Superior Ovaries

Day 322: Clintonia uniflora (aka Queen-cup or Bead-lily) has superior ovaries. No, no...I mean like they're really on top of it. No, wait...I mean the ovary is on top of the petals! Are we clear on that now?

Do you ever get the feeling that even though we speak the same language, we sometimes aren't the best at communicating what we mean? Scientifically, a "superior ovary" is one which develops above the petals in the traditional botanical four-part whorl arrangement of sepals, petals, stamens and stigma/style/ovary. Conversely, an "inferior ovary" occurs below the sepals/petals (an example would be the winged ovary of a begonia flower). "Superior" in this sense means "above," "inferior" means "below." However, someone unfamiliar with botany might think that I was speaking in reference to the plant's ability to reproduce successfully rather than describing the arrangement of its reproductive parts.

Communication is not always as simple as saying what's on your mind. A single word or string of words may signify something entirely different to different people depending on their backgrounds. Semantics (the selection of a word based on a precise definition, its placement in the word-order of a sentence, and sometimes even the euphonic resonance of its syllables) is the science of verbal exchange, and unless everyone is on the same page (i.e., from similiar verbal backgrounds), the message can go widely astray. The wise speaker chooses words to suit the audience. A "nicely tanned skin" might refer to bathing-suit cheesecake or to a cozy, curly fleece rug. I know how I'd be most likely to use the phrase, but do you?

And here you thought this post was going to be about botany! Not to disappoint, it has taken me a very long time to find and photograph Bead-lily's solitary blue bead. Some little critter seems to think they're very tasty. Out of several hundred plants I checked, all but half a dozen had had their "beads" bitten off neatly.

Patience Corner, Pieced In Post

Day 321: Before I could start on my next quilt, I needed to make a test block of "Patience Corner" in order to see how it should be assembled and to check whether the dimensions would satisfy my eye. My first attempt used up most of my own print scraps and yielded a 12" block which seemed rather too big and clunky, so I solicited additional fabrics from a friend to make a downsized version. The 10" block was satisfactory (the squares are 2.5" on a side, the rectangles 5" x 2.5"). For my readers' benefit, I replicated the finished block in post, rotated it accordingly and pasted it to create this four-block mini-quilt (the blue border is not part of the plan). The actual quilt will be made with four themed colours: green, purple, blue and aqua (?). Each colour scheme will have two variations, i.e., the print fabric used for rectangles in V1 will be used for squares in V2 and vice versa. The solids will be the same in both V1 and V2 for each colour, and will abut in the center (shown as four red blocks in the photo). I'll piece the blocks on the machine, but again, I plan to hand-quilt it. Hopefully, it won't take me twenty years to get this one done!

Summer's End

Day 320: Massed Morris sides danced the sun up on May Day, and last night Sound & Fury, Misty City, the Mossyback Morris Men and the Morris Offspring danced it down at Alki Beach in West Seattle, symbolically closing out the summer. It was a beautiful setting for a performance, and concluded with a processional with members of all four sides circling the down-scaled representation of Lady Liberty which overlooks Puget Sound. We still have several more gigs coming up over the next two months, and although we're taking September off from practices, we'll resume the drill in October at our indoor venue on Phinney Ridge. There are new dances and songs to learn, ale and cider to be drunk, new friends to be made. This is the celebration which is Morris!

Helluva Hive

Day 319: Let me state for the record that there is a 50' stretch on the eastern shore of Lake St. Clair which I did NOT check for invasive weeds, sundews or lichens. I think I heard this before I saw it; in any event, something made me look up to where it was hanging, almost concealed by cedar boughs 15' above the surface of the water. Only then did I notice the flurry of activity around and on it, dozens/hundreds of paper wasps engaged in their daily chores. By far the largest nest I have ever seen, it would have filled a two-gallon bucket easily, probably 14-16" in diameter and 20" tall. It was a magnificent piece of architecture to be sure, but like the works of Frank Lloyd Wright, best appreciated from the long view.

