Future Muffins

Day 199: Can you taste 'em? These are muffins-to-be, baked in future tense, and it looks like I'm going to get a bumper crop again this year. Yes, blueberries! The flowers remind me humorously of Victorian underwear with their ruffled edges and delicate pink tint. So, now that I have your undivided attention, let's talk about timing as it applies to these bloomers and their exposure. You see, blueberry varietals come in three types: early, mid-season and late. We're not talking about the bearing period here, but rather when the plants come into bloom. You'll get a bigger crop of delicious blueberries if you plant two varieties, so it's important to know when your selections flower. Although optimally, you should plant two earlies or two mid-season or two late together, you can still get by with an early bloomer and a mid-season type or a mid-season with a late because there is some overlap. However, if you plant an early with a late, your future muffins will be somewhat short of fruit. If your pollinators normally don't show up until later in the season, you may want to take that into account as well when choosing the correct blueberry varieties for your garden. Remember, timing is crucial when you're talking about showing your bloomers.

No Such Thing

Day 198: I am fond of saying to friends that there is no such thing as "too many raspberries," so to that end, my hard-working botany partner Joe and I cleared a new line of sod today, planted sturdier posts and built a chicken-wire cage around the raspberry plot. We salvaged some strays which had emerged in the driveway gravel and under the contorted filbert and relocated them to the new row. What I am now calling the "Raspberry Cage" should be bambi-proof, blocked on one end by the filbert and two large flower pots at the other, chicken-wire from the tops of 6' posts to the ground on the long sides. Likewise, we removed the old fence from the garden and strung new wire around the "Dreimiller Extension" which now includes gooseberries, currants, a frost-nipped mulberry and yes, more raspberries (bush type). Joe also finished taking out the old hawthorn, allowing the weak end of the grape vine to receive more sun. Gardening is a lot more fun when you're sharing the work. Thanks, Joe! I couldn't have done it without you.

Separating Sheep From Goats - Hatiora Vs. Rhipsalidopsis

Day 197: If you'll look back to my post of April 24, you'll find a discussion of "Spring Cactus," aka Rhipsalidopsis/Hatiora gaertneri. In it, I make an entirely unscientific assertion that "Hatiora" is inappropriate for the species based on morphological distinctions between the two; "unscientific" because modern taxonomy reflects DNA, not physical commonalities. Still, I will have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the new terminology in this case because the differences in appearance are radical: my newly-acquired"Rhipsalidopsis" has broad foliage, upright blossoms and pointed, slender petals, quite unlike my "Hatiora" (still known as Hatiora rosea, and shown above) with its narrow segments and pendent flowers with rounded petals. In this instance only, I find myself in agreement with many botanists who are reluctant to accept taxonomic changes (a group which includes my good friend Arnie): if it doesn't look like a duck, walk like a duck or quack like a duck despite the fact that its DNA tells you it's a duck nevertheless, people are going to rebel against calling it a duck.

Profiling Tussilago Farfara

Day 196: I was expecting to find the Usual Suspects during an invasive-plant patrol of Tilton River State Park two days ago. In patrols lower down the Tilton, I've found Japanese Knotweed and hybrid Knapweeds in abundant supply. I was not expecting to find Tussilago farfara, a relatively new invasive in western Washington, and one which we discovered in Mount Rainier National Park only a couple of years ago. That find was the first for Pierce County.

