Veterinarian

Duncan is an old cat.  He is seventeen years old and has lived outside all of his life.  He grew up at our home in the country catching mice and birds, alertering us to the occasional copperhead on the patio, and snoozing away the afternoons in his favorite porch chair.  He occasionally got into a fight, but the most serious wound he ever had was a split ear.

After sixteen years of country life, he moved with us to the city, and although he has adjusted remarkably well, he has been attacked several times here.  We aren't sure whether he is getting attacked by another cat or by a raccoon, but the bites have been vicious.  His last wounds were almost fatal.  

Now, if you are faint of heart, you may want to skip these next paragraphs.  We first noticed a patch of hair missing and two puncture wounds on his side.  We tend to try home veterinary practices first, so I washed the bites and put antibiotic cream on them.  But Duncan stopped eating and drinking, and we noticed pus oozing from the wounds, so we called the vet.  She was out of the office, and said that the cat was so old that this might be the end for him.  We still use our country vet, and since it was late, she left the antibiotics on ice hanging on the clinic door for us with instructions to squeeze all of the pus out that we could.

Duncan got his first dose of antibiotics and got his wounds pressed to get the pus out.  We thought he was on the road to recovery.  But the next morning, the poor old cat was sicker than ever and was hiding in a corner.  I picked him up under his front legs to get him out and thought he was peeing on my foot.  Then I smelled it.  Thick, disgusting pus running out of his chest.  Not just a little, buckets of pus.  Well, that is a bit of an exaggeration, but more pus that I had ever seen.  I tilted Duncan forward and more pus ran out.  I pressed around the wound, and pus, thick and smelling of death ran out.  In all I estimate there was 1/2 cup of pus that morning.  We checked him all over and found one more wound that had no pus.  

Duncan was washed and treated with antibiotics for a week and has recovered nicely.  Once again he is enjoying lying on the deck and eyeing the occasional bird in the yard.  I never guessed that city life would be more dangerous for Duncan than living in the country.  And I will be less inclined to play veterinarian in the future.

Memorial Day

Memorial Day.  Three day weekend.  The kick off to summer. Sales at the mall. Projects around the house.  Picnics with family and friends. Swimming pools open.  Boats come out of storage and rev their engines on lakes.  Campers line the rivers crammed with canoes and kayaks.  Memorial Day?

Yes, we have taken a sacred holiday and turned it into something other than a day to remember those who have died, but we still remember.  We remember those who have served in our wars.  After the terrible losses of the Civil War, folks wanted a day to remember those who had fallen.  In those days, the way a person died was thought to give meaning to the life they had lived.  Since so many men had died far from home and in anonymity, a Memorial Day, a day to remember, gave people a way to give meaning to the deaths of so many soldiers.

We still remember those soldiers who have died in the service of our country, but we have also expanded this tradition to include those of our own families who have died.  Yesterday, we went to the cemetery to decorate the graves of our family members who are buried here.  It was moving to see so many other families there too decorating graves with flowers and flags.  The cemetery was beautiful, and people greeted one another as we all placed flowers and remembered.  We drove slowly and looked at headstones of friends who have died.  We noted the flags by the graves of those who served in the armed services.  It was a quiet, sacred time.

Tomorrow we will have our cookout with family as we work on building a storage shed.  We'll enjoy our three day weekend, but we will remember too, and that remembering is our memorial to those we loved.

Planting the New Yard

Such a spring.  After all of the cold and the snow in May, summer has finally arrived.  Oh, I know summer is officially a month away, but with 90 degree weather, it feels like summer.

It has been interesting to see what has come up in the yard at our new house.  The beautiful tulips and iris have put on a show.  The bulbs that I brought with me made the transition and are putting out leaves and flowers.  The only thing that didn't make the move was a high bush cranberry, but luckily there were two here in the yard already.

Grandpa and I have torn out several sprawling half-dead spirea, and we have replaced them with daylillies and canas we brought with us and monarda that I bought at the nursery.  We've torn out dead evergreens and replaced them with hydranges and lots of mulch until we decide what to plant.  Around the mail box we've created a rock garden with phlox and lilies, lavender and lambs ears, daiseys and coneflowers. creeping phlox and Russian sage.  It should be glorious when everything blooms.

I noticed this morning that the blackberries are blooming.  It is usual for them to bloom this time of year, but we also usually get "blackberry winter" when the temperature usually cools off for a few days when they bloom.  So if the 90 degress we are having today is "blackberry winter", we may be in for another long, hot summer.

