Yard Staff on Retainer

They've pruned the Chokecherry tree, the Ninebark, the Stonecrop, the Rudebeckia, the Chrysanthemum, the Salvia, the Sunflowers, the Asters, the Rhubarb, the Yarrow and the Daylily. They left the Russian Sage, the Hyssop, the Goldenrod, the Lavender, the Rosemary, the Juniper and the Rhododendrons. 

These and two others are our resident gardeners this fall, pruning, nipping, leveling anything green.  But then they've
saved me all that work on my hands and knees trimming back the perennials for winter.  And maybe it will help
cover their visible ribs.  Win-win.

Aging Gracefully

It's a common phrase for the Boomers. Not sure how it's done, exactly. Maybe not to slow, not too fast, without cursing at everyday, but more focused on finding the blessings that lie concealed in each moment.

Personally, I think it means a balanced, peaceful acceptance of how the body changes over time. Is it also a finding of bliss in the now when it's not easy to see through dimming eyes?  Maybe being strong of spirit as the body finds it's way in years? However it is defined, growing old with class is pretty well nailed by these pine cones.

Silver heads of the elderly mixed with the newly-fallen.
I'm guessing ten years worth of pine cones collected
here--all at different stages and aging gracefully.

A Quiver

Stunningly handsome Quail are the helpful birds who clean up after
 the messy ones who eat from the feeders in the tree.  

A dozen or so are what remain of the thirty-plus that
hatched early in the summer. 

The earth moves.  It quivers.  Covey is no-doubt the more correct word for a collection of quail, but from the kitchen window, the grey-brown earth under the chokecherry tree is trembling with birds.


















Really, a "quiver of quail" is what we see regularly.

Seize the Sunflower

Mr. Bushy--as big as the head of seeds.

One plant with its weighty head remains in the yard.  It attracts attention from nearly all the critters.

Finding a way to reach the underside where the gold lies.

Birds have pecked at it.  Jays have hung upside down till their brains nearly burst.  The deer have eaten all the leaves they can reach (the stalk is over six feet tall), and deer don't even like sandpaper-abrasive leaves like these.

Did you know that squirrels eat the flesh of the head
as well as the seeds?

This guy is determined to get his share, fair or not. He comes better equipped to make an end to this valiant plant than all the other visitors.  Until I came out and took down the plant, it appeared to be all his.  Nope. The head goes on the ground under the tree where dozens of birds feed.  Just a little lesson in sharing.

You Are Out of Luck, Clark Kent

Antiques come in all forms. 

The world was saved by a phone booth. Well, actually Clark Kent was able to save the world by changing into Superman while in a phone booth. What would he do today?

Until yesterday, I hadn't seen a phone booth in forever. Then this pitiful little excuse for one showed up on the side of a Minute Mart near us. We had pulled in at the request of a passenger who needed to pick up an item. While we waited, we were stunned and amazed to behold this thing of the past.

No door and not tall enough for a small child to stand in, this phone booth doubtless would not have met Clark's needs.

But Good News! There's a Halloween Party coming to town, the booth proclaims. And Pink Martini will be in Bend in December! The combined effect of those two events will bring a state of delight and joy that may save our town, if not the whole world.

Busy as a Bird

Rock and dirt divider between two driveways made
spectacular by the Jays.  Not a drop of added water for
all that splendor!

Everyone knows bees are busy.  And ants are legendary for being industrious.

No shyness is this sunny head.  

But I've never thought of Scrub Jays as anything but noisy, though I acknowledge their smartly attractive bright blue plumage. Now I'm having second thoughts (even as a Jay takes a raucously noisy splash in the bird bath).






The most attractive and glorious points of interest in our whole yard this summer are what the Jays planted for me.

One of these plants had over 20 sunny flowers on it.  Now the heads are hanging heavy with seed.

Robin Days

Squint and you'll see the teen Robin on
the fence framed by sunflowers.