Pirates In The Plaza

Day 318: Although yesterday's "Pirates in the Plaza" event in Washougal wasn't quite what I expected it to be, it was good to be in the company of some of the Pacific Northwest's most notorious (if to me nameless) scallywags and scoundrels. I had thought the gathering would be more along the lines of the Portland Pirate Festival with vendors hawking garb and weapons, displays of nautical gear and art, and a welter of buskers to fill in the voids between stage acts; a venue packed with activities and things to look at (if perhaps not buy). This it was not. Nor was it a bustling place packed with pirates of various ilk rubbing shoulders with one another in their go-to-shore best kit, although enough of us were costumed to give the group some flavour. However, if you could put aside the shortfall of atmosphere, there was entertainment to be had (not all of it in period) and sea shanties to be sung, occasional conversation to be passed amongst captains and crews, and one or two engagements may have required skilfully planned action in the interest of avoiding confrontation. There was cannonfire and swordsmanship, grog and song, and best of all, there were Morris dancers. Let's hear it for Renegade Rose! Huzzah!

Pirate's Hideaway

Day 317: There are very few places where a small craft can be beached on the shores of Lac de Ste. Claire, and the hideaway of a certain notorious pirate certainly looks like an unlikely harbour from the water even at close range. It is set in deep shade, and although its particular shingle permits access, navigation into its protection is difficult to say the least, the line of course obstructed by deadheads of various shape and size. Only the most experienced helmsmen venture here, and only the most intrepid explorers go beyond the sanctuary afforded in its most immediate shelter. An ancient cedar stands as gatekeeper, ready to repel intrusion with its weaponry of sharply honed branches. The tangled lands beyond the shore are habitat for the most fearsome and enormous banana slugs known to exist, defended against all comers by the combined forces of well-armed nettle and blackberry.

Indigestible Bits

Day 316: Although the principle reason for my recent kayaking adventure was the removal of Spotted Jewelweed, no trip to Lake St. Clair is complete until I've visited my kids, i.e. the Sundews which occupy the logs adjacent to one homeowner's dock. Jack (the homeowner) knows me by sight now, and this time came out to ask, "How're they doing?" "Just fine, Jack," I replied. "They've been eating well and they're going to seed now." I went on to explain that I've been keeping tabs on them since early spring, watching them progress from initial emergence from hibernation through their blooming period. It was interesting to note how thoroughly they're managing to digest the abundant damselflies; only the gauzy wings are left behind, the "chicken bones" of Drosera's summer picnic (seen here most easily at top center). Even as I watched, a damsel made a fatal mistake, stepping from the safety of a blade of grass onto the sticky glands of Drosera's paddles. Its feet became entrapped immediately, another meal to sustain the Sundew colony.

A Boatload Of Bad

Day 315: Since I had to be in Yelm anyway yesterday morning, I threw the 'yak on the top of the car with a mind to going out on Lake St. Clair to remove the small infestation of Jewelweed (Impatiens capensis) which I'd discovered growing on a floating log about a month ago. Little did I realize how the rest of the day was going to progress.

It only took a few minutes to remove eight plants from the log, the tallest of which was about 2', but as I proceeded close to shore en route to the Sundews, I spotted a mound of the nasty stuff about 10' on a side and 6' tall nestled among thick blackberries. There was no way I could access it from the boat, and someone approaching from the heavily wooded land would need to machete a path through the thorns to reach it. Sighing heavily, I realized that I have my work cut out for me for as long as I'm able to paddle unless the rules regarding development along this side of the lake are relaxed. Jewelweed is an aggressive invader. As long as one plant exists on the shore, it will continue to spread to other areas of the lake. Further on, I noted another heavy infestation, this one covering close to 1000 sq. ft. Again, I could not access it from the water.

As I made my way along the shore, I noticed more places where the weed occurred to lesser degrees. For the most part, it was in spots I couldn't reach, but there were a few exceptions. At the location shown above, I was able to get out of the 'yak and stood in thigh-deep water to pull over 100 plants from the log shown just beyond the bow of the kayak. I was wishing I'd remembered to bring a bag, because the plants were covered in ants, and as I continued on my journey, I kept picking ants off myself and the 'yak by the dozen.

I was heartened when a sweep up the far east side of the lake seemed to prove Jewelweed-free, but when I reached the north end of the lobe, I found more of it growing on a piece of dock which had broken free some years ago and was now a "raft" of sorts, similar to the original Sundew Island, free-floating and now lost somewhere among the tangle of weed and wood along the shore. It seemed the Jewelweed had found an enterprising means of transport, rafting to new locations to release its future generations. Not on my watch! I forced the kayak onto the wood-and-styrofoam structure and pulled every Jewelweed within reach. By the time I got back to the car, the bow of the 'yak was packed with roughly 10 pounds of Jewelweed, enough to fill a large garbage bag. Even so, those inaccessible groves of this persistent plant will continue to disperse seed. A catch-phrase comes to mind, as applicable in this scenario as in the one which birthed it: "Still she persisted." Yes, that will serve.

