Garden Muse Day: Sweet Promises

April Morning

I walk the garden as the last pink streaks fade from the sky,
my faded blue robe drifting below my winter coat.
If the neighbors laugh or disapprove, I do not hear them:
this is my time, my private space.
The world does not enter here.

I look for signs—a bud, a spot of green that was not here yesterday.
Sophie gambols beside me, looking for her own treasures—
a chewy stick, a forgotten toy.
The morning chatter of birds catches her attention, and she rushes off,
trying to join them in flight.

I kneel to brush away leaves from the hellebores,
 their blooms too shy to face me.

Nearby, yellow trumpets blare--

Yesterday's lone daffodil bloom is now a dozen waving in the breeze.

Green buds on the lilac,

the first emerging leaves on the hydrangeas,
Hyacinths nestled in their cocoons,

Crocuses—purple, yellow, white . . .
all so small they would go unnoticed in the riot of July.
But in early April they are a source of wonder and delight.


Sophie returns to me, and we make our way back into the house,
content with the promises of spring.

Garden Muse Day is brought to you the first of each month by Carolyn Gail

at Sweet Home and Garden Chicago.

December Muse Day: Turkey Trials

While everyone may be thinking ahead this week to Christmas, I'm still reflecting on last week's celebration for this December Garden Muse Day:

"I ate too much turkey,
I ate too much corn,
I ate too much pudding and pie,
I'm stuffed up with muffins
and much too much stuffin',
I'm probably going to die.




I piled up my plate
and I ate and I ate,
but I wish I had known when to stop,
for I'm so crammed with yams,
sauces, gravies, and jams
that my buttons are starting to pop.


I'm full of tomatoes
and french fried potatoes,
my stomach is swollen and sore,
but there's still some dessert,
so I guess it won't hurt
if I eat just a little bit more."

- Jack Prelutsky, "I Ate Too Much"

 
I hope that everyone had a great Thanksgiving holiday and that no one over-indulged too much.  The group at my house was smaller this year as Arizona Daughter and her fiance weren't able to come home as they did last year.  Youngest Daughter also was absent, spending her second Thanksgiving in Oregon, far away from home.  But I was happy to have both my parents here as well as both sons with their families (meaning all five grandchildren, happily), so it was a good day.  And I did talk to both daughters on the phone.  When Youngest Daughter called, her first question was "What time did you finally eat?" . . . and then she giggled.  Now that may seem a strange comment on this traditional holiday, but the timing of Thanksgiving dinner in recent years has become a family joke and a source of yearly consternation to me.  Let me explain this annual rite I refer to as "Turkey Trials and Tribulations" . . .

About ten years ago my husband, not a big fan of roasted turkey, sampled some deep-fried turkey at a local establishment and pronounced it the best turkey he had ever eaten.  He promptly decided this was what we should serve at our next Thanksgiving dinner and went out to buy a turkey fryer for the holiday. 

Now for anyone who thinks deep frying a turkey sounds weird or even blasphemous, let me explain the process.  A deep fryer designed specifically for a 12-pound (or less) turkey is attached to a small propane tank to heat up the oil.  When the oil reaches 400 degrees, the turkey is put on a spit and plunged into the hot oil which quickly browns the skin, keeping the meat inside moist and juicy.  The cooking process takes less than an hour, obviously a much quicker method than the usual roasting time in an oven. 

That first Thanksgiving of the deep-fried turkey, Arizona Daughter's then-boyfriend was a member of the university football team which had a game scheduled for Thanksgiving Day.  Everyone but me went to the game, because someone had to cook all the trimmings, right?  I listened to the game on the radio while I went about peeling potatoes, mixing the stuffing, and putting together the green bean casserole.  Husband, usually known as Mr. Procrastinator but also known as Mr. I-Don't-Cook, was in charge of cooking the turkey as soon he got home, a job I gladly relinquished to him.  Always a list and schedule-maker, I had everything planned so that within an hour of everyone's arrival, dinner would be on the table.