Tilton River State Park is undeveloped and has but a single unmaintained trail leading from Hwy 508 to the river. A plaque marks its establishment at a potholed one-car pullout beside the road. You'd miss it if you didn't know it was there. As such, it's quiet during most seasons, a private place to enjoy a quiet moment beside the river. The sandbar at the end of the trail is sullied by a few fire rings created by fishermen and (illegal) campers, but most notably, by the Knotweed which plagues much of the Tilton's run. Since I had not done a formal weed patrol here, I thought I should document the problem. My eye was set for the weeds I expected and predictably, I found them, but then as I turned to go back out on the trail, I saw the Tussilago, growing sporadically in an area roughly 50' in diameter. Experience with the species in the Park has taught me that it's almost impossible to eradicate by pulling or digging; every fragment of stolon is capable of generating a whole new plant. I was left with only one option: record it and report it to shift the onus of responsibility to Washington State Parks. Occurring here as it does, it has the potential to spread down-river into areas not accessible by the public, and may develop into a major issue unless property owners can be educated. Tussilago farfara is the "new kid on the block," just listed by the state in March 2018. In fact, one of my photos appears in King County's "Noxious Weeds" blog.

Weed 'Em And Reap!

Day 195: "Weed 'em and reap!" For the third year running, I have been chosen as a recipient of the Sarah Reichard "Extra Mile" Award for my service with the Invasive Plant Council. On my way home from an invasives patrol yesterday (more on that in a subsequent post), I stopped to pick up my mail which included a $50 gift certificate to REI. Equal awards are given to the top three achievers, i.e., those who have devoted the most hours and have hiked the farthest in the interest of locating, removing and reporting invasive species. I haven't kept track of the number of miles or species I've logged, but since we went to on-line reporting in 2016, I've turned in 498 reports of invasives on western Washington's public lands. That said, I've noticed an astonishing lack of cooperation on the part of the agencies administrating these lands insofar as making an effort to eliminate noxious weeds even when the species are listed as Class A (mandatory control). In some cases, it's a matter of interpretation of jurisdiction: who owns the Knapweed-covered gravel bar in the middle of the river? Who is responsible for sending out a team to pull, spray, dig in an area below high-water mark? Especially in areas where weed seeds can be transported for miles on a waterway, this is an issue which is not being adequately addressed by the state weed control board. That said, even if my patrols do no more than raise the government's awareness of a rapidly expanding problem, it's a push in the right direction. I love what I do, even if it sometimes leaves me wanting to tear my hair out and scream.

Penny Perspectives - Oregon Boxwood

Day 194: As some of you know, I write a regular feature on the Park's Facebook page which appears every Tuesday evening. For the most part, it deals with plants (no surprise there, right?) I try to avoid the more common species, but likewise, I also avoid rarities because rare species generate two stock questions: "Is it edible?" and "Where can I find it?" (with the unvoiced qualifier, "...because I want to dig it up and put it in my yard"). In other words, I like to introduce people to those things they may have missed due to limited observation skills. One way I do that is through "Penny Perspectives." I haven't published one in a while, so was pleased to find Oregon Boxwood in bloom yesterday.

As this Penny Perspective demonstrates, the flowers of Paxistima myrsinites are tiny. Each waxy red petal is only about one millimeter long. They nestle in the leaf axils and can easily be mistaken for foliage in bud. Known by a variety of common names in popular field guides, this short, woody shrub may be called Oregon Boxwood, Falsebox, Myrtle Boxwood, Boxleaf or (my favourite) Mountain-lover, and can be found at any elevation up to the subalpine zone. It is a valuable forage food for deer and elk.

Rhipsalidopsis

Day 193: Whether you call Spring Cactus "Rhipsalidopsis" or "Hatiora," it is a member of the Rhipsalideae which is a lot of fun to say. I am choosing to differentiate between the two genera based on visual differences, an unscientific method which I would never dream of applying to anything but a houseplant. The foliage of this particular species (Rhipsalidopsis/Hatiora gaertneri) is much broader than that of my Hatiora rosea and looks very similar to the segments of so-called "Christmas" cacti. It comes in a range of colours: white, pink, crimson and vermilion, pretty much what you'd expect from a cactus of this type. A new aquisition, I am hoping it proves to be easier to bring into bloom.

