Galerina Marginata, A Portrait

Day 18: Galerina marginata (sometimes listed as G. autumnalis) has several edible look-alikes, but its common name of "Funeral Bell" should give you a clue as to what will occur if you confuse it with any of them. A couple of distinguishing features will help you sort it out, but remember: it's better to throw away an edible species than to consume a poisonous one, so play it safe. If you see evidence of an annulus (ring) or roughness on the stipe (stem) which would hint that a ring might have existed, the 'shroom in question is most likely Galerina marginata. Also examine the gills. If they are lightly decurrent (i.e., running down the stem) or attached to the stipe (as opposed to notched), do NOT add one to your basket to take home for further analysis! Even in small amounts (residual spores, etc.), G. marginata can be deadly. That said, this common species is a potent decomposer, growing abundantly in colonies on rotting evergreen and hardwood, breaking down the wood structure with its mycelium. Even poisonous 'shrooms play a role in the Circle of Life in the forest. Let them do their job.

Stropharia Ambigua

Day 17: The Latin name of this attractive mushroom is descriptive and yet intentionally vague. Stropharia ambigua's edibility is subject to debate, further explaining its common name of Questionable Stropharia. It is one of our most common Stropharias here in the Pacific Northwest, and my yard sprouts them by the dozen. Given that many members of the genus are poisonous in some degree, the term "questionable" settles the matter for me right on the spot. I belong to the school of "If you're not 105% sure of a mushroom's identity, don't eat it." Nor do I experiment with hallucinogenic species whose toxins may provide a delirious "high" at the moment, followed by severe liver or kidney damage further down the pike. I'm sure I bypass many edible species when I'm out foraging, but as my mother always said, "Better safe than sorry." For me, Stropharia ambigua is not "questionable." It's a definite "No."

A Purpose In Life

Day 16: Everyone should have a purpose in life. This is mine. I do not need that hand to do needlework, to hold a book, to pick up a cup of coffee despite the thoughts running through my head. That hand has a greater calling to serve, and unless I'm compelled by bladder pressure to do otherwise, I will not move until it is released. On this occasion, the other hand was free to run my pocket-sized point-and-shoot camera, but that's not often the case. He usually prefers it to be resting lightly on his back. It's hard to believe that only five months ago, Merry was a teacup cat, a cat who would have fit in a pocket, a little babycat full of curiosity and mischief. Now he's nearly 10 pounds of curiosity and mischief, still going at gale force until he drops like a stone for a nap. That's "kitten" for you. They only have two speeds: Warp 9.9 and Flop. But I see the "mellow" coming on in moments like this, when it's all about love and the bond we've established. Look at that smile!

Beaded Tatting

Day 15: I have been on a beaded tatting binge for the last ten days or so. I use a tatting needle as opposed to a shuttle, which makes the process much easier. You simply put the required number of beads on the ball thread (I use bead cord and a beading needle, and usually add a few extra beads to be on the safe side) and when it comes time to add one instead of a picot, you simply slide the bead into place and then continue with regular double-stitch (ds). Close rings or secure chains as specified in the pattern, and continue on. The work goes quite quickly as opposed to shuttle tatting, even with the extra time it takes for bead placement. This particular design is one of my favourites. I've used #20 tatting cotton, a #7 needle and 128 #11 seed beads for a dainty ornamental piece about 4" in diameter.

Climbing Hydrangea

Day 14: When someone says they have a hydrangea in their garden, people usually think of a bushy plant with ball-shaped flower clusters, either pink or blue depending on species and soil pH. Hydrangea petiolaris ssp. anomala is an exception. As is suggested by its common name "Japanese Climbing Hydrangea," it grows up walls, rock faces, trellises or any other surface which can be gripped by its aerial rootlets (and trust me on this, it can grab onto surfaces you'd probably consider smooth). Its flowers are generally white and sparse, but what it lacks in floriferousness, it makes up for with autumn colour. As nights become cooler and dip near freezing, the foliage turns a rich golden-yellow, then shifts into a pleasant warm russet. The older stems/stalks are rather fragile, and mine had an unfortunate encounter with a riding lawnmower two years ago, but is now once again the dominant feature in my view from the kitchen window.