Sad to say, they are all but finished.  Robins hang out nearly year around.  One can count on hearing the chur-up, chur-ee in the morning light no matter where you live.  But sometimes the Robins come by the dozens, and Robins are not a flock bird.  They are independent and territorial.  However,  toward the end of summer when all the Robin children are learning their dining skills and manners, the yard is covered with them.

What draws these winged messengers of happy tunes at this time of year is our front-yard Choke Cherry tree. That tree is another story. We discovered that it suckers (information not in the property disclosure when we bought the house).  Not just a few here and there, but enough that on-line searches say the only way to deal with the suckers is to remove the tree. Pluses of the Choke Cherry are its lovely blossoms in the Spring, the dark chocolate leaves that match the house trim and the black, large-pit choke cherries--breakfast, dinner and dessert to the Robins.

Choke Cherry: a feast for the Robins

The tree is mostly bare of fruit now. The Robins are on to other diners. The tree will no doubt stay another year.

Even the Sidewalks!

It's everywhere.  That touch of beauty, of whimsy, of vibrant color seems to show up everywhere one looks in this town of Bend, recently new to us.

Giftor

Only a careful eye will notice

Why was I so surprised to see it in the sidewalk?  Perhaps it caught me attention because it was the result of very happy accident.

Not by accident at all

Workman broomed the finished on a sidewalk; the tree dropped a handful of its leaves; the leaves were pressed forever into the now uncommon concrete.

Thank you to the artists

Now that I expect to see more, I expect I'll see more.

Face Down in the Dirt

Licking the dirt?  Looking for worms?

I was certain they were dead.  Or maybe they were spent, finished, withered.  In the early, frosty morning, most of the Daffodils appeared to be looking for worms. I soothed my soul by remembering that they'd been in bloom a long time; that they could choose when enough was enough; that it's was okay for they to be done blooming.

Warm enough to stand up straight again

Nobody in this new land told me that Daffies play 'possom when they are really cold, but when the time (temperature) is right, they are dandy all over again.

Dazzled

Parking lot decoration:  Sage

This town is artsy.  All the roundabouts have monumental sculptures and figures.  Even the the grocery store parking lot has been decorated--at least that's my opinion.

Silver green sage bushes, robustly five feet tall, line either side of the walk way from my car to the door of the store.

I'm dazzled by the heady, clean fragrance.  Makes me buy more than I need every single time.  Best excuse I can imagine.

Use Your Imagination

The leaking sprinkler head by the West Side fire station is
a local avian watering hole.  Certainly surprised me!

They waited in line.  I didn't know that birds did that, especially not Cedar Wax Wings.  But while the Robin drank his fill, they were hanging back watching.  I interpreted this as waiting.  Half an hour later, at the same birdie drinking fountain, five or six Cedar Wax Wings queued up to sip, then burst away in a tiny cloud as I approached, scaring them right out of this picture.  But just use your imagination--Robin below and the slickly dressed wax wings above.

TOAST

Toasted Tomatoes

April is no fool.  She slinked her icy self in before midnight last night, before the time the clock said she was to arrive.  She turned the fragile, sickly tomato vines to toast.  Plain and simple.  Done.  The end.

Visible damage from insects and snow
before the final blow.

I'll take these tomatoes in today to see if they might ripen.

March Harvest

Three for you

Not the time of year for it, I know, I know.  But I couldn't help sharing (bragging) about having ripe tomatoes in March.  Okay, admittedly these shown could have had a bit more flavor and sweetness if we had waited for them to ripen (in the house).  I was hoping they wouldn't freeze on the vine.  But here in vibrant, brilliant color is the total of our March harvest.

Three for me

Not really much to brag about, but it is a fitting end to six months of watchful care and keeping of the brave seeds brought here in the chicken compost.  No fooling.

Pussy Willow Pompoms

Actual size is about 3/4" per blossom.  Any idea what kind of Willow?