A Violet Violet

Day 192: Oh, look! A violet Violet! It's a cultivar (Viola riviniana), not a native, but I was so thrilled to see Violets living up to their name when I was at Kevin's for Easter dinner that I nicked one as I was leaving. His garden is full of them, and as I tried to excavate around the roots with my fingertip (lacking any better tool at that particular moment), I discovered why they were so abundant. This species propagates by stolons ("runners"). Once I had managed to detach it from its vegetative network, I had in my hand a single plant with five dark reddish-green leaves, two flowers and a bud, and about 14 inches of complex root system. Confident of its ability to survive, I treated it quite callously, plunking it down on the seat beside me sans soil or even a wet paper towel, and stuck it in the ground, somewhat limp, when I got home half an hour later. By morning, it was as perky as it had been when I pulled it, insulted perhaps, but not doomed. I'm looking forward to a carpet of violet Violets under my big Doug fir.

Golden-Crowned Sparrow

Day 191: The key to success in birding is to learn to observe typical field markings at a glance. A little practice will train your eye to look for key features like wing bars, facial characteristics, breast-flecking, etc. Here, the logic behind the common name "Golden-Crowned Sparrow" is readily apparent in adult birds of the species, but immature specimens can be mistaken for White-Crowned because the yellow patch is commonly absent in young birds. Note that Golden-Crowned has but a single stripe running over the crown of the head. White-Crowned Sparrows exhibit a "bicycle helmet" pattern with white stripes through the eyes as well as on top. A mature Golden-Crowned's yellow patch nevertheless fades to white toward the back of the head. By noting these distinguishing characteristics, you'll be able to parse these two species into their correct...um...pigeonholes. Sparrowholes?

Gold Mine

Day 190: The Goldfinches (now Spinus tristis, formerly Carduelis) are wearing their bright summer clothes now, and coming to the feeders by the dozen. The contorted filbert looks like a Christmas tree, the scarlet of Purple Finches here, bright yellow Goldfinches and Evening Grosbeaks there, blue Steller's Jays popped in for accents. That's not to say the LBJs are absent ("little brown jobs," female finches, sparrows, juncos, chickadees), although they're barely noticeable among the abundance of more brilliantly coloured birds. They're going through a coffee-can measure of black-oil seed per day now, and we're a long way from full population. There's a lot to be said for reliability, and I attribute the number and diversity of bird species in my yard to the fact that I've been feeding them daily for thirty years. And word gets around: "Hey, here's a consistent food source, good stuff!" I may never do a Big Year, but every day is a Big Day in Crow's corner of the world.

Clothespin Red

Day 189: Clothespin Red is a smart little guy. When the weather is nasty, he perches on the clothesline underneath my back porch awning. If he'd moved just another six inches to the right, I'd have been able to show you his size compared to a wooden spring-style clothespin. He's broader, but just about as long from the crown of his head to the tip of his tailfeathers. In sunlight, that black patch under his chin is iridescent red. What is he? A Rufous Hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus), described by Cornell Labs as being "one of the feistiest hummingbirds in North America," and you'd better believe it. They have even been reported as attacking squirrels and chipmunks which have gotten to close to their feeding/breeding areas. Yes, Clothespin Red defends his proprietary right to the clothesline! While some people in the Pacific Northwest may tell you that their Rufouses stick around all year, that's not actually the case. Selaphorus rufus is a migratory species. The birds in my yard today may winter in Mexico, replaced at my feeders by Alaskan birds who have "gone south" to holiday in Washington's milder climate; the avian equivalent of the changing of the guard.

Two Dozen Motifs

Day 188: "Idle hands are the devil's playground." While I don't believe in a devil, my grandmother's caution is valid. Idle hands...or worse, an idle mind...are bound to find all sorts of mischief. Sixteen days ago, I started the Tablecloth Project. Since that time, I have been working in the garden, experimenting with colour-pooling crochet, making trips to Seattle and Puyallup for Morris dance practice and shopping, reading, hiking, playing Angry Birds, and I've still managed to make two dozen motifs. My goal is to tat at least one motif per day, so I'm ahead of the schedule which will put the tablecloth in next year's Washington State Fair.