Last And Best

Day 13: I have long held with the motto, "Learn something new every day," however this particular lesson was several years in the making. Today, I discovered one last kiwi fruit hanging on the vine thanks to the fact that most of the leaves have dropped. I had found a stray berry about ten days ago, bringing my total year's harvest up to seven, but this eighth one was a bonus in many ways. First of all, it was the biggest and sweetest, but more important was learning that the fruit remains on the vine even after a light frost. Leaf-fall makes it easier to find and, as is also the case with grapes, a touch of Jack Frost's paintbrush set the sugar. I'm smarter now than I was when I went to bed last night having had a fine lesson in horticulture from the greatest teacher of all, Mother Nature.

Dorset Buttons On Hardanger

Day 12: Murphy got a real workout as far as the hardanger was concerned on this piece. I wanted something fairly simple on which to display a variety of Dorset buttons. It should have been a piece of cake, but I think I made every mistake in the book as I developed the design. I cut the fabric too short. I didn't like the colour of the perle cotton (twice). I turned a corner of the stitchery incorrectly. I miscounted multiple times (I mean, any idiot ought to be able to count to five, right?). When I finally put the last stitches in place, I was ready for a break before doing any sewing, but a few days later, I backed the hardanger with stiff interfacing, sewed the buttons in place and added a broadcloth lining to the reverse side. The hanger and tassel were easy, and the work was ready to display on the narrow strip of wall between my linen cupboard and bathroom door. That's the only concession I make to decorating for the different seasons of the year, changing out a series of mini bell-pulls themed for spring, summer, autumn and winter.

Cats Can Count

Day 11: There is no time like the present to prove that cats can count. I don't usually wear my politics on my sleeve because I was brought up in an era when politics, religion and sex were not things you shared with the world at large. I was also brought up in an era when cursing was frowned on, when dishonesty in business and personal dealings was punished, when adultery was cause for social ostracization, when penises were never a fit subject in a campaign speech, when candidates for major offices (and even minor ones) were intelligent and well-spoken, and were the kind of people we held up for our children to emulate. No, we weren't perfect in those days. There were hate groups and vulgar people. There was discrimination. There were crooks and con men, to be sure, but we didn't put them on pedestals and idolatrize them. In fact, we condemned them, spurned them, in many cases incarcerated them as not fit to walk among us freely. We loved America for what it stood for: freedom and justice for all, a land of opportunity, a working democracy. Where did we go off the rails? Don't answer that. I know you know, right to the day. So here's your chance to get it right. Get off your furry behinds, cats, and go vote.

Weaver's Cat

Day 10: There is much to be learned on the way to becoming a journeyman Weaver's Cat: that you cannot sharpen your claws on the rollers, that you cannot walk on the cloth trampoline, that threads and heddles are not for chewing/eating, that "shed" and "bed" are not synonymous, that jacks rise and fall, that treadles move in response to the draw of active, biteable stockinged feet. Some behaviours can be exciting, a way to redirect the mama's attention. Others result in loss of privileges and banishment from the Loom Room. Sometimes these strictures require a more studied and calm analysis from a safe remove, and to that end, Merry curled up in an empty box, the better to observe and monitor the weaving process. One factor works in my favour, beyond any temptation into mischief. He does not want to let me out of his sight, and if that means having to abide by odd human rules, that's how it will have to be.

