Back To The Corner

Day 323: I was marginally beyond the halfway point in the hand-stitching of this piece when Mousie's grandmother's vintage quilt top arrived, with a somewhat greater sense of immediacy attached to it. I removed it from the stretcher frame I had been given by a thoughtful friend, tucked it in a stout plastic bag and put it away for the duration. The pattern is called "Patience Corner." Each block consists of four smaller blocks, each of which is made up of a rectangle and two squares, one of which is a solid colour. In this iteration, the position of the rectangles is rotated within each as well as in the larger blocks. The prints also occur in rotation; what is a rectangle in one large block becