Fetching May's Beauty

An Earth Day Butterfly

Everyday the garden makes me smile. Today, this butterfly caught my eye and patiently waited while I captured its beautiful presence - and in a snap, it fluttered away.

An Early Bird Spring

The end of winter

Felix explores the wet earth

Bebe awaits the chance to play fetch

String beans climb and blossom

An asparagus rain forest

Flowers with promise of many more to come

Tomatoes with green suits soon to be red

Broccoli, corn, lettuce

The Flower bed

If you look closely, you can watch it grow

Corn, soon to be fenced in by chicken wire to deter the squirrels.

The other half of the flower bed

The knock-out rose, knocking it out!

A bee! A bee!

All in a Full Moon March Day

Planting the spring garden by the full moon is a tradition I look forward to every year. By the end of today, the asparagus was bursting through the dark soil, onions were blowing in the March wind, bush beans were winding around their stakes, and the waft of rosemary was intoxicating, mixing with the scent of basil and tomatoes. The peppers were plunged into the wet composted earth, broccoli and  lettuce leaves were flapping like puppy dog ears, the corn stood erect like an army waiting to battle the hungry squirrels, and the cucumbers and sweet potatoes are ready to weave themselves through the garden like threads through a quilt. 

Sunflower seeds planted last week, mixed with zinnias, moonflowers and four o'clocks are all peeking through the soil looking like rows of marching green ants.

Granny snoozed, Felix grazed, Bebe sunned and I dug my 'til my heart's content.

And, tonight, the full "worm" moon, illuminated the entire garden pulling it up by its roots to grow, grow, grow, grow. 

fresh asparagus

white spears turn bright crispy green

tender tips tempting

 bush beans spiraling

sweet onion bulbs underground

soil espresso rich

 rosemary basil

sage parsley oregano

dill chives tarragon

 ponderosa blooms

 sunflowers, zinnias, four-o-clocks, moonflowers 

 bush beans climbing

 Felix sneaking a bite of grass

 Bebe just being Bebe

 Granny soaking up the sun

 The full Moon in March is known by many names: the Worm Moon, Sap Moon, Crow Moon, Crust Moon, Sugar Moon, and Lenten Moon. According to the Farmer's Almanac, the native tribes of what is now the northern and eastern U.S. named this the Worm Moon after the earthworm casts that appear as the ground thaws. The more northern tribes knew this as the Crow Moon, when the cawing of crows signaled the end of winter. 

Other northern names are the Crust Moon, because the snow cover becomes crusted from thawing by day and freezing at night, or the Sap Moon as this is the time for tapping maple trees. Europeans called this the Lenten Moon.

Posthumous/Post-Humorous P.S.

Apparently, my run-in with the vultures last month inspired my friend Terry, to bestow upon me the most elaborate of Christmas gifts as follows:

This was accompanied by an ornamental raccoon with red ribbon 'round its neck to further emphasize the gravity of the entire situation.

Vultures in Venice vs Nice Nancy

Driving down Shamrock Road in Venice on my way to have an early dinner with Uncle, I noticed a family in their front yard watching what appeared to be a performance of sorts. There was mom, holstering an infant on her hip, dad in a wife-beater undershirt enjoying a cigarette, two diapered barefoot, bare-chested toddlers squealing with delight, and a tri-colored Papillon yapping its fool head off. Since the speed limit is an agonizing thirty miles per hour on that road, and since there was already rubbernecking ahead, I slowed down to see what the hoopla was all about.

To my amazement, there were no less than three dozen buzzards picking the gizzards out of a raccoon laying somewhat lifelessly in the driveway of this family's next door neighbor.  There were another dozen sitting rooftop waiting swoop their way into the entrails of this poor raccoon.

Now, I'm a city girl and don't know much about vultures except that they live up to their name. I drove by slowly, following the lead of the cars ahead of me and saw the raccoon's tail flip, and its leg, too. That raccoon was alive! I backed up, much to the dismay of both the car behind me and the family watching the spectacle. I rolled down my window and said.."Hey...don't you think we could move that raccoon out of the driveway and spare its little life and maybe even the life of that little dog of yours?"  They looked at me stunned. I had stopped their family evening of entertainment dead in its tracks. And, apparently, I had said something pretty stupid because of the laughter that snidely escaped the mom's mouth. Again, the tail moved on the raccoon and the two foot tall vultures were attacking it with proprietary vengeance while this family just cheered them on ring-side as if watching The World Wrestling Network! 