Birds Cross-Stitch

Day 9: There was more than one time during the stitching of this piece that I thought I'd never get it completed, although none so intense as when I started. I began with the birds and round nest in the center and had placed fewer than a hundred stitches and discovered that I could not tell where I'd put a half-stitch using one thread of light yellow and where I needed to put a full cross using two strands of the identical colour. I had had to have the pattern enlarged in order to distinguish the colour codes, but that didn't help as much as I'd hoped. Working the piece on 18-count fabric further complicated matters, and after a couple of weeks at that first nest, I laid it aside and moved on to other projects. Unfinished works have a way of nagging at my subconscious, though, and when I found myself needing a project I could lay down quickly so that I could attend a mischievous kitten, I said, "Eh, I might as well work on the birds." Toward the end of the first nest, I realized that I needed to work all the full crosses of any given colour first. That way, there was no possibility that I'd cross a half-cross unintentionally. I chided myself for not thinking of that earlier, and from there, the work proceeded more quickly than anticipated. I still had trouble reading the pattern...black n and dark blue n were horrendously difficult to tell apart!...but soon, I had the nest and the house immediately above it done. Then I moved on to the birch house in the upper right...the one topped by a "haystack"...thinking to get one of the hardest bits over with before my patience ran out. Oddly enough, it went quickly. Once I really settled in to working on the embroidery, each nest and its birds took roughly 3-5 days to finish. The frame was delivered yesterday. I hung the piece above my desk, one of few pieces of stitchery I've kept for myself.

The Staring Game

Day 8: One eye meets my one eye at the opposite end of the Tunnel. His pupil dilates into a gaping, dark hole which threatens to suck my soul straight through the pipe. The contact is held for a moment which feels like it might stretch out into infinity until his hindquarters begin to twitch. I blink, and in so doing, seal my fate because no sooner than my eye opens the barest crack, I am bowled over by a furry comet, which then streaks past me to make a slingshot loop around my backside, returning in its oval orbit to the original position at the far side of the wormhole. And the Staring Game begins another round.

The Tunnel has put a new dimension on this all-time favourite feline activity. Tippy and Skunk both played it with me as I lurked behind a table leg or around the corner of a doorway. The rules stipulate that only one eye of each player can be employed, and that the cat always wins, receiving the reward of a backwards-tumbling mama and/or a mock shriek of alarm. Sometimes I grab him as he rounds me. "Didja get me? Didja get me good?" Occasionally...rarely, that is to say...Merry gets a little carried away and forgets that it's "play," not "prey," and at that point, I call it quits until he remembers his manners.

Cloud Layers

Day 7: You have to understand that although I live on the hem of Mount Rainier's skirts, these views are not a daily occurrence. In fact, we sometimes go weeks without getting the barest glimpse of the Mountain because it attracts weather systems. Lenticulars are usually a pretty good sign that there's some active weather on the way. They can exhibit a wide variety of forms: stacks of pancakes, chains of "flying saucers" lined up off to one side, tidy cap clouds or, as today, a fancy "hat" complete with feathers to complement the lacy gown of snow newly dressing the upper slopes. If you look just above the horizon of dark hills, you'll see a ruff of cumulus and, checking the webcam as I write, if you were at Paradise, it occludes the Mountain completely. The "meat" in the cloud sandwich shown above is only the thousand feet or so between Camp Muir and Gibraltar Rock. Elsewhere, you'd be in white-out, wondering why you thought today would be a good day for a hike/climb.

Russula Occidentalis

Day 6: Several species of Russula are common hosts to an orange overgrowth of Hypomyces lactifluorum (known as "Lobster" for the colour). The parasite is considered edible and indeed is sought after by many pickers, but not me. Why? There is no way to tell which Russula is the underlying structure, and although I have never heard of anyone being poisoned by accidental consumption of Russula emetica when eating Lobsters, nor have I ever confirmed that Lobster even grows on R. emetica, it's not a chance I care to take. Lobster does grow on some rather dubious Russulas, though, including R. occidentalis (Western Russula, shown above). While R. occidentalis isn't listed as "poisonous" per se, it might be one of the species which gives a fishy taste to some Lobsters. In any event, I'll give Russulas and its companion Hypomyces a pass, thank you.