A Not-So-Favourite Invasive

Day 314: There are half a dozen different Knapweeds (pure strains and crosses), all of which are considered Class B noxious weeds in Washington. They are prolific seed-producers and can crowd out native vegetation in a very short time, reducing the amount of forage for livestock and other animals where the plants occur. There are various controls which can be used for small infestations. Pulling or digging is effective, but mowing is not, due to the fact that the roots are long-lived and will re-sprout even in the same season. Biocontrols are an option when applying chemicals is undesirable. Methods include the introduction of Knapweed beetles or shading the plants out with more vigorous native species. That said, if Knapweed appears on your property, your first priority is to prevent it from going to seed.

My Favourite Invasive

Day 313: Cichorium intybus (common Chicory, also known as Blue Sailors) is considered an invasive weed in Washington, and yes, it will take over vacant lots and other waste areas once it gets a toehold, but its flowers are such a bright and cheerful blue that I just can't help liking it. Of course, many non-native plants got started when they migrated from someone's garden into the natural environment, and then some, without the controls of weeding or predation on them, proliferated to excess and wound up on the "hit list" of invasives. Not all non-natives become invasive, and others do so in varying degrees. We pigeonhole the worst of them into three classes: Class A for for those of especial concern due to their ability to succeed but are not commonly found, Class B for those which are abundant in some areas of the state but absent in others, Class C for those which are widespread. Others are categorized as "regional" or "nuisance" and do not require any measure of control. Cichorium falls into the latter category presently, so at least for now I can enjoy it without guilt.

Junior Ranger Eclipse Explorer!

Day 312: Several factors led up to a situation in which Mount Rainier National Park only received a handful (literally five or six) Junior Ranger Eclipse Explorer badges and books. I think it was the "sad puppy-dog" face I wore for Marc Blackburn, but whatever the reason, I shall be eternally grateful that he let me have one of them. I hope my eclipse photo sequence fills the requirements for earning it.

I watched the eclipse almost from beginning to end through my 4.5" Orion Star-Blast telescope, employing a solar filter designed expressly for viewing sunspots. I noticed a little grouping of them near the limb of the sun as the Moon's shadow darkened the solar disk, although I did not see any prominences. The temperature dropped substantially and the crows kept cawing throughout the event, but the cats were unfazed, and my two neighbours never even came outside.

Those Damn Daisies!

Day 311: The botanical equivalent of the birder's "LBJ" (Little Brown Job) or "LBG" (Little Grey Bird) is expressed somewhat more emotionally. We deal with "Damn Daisies." The Asteraceae (formerly Compositae) is the largest family of plants in the world with a membership numbering close to 24,000. Of course this includes a diversity of appearances, but if you see something which looks daisy-like...well, it's a Damn Daisy.

I have used the popular terminology many times over the last week as I tried to sort out just which Damn Daisy this mini-model was. I sent it off to Arnie, who by way of response sent me a photo of chicken-of-the-woods fungus and a note, "Mine are easier to identify than yours." It was back to the drawing board for me, and late Friday evening, I sent Arnie an exultant email: "Erigeron acris, suspect it's var. debilis!" I'm sure he'll be glad the mystery was laid to rest when he sees it Monday morning.

The ray flowers of this species are noted for being very narrow, and the plant is quite small, standing no more than 8" in height. The flower is approximately 1/2" in width, and may be white or pale lavender. The pappus (modified calyx) extends beyond ("surpasses") the central disk flowers. The common name reflects a term applied to a number of different Asteraceae: Bitter Fleabane, but its folkloric reputation for repelling fleas is a myth.