People often ask me how I find time for all my crafts. The answer is simple: I don't watch TV, and that takes us back to my addendum to Gma's advice, i.e., the dangerous ground of the idle mind. Hands occupied with a craft and a mind attendant on preventing errors in a pattern don't have time to dwell on grievances and woes. Even better, you'll have something worthwhile when you're done rather than looking back at hours wasted in front of the idiot box. Craft-work may be frustrating when first learning a new technique or art, but even so, it provides mental stimulation, and working at a more familiar craft can be relaxing as well as rewarding. Put down the remote (better yet, have a friend hide it) and pick up your knitting needles, paintbrushes, potter's clay, whatever, and make something. It's good for you.

Pooled Colour Crochet

Day 187: The internet would have you believe that pooled-colour crochet was a new thing. It's not. In fact, I first learned about it when I was working as an art-needlework consultant in the mid-1960s. It didn't achieve any great popularity at the time due to several factors, largely access to instructions which were easy to comprehend. As I recall, Bernat drove the bandwagon with a number of regularly space-dyed yarns which were supposed to yield a tartan pattern when crocheted or knit. Most people (myself included) gave up after spending many hours frustrated by sections of colour which were either too long, too short, or an "in-between" shade which threw the pattern off. Technology has given us many advancements in dyeing techniques and while still not perfect, the "pooling" yarns on the market today are vastly improved from those of 50 years ago. I thought I'd give it another try, and after ripping out my work several times during the course of the morning, I finally got decent results. Be advised that not all space-dyed yarns can be used for colour-pooling. The colour intervals must be regular, although there can be variation between individual colours, i.e., purple, blue and green could all be 12 inches long spaced apart by six-inch sections of yellow and rose. The trick is in keeping track of how many stitches can be made with each colour. Even so, it's fiddly work, requiring a lot of pick-back even after you've mastered the basic technique, but it's fun to do, and gives a great "poor-man's plaid" effect.

Look What Followed Me Home!

Day 186: Today was "garden shopping day," so it was inevitable that something would follow me home in addition to the things scheduled to be purchased from my list. I've been haunting Watson's for the last month or so, waiting for them to get Osteospermum "Spoonflower" in, and it arrived somewhere between Friday and this morning. Mine was one of the first they'd sold, unlike once in the past when I missed them entirely. Spoonflower is a "must-have" for the pot at the end of the raspberry vines. Otherwise, I was looking for something to put in my hanging baskets. I like to change that up every year, although if nothing else catches my fancy, I default to petunias or Million Bells (a relative). I'd thought maybe I'd use annual fuchsias this year, but as I strolled along the aisles of possibilities, trailing begonias caught my eye. I purchased one with yellow flowers and green foliage for one basket, the other a plant with orange flowers and maroon foliage. I'll still need to get something for filler, but I'm happy with these as the central feature. As for the list, I now have four new pots waiting to be filled by a dwarf mulberry (on order), old gooseberries and new raspberries from one of the Morris dancers. We seem to be doing a raspberry rota this spring. I took another team member some of my Heritage everbearings last week. There are two bags of good soil waiting to fill the pots and five bags of bark mulch ready to spread. Then I'll be done for the year, time to put the shovel away and my feet up, ready to sit back and just watch things grow.