Once the hungry crew arrived home, the countdown began.  Potatoes were set on the stove to boil, casseroles put in the oven, and the propane unit for the fryer was lit, all with the precise timing of a rocket launch--45 minutes until lift-off!  But there was just one problem--neither Mr. P nor I had taken into account the time it took for the oil to heat up.  Minutes stretched into a hour and then two hours as the thermometer testing the oil inched up one degree at a time.  Meanwhile, the mashed potatoes stiffened and the noodles cooked especially for then-boyfriend congealed in the pot.  And I stewed and then simmered . . .  Three hours later, the turkey was finally done and we sat down to eat.  Everyone said dinner was delicious, but I think they were just so famished that anything would have tasted good. 

After that disastrous dinner, I vowed to go back to roasting a turkey for the next Thanksgiving, but Mr. P was adamant, convincing me that now that we knew better about the timing, things would go more smoothly the next time.  But propane units are temperamental and not very reliable, so while I had estimated two hours for heating the oil, the next year it took nearly three.  Even when I got smart and had Mr. P start the oil and cooking much earlier than needed, something still would go wrong.  It got to the point that when I invited everyone for dinner, I would give the time as 12 . . . or 1 . . . depending on the frying turkey. 

A few years ago, Mr. P decided to switch to an electric fryer, complete with its own thermostat, making it a more reliable method of predicting cooking times.  But even then, there are some pitfalls.  Testing the doneness of a turkey is much more difficult when you have to pull it out of boiling oil and then plunge it back in if it's not done.  And a few minutes of cooking by this method may equal a half an hour of the conventional roasting method.  One year, after testing the turkey, I suggested a few more minutes of cooking time, and we wound up with a charred fowl, though the meat actually tasted juicier than it looked.

According to the Department of Agriculture, this year's Thanksgiving meal for a family of four cost around $43, quite a bargain for such a feast.  Turkey is always an economical meat, but especially at Thanksgiving time when stores offer special prices at less than $1.00 a pound.  But deep-frying isn't quite so economical . . . Fresh peanut oil must be purchased each year, and the 3-gallon jug I bought cost nearly $30.  I bought two, because I thought we needed four gallons of oil, bringing the total to $60--five times what I paid for the turkey!  And let's not forget that fancy electric turkey fryer--$100 for an appliance used only once a year.  I think I could probably serve filet mignon to my family for the same price:)

But when I suggested going back to the old tried and true method of roasting a turkey, my family gave a resounding "no."  Both my sons prefer the taste of deep-fried turkey, and the cooking process has become somewhat of a male ritual here.  Mr. P sets up the fryer in the toolshed (for safety's sake), and my sons keep him company part of the time, trekking back to the house every 15 minutes to give us progress reports.  Like the early cave-men, they eventually come out of their cave, proudly carrying their finished trophy for all to admire.

Last year, by some miracle, the whole process went off without a hitch, and dinner, complete with a perfectly browned bird, was served at the appointed time.  I fully expected this year to be the same, but I should have known better . . . On this Thursday morning, I had the stuffing mixed and already in the crockpot to bake, sweet potatoes were baking in the oven, later to be mashed for my special casserole.  I was taking a moment to relax, when Mr. P walked in the door at 8:45 and said the fryer wouldn't turn on.  "What do you mean, it won't come on??"  He had checked it just days before and pronounced all systems go, yet on the very day it was needed, the fryer decided to just quit!

There was nothing left to do but put the bird in the roasting pan and hope and pray that the three and a half hours left till dinner were enough time to completely cook it.  I scrambled around for the next few hours, juggling dishes in and out of my small oven and turning the temperature up and down--as high as possible to get that darned turkey cooked in time, then lower to avoid burning the sweet potatoes and green beans.  The stuffing was taken out of the crockpot to make room for the ham--no way was there room in my oven for both a turkey and a ham!   Meanwhile, family members arrived, and I was on my way to an all-too common Thanksgiving fowl mood.   Finally, an hour after the planned time, we sat down to dinner, and I finally relaxed.  Another Thanksgiving near-disaster to add to the family lore!

Somewhere I read that Illinois ranks second only to Louisiana for fires on Thanksgiving Day, no doubt caused by all those propane fumes swirling around the family dinner.  Thankfully, we have never had a fire on this holiday.  Nor have we had the turkey carried off by a dog, ala "A Christmas Story."   But Mr. P has vowed to either fix the fryer or buy a new one for next year, so both possibilities exist in the future, especially the second scenario with Sophie around:)

Extra guests are always welcome at our Thanksgiving dinner, so if you're in the area next year, feel free to stop by.  Dinner will be served at 12 noon . . . or 2:00 . . . or maybe 3:00 . . .