Up Next, Patience Corner

Day 310: Inspired by a friend's passion for quilting and her enviable ability to turn them out as easily as she'd make a batch of cookies, I picked up where I left off on the Twenty-Year Quilt about two weeks ago and have been making significant progress on completing it. I don't have far to go with the hand-stitching, and once that's done, I only need to add the edge binding. As I've been working, I've been cogitating (a dangerous activity), and a week ago bought eight prints in lime green, followed a few days later by eight more in purple as well as a couple of others I couldn't resist (the grey cats tangled in the rainbow yarn could go anywhere). The layout of the basic Patience Corner block is shown in the inset, each colour representing a different print. Each block will keep to a colour scheme (lime greens, purples, etc.), and I haven't quite decided if I'll put a border around each one so that the finished quilt is broken up into "streets and alleys" or if I'll just butt blocks up against each other. The white squares in the template will be solid, one coordinated colour per block. I plan to reverse the prints used in rectangles and squares when making a second block so that there will be four or five pairs of identical blocks in each colour palette. At this point, I am not sure how many palettes I will incorporate, but blues will be among them. I'm searching for small-repeat cat and crow prints (crows are very hard to find!); "characters" must fit into a 2 1/2" area. I sewed a test block this morning and was happy to see that they go together easily and logically. Still, the phrase "glutton for punishment" comes to mind!

Rorippa Curvisiliqua

Day 309: "Curvepod Yellowcress." That's the common name given to this enchanting little plant, awkward to enunciate and although descriptive, not particularly inspired. The Latin (Rorippa curvisiliqua) is much more euphonic: ro-RIP-uh cur-vy sil-EE-qua. Now that's loads of fun to say! As far as description goes, it's on a par with the English. The term "silique" (sil-EEK) tells us how the pods behave when they are fully ripe, i.e., typically at least twice as long as they are wide, they split longitudinally to release the seeds inside. This action can be quite dramatic, launching the seeds with force and an audible "pop."

I observed this plant in the Park for the first time last year, and to date have not seen it in any other location within our boundaries. In other environments, it grows taller and bushier, factors which make me wonder if the specimens in this particular area are stunted by late-lying snow, limited light and cold temperatures, or if they might be an undocumented subspecies. The presence of an unidentified "mini-aster" in the same location inclines me to think that the "habitat" theory is most likely the case (Occam's Razor: the simplest solution is most often correct). I love a good botanical puzzle, and this site presents two, the solutions for which may or may not be linked.

Pickled

Day 308: After making seven pints of curry pickles a week ago (my mother's recipe), I realized that they weren't going to go very far if I gave a bottle to everyone who dropped hints. The next time I went to town, I bought more cucumbers, sugar and spices, and another dozen Kerr pint jars (my preferred brand). I checked with Kevin to see how much work had piled up on my desk (not much), and then took Wednesday off to can.

Pickles are a two-day process. The chunked cucumbers must be soaked in brine 24 hours before the actual canning can be done. The canning process involves every square inch of counter space within reach of the stove, and every burner is occupied by the canning kettle or some other vessel holding hot water, lids or rings, or in the boiling of the pickles preparatory to putting them in the jars. Modern stoves aren't built to accommodate a large hot-water bath canner along with the other implements necessary for the job, but somehow I manage to pull it all together in a timely manner. That's a factor: the jars must be sterilized by boiling for 20 minutes, the vegetables must be boiled in the spice liquid for 5, and the lids and rings must be scalded for 5. Big kettles and little pots must reach the boiling point in sequence so that at the last minute, everything is ready for the final stage. Once the hot pickles are in the jars and have been topped up with liquid, the rims must be wiped and the lids applied. Then they're placed in the hot-water bath and processed (boiled) for ten minutes.

Once I've lowered them into the canner, I can relax...or start cleaning up the kitchen. There's nothing left to do except remove the pickles from their bath and wait to hear the delightful sound of *plink!* *plink!* *plink!* as the jars seal. The pickles? Far and away my favourite sweet pickle, they shouldn't be opened for at least two weeks in order to develop the full flavour.

Salvaged Salamander

Day 307: Work on the footbridge at Lake Tipsoo was interrupted by the need for a rescue. One of the crew had discovered a Long-Toed Salamander (Ambystoma macrodactylum) in a shovelful of soil. The little guy was retrieved unharmed, introduced to everyone in the group and then was released back into the safety of shoreline vegetation. This common species has a range of up to 9000' elevation in the Pacific Northwest. They emerge and migrate to their breeding waters even while snow is still on the ground. They reach sexual maturity at 2-3 years of age, and may live as long as 10 years. A "mole salamander," they frequently occupy rodent burrows during hibernation, undoubtedly where this little feller was hiding out until his rest was disturbed by trail crew's excavation. One lucky little salamander here!