Xanthoria Polycarpa Unhomed

Day 185: This comes under the category of Great Sadnesses. I didn't know I had Xanthoria polycarpa growing on the hawthorn tree when I asked Joe to take it out, although it probably wouldn't have changed my decision to remove it. I'd planted the hawthorn when I first moved in here, asked by the friend who provided it if I was really sure I wanted one but not understanding her concern. It was only later that I found out how invasive the damn things can be, but by then, the tree was fifteen feet tall with several trunks as thick as my upper arm. To make matters worse, it was shading out one end of my grapevine. Joe said he was willing to take it down, and to that end, showed up yesterday morning with his chainsaw. As you know from my previous post, most of the morning and early afternoon were spent enlarging my garden space. It was after noon by the time we got to the tree, and both of us were experiencing the aches incumbent with hard work. Still, Joe started on the tree but the intertwined branches made for slow going. We called it quits when the job was two-thirds done. He'll be back to finish it off later (I've promised not to put him to work digging again, not this year anyway), but as we were hauling away the branches, I spotted the poor unhomed Xanthoria, collateral damage. It's not an uncommon lichen, but I love the colour. I hope the grape appreciates the sacrifice.

Team Work

Day 184: Thanks to my Team Biota botany partner Joe, my garden is roughly a third bigger than it was yesterday. It is also now framed by timbers as I had always wanted it to be, but could never manage to budget, if in fact I'd been able to find a means to transport them. While Joe busted more sod, I hauled away the piles he'd accumulated, and then after the plot had been expanded, we laid landscape cloth and rolled the timbers into place. I'll maintain the outer edge with the weed-eater, and will spread bark mulch in the interior as soon as I'm done planting. What's next? I have a dwarf mulberry on order, but will have to give the remaining open spaces some careful consideration, "jam fruits" being the only criterion presently in mind. One thing is certain: Joe is destined to reap a jammy reward for his labours.

The Logic Of Names

Day 183: This isn't another rant about taxonomists. Their business is scientific nomenclature, not common names. Common names can be derived in a number of different ways including popular usage, translation of taxonomy or attribution by an "authority" in the field. Hence, we have some rather peculiar epithets applied to species, often at odds with what one might expect. For example, "Douglas Fir" is not a true fir, and relatively recently, the preferred spelling of the common name has changed to include a hyphen ("Douglas-fir") in an attempt to prevent confusion. Not all species are as lucky, case in point many of the violets which populate our forests. Somewhere in the dim annals of time, the name "violet" must have been appropriately ascribed to a little purple flower, else why would "violet" have arisen as a logical option? Later, the term was applied to other flowers having common characteristics with other Violas, if not their colour. Just think, if Viola glabella had been the first-named of its family, we'd now be talking about it as a Crocus ("yellow") instead.

Springing In The Rain

Day 182: The garden is convinced it's spring, but I have some reservations. As I look out the window toward the Mountain (toward where the Mountain ought to be, anyway), I am seeing fresh snow on trees a mere thousand feet above. There is a decided nip in the air, one which keeps me from any thoughts of smoothing out the soil in the Currant Extension so that I can lay landscape fabric (weed barrier) and mulch. The spirit is willing, anxious in fact, but for all the good wishing will do, the rakes and shovels will just have to stay in the garage for another few days. The "dream books" are dangerous; I've ordered a dwarf mulberry, figuring that small harvests of gooseberries, mulberries and currants can all go in the same jam kettle for the first few years until the bushes bear enough to make individual batches. Nasty weather notwithstanding, the blueberries, kiwis and raspberries are starting to leaf out. Two tomato plants (Oregon Spring and Sungold) will be playing in-again-out-again-Finnegan from porch to kitchen until I'm sure Jack Frost is gone for good.

Roosevelt Elk

Day 181: The Roosevelt Elk have been out almost every day for the last two weeks (32 in this morning's count), and as of this writing, they haven't ventured over to my side of the road. For now, they seem to be content to eat the new grass shoots, but sooner or later, they'll get a whiff of the assorted tasty shrubs in my yard and Spring War 2019 hostilities will have begun. I have my slingshot handy, but they generally launch their assaults on the garden under cover of darkness and unless I sleep with one eye open, they'll crop plants right down to the ground. The horse chestnuts survived despite last year's onslaught and I will be putting chicken-wire or plastic mesh over most everything else. Oddly, even plastic bird-netting is effective as a deterrent. Far be it from me to tell them they should floss after (or during!) meals.