Garden Muse Day is hosted the first of each month by the ever-gracious Carolyn Gail . . . who probably served her Thanksgiving dinner on time:)

November Muse Day and Fall Color Project

Salt Fork Forest Preserve

Autumn

"Yet one smile more, departing, distant sun!

One mellow smile through the soft vapory air,

Ere, o'er the frozen earth, the loud winds run,

Or snows are sifted o'er the meadows bare.

One smile on the brown hills and naked trees,

And the dark rocks whose summer wreaths are cast,

And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze,

Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.

Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee

Shall murmur by the hedge that skirts the way,

The cricket chirp upon the russet lea,

And man delight to linger in thy ray.

Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear

The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air."
                                         
                                                  -   William Cullen Bryant

November. . . the time of year when most of us no doubt would agree with Bryant's poem, wishing for a few more sunny days warm enough to see bees or a few more lingering blooms before the cold winter sets in for good. 

While we have had more than our fair share of sunny days, we did have a hard frost last Thursday that signalled the end for all but a few hardy annuals and perennials.  This late coneflower apparently got confused and missed the announcement that the Coneflower Show is held here in July.

Besides the frost, last week we had days of strong winds that stripped many of the trees of their leaves.  Always the procrastinator, I waited too long to take the perfect photos I wanted for Dave's Fall Color Project.   I did manage to take a shot of the golden leaves of the ash tree next to our house, featured on my Bloom Day post.

But I missed the optimal time for the ash tree further out in the front yard, which has an almost burgundy cast to its leaves in early autumn.

While I waited for the just the right time at home, I set out two weeks ago with Sophie for an afternoon walk at the Forest Preserve not far from my house.  It may have been too early for the peak color show, but it did seem that this year's fall color has been more subdued.

Still, the maples have been magnificent as usual this year, in various arrays of oranges and blazing reds.

Yellows and golds were apparent, too.

One of these days I'm going to take a course on trees, so I can identify what I'm looking at, besides the maples and oaks.

Sophie loves to visit this area.  We never know what treasures we might find here . . . a mussel or clam shell in the heart of landlocked central Illinois??

Of course, to find the best treasure, you must get off the beaten path and take one of the trails.  Sophie was so excited she literally pulled me into this trail.  While she kept her nose alert for unusual scents, I was more interested in visual stimuli.

This shrub with bright red berries was a common sight along the path.  At first I thought it was a dogwood, but the leaves are opposite rather than alternate.  Can anyone identify it?  Update--it's a bush honeysuckle, a very invasive plant, which explains why there were so many of them.  Thanks, Gail, for the i.d.--bloggers are the best!

Faded red leaves drooping on another plant reminded me of sumac, but again I'm not sure.  Bright red sumac dots the roadsides in our area in early autumn.

The leaves of this tree were just beginning to turn to burgundy.

 

Finally, a plant I recognized!  Pokeweed with its bright red stems and purple berries certainly adds color to the fall landscape.

 

But my favorite scene of all was this one, in green and brown.  You might want to enlarge this photo to get the full effect.  Had Sophie not been so eager to keep moving, I would have loved to sit down on this log for awhile just enjoying the quiet.

The fall colors may not be as deep and striking this year because of the hot, dry summer, but it's been a glorious autumn nevertheless.

The peak of fall color here was probably a week ago, but there are still colorful sights in the landscape.  Back at home, the leaves of the old Bur Oak are just beginning to turn.

Their colors are muted golds and browns, not as showy as other trees.  But this granddaddy oak doesn't need any gaudy plumage to be impressive.

The leaves of the burning bushes seem slower in changing to red this year;

perhaps they won't be as striking as last year.

They're still full of berries, however, a favorite of the birds, including the cardinals who usually build a nest or two here each spring.

But the favorite roost for the birds has to be the white flowering crab, so full of red fruit.  While the other flowering crabapple trees lost all their leaves some time ago, this one is a showstopper in the fall.

We have over thirty pine trees on our property which provide a nice evergreen border throughout the winter.  But look at the "fall interest" below this bough . . .

Lots of pine straw for free mulch!  A gardener's gold.

In the fall, though, what really catches everyone's eye is the lone maple in our front yard.  Each day it adds a little more color.  Two weeks ago, it was wearing only an orange hat.