GPS - Gourds, Pumpkin, Squash

Day 5: Do you know how to use GPS? I'm not talking navigation here. Do you know the difference between (G) gourds, (P) pumpkin and (S) squash? To put this into the proper light, let me begin by saying that all Siamese felines are cats, but not all cats are Siamese. GPS are squashes, all of them, unequivocally, but although pumpkins are also squash, acorn squash are not pumpkins, and neither pumpkins nor squash are gourds. Many county and state fair judges have argued whether a giant squash can be awarded the prize for "largest pumpkin," but when a 1242-pound Hubbard comes up against a 1174-pound Atlantic Giant, the smaller Atlantic Giant nearly always rolls away with the blue ribbon. Gourds, on the other hand, are generally considered inedible. They have little flesh inside a hard skin, and although some of them could be eaten in a pinch, a nice Kabocha would make a much better meal. Some gourds even contain toxins. Gourds are best used as decorative items, although a plump pumpkin or speckled squash could easily qualify for the same job. It's GPS season! Enjoy!

One Step Closer To Real Internet

Day 4: As of yesterday, I moved one step closer to being lifted from "third-world country" status and toward having access to true internet. Friends are always surprised when I tell them that my top speed with Century(blankety-blank)Link is supposed to be 768 kbps...yes, that's a K...but I seldom approach half that. It takes five or ten minutes every morning just to connect via CenturyLink's crap service, and then I have to deal with slow page loads. The new service will be through our electric company, although the work won't be completed until some time in the coming year. Yesterday, they tunnelled beneath the road and installed a vault for the optical cable they'll be running later. It was fascinating to watch the digger operation. The machine shoots a jet of water into the soil, and then sucks it up, rocks and all. I presume it works its way around big ones, but I did see one melon-sized one brought out and laid aside. The crew will be back today to finish up this phase of the operation here, moving on to do the same thing up and down the line. Even if it costs more, I am looking forwward to the day when I can tell CenturyLink to take a flying...um..."leap through" a rolling donut as I join the real world on line.

Some Is Better Than None

Day 3: "Some is better than none." I use that phrase frequently when I gather less of a comestible than I'd hoped (usually mushrooms), or when I find myself with only a few inches of thread left from a project. This year, I got six figs, the first my tree has borne to ripeness. Likewise, I will have harvested exactly six kiwis from my small-fruited hardy vines when all is said and done. The first two were delicious! The remaining four will probably reach ripeness today or tomorrow. Some, albeit a scant few, is better than none. I think this tiny harvest was kept at a minimum by several factors, most notably spring weather which went from scorching hot to freezing, cycling between the two for the better part of April and May. The vines produced only a few flower buds and even fewer flowers. That said, the fruits which did develop prove that the plants are indeed "self-fertile," but a lack of pollinators also played a major role in keeping berry production at a minimum. Maybe next year's crop will be better, but in any event, "just enough to fill my hollow tooth" is better than none at all.

Refreshing!

Day 2: A few days ago, I mentioned that there were very few lichens which grow on cedar. I should have specified live cedar, as opposed to ancient cedar fence rails and long-dead stumps. For some reason, old cedar (presumably that which has released almost all its volatile oils) is very prone to developing lush and diverse colonies of Cladonias, Platismatias (several shown in the photo), Parmelias and Usneas as can be witnessed on a brief walk around my yard. Three weeks ago, these lichens were so crisp, you could have crumbled them between your fingers, dry as bones and brittle as sugar-glass. A little rain and cooler temps restored them to full splendor, and in no time, some had begun to fruit (one of the Cladonias above shows its brown apothecia, the fruiting bodies of the species). Autumn and winter are refreshing times for lichens!

Abhorrence

Day 1: Nature abhors a vacuum. Crow abhors a mistake. Having finished the birds cross-stitch, I decided to work on making a small hardanger wall ornament on which to display Dorset buttons, and it has become a serial nightmare. It started badly. I wasn't happy with the colour, wasn't happy with the weight of thread I'd chosen. I cut the stitching off at least half a dozen times in the process of working out how I wanted it to look. Once I finally settled the issues of colour and weight, I made no end of miscounting errors in the buttonhole stitching outlining the piece. After sorting that out, I realized I'd set the design too high on the scrap of cloth I wanted to use up, and didn't have enough to turn for a rod pocket, but I was so far into it that I decided to keep going and turn it into something else. I thought everything was coming along nicely until I turned the final corner and discovered that if I continued, I'd have 21 threads on one side of "middle" and 22 on the other. I counted. I counted again. I counted several different ways. I couldn't see where I'd made the mistake. Thinking I might have messed up in the planning phase I'd only done mentally, I charted it. No, I should have had 21 stitches on either side. I counted again. And again. Somewhere in there, there's a mistake, and I can't find it. Now I have two choices: cut the stitchery off the cloth, or throw the whole bloody thing in the bin. I'm 'bout ready to opt for the latter choice.