Building Bridges

Day 306: Thirty or forty years ago, the wildflowers weren't nearly as lush at Lake Tipsoo as they are today. The shoreline had been trampled by generations of visitors who "over-loved" the spot, and with visitation on a steady rise, the Park began taking measures to protect what remained of the meadow and to restore the damage done by countless feet.  Even today, it's difficult to keep visitors on the trail. Many of them simply don't understand the impacts; others feel entitled to go where they want, citing "public land" as justification for tramping through the plants.

Mount Rainier National Park Associates (MRNPA) contribute hundreds of man-hours every summer to maintaining the trails in the Park. Here, they are hard at work replacing one of the footbridges at Tipsoo. Due to the fragility of the ecology here, crew size was limited to a dozen workers, although no one seemed to mind when I shouldered a few slabs of cedar puncheon from the parking area to the site despite not being registered as a member of the work party. Kevin and I had stopped en route to Sunrise to photograph the group in action. Pretty impressive, considering that no power tools are used on site!

Marmot Jr.

Day 305: The Berkeley bears didn't make an appearance during my hike to Lodi Creek making this the first time in several years that I haven't had an encounter with either a sow or a cub. Two years ago, I faced off with a rather bold cubbie for five or ten minutes until we agreed on the proper comfort zone for two-way traffic. This time, only Marmot Jr. and his mom shared the trail with me. Junior was slightly bigger than half-grown, still very curious about those two-legged creatures who passed through his meadow but wary enough to keep his distance. I'd first spotted him as he ran downslope and across the trail twenty feet ahead of me to duck into a small grouping of short subalpine firs. As I passed, he popped his head out to watch me, and then once he felt it was safe, he took up this classic pose on a sun-warmed rock. Roughly two hundred feet further on, mom scurried across the track, possibly wondering where her offspring had gone.

Lodi's Wildflowers

Day 303: You may find yourself a little short of breath if you hop out of your car at 6400' and begin racing up the trail from the Sunrise parking area to the crest of Sourdough Ridge, so on this too-warm and smoky day, it was even more important for me to adopt a snail's pace for my hike. Last year, I had not had time to make it all the way to Lodi Creek before the volunteer picnic; I'd gotten shanghaied by visitors at Frozen Lake and stayed there as long as I could, trying to keep them from feeding the chipmunks. When you're in uniform, your personal goals are secondary to the needs of the Park's guests, so we'd allowed some extra time this year for hiking, although I estimated that it was still barely enough for me to make the trek and be back in time for the picnic. Kevin stayed behind at Sunrise to take care of some administrative tasks.

Over the course of a 12-hour work day, I spoke with 129 visitors at Sunrise alone, answering questions about the weather, the trails, the notable absence of birds (smoke-related), wildlife, and of course plants, plants, always plants. I recruited five potential new Meadow Rovers and two greenhouse volunteers (one, a Master Gardener), and gave water to a parched hiker who had misjudged how much he'd need on his own hike (a common occurrence). My annual ablutions were fulfilled with a ritual swim in a hidden lake where I found one new plant (as yet not identified by me), and I even spent half an hour lugging 4' slabs of cedar puncheon to a site where trail crew was replacing a footbridge. The hike to Lodi was a mere two miles one way, but between heat, smoke and visitor contacts, required an hour and a half to complete. Once there, I had time to take a few pictures and put my hands in the water (my customary greeting to this old friend), and then I was headed back up the hill, grateful for a cloud which settled in to block the sun during the steepest part of the ascent. At the picnic, I socialized with some 60+ volunteers and handed out service awards to those who had put in the hours or years required for recognition.

All other things aside, it was those five minutes I spent with my old friend Lodi which "made my day." We had many good times together during my active backpacking years, Lodi and I. Rain or shine, Lodi's cheerful chuckle always greeted me when I was en route to Berkeley, Grand Park or Fire Creek, and the abundance of wildflowers along its moisture-rich course were often the highlight of a trip around the Northern Loop. There are no rarities here, just a lush garden of memories only I can see.