But yesterday morning it had put on its full fall dress uniform.

My favorite tree this time of year, its leaves positively glow in the sunlight.

In all too short a time, the colors of autumn will be gone . . .

 . . . leaving us with a world in black and white.

For other scenes of fall color all across the country, be sure to visit Dave   for a complete list. 

And many thanks to Carolyn Gail, the hostess for another monthly Garden Muse Day.

Three for Thursday: Signs of Autumn

The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
 
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.

-   Emily Dickinson,  Nature 27 - Autumn

I may have missed Garden Muse Day last week, but I certainly have been welcoming the arrival of October. After a consistently hot summer that lasted well into the end of September, October has been a welcome relief with cool nights that turn into pleasantly warm, sun-filled days.  I can finally believe that autumn is here to stay.  Sure signs of autumn's arrival:

A softer sun . . . Unlike the summer sun that seemed to penetrate every pore of my body as I tried to work out in the garden, the October sun provides a comforting warmth.  Morning, afternoon, or evening--I can work outside anytime I please!

The fading garden . . . While some blooms remain, much of the garden is already turning to seed, preparing for its winter sleep.  Even as some goldenrod waves its yellow stems in the autumn breeze, the early goldenrod has turned to a brown fluff.

A few late Susans still show their cheery faces . . .

 . . . but most have turned to seedheads, bobbing amidst the asters.

Only the skeleton of Joe Pye remains.

Colors of Fall . . . The leaves are just beginning to turn.  This morning I noticed the very tip-top of my maple has a few orange leaves, but a few trees in town have already put on their autumn finery.

The pink and red flowering crabs are not very attractive this time of year and have already lost most of their leaves which turned a dull brown before falling.  But the white flowering crabapple is full of ripe red berries,  favorite treats of the birds in the winter to come.

Red berries against a clear blue sky--can anything be more perfect than an October day like this?

"Just before the death of flowers,
And before they are buried in snow,
There comes a festival season
When nature is all aglow."
-   Author Unknown

Thanks to Cindy of My Corner of Katy for the inspiration for "Three for Thursday."

Book Review: A Shakespeare Thriller for Muse Day

 Unidentified weed on our farm

Last week's Wildflower Wednesday posts inspired me to reflect for a time on our perspectives of the world of plants.  Many participants echoed the sentiment that "One man's weed is another man's wildflower."  How true that is, not only from an aesthetic point of view, but for other reasons as well. If you do a little research on native plants, it is surprising how many commonly overlooked plants were once prized  by Native Americans for their medicinal uses.  Even today, medical researchers are finding hidden healing properties in various plants. Often times, one part of a plant may contain a miracle cure or be a tasty edible, while another part of the same plant is highly toxic. All this reminds me of a passage from Romeo and Juliet read and discussed every year in my freshman English classes:

Many for many virtues excellent,
None but for some, and yet all different.
O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live,
But to the earth some special good doth give;
Nor aught so good, but, strain'd from that fair use,
Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
And vice sometime's by action dignified.
Within the infant rind of this small flower
Poison hath residence, and medicine power:
For this, being smelt, with part cheers each part;
Being tasted, slays all sense with the heart.
Two such opposed kings encamp them still
In man as well as herbs,--grace and rude will;
And where the worser is predominant,
Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

Leave it to good old Will to express so eloquently the myriad properties of the plant kingdom and their similarities to the nature of Man.

Persicaria, aka "smartweed"--still a weed to me!

Speaking of Shakespeare, after a three-month absence, I am joining in again in the monthly meetings of the Book Review Club, hosted the first Wednesday of every month by Barrie Summy.  It's not that I haven't read anything this summer--actually, this hot summer found me spending many afternoons indoors with the A/C and a good book.  But of all the books I read this summer, only one was new enough and worthy of reviewing here:  Interred With Their Bones by Jennifer Lee Carrell.

Shakespearean scholar Kate Stanley has left the world of academia to follow her dream as a director in the theatre. During the dress rehearsal of Hamlet at the newly reconstructed Globe Theatre in London, Kate's mentor Roz gives her a box wrapped in gold tissue and ribbon, with the instructions "If you open it, you must follow where it leads." Later that night, a suspicious fire engulfs the Globe, and Roz's body is found--not a victim of the fire, but of murder.

