jumpingfish

1. Just Before Sunset

The day had been hot. But now the sun was going down behind a thunderhead in the west, lighting up the margins of the great towering cloud silver agains a blue sky. And a cool breeze was blowing.

Storms were approaching from the east, with flashing bolts of lightning against the grey/blue clouds and rumbling thunder coming from far away. And rays from the setting sun behind that thunderhead behind me in the west was shining on those storm clouds in the east, and a pastel rainbow revealed a distant rain.

Guinness came up beside me from some sniffing expedition at a favorite spot along the fence at the edge of the field. He saw me gazing eastward toward a grove of Flameleaf Sumacs at the edge of the woods, and he trotted off to where I was looking—straight toward the rainbow.

2. Just After Sunset

After our walk, I sat down in a chair in the driveway—a spot I’ve found that is safe from mosquitos for a while in the evening. A wind out of the east brought the smell of rain and cool air.

From beyond the western horizon, the just-set sun illuminated the undersides of the clouds overhead, and the sky was glowing, and the leaves of the Monterey Oak and Texas Persimmon radiated a deep hue of green that haven’t seen for a long time.

And as I sat there watching the green leaves and pink clouds, four Screech Owls came gliding silently into the branches of the Ash tree above me and sat motionless in the branches. I whistled my A-song to them, and they bobbled their heads, trying to get a better fix on that thing sitting in the chair on the ground below them. And then they flew off.

The sky was no longer pink and the green of the leaves was gone.

And then the mosquitos found me.

I watched a little TV last night.

Not particularly notable until you also know that I don’t have a television and haven’t for more than ten years. So thisis actually a confession of sorts, an admission of weakness, a reflection of guilt.

Whatever. I watched four Twilight Zone episodes online last night: Flight 33, Where Is Everybody, Masks and (of course) To Serve Man. Probably a waste of time (in that post-middle-age puritanical perspective I have about TV), but there it is: I did it.

And it got me to thinking…

Fifty Years Ago! The first episode I watched was broadcast in 1961. It’s a great story—just as entertaining today as it certainly was back then. Tell me that 50 years from now (ok, 49) anyone is going to be watching the blech that’s shown on TV today.

Before Commercials Were King. Each of these episodes were about 26 minutes long—twenty-six minutes of programming in a thirty minute time slot. An approach to TV where the programming is the focus rather than the commercials. Imagine that.

Short Attention Span. On the other hand: twenty-six minutes!? I need to sit still for twenty-six minutes to watch these? TV or no, I am a product of this epoch, and my attention span has been shrinking for years. I found myself fast forwarding to get to the “punch line” of the episodes. (Admittedly, I watched four in a row and didn’t want to sit there for two hours; nevertheless, I could feel my short attention span pulling my hand to the mouse from the beginning.)

3. Black and White. When I was a child, in addition to walking thru waist-deep snow to get to my classes, we didn’t have a TV until I was 10. And even then it was black and white. For years, I didn’t know that the Wizard of Oz was in color. (Ok, maybe that’s not true.) Still, today I’m sure most kids would be shocked at the prospect of black-and-white-only programming, to which I respond: “Go watch one of those Twilight Zone episodes and see if you feel deprived (or, of course, watch Hitchcock).

So there you have it. I’ve expunged my pangs of guilt by transforming my lost time last night into some analysis, unproductive analysis perhaps, nothing that knocks off socks, but analysis nevertheless.

And now I’ll get up and go work in the yard.

In an interview on the radio recently, that paragon of clear thinking Michele Bachmann, complaining about Obama’s attendance at the G-20 summit, said

I can’t, we can’t necessarily trust the decisions that are being made financially in other countries. [Corley/ThinkProgress]

Heck, I can’t, we can’t, you can’t necessarily trust the decisions that are being made financially in this country.

So I guess Bachmann has a point.  Oh my, what have I said?

hat tip: AngryMouse/Daily Kos

Let’s go for a walk in the back. I’ll show you around and tell you some stories.

[Click on the photos for bigger images. This is going to take a while. If you’re busy, feel free to leave at anytime.]

Let’s start on the patio.

Here’s our little pond. It’s in a 3′ cattle tank and has a small fountain that trickles and also keeps the mosquitos away, which means we don’t need fish, which means we don’t need to replace our fish if they die. (We’re not good at ponding, yet, and so why put fishes in peril?)

Overhead is our deteriorating pergola. I really need to deal with it someday. It’s starting to come undone.

In the distance, you can see some tall flowers in the middle of the yard. Let’s walk over there…

Ok, here we are, looking back towards the patio where we just were.

These are wild Sunflowers—not the stuff of formal gardeners, but we love them for their hardiness in the heat. I’ve seen something like them referred to as Cinnamon Sunflowers, but I’m not sure that’s the right name.

Anyway, we’ve been letting them go for the past several years, and with help from the Lesser Goldfinches, who seem to relish the seeds, they’ve been spreading to various parts of our lawn. The blossoms are very happy, and even though I haven’t seen the Goldfinches yet, I have seen Hummingbirds (yes on yellow blossoms) and bees. The bees are particularly gratifying.

To the left beyond the Sunflowers, you can see a bare spot in the yard. Let’s go see…

About a year ago, I lost my self restraint and bought another Oak tree. This is Quercus turbinella which is resilient to oak wilt and doesn’t grow very tall.

Last year we let Queen Anne’s Lace spread throughout the yard, something I’ve vowed never to do again. You should have seen me on my hands and knees for weeks this spring pulling up the sprouts sown from the cloud of seeds from last year’s crop. I just left a ring of blooming plants around the Oak but then cut them out before they went to seed—whence the bare spot.