Inching Toward Spring

Just when I think spring is finally here, just when the tulips are blooming, just when the hostas begin to unfurl their leaves, winter comes rushing back.  The icy Arctic cold dropped from the north last night, but I was prepared.  Old sheets, overturned buckets, flowerpots and boxes protected the tender plants from the frost.  However, the icy blasts are keeping me from planting my garden.  The summer vegetables all like to be planted after the last frost.  Usually, that has passed, but this year is not usual!  One more night of frost is predicted.  

This weekend I will live daringly and plant my summer vegetables.  Those packets of cucumber and bean seeds are begging to be opened and planted.  I count ahead to the days when then should be mature hoping that the soil is warm enough to allow them to sprout and grow.  There is a delicate time between  the last frost and the heat of summer that allows the seeds to sprout and grow strong.  The temperature must be right, the moon needs to be in the right phase, the zodiac needs to be in the right sign.  Oh well, I will just plant and hope that at least some of the requirements will be enough to ensure healthy plants and crops.

Birthing Spring

Spring is having a difficult time arriving this year.  Following a lovely Easter day that was warm enough to be outside sitting on the deck, now sleet is clacking against the windows.  The plants are ready to burst through in full bloom, but still the cold, icy wind and rain persists.  The wild pear is barely unfolding its tiny white buds.  I can almost see them holding together against the cold rain just waiting to unfurl themselves in the warmer spring sun.

Despite the cold and rain, there is just a hint of warmth.  Maybe it is the lengthening daylight or the occasionally warm day, but I can almost feel winter loosening its grip.  Despite the calendar, we are in that shoulder season between winter and spring.  It is a birthing process.  It can't happen all at once.  We have to wait patiently while the earth struggles to renew life itself in warm days, bright flowers, verdant grasses and luscious fruits.  It will come, and in the meantime, I gather the meager spring blooms and put them in a vase as a promise of what is to come.

New Garden

As the first warm breaths of spring arrive, I am digging in the dirt.  To me, getting my hands covered with dirt, getting dirt under my fingernails, and having my muscles ache from digging and planting is a pure delight!  It is a chance to renew the cycle of life.

This is my first growing season since we moved to town.  I have to admit having only a coupe of raised beds and some flower beds is quite a different from having a big garden, raised beds, a blackberry patch and a semblance of an orchard.  But I find that even a small area to dig and plant is sufficient for now.  Grandpa had helped me clear all of the weeds from the raised beds during the winter, so over the last few days I have added compost and peat to the heavy soil.  It will take some time to get the tilth just right, but I have time.  

The pleasure was in finding a few worms in the cool soil.  More will come as I improve the soil.  It is good black dirt that smells of the elements of earth.  I turned the soil with a spading fork and hoed the clods and raked it until it was a deep chocolate blanket.  Then came the planting.  Peas and spinach for now.  Rain is promised over the next two days, and the temperatures are warming. Year after year I am always amazed that I feed the earth, drop in a seed,  let sun and rain do their work and marvelous plants that are so good to eat appear.  How can it not be a miracle.

As I planted this morning, the blue birds were singing.  One bright male, puffed up with pride in his own song perched on the handle of my spading fork and watched me plant.  The moon is right for planting, the earth is good and the blue birds are singing.  It can't be anything but wonderful.

It Might Be Spring

Three Nests

Can you identify which 3 species have previously used this box? (Answer located at the bottom of this page.)

Photo © Sally Sims   http://nestwatch.org/learn/how-to-nestwatch/identifying-nests-and-eggs/

Rain is in the forecast, but for now the gray sky makes the perfect background for the lemony daffodils and hot pink hyacinths blooming under the oak tree. This morning I'm watching the battle of the birdhouse.  The bluebirds and the sparrows are vying for rights to the bluebird house. Both come and cling to the front of the box and go in and out.  Without a doubt, I am rooting for the bluebirds!  Last summer we had two pairs of bluebirds who frequented our yard, and I've awaited their return all winter.  Hopefully, they will be the ones to claim the house, but if not, I may have to do the dastardly deed of cleaning out the sparrow's nest to help them along.  I never like skewing the course of nature that way, but  nevertheless, I've been known to do just that.

The starlings have been a problem already this spring.  During the last big snow they swarmed the feeder.  I would look out the window to see only a carpet of black in the yard.  I resorted to my stainless steel pot lids to drive them away.  I have found that clanging two lids together makes  a deafening cacophony that will raise the dead and drive away starlings.  I'm sure the neighbors aren't happy with the noise, but the starlings are gone at least for the time being.

So feeding birds, driving away the noisy, greedy ones and cleaning out sparrow nests may put me on the wrong side of mother nature, but I am determined to fashion my small piece of nature to my own liking with daffodils and bluebirds.

Answer: From bottom to top, House Wren, Carolina Chickadee, and Eastern Bluebird built nests in this box.