Central Oregon is not a swamp.  It is commonly referred to as "high desert," though high is a relative term.  At 3800 feet, there are many other places in the state that are higher.  The surprise of my morning walk was finding a willow tucked in amongst the pines flashing its little pussy poms.   Most willows like water.  Sandy, volcanic soil holds little of it for the brave vegetation that grows here.  I'm clueless as to the type of willow tough enough to hold its own in this dry setting. Any knowings out there?

A Birder's Thrill

Thanks to the Nat. Geo. Soc. Field Guide to the Birds
of North America

The feeders are all a-squabbling-scramble with birds.  They are common birds, but birds nevertheless:  House Finches, Pine Siskins, Sparrows, Scrub Jays, Mountain Chickadees (east of the Cascades version of the Black-Capped Chickadee we've seen commonly on the other side).

The freshly leafing tree off the kitchen window holds momentarily a flash of brilliant ruby. Years of absorbing images from the Field Guide to the Birds of North America (National Geo. Society), longing to see something other than all the LGB (little grey birds--or brown birds) of the Northwest had somehow tuned me to respond, "Redpoll, Hoary Redpoll."  I am quite certain I've never actually seen a Redpoll.  Later, with bird book in hand, several of us agree that it is definitely not a House Finch.  Toward afternoon the ruby darling reappears.  I confirm with thumping heart that this brand new bird on my list is a delightful, glamorous Common Redpoll.  New land. New birds!

Can't garden in Bend, you know.

Hang on little tomatoes!

Well, I don't know.  I'm new here. Great things are born from not knowing, from experimenting, from just giving it a whirl, from watching with wide eyes while magic happens.

Their first real home

And, you know what? There's magic in a bucket of composted chicken poo left from my generous hens in Portland.

Room to grow

All Northwest gardeners know that you start tomatoes from seed in February or March. When danger of frost is past (late, late May), you set them out on their own in the garden. Our new land turned things totally upside down.





Two magical little tomato plants sprang up this fall in the bucket of chicken compost from seeds of my own growing a year before we moved.

Blossoms

My bewildered brain couldn't sort out the sequence of events till harvest for these babies.  But when the first frost in September and the second frost in October didn't destroy them, intervention was in order.  They moved into the house.

Yellow and orange tomatoes
on the snowy deck (you may need to squint)

The Christmas tree went up. The Christmas tree came down. All the Presidents' Days were observed.  Even St. Patrick had his show. Then one day nasty little webs and spotted, sick leaves appeared on the five-foot-tall plants.  I was pretty sure this was the end and dragged the tomatoes out on the deck.  I was sad, and it snowed that night.

Waiting for warm

One plant is a yellow cherry tomato with five fruits--three of them ripe.  The other is Jeunne Flamme' with over a dozen golf-ball sized tomatoes.  When you are a tomato, and you live in Bend, and you are able to produce a ripened fruit before the end of March, before other tomatoes are even in the ground, you've done an exceptional job.  The webs are now gone, and even though there's been snow on the vine, the plants aren't giving up.  Looks like there are things to be learned about gardening in this new land. Snow on Monday.  75 degrees on Thursday. Hang on little tomatoes!

Garlic Tells You a Story

Half already peeled.  Half left here to do.

They were halfway finished loading all our possessions into the moving van.  I was in the strawberry bed digging garlic.  They say you can't take it with you.  Speaking of the hereafter, that may be correct, but when it comes to garlic ready for harvest in the moment, I'm pretty sure you can.

That was June 25th, nine months ago nearly. And now today, I find myself peeling, sticky-fingered from the juice of the garlic, with surges of gratitude for the dense heads dug from between the strawberries. The heads and cloves have rested on the shelf in the pantry of our new home in Central Oregon through summer, fall and winter.  Spring called powerfully, and the sharp, green points of growth on nearly every clove told me today was the day to peel it up, mince and freeze it.  It's a very detailed and contemplative process--cleaning the cloves.  Somewhere in the budding garlic, I could also feel a blog beginning to grow.  So I took a break, washed my sticky fingers and sat down to tell you a bit about this new life in a new land.  See you again soon.

Soon to be minced and frozen