Footnote: Found and fixed!

Almost Missed The Boat

Day 366: I very nearly missed the boat with respect to gathering Shaggymanes. I knew I should have gone hunting them earlier, but last week got away from me somehow. When I visited Coprinus Corner a few days ago, most of them had already turned to ink. In the hopes that my second patch would still have a few fresh ones, I started up the hill, but found myself facing a new "No Trespassing" sign within a quarter mile. Sigh. I've lost many good mushrooming spots to logging, development and "strip-mining" by commercial pickers over the years, but never before to a sudden announcement that an area where I've gone walking many times has become private property. This also means that one of my favourite loop hikes is no longer possible. With a great sadness of spirit, I returned to Coprinus Corner and did an intensive search, finally coming up with enough Shaggies for a pitifully small bowl of soup.

Stack O' Pancakes

Day 365: Following on the heels of the aurora borealis, another phenomenon put on a spectacular display yesterday morning: lenticular clouds over the summit of Mount Rainier. While this is much more common than aurorae, it never fails to awe. Sometimes, the Mountain just puts on a hat, a single lenticular worn like a sombrero. Other times, it presents...well, when I threw back the curtains at dawn, I said, "Wow! A whole stack o' pancakes!" I've lived here almost 35 years. I still went running out to capture the scene with the camera from a position where I could avoid telephone lines, poles and a butt-ugly political sign. Visitors to the area often pull over here to take pictures of the Mountain whenever it's visible, even when there is no alpenglow or cloud formation to photograph. It's the only spot along the road where the Mountain can be seen. That said, the Mountain looms large over much of the Pacific Northwest landscape, and friends in Eatonville also had "pancakes" for breakfast on this fine, crisp morning.

Red Aurora

Day 364: It may not have been nearly as spectacular as that seen in other parts of the country (notably New York and New Hampshire, where my sisters-of-the-heart enjoyed a much more colourful and intense display), but I am happy to have seen the red aurora mounting over Elbe Hills last night around 8 PM. It seemed to last about half an hour from the time I began observing it before it began to fade. I checked again between midnight and 1 AM, and there was nothing. The camera captured more colour than I could see, but even with the naked eye, the rosy glow was evident. If the phenomenon persists into the night tonight, I suspect incoming clouds will prevent me from seeing it again.

No Place For Idleness

Day 363: The Pacific Northwest is no place for idleness. Hold still too long, and you'll colonize with lichens and moss. Here, an Usnea and a Parmelia have found a home on the Barberry (Berberis), a shrub not particularly recognized as ideal lichen habitat. In fact, the Parmelia has probably anchored itself in the thin film of dust/dirt adhering to the thin bark. The same species has attached itself to the vinyl siding on my house and the metal gate of the Berry Pen. It's one very determined lichen! Usneas tend to be a little more selective, but we have quite a wide variety of them here, and I have observed them on many of our native and non-native trees. A notable exception is cedar, but although cedar is relatively resistant to lichens, there are still a few which grow on it.

One Bird To Go

Day 362: When I started this piece, I honestly wasn't sure I was going to be able to complete it. My vision is no worse than it was a couple of years ago, but it has always been poor even with glasses. I had a friend enlarge the pattern, but even that wasn't much help because the kit dated back to when patterns were only printed in three colours (black, red and blue). The canvas is 18-count Aida, and lemme tell ya, even if it was 11-count, it's not easy to split four threads seven way when you're doing backstitch, and damn near impossible on anything finer. That's what you get when you have computer-generated patterns with no relation to the physical impossibility of performing a task. That said, I have one bird and its nest to go, and then this piece will be ready for framing. It is the last of several kits which were passed along to me by a friend about eight years ago, and the only one I have kept for myself.