Nasty Bits

Day 303: Despite the fact that I grow flowers, I very seldom pick a bouquet. After all, they last much longer on the plant, and I can see them by simply looking out the window. There are exceptions to that rule, of course: the spring spate of Siberian irises along the back fence produces so prodigiously that a missing dozen is not even noticeable, daffodils likewise, or the occasional wind-fractured stem of delphinium. That said, I have always loved nasturtiums, and this year's crop has utterly blanketed one end of the flowerbed to a much greater degree than ever before. Their trailing stems spill out over the sidewalk, threatening to grab my ankles as I pass by to go to the mailbox, and occasionally have to be re-trained to go that way rather than this. It's a friendly dispute, their persistent enthusiasm brightening my every visit to the garden. View of many of the blossoms is blocked by other plants, overhung with hellebore or spicebush or shielded by delphinium foliage, so I thought I'd bring a few nasty bits indoors.

Oregon Spring And Sun Gold

Day 302: If you're wondering why my recent posts have been rather more domestic than usual, it's because western Washington has been having hot weather coupled with thick smoke drifting down from the fires in British Columbia. Over the last two weeks, the Mountain has been invisible or nearly so from my home, and at times, I haven't even been able to make out the horizon of Elbe Hills. Yesterday was the worst it has been. The smoke was visible between my house and my neighbour's, and the trees at the end of the pasture were all but lost in haze. Other than short runs out into the garden or to the mailbox, I have made very few forays into open atmosphere and away from the filtering capabilities of air-conditioning. This is not normal, not for Washington, and cabin fever is taking its toll on my disposition. As much as I want to be OUT, the air is too thick to breathe and I have no desire to become a statistic. Still, enforced domesticity does not sit well with me and I would be glad of a little rain. So would my garden.

I've been watering on an almost daily basis, perhaps a bit too heavily for the Oregon Spring "beefsteak" tomatoes. The vine is producing prodigiously despite being very compact this year, but my diligence with watering has caused most of the tomatoes to split. They're not inedible; I just have to cut away the hardened bits where the flesh has been exposed, and the remainder of the fruit is sweet and juicy, and especially delicious when harvested sun-warm and served with a dash of salt and pepper. On the other hand, the Sun Gold plant is spindly and leggy despite having been fertilized, and is bearing rather sparsely. That said, I've still been able to pick enough tomatoes for both myself and a neighbour, although I would not call this a "good tomato year."

Cockscomb Celosia

Day 301: Cockscomb Celosia (Celosia cristata) has one of the most puzzling inflorescences I have ever seen. Hundreds of tiny, tightly fasciated flowers arise in a fan-shaped, crested raceme which resembles nothing so much as a huge chenille pipe-cleaner laid atop a wedge of velvet. The flowers are soft to the touch despite looking like they should be spiky, and the crest broadens as the inflorescence matures. These plants offer a variety of warm-hued blooms for the border (red, pink, yellow, maroon), reaching heights of approximately 12 inches at maturity. Leaf colour may be green or red/maroon. Easy to grow, they prefer well-drained soil and bright sun. Certainly they are a curiosity in the garden, and I find myself wondering what genetic advantage the unusual form might provide. Why, little plant? I must have the answer!

The Way I Figgered It

Day 300: The way I had it figgered, I could get five in a jar because they'd get squishy during the five-minute simmer required for the hot-pack method. Raw, three was the best I could do. I'd originally guessed at 60 for ten pints, but when I saw them on the tree, I realized they were a little bigger in real life than in my memory. I came home with 66 (a nearly full two-gallon pail!) and after processing, I had twelve pints of figs to tuck away for winter. That gives me one jar per week for the official three-month season.

Why go to all this work when I could have dried them much more easily? Because I love canned figs. Forty years ago, you could buy them in stores under the S&W brand name. They came in glass jars. They became harder and harder to find until finally disappearing from the shelves, and I swore that if I ever had a chance, I'd can my own. I am grateful to the friends in Olympia who allowed me to harvest enough from their tree (Desert King) to see me through the winter. My own tree (four years old, and a start from theirs) has not yet produced a fig although each year, it's putting on more leaves and branches. Maybe some day!

Twenty-Year Quilt

Day 299: I don't recall what year I actually started this quilt. I can only date it by saying that Cocoa (my Cockatoo) liked to use it for a trampoline once it was stretched in the hoop for stitching. That dates it to at least 2001, and since the machine-piecing was done by that point, I'd say we can safely add another two years, maybe even three. Let's make it a nice round number, and call it twenty years ago, ergo the "Twenty-Year Quilt."