The dad said.."well, I guess if you want to, go ahead."  So, figuring I'd scare the buzzards away, I'd turn my car into the driveway, run out with a box lid I had in my back seat and scurry off the battered raccoon. As I got closer to the driveway, I noticed the raccoon had already met its maker and its black stripes were colonies of black flies getting in on the vulture's evening snack. I don't know what disgusted me more, the vultures or the family substituting this for an evening episode of Sponge Bob Square Pants. In my haste and horror, I grossly misjudged the turn into the driveway and went full-speed, nose first, and deep, into the culvert. There was no backing out, no going forward, I just sat there spinning my wheels while the vultures kept picking with no fear, while the children cheered them on, and while mom and dad looked at me with  "you idiot, serves you right" grins.

To the dad's credit, he came over and tried to rock, push and pull my car out of its predicament. The mom actually said.."she was stupid enough to get into it, let her get out of it" and went in and shut the door.  I made two phone calls, one to Uncle and one to AAA.  All Uncle said when he showed up was "How the HELL did you do that? You were chasing those damn buzzards weren't you, bird girl?"  AAA basically asked the same thing, but said it was nice of me to try to save the raccoon.  Three people driving by, after witnessing my stupidity, asked if they could help, one offered me her AAA and her boyfriend, and two offered to tow me.  Since my car was half in the culvert and half in the street, and since Uncle didn't pull his SUV all the way over on the road, we caused quite a back up while cars paused to witness the Vulture vs Raccoon vs Car debacle.

Finally, another neighbor came to the rescue with a car jack and a few two-by-fours. He jacked up my car while Uncle shimmed the boards under my front tire and viola, I backed out and backed away from an embarrassing situation. What's more, after I had called AAA, my pocket accidentally called Jayne in Tampa and for 28 minutes she listened to garbled laughter and conversation while I swallowed my pride and tried to make light of the situation.  Apparently she tried yelling, whistling, honking her car horn, calling my name making Bebe bark, all to no avail. I heard nothing, nada, zip.

Here's what I learned: when AAA says 15 minutes, they mean 115 minutes, but they were very nice when I cancelled my service call; vultures are hideous, they only go after dead animals (had I known that, I would have just kept going!!) Uncle says they're doing what they're meant to do, they clean up dead animals;  I need new glasses so I don't misjudge driveways/situations anymore; people are nice, they offer help when you need it (except families who think survival of the fittest via vulture-fest is a good lesson for toddlers and infants); and the next car I buy will have all-wheel drive.

As for dinner, I ordered fish instead of chicken, and we had a good giggle musing over my naivete. I told Uncle he could tell this story at my funeral and he alluded to that fact that this would not be the only story told, for sure. Apparently, I have an army of "she did what?" stories marking my trail like breadcrumbs.

Mother's Day Memoriam

STILL LIFE SYMPHONY

In the womb of my watercolor mind, a portrait of you -

eyes Wedgwood-blue in a peach wing-back chair,

skin buttermilk fair, and hair Shirley Temple curly.

Corn silk soft, your porcelain powdered face

shows no trace of age.

I am mesmerized by your eyes

and the way your cashmere-clad bosom sways

like lulling ocean waves.

Your hands dance to classical music -

The orchestra is Daddy tuning the hi-fi higher

for his hard-of-hearing ears.

I glance at him, chance a wink, and roll my caramel eyes.

You stroke the air -

a butterfly tickled by a breeze.

And in your wheezy voice, you count aloud:

“One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…”

to the movements of Haydn’s Clock,

sonatas by Bach and Debussy’s Claire de Lune.

You paint music on your air palette -

an invisible baton, your brush.

I sit with the sun at my back,

basking in your love.

Legs crossed on the warm wooden floor,

I’m painting you a still life.

The open door lets

sea-salted breezes through jalousie slats.

I only smell you

wafting sage and Yardley English Lavender.

When you laugh you are sparkling

spring water on my parched lips.

I drink in your music.

In the womb of my watercolor mind,

a still life is there

of an empty wing-back chair

arms embracing thin air,

a dimple in the cushion worn threadbare.

When symphonies fill the air,

your still life comes alive.