Engineered Log Jam

Day 361: You have to wonder if there is a "Goldilocks point" where catastrophic flooding never occurs. Rivers flood flat plains, tidal surges flood lowlands, runoff tears hillsides apart as it fills streams, and particularly those where logging has occurred on slopes above and there are no trees to spread out the absorption of rain into the soil. Here in my narrow valley, the latter is one of the major contributing factors to erosion in the form of floodwater. Even small streams, when swollen by heavy rain, can inflict heavy damage, washing out roads and creating landslides. As we enter into flood season, I always think back on one year when I found myself living on an island for several weeks. Roads above me and below me were covered with water and, while I was in no particular danger myself, I was approaching the point at which I might have gone berserk because of the two houseguests who were trapped with me. A friend and I rescued my mother when her river rose to the level of her front door, and shortly after we got back to my place, the roads went out and we were isolated for the duration. In an effort to mitigate streamflow, many of our creeks now contain engineered log jams. These structures slow and spread out runoff from the hills. While they still don't prevent flooding, at least they help. Twenty feet of this trail in a local park was washed out by the tiny intermittent stream crossing it. Now there is an engineered log jam both above and below the culvert.

The Greatest Indignity

Day 360: This went more smoothly than I'd expected. Other than having the water turned on him once when I was trying to teach him to stay out of the kitchen sink, Merry had not yet had anything resembling a true bath. Cats in this household get bathed several times a year, mind you, and I needed to start breaking him in to the process while he's still young. I fully expected him to come up all teeth and toenails, but other than resisting having his front paws lowered into two inches of warm water (his back feet were already in), there was no particular struggle. I soaped him up, rinsed him with the sprayer and by holding him beneath the faucet, all the time talking gently to him and keeping my eyes closed so as not to present a threat if he tried to initiate eye contact.. His beautiful Russian Blue coat barely shed a hair, as opposed to Tippy's and Skunk's, either of which filled the drain strainer whenever they were bathed. Merry and I concluded the procedure with both of us unscathed and thoroughly wet, and no harm done. His initial Tropicana Cat Wash experience was a total success!

Mummies Only

Day 359: Hallowe'en is one of my least favourite days of the year. For all of the fact that I enjoy costuming, the emphasis on fear and horror (building over the last several decades) is something I find extremely off-putting. There's enough of that in the real world. The fantasy-world of spirits, shades, vampires, ghouls and the like holds no interest for me, and I can honestly say I've never seen a single zombie-themed movie. That said, it would not be October without bringing mummies into the picture, and after much deliberation, I settled on a dark red one. It's usually a debate between rich red and lavender, although I have been known to buy an orange or a yellow one occasionally just to change things up. Interestingly enough, sometimes these mummies arise from the tomb the following spring if the winter is kind, ready to put up a new flush of flowers.

Cat Psychology 101

Day 358: The general recommendation for length of time a 6-month old kitten needs to wear a recovery collar after neutering is 10-14 days. I had planned to leave Merry in his soft collar for the full 14, but the incisions had healed nicely and the scabs were starting to flake off on their own, so I liberated him about 36 hours early. That said, I still wanted to distract him from working too vigorously at the site, so in advance, I had bought him a "recovery gift": a crinkly, crackly tunnel. It's been hidden until today and in fact, I almost forgot about it and was sidetracking him with the Stick game, but I remembered after an hour or so and unpackaged the tunnel. He took to it immediately, playing with the dangly ball, going in and out through the side window, playing with Stick through the hole until he was so thoroughly worn out that he phlooomphed in a sunspot and is currently enjoying a nap. "Phlooomphed?" Yes. We have my sister-of-the-heart Patty to thank for that word with its triple "o." It replaces "flopped" which, after all, really belonged to my sweet Tippy as part of our bedtime routine.

Alliums, Crocus And Tulips, Oh My!