In the distance, you can see some more Sunflowers to the left near the Ash tree trunk. But look in the distance…

Peering over the Oak tree (notice that it has acorns, already!), you can see some Turk’s Cap on the right.

Several years ago, I planted a 4″ pot of Turk’s Cap and I’ve been spreading the fruit with some success. They like the shade, and although the rain this year seems to be encouraging some kind of bug to feast on them, they’re very hardy and seem to be winning. They are just now starting to bloom. The Hummingbirds will be happy about that.

Let’s walk over to the Sunflowers on the left…

This is the far corner of our yard that until this year was kind of a wasteland. The fence was old and rickety and didn’t let a breeze thru, and we just didn’t find it pleasant back here.

But that all changed when we fixed the fence in January and opted for feedlot welded wire instead of traditional pickets. We now love this part of the yard and have been working on making it a nicer place to hang out.

In fact…

We now find this spot so enjoyable with the new breeze that comes thru from the vacant lot behind us that we got us a little swinging bench.

In late June, it’s brutally hot here well before noon, because the sun is directly overhead. But in the early afternoon, the sun goes behind a Pine and Walnut tree, and we find ourselves sitting here and just gazing around (that is, when the mosquitos aren’t out in full force, which they really have been recently due to all the rain we’ve been having … not that I’m complaining).

And to the left you can see what we gaze at. Let’s go over and take a closer look at Trudy’s square foot gardens…

There they are in their full glory: Trudy’s raised beds.

She’s got peas in the far bed, tomatoes in the tub in the foreground and four underperforming peppers that were easier to see in the last photo. (The tub has a long, illustrious history, but I won’t go into that, here.)

We’ve grilled a single pepper from our crop, and there’s another coming but no sign of ought else.

“Just keep them alive until the fall,” is what they told us at Natural Gardener last weekend. Hm… four plants for two peppers. We could have done better at the grocery story. But of course, that’s not really the point, is it? We’re getting better at this every year.

Come with me over here. I want to show you one more thing…

Just past the tomatoes is a funny fenced-in area that came with the house when Trudy bought it. There’s a huge Sunflower back there that towers over the gate and is shading some more peas growing on the other side of the chain link.

Let’s go thru the gate…

Look at this! From the house you can’t even see these Crepe Myrtles blooming. Years ago someone planted them pink/white/pink/white/pink. Every summer they bloom in profusion but only on this side, since the other side of the fence is generally shady but this side gets full sun in the morning.

Like all Crepe Myrtles, they love the heat, and as you can tell: it’s been hot.

Come with me a bit further. Watch your step. That lumber is pickets and old 2x4s left over from the fence we fixed. I’m getting rid of (most of) it slowly.

But let me show you my pride and joy…

Feast your eyes on those!

Two 3′ diameter compost piles.

In the fall, I collect leaves from the Red Oaks. In the spring I collect leaves from the Live Oaks. Sometimes I pilfer grass from neighbors who still bag their cuttings. And we compost all our vegetable scraps. (Even Bill across the street has started pitching in. Just today he brought over a dozen egg shells.)

I’m telling you, these piles are hot. Really, you’ll be shocked (no, scalded) if you reach down into them with your hands. But I’m telling you, there’s nothing better for the soul, than reaching into a hot compose pile with your hands.

And um… I can tell from the silence that we need to move on…

But that’s all there is to show.

We’ve reached the other corner of the backyard, and with that, there’s nothing else to do but show you this closer look at my beloved compose piles.

Thanks for coming along.

1. The Approaching Storm

“Watch the radar,” she said. “Don’t go emptying your rain barrels until you know it’s going to rain.”

The fair and industrious Trudy knows her husband well.

So I sat at the keyboard periodically glancing out the window, eyeing the approach of black clouds from the west. And I watched the radar: it was coming:yellows and oranges and … was that a little red? The sky turned black. A wind kicked up and tossed the upper reaches of the Ash tree.

I kept watching the radar. Until I could watch no more. It was certain to rain. The radar showed a wall of color advancing toward us. The sky was darker by the minute, and thunder was rolling just beyond the hills. So I went and drained some of our best rain barrel into an empty garbage can.

And you know what happened then, don’t you?

The wind died down. The clouds broke. It was as light as day again. And there was no rain.

I went back inside and sat down at the keyboard, shaking my head.

2. Walking the Dog

There were a few small corrections to make to my program, so I made them and checked the code back in. The sky was majorly light, now, and in place to the southwest there were patches of blue.

I could not believe my luck and went outside to silently shake my fist at that storm hills. And as I stood outside in the driveway reflecting on the dry grass and how the water barrels would be empty soon, the dog started barking uncontrollably from inside the house.

Take me out! Take me out! It’s getting late, and I haven’t been for my walk!

I smiled and went inside and turned to grab the leash just inside the door. Guinness jumped and squirmed and ran in circles, and I waited for him to gather his wits. And then we went out the door.

We went down the block and turned left, for to the right are the soccer fields, and the dark skies and flashing lightning had evidently passed that way, and I decided we didn’t need to be the only thing standing out there. So we went left and then left again for a quick walk around the block—something’s better than nothing

Then I felt a drop on my head. It made me chuckle. A little finger in my eye just to rub it in—a drop of rain where I had been expecting a storm. And then another drop, and then another and another, until the skies opened up (from what rain clouds, I do not know), and the two of us were soaking wet.

A family was sitting under the eaves of their house across the street watching us. They smiled and waved. I told them we could thank the dog’s walk for the rain, and they laughed. And I smiled.

And we got very, very wet. And my rain barrels got full.