

I was happy, anyway.

We have all kinds of other  delightful blooms dotting our yard right now, but what I'm excited about is this:

I need someone to make me a tiny sign like you see outside commercial construction sites:  "Future Home of Gladioluseseses, Zinnias, and Delphinium."

And now, for the help I so severely need (save the wisecracks, jokesters).

See this patch of yard, all around our dogwood tree?  Nothing will grow here.  Do you hear me?  Nothing.

"But Kristy," I hear you say.  "I see a number of green somethings growing in this picture."  Let me amend my statement to nothing you would want to grow in your yard is here.  That front-and-center space in our yard is 80% creeping Charlie, 20% grass.  Those little white things are the dogwood petals that have recently been blown and rained down upon the ground.

I have tried daffodils.  I have tried phlox.  I have even gone against my flower-loving heart and tried grass seed, all to no avail.  This is the Dead Zone, take heed all who venture and attempt to root here.

So tell me, friends, what do I plant here?  It's boxed in by sidewalks and our driveway, so I'm okay with trying something with a spreading habit.  It gets little sunlight, and the roots of that tree are very close to the surface.  We do walk through this a lot, but for the most part it's on stepping stones to get from the driveway to our front steps. 

Suggestions?  Anyone?  Please?

Bouncing Back Bounteously

Sound the trumpets, light the bonfires, break out the good chocolate:  All five of us are healthy again.

Adelaide was a little puny still this morning, but she was determined to return to school, as the final drum audition is today.  I wish I could better explain the latter part of the previous sentence, but our elementary schools have a wackadoodle process to introduce the young'uns to band, and all I know is she had to pass some sort of preliminary test, and has been "recommended" for the drums or the clarinet.  She is excited to play either instrument.  No one asked my opinion.  I'm praying for drums, which says a lot about just how painful it is to hear someone learn to play the clarinet.  And don't even get me started on those disgusting reeds they're constantly having to moisten.  *whispers desperately* Please, God, not the clarinet.

Speaking of band:

Nothing sends Caedmon rushing out to our front yard at 7:45 AM in his footie pajamas and wrapped in his blanket like a middle school marching band.  It used to march past our house on a regular basis and all the kids absolutely loved it, but since there was a district building change-up a couple years ago, we don't get to enjoy the sound of middle schoolers playing the Jackson 5 past our house very often.  Believe it or not, that makes me very sad.  We love marching bands- even Atticus, who used to harbor a fear that one was hiding in his closet at night.  Gah, I love that kid.

It's been raining more often than not this week, which means this was my view much of the time:

Our children think standing under a black-on-top, blue-sky-underneath umbrella is somehow the best joke ever.  

I looked out the window yesterday morning and pranced right outside in the rain to stare at this gorgeous, vivid rainbow- then got to see it over and over later in the day, as my local friends were apparently equally entranced and got some beautiful photos to share on social media.

This morning was our second garage sale-ing expedition of the season, and Caedmon and I emerged victorious, with beaucoup clothes for little money.  Our youngest son is a patient shopper when it comes to garage sales, probably aided by the fact that he gets multiple compliments from various hosts.  ("What a good little shopper you have!"  "That is so nice of you to hold all those clothes for your mom!"  "I hope some of these things are for you, you're being so good!")  I don't know if this is due to Caedmon's personality or just that he's a youngest child and has thus spent most of his life being dragged around to places he doesn't particularly want to go.  

A friend brought me flowers, neither of which couldn't be any more perfect.

And just to round out a post full of lovely, lovely things:

Beauty Upwards, Beauty Downwards

As an introvert, I am apparently supposed to loathe small talk.  The problem with this is, of course, weather.

I love to talk about the weather.  Everyone else is evidently annoyed by this, at least according to the internet.  But... but why?  Why wouldn't you want to talk about the weather?  It's so wonderful and weathery, and, get this, it changes every day!

Now, it's possible that I'm just easily amused (um, more than possible- let's call it probable), but I think much of the problem is that all these people who say weather conversations are pointless and not deep enough are hopeless navel-gazers who need to get over themselves.  As a blogger who also sports a psych degree, I don't say that lightly; navel-gazing and overthinking all manner of trivialities is kind of my thing.