 

Day 358: Some time back, I think I mentioned that I wanted to clean out my front flower bed to remove all the weeds and ferns which had taken it over in the last several years. It looked like a fairly major undertaking, but when I got right down to it, it went more quickly than expected. It was hard to get the grass out of the interior of the hardy fuchsia stems, and that will undoubtedly remain problematic, but I relocated ferns to the hosta bed (under construction beneath Big Doug), pulled weeds (and probably redistributed a few thousand seeds), replanted all of the lily-of-the-valley bulbs I could find, and in the end, it was looking pretty good. This week, I planted spring bulbs: alliums of different heights and colours, snow crocus (i.e., early-blooming crocus) and species tulips which are purportedly deer-resistant. Between cervid-repellent alliums and the tulips, that should keep the elk off the crocus. Next spring, I will add some bedding plants or perhaps a couple of perennials to this semi-shady northside bed.

Come Walk With Me

Day 356: As parks go, there's not much to Ashford County Park. It covers 80 acres, most of which is wetland and inaccessible to the public, but the perimeter trail and central link provides a pleasant 1.2 miles over mostly paved paths with a steep enough gradient (8%) to let you know you're getting some small cardiovascular benefit. That's what I needed, so I left home 20 minutes early for another errand to allow time to make the loop. Autumn was very evident, which is to say there was a substantial "fall" of alder leaves blanketing the asphalt most of the way around. I had it to myself, as is my preference when enjoying nature. I did not expect to find rare plants or new fungi, did not search for insects, spiders or frogs, did not particularly listen for bird calls, although I'm sure my ears would have perked up if I'd heard something out of the ordinary. I just...went for a walk. Sometimes, that's all you need to settle your soul.

One Dolmas, Two Dolmades

Day 355: What's the difference between "dolmas" and "dolmades?" If you answered, "It depends on how hungry you are," you understand the question. "Dolmas" is singular, although there is an annoying tendency in the US and some other places to use it to mean more than one simply because it ends in S, and speakers of English are always know better than foreigners when it comes to the foreigner speaking their own native language. If you missed it, that was sarcasm, and I have no intention of apologizing. Anyway, dolmades are what's for dinner tonight, and herein lies a more compelling reason for retaining the grapevine even though it hardly ever makes grapes. Dolmades are stuffed grape leaves. Stuffed with what? I use a mixture of lamb, rice, dill, onion and (depending on availability) one or more items from the list which includes pine nuts, currants, garlic, mint, parsley, all of which I have added at some time or another. Today's have pine nuts in, but my mint was too far gone to pick. Once done simmering in broth, they will go in the fridge to be served chilled with a little lemon juice drizzed over them.

A Horticultural Shortcoming

 

Day 354:  For all of the fact that I have had some quite unusual horticultural successes (soil layering the contorted filbert comes immediately to mind), there is one area in which I have a grievous shortcoming: pruning grapes. It sounds so easy when you read about it! Grapes fruit on last year's wood, so you remove two-year, woody growth, prune this year's back to a manageable level and, as they say, Bob's yer uncle. However, when it comes to turning policy into practice, and you're out in the field with a crisp winter morning turning your ears red and your fingers into digital popsicles, identifying which is which...and harder, tracing it back through the spaghetti of vines to where it attaches to the main trunk...presents an altogether different prospect. I have had one or two good yields following my tender ministrations over the 35 years of this plant's life, but for the most part, I get only a handful of bunches or none, depending on who gets there first after the sugar sets, me or the jaybirds. In fact, one year I was expecting to pick roughly ten pounds based on what was on the vine before bedtime, but the following morning, I discovered the jays had cleaned me out right down to the last grape. We've had a few nippy nights, and I've been sneaking single-grape tastes for a couple of days now. My sample grape this morning was sweet enough for me, so I harvested the four small bunches which were the only fruit to develop this year. One bunch was already fragile, a good sign that they were ripe because the grapes dropped from their stems into my bowl when I bumped the cluster. I have just enough for a snack, although there may be a few upset jaybirds when they try to find their long-anticipated lunch.