The Guy With The Racing Stripes

Day 180: Only a handful of Sparrow species come to my feeders, but one of the most common is the guy with the racing stripes (or bicycle helmet, whichever you prefer). White-Crowned Sparrow (Zonotrichia leucophrys) is very easy to identify. Less frequently, his Golden-Crowned cousins show up, their heads marked by a single Mohawk streak which is bright yellow in mature birds. Young Golden-Crowneds may resemble White-Crowned at first glance, but the presence or absence of the "helmet" pattern formed by the stripes through the eyes and on the crown should resolve any confusion between the two. In any event, his hat's not keeping his head dry, not today, not for the last several days. I think he may be starting to wonder what happened to that nice spring weather we had at the beginning of the month.

Red-Flowering Currant

Day 179: To every thing there is a purpose. While I don't consider the fruits of our native Red-Flowering Currant (Ribes sanguineum) a "table" crop, the plants bring a harvest of a different sort, and one which is both enjoyable in an aesthetic sense and beneficial to the garden as a whole. I speak not of berries, but of the hummingbirds who come to visit. I've never seen anything but Rufous here, although Anna's is fairly common at only slightly lower elevations, but Rufous I have in abundance, and you can't go out in the yard without hearing them cursing at each other. It's not a sound you'd expect from such tiny beings, not a dainty peep or a musical tweeted note but a short, sharp bark of sorts or, alternately, a buzz like a wood-rasp being drawn in short strokes: "tzzzup-tzzzup-tzzzup." Even when food sources are abundant, the hummers swear like sailors at their compatriots, unable to speak a sentence which does not include at least one avian f-word, vulgar little things.

Attack Of The Killer Gooseberries

Day 178: One thing about growing gooseberries: you have to expect them to defend their fruits. That said, gooseberry jam is delicious and worth the extra caution you must take when picking the berries. On the up side, the thorns are very stiff and therefore the plants aren't likely to be browsed by deer or elk. I've just planted two new Pixwells along the outer edge of the Currant Extension to deter cervid invasions. Planning...it's all about planning. And that brings me to another point, one which gives me grief when the gardening bug strikes me. As much as I love planting and growing and the harvest which follows, I often ask myself if I'm just throwing money away on plants I'll never see bear their best crops. I'm not young, and given the age attained by the women in my family and a lack of adequate health insurance, I probably have 15 years at most to reap the full rewards of my little berry plot. Last year both the raspberries and blueberries produced abundantly, but the kiwis (admittedly in their first year) only bore a handful of fruit. How long will it take for two currants and three gooseberry bushes to yield enough for a full batch of jam? My fig tree hasn't produced a single fig. Even one would give me hope. Planning...I suppose I'd better just plan on sticking around. Can't let all this hard work go to waste.

The Bloomin' Garden

Day 177: It seems like every day now, something new opens up in my bloomin' garden. The latest flush includes Snowflakes (Leucojum, not to be confused with Snowdrops which are much shorter and bloom earlier), Checkered/Fritillary Lilies (Fritillaria) and ... now wait a minute! It's been twenty-five years since I planted hyacinths and wrote them off as a bad idea when the mole undermined all of them. How is it, then, that I have one sickly-looking Hyacinth in the front flower bed? I know that some species of plants (notably Phantom Orchids) can remain dormant for decades, but it's not a trait I associate with cultivated varieties. Still, I'll take what I get. I'll mark it and lift it in the fall to give it a better chance of survival.

That said, today's project is to locate some Pixwell gooseberry plants for the Currant Extention. I salvaged one of my old ones, but it wants company. While the berry garden doesn't add much colour to the yard, jams, jellies and frozen fruit sure make winter easier to bear.