Shakespeare garden at the Chicago Garden Show

In shock and with an eerie feeling that she is being followed, Kate feels compelled to open the box given to her by Roz.  Inside she finds a cryptic message that eventually leads her on a dangerous chase to unlock a mystery that could rock the literary world. 

"Plot twists worthy of The DaVinci Code" states the reviewer from Publishers' Weekly on the book's cover, and indeed there are similarities to that blockbuster.  Like Robert Langdon, Kate Stanley is on a quest to find a legendary artifact, in this case a lost manuscript of Shakespeare, and like Langdon, she is an expert on her subject, sharing all kinds of Shakespearean esoterica along the way.  Her journey takes her across the country and across the Atlantic along with the mysterious Ben who appears by her side one day as her protector, and Sir Henry, a distinguished Shakespearean actor.  She is not alone in her pursuit as destruction and deaths follow her travels.

Like the Da Vinci Code, the novel is fast-paced as one answer only leads to another clue to be unraveled, and Kate begins to wonder who she can trust.

But this is not another Da Vinci clone; Interred With Their Bones is an intriguing thriller that stands on its own merit.  Mystery fans and anyone who enjoys Shakespeare will find this a great read, whether on a warm beach this summer or later on a cold winter's night. Thanks so much to Cindy of My Corner of Katy for recommending this book to me!

For other reviews of some great books, be sure to check out this month's meeting of the Book Review Club hosted by Barrie Summy.

And thanks once again to Carolyn Gail for hosting another Garden Muse Day, held the first of every month.

August Muse Day: Where Have They All Gone?

A late and abbreviated Muse Day post today--I've been down all weekend with a nasty stomach bug, and now my daughter has caught it.  I'll be around to visit everyone later as soon as I've disinfected my whole house!

Those "of a certain age" like myself will remember the song "Where Have All the Flowers Gone" sung by Peter, Paul, and Mary,* among others.  The revised version below is what I'm humming in the garden these days . . .

Zinnia Border at the Master Gardeners' Idea Garden in Urbana, Illinois.

Where have all the zinnias gone, long time passing?
Where have all the zinnias gone, sown months ago?

A stand of zinnias in the Children's Garden at the Idea Garden.

Where have all the zinnias gone?
Washed out in June rains, every one

When will she ever learn?  When will she ever learn?

Those of you who have been reading my blog for awhile know how much I like zinnias.  Easily grown by direct sowing outdoors in late spring, zinnias are a great burst of color in late summer when so many other flowers are fading.  I planted some seed this year, as I have for the past two years in the roadside garden, but I haven't seen a single seedling this summer.  My best guess is that the flooding we had in mid-June which left this area under standing water for several days washed away all the seeds. 

I do have Profusion and Zahara zinnias in this garden as well as in containers and other areas.  But it's the tall--3-4' foot--zinnias that I love. So this year when the coneflowers fade, there will be no bright splashes of orange, pink, purple, and yellow to take their place.  I'll have to go to the Idea Garden instead--which is where all these photos were taken--to get my zinnia fix.

And while I'm wondering, here's a second verse...

My best hollyhock last year--growing in the compost pile!

Where have all the hollyhocks gone, long time passing?
Where have all the hollyhocks gone, grown long, long ago?

One puny white hollyhock this year.

Where have all the hollyhocks gone?
Fallen to disease? To pests?
We may never learn, we may never learn.

The hollyhocks that have grown here freely for years and years, all from seeds or plants originating with my husband's grandfather or my grandmother, have been very few in number this year. Granted, I pulled out some volunteers that appeared in places I didn't want them, although I left this pink one at the edge of my vegetable garden.  Most do not look very healthy, which makes me wonder if they have succumbed to hollyhock rust. Whatever the cause, I'm going to collect as many seeds as I can this fall and hope for the best for next year.

*For other fans of Peter, Paul, and Mary, videos of them performing this song can be easily found on YouTube; I didn't have time to download one here today.  I was lucky enough to see them in live performances twice, once in the late 60's at the height of their career and once in the late 90's--they still sounded great then even after 30 years.  Sadly, with the passing of Mary Travers last September, their harmonious folk ballads can now be heard only through recordings.

Garden Muse Day is brought to you the first of each month by the talented Carolyn Gail of Sweet Home and Garden Chicago.