I used to call it the "Mistake Quilt." Y'see, all those little squares were supposed to be part of a different top, but somebody (-cough-) forgot to add the seam allowance when she cut them out. In a hasty revision of plan, this version was born. The fact of the matter is that I've made dozens of quilts over the years and have given away all but one which Cocoa also helped create. Every one with the exception of the one I kept have been tied with yarn rather than stitched to hold the batting in place. With its open blocks, this one seemed to beg for hand-stitching even though the quilt itself was pieced on the machine. I can make all sorts of excuses for why it's taken so long to finish: my fingers got sore, I had company over and needed to get the frame out of the way, I got bored...but the truth of the matter is that it brings back memories of Cocoa, and not all of them are things I want to think about. I've worked more diligently at the task over the last several days than during any other time since his passing, but sometimes those dark remembrances still float to the surface while my fingers are busy and my mind is not. It has taken twenty years, but I've taught myself to block their intrusion and wilfully force them back in the box. When I am done (and I truly believe I'll finish it over the next few weeks), the back will bear an embroidered tag with my name and the date, and the words "Cocoa helped." It will no longer be the Mistake Quilt or the Twenty-Year Quilt. It will be Cocoa's Quilt, and thus an heirloom.

Make It Snappy

Day 298: Early on in the history of my garden, I tried snapdragons. Like most of the things I planted during that era, they failed miserably. Now after many years of soil amendments and care, the flower beds are sufficiently improved to support these traditional favourites.

Let's back up in the story. When I bought my home almost thirty years ago, the flower beds beneath the windows had been ignored for many years. They were entirely overgrown with grass and weeds to the point that the only thing which distinguished them from "yard" was a concrete walkway. That first spring, a friend helped me excavate them to a depth of about 18", and the two of us sifted the soil with our hands in the hopes of removing most of the weeds' roots. We replanted any tubers which looked like they might produce desirable plants, and thereby were able to salvage peonies, delphiniums and columbine. For the next four years, I was weeding on an almost daily basis, trying to rid the garden of nuisance species. It felt like a never-ending chore.

During this time, I planted annuals and shifted perennials around until I got them where I wanted them, and gradually, the weeds thinned out until one big "spring cleaning" and a vigilant eye were all that was needed to keep the flower beds in trim. Invariably, some annual would go to seed and the following spring, I'd be pulling lobelia or marigolds as well as clover and epilobium in order to keep with the year's changeable theme. I fertilized and added good-quality commercial soil. Eventually, I put in additional perennials, leaving a border and a few open spaces to fill with annuals so I could created a different look each year. Satisfied with the beds, my attention then turned to the bare yard and I began adding trees, shrubs and more flower beds, but that's another story. I'm happy that I was finally able to "make it snappy," even if it took thirty years.

Hardy Fuchsias For The Perennial Garden

Day 297: You can't beat hardy Fuchsias for putting on a show in the garden! Like their annual cousins, they are prolific bloomers and attract hummingbirds by the dozen. Their growth habit is shrubby, woody stems rising three feet or more from ground level in some cases, with blossoms more widely spaced on the stalks than those of the annual varieties. They are deciduous, losing their leaves in the fall (a factor which makes them undesirable to some people), but in the spring, new shoots emerge from the soil, and will be followed somewhat later by the emergence of leaves on the old stems if they haven't been pruned back. I prefer to let mine sprawl until they start to look weedy. Then an autumn "haircut" puts them back in order. A wide variety of colour combinations are available, but pay attention to the hardiness rating and plant according to your zone. As a general rule, the lighter the colour, the less hardy the plant. From left to right, top to bottom: Army Nurse, Erecta (hardy in Zone 7 with some protection), Dollar Princess, Genii and Riccartonii. Both the small-flowered varieties shown here produce an edible oblong purple berry which can be added to fruit salads for visual interest, although the taste is rather bland if eaten directly from the plant.