Currant Expansion

Day 176: It's Spring. You can tell, because you're likely to find me out in the yard digging holes. This year, it's the Currant Expansion. I really had planned to move two sickly gooseberries to this location, but when I went to buy good soil to put in the pots, a pair of Red Currants followed me home. These are not to be confused with our native Red-Flowering Currant which has dusty blue berries. These are red-fruited, and make exceptionally good jam (assuming you ever have enough of them). Fresh off the vine, the translucent red berries are too sour for munching. Like most of my projects, the Currant Expansion turned into a bigger job than originally intended, but then, I still want to move those gooseberries (another fruit which is best as jam), or maybe put in two healthier new ones. I'll need to get another pair of big pots, though. I prefer to raise blueberries, tomatoes and such in pots sunk in the ground. By confining the roots, a stronger root mass develops. Soil moisture is easier to maintain in the containers and, if I ever decide to move them as I did the blueberries a couple of years ago, they can be shifted without particular damage to the roots.

Rings And Chains

Day 175: Needle-tatting is also occasionally referred to as "speed tatting," and indeed, it progresses substantially faster than tatting done with a shuttle. As I've mentioned before, the drawback is that the picots (tiny single-thread loops) are less stable due to the fact that the double-stitches holding them in place are by default loose enough that the tatting needle can be drawn through them. That said, the trade-off isn't as bad as it sounds when the needleworker can complete a project quickly. The 11" x 7" doily on the right, made with #20 cotton, took a mere three days, partly because of the large number of chains which give it an open, airy feel. My original tablecloth pattern (left, four joined motifs) is more dense and therefore more labour-intensive. When joining motifs in tatting, care must be taken to keep all right sides up. The piece of blue yarn is temporary, and tells me at a glance which face of the work is the back. I am hoping to have the tablecloth completed in time to submit to the Washington State Fair in 2020.

Porch Parrots!

Day 174: They're here! Boys and girls both! The Evening Grosbeaks have arrived! Okay, I tell this story every year, but some of my newer readers may have missed the explanation of how Coccothraustes vespertinus came to be called "Porch Parrots" in my household, so here it comes again.

Back when my late husband and I were both much, much younger, we decided to hike the Wonderland Trail, a 90-plus mile circuit around Mount Rainier. We began our trek at the end of the Westside Road (the true end, not today's truncated version) and when we got around to the east side of the Mountain and a little further than halfway on our 12-day journey, we set up camp in a lovely spot called Summerland. As I was setting up the tent, Bruce went out to the creek for water, but came back, excited and beckoning me to "Come quick! I've got a whole tree full of parrots!" Now it must be said that Bruce did know they weren't actually parrots. He wasn't much of a birder, but since we had a parrot at home, the association established by the Grosbeaks' large green bills was only natural. I identified them for him, and his subsequent remark was predictable: "Yeah, those beaks really are gross!"

Like I said, we were much younger in those days, so much younger, in fact, that Mount St. Helens was still a perfect cone at 9677' high. That changed on May 18, 1980, and so did the migratory flight pattern for the Evening Grosbeaks who were passing by at that very moment. Many of those who survived the blast arrived on our doorstep a few days later, burned, sick, their eyes crusted from irritation by the ash and confused by the disruption of their migration. That said, they found our porch window-box feeding station with its unlimited supply of black-oil sunflower seed and decided it was a good place to recover. Dozens of birds died that first season, but our porch went on Coccothraustes' short list for future visits, so much so that we went through over 800 pounds of black-oil seed almost every subsequent summer. Bruce's "parrots" had found a new home on our porch, and "Porch Parrot" was incorporated into the family lexicon.

When Bruce and I split up and went our separate ways, keeping of the Porch Parrots was transferred to one of our old neighbours who to this day, gives reports of their activities in her Christmas letter. I now have my own flock here (sunflower seeds are in the budget, oftentimes at the expense of things like milk and meat), and I am always, always, always thrilled when my avian guests return.