It's also possible that these anti-weather people just need to get outside.  You know who does like to talk about the weather?  Derek, thank goodness.  We live by the hourly forecast, because it dictates when golf (him) or a run (me) is going to happen.  Other important people who will talk to excess about the weather:  Gardeners (me), farmers (not me, but who doesn't want to spend some time talking to their favorite farmer?  Time to brush up on your weather lingo, weather-chat-haters), and small children.  This means that, between the five of us, we spend a lot of time talking about The Weather in our house.

As a weather-loving person, this time of year is fantastic.

The skies after piano lessons yesterday, complete with beautiful, beautiful thunder and lightning.

Yes!  It's STORM SEASON!

Now, the good thing about living in Iowa during storm season is you get ominous, brooding skies like that one up there, and the one below.

This pic was taken maybe a minute after the previous one; one was the sky to the north, the other was the west.  (Raise your hand if you're SO IMPRESSED that I know which direction I was traveling?!) I love that beam of light on the left; either Scotty is working desperately to beam someone up, or God has had enough and is like, "Stop being such a jerk, Bill.  Yes, I'm talking to you; is this shaft of heavenly light not enough to clue you in?  Why are so many of my children such morons?"

Meanwhile, in Kansas, there were tornadoes circling hither and yon, because the severe weather in Kansas is significantly more, well, severe.  You never know when you're going to show up at school only to find that Noah's house was destroyed in a tornado, or when you're going to get a call saying the same thing happened to your sister.  I'm not saying you need to avoid Kansas, but maybe don't plan a cross-state trip during the month of April, unless you have not only gas stations but also storm shelters marked on your map.  

When I haven't been gazing in a no-doubt extremely flattering stupor at the sky,  I've been staring at the ground in appreciation and wonder.  Either way, the neighbors think I'm bananas.

This hyacinth is in my very favorite purply-blue color.  Hang on, isn't purple-blue the very definition of the color indigo?  But I thought indigo was darker.  Someone more color-oriented help me with this.  Anyway, if flowers weren't enough, tomorrow I have plans.  Big plans.  GRAND plans.

Squeeeeeee!

Crocuses and Edison Lights

The kids and I made our triumphant return to Iowa yesterday; "triumphant" because as a recovering procrastinator, one of two things tends to happen after I travel:  Either I unpack immediately, putting things away and starting the laundry and keeping the kids on task, harnessing all that energy sizzling out of them after seven straight hours in the car, OR I do nothing and spend the next week ignoring the pile of bags sitting in the corner, acknowledging its presence only by gesturing vaguely at it when the children ask where certain necessary items are.

This time I suppressed my natural inclinations, pretended to be a high-functioning grown-up, and did all the necessary post-road trip chores, which means today I was free to enjoy the March snowfall,

Uuuuuugh.

and rejoice over my crocuses, which, yes, have bloomed!

Remember, I planted those bulbs two autumns ago, then lamented over the zero blooms that emerged last spring.  Foliage, yes, but flowers?  None.  The day before we left a single crocus bloom had opened up, which made me feel elated and victorious and vindicated as a gardener.

Now I'm wondering if all those crocuses and daffodils just needed a milder winter to help them out.  I'll try and remember these spring flowers when we're drowning in Japanese beetles this summer.

Other than snow, today involved Derek proposing we perform a mastectomy on one of the boob lights in our house.  This is what has been watching us eat for the past six years:

Thankfully Menard's had the fixture we've had our eye on for a solid year now (had they no longer stocked it, no doubt it would have been a least another year before we could find another one we both agreed upon) and it was on sale.  Then there was fun stuff like Derek removing the boob and making an additional trip to the hardware store and doing things with wires while I took pictures.

At that point an actual contribution was required on my part:  I held the light fixture up while Derek worked on connecting stuff up in the ceiling... or something.  Astonishing news!  My upper body strength still sucks.  Thanks for nothing, yoga.  

But now- ta daaaaa!

Ooooooo!

Aaaaaaah!

Much better.