Sweet Nepenthes

Day 296: The latest addition to my collection of insectivores is a commercially-grown Pitcher Plant (Nepenthes sp.). This particular species is not outdoors-hardy and therefore hangs above my kitchen sink where it will receive its requirements for light and humidity. Native to the islands of the South Pacific, these plants' "pitchers" are in fact the termini of highly specialized leaves. Each leaf produces an extension of its midrib (referred to as a tendril), at the tip of which the characteristic trap develops. The pitchers contain a syrupy fluid comprised of biopolymers and enzymes which allows the plants to drown and digest insects and other small prey. Some of the larger Nepenthes species are capable of consuming lizards, rats and other prey of similar size. Don't worry, I'm not sticking my finger in there!

Woodland Skipper Loves Lavender

Day 295: Among other assorted flutterbyes in my garden, the hot weather has brought out Woodland Skippers in droves, and they love the lavender. These cute little critters fascinated me when I was a child because unlike other butterflies, they frequently hold their hind wings at an angle to their forewings when at rest, a pose which puts me in mind of experimental aircraft. The larvae of Ochlodes sylvanoides feed on a variety of tall, coarse grasses; in Washington, this includes the invasive Reed Canary Grass. Perhaps the abundance of Skippers in recent years is related to the increase in available forage, Nature attempting to strike a balance between native and non-native species. That said, it seems like the Canary Grass is winning despite the Skippers' valiant efforts to control it, but it does my heart good to see so many of these charming butterflies in my garden.

Nobody Home

Day 294: The photo on the left was taken on 26 December 2016. That was when I first noticed the chrysalis attached to the vinyl siding on the west wall of my house. I tentatively identified its occupant as Pieris marginalis (Margined White), a species now considered distinct from Pieris napi and one which accounts for a large portion my yard's butterfly census. It was an odd spot to find such a treasure and I figured the creature's chances of survival would be diminished by the exposure, but was pleasantly surprised when it wintered over without damage. I started keeping a closer eye on it in late May or early June, checking every week or so to see if I could detect any signs of development. It was a discouraging vigil, the chrysalis gradually turning darker as it aged, as if its winged fruit was withering inside. I kept up the watch nevertheless, but recently missed two days in a row until the lapse was brought to my attention by the flight of a Pieris past the window. I went immediately to check the chrysalis and discovered that its resident had flown. Could it have been the butterfly I observed flitting above the flower bed? So far, that White has been the only one I've seen.

Hypogymnia Phys...Waitaminit!

Day 293: Hypogymnia physodes is a fairly common lichen in the Pacific Northwest. Like other Hypogymnias, its lobes are tubular, and distinguishing the particular species sometimes involves separating the grey-green top surface from the black bottom surface so that the medullary ceiling can be observed. A member of our Morris dance side handed me a small brown box containing a specimen at Monday's dance-out, and I recognized it immediately as a representative of the tube lichens.

Seriously, though...when Tink handed me a tiny package, I was puzzled. There was no special event to commemorate. What could it possibly contain? I lifted the lid and found this darling lichen pendant which she had picked up at a craft fair. "I knew you had to have it, Crow," she said. If not H. physodes (shown here growing on a fir tree in my yard), it is certainly a member of the genus and as such, is destined to become one of my favourite pieces of jewelry. Thank you, Tink!

Sunprinting

Day 292: Some 35 years ago, a friend gave me a gift of a "sunprint" kit. Technically, this is referred to as the cyanotype process, and uses certain ferric salts to create a negative image. It is the same process used for architectural blueprints, and was developed by Sir John Herschel in the mid-1800s. My original kit included several sheets of treated paper which I cut up into smaller pieces and carried into the deep backcountry during an off-trail trip to one of my favourite places on Earth. There, I made sunprints from a few significant items, one of which I eventually mounted in a frame and set on my fireplace mantel. The others are tucked safely away in a box of memorabilia. I wanted to share the fun with friends so recently purchased two kits to give as gifts as well as one for myself, and then I settled in to wait for a sunny day.

The cyanotype emulsion is sensitive to UV light and can require a fairly long exposure to get good results. Sun is something of a precious commodity in the Pacific Northwest, so when the opportunity availed itself, I scouted around the garden for items I thought seemed "artful." I selected Cosmos foliage and flowers for my first print, fern fronds for the second. Maybe I should thank the thinning ozone layer for the rich blue prints which were the result of only a few minutes' exposure time, or perhaps it was the addition of a few drops of lemon juice to the rinse, but in any event, I am very pleased with the outcome. As for that 35-year old print on my mantel, it is still as blue as the day I made it.