Redefining "Vintage"

Day 173: The word "vintage" has no precise definition when it comes to the age of an item, although it's generally considered to be somewhat newer than "antique." That said, I have started work on a thoroughly modern "vintage" tablecloth, and if that phrase seems confusing, a word of explanation is in order. You see, the 24 balls of ecru DMC #20 crochet thread in this photo were bought by my mother before I was born. She intended to crochet a pineapple-design tablecloth, but somehow just never managed to get that elusive "round tuit" which is notorious for its accumulation of unfinished crafts. That said, I've kept the thread all these years, hoping to eventually find the ideal project for it. It's in perfect condition and, I must add, of a significantly better quality than the threads available in today's market. The twist is firmer, the cotton fibers are sleek and shiny (Egyptian, undoubtedly), and the colour is warmer than the dingy, drab "ecru" found in stores today.

I wasn't inclined toward crocheting a pineapple design, but as I've been enjoying the relative speed of needle-tatting, an idea was sorting itself out in the back of my mind. Why not tat a tablecloth? I figured that something modular would be the best way to go because of the latitude it allows in finished size, but I was dissatisfied with any of the tatted motifs in my library of patterns. Thus, over the last several days, I've been developing a pattern of my own. I wanted to incorporate a round element in the design, and did so by making a series of rings in the center. Corners are created in the second row, and the third brings them out to points. The prototype 3-inch square is shown on the right, made with some leftover white thread. The squares go fairly quickly, an hour or so for each one. They'll be joined at the corner points and at each center picot of the outside chain. How big will the finished tablecoth be? Will it be square or rectangular? I don't know. That's the nice thing about modular work. You can quit when you get tired of the project.

Spring Is Bustin' Out All Over

Day 172: Spring is bustin' out all over! The daffodils were still only in bud during the morning two days ago, but by afternoon, they'd thrown their jackets off and were welcoming mild temperatures with open petals. Grape hyacinths popped up a few days earlier, and I'm ashamed to admit that I hadn't noticed them until they started showing purple. The Hellebore recovered from being crushed beneath the yard glacier and surged quickly to the fore with a thick flush of flowers. And Spring urges are driving me to get my hands dirty. I'd pilfered a few flowering quince stems from a vacant lot last year and, after having been confined to buried pots for a year, they were ready to plant out. The raspberries are making leaves, the blueberries and kiwis likewise promising a harvest to tide me through next winter. Hurrah for Spring!

Oxalis Oregana, Wood Sorrel

Day 171: Shy little Oxalis oregana (Redwood Sorrel) is common in the Pacific Northwest and often occurs fairly densely where it receives shade from Douglas-fir. Its three-lobed leaves resemble those of clover, although on a grand scale, and they are highly sensitive to light levels. When the sun breaks through the forest canopy, the leaves will fold downward in a matter of minutes, opening again when shade returns. The flowers may be white to pink, and may be marked with darker purple "nectar guides." Pollination is performed largely by syrphid flies. All parts of the plant contain oxalic acid and should not be eaten.

Bog Naturalist

Day 170: "And here we have a specimen of Physicus palustris, the Bog Naturalist, drawn out by warm spring temperatures and the scent of Skunk Cabbage." Yep, the pull was more than I could stand. I've been thinking about visiting my favourite bog near Swofford Pond for the last couple of weeks, not wanting to be too early or too late for the best flowers, and apparently I timed it just right. The bog was rather drier than usual, although still tricky to navigate without sinking in, but at least this year, I didn't fall over or lose a boot to the mud, both consequences I've suffered in past years. The Skunks were somewhat smaller than normal (probably a consequence of the drier soil), but abundant. I could hear frogs, but search as I might, I never saw one. They fell silent at my footfall before I could get close. I spent half an hour in the bog, then went on to another adventure: seeking out invasives in a new location. That too was productive, if perhaps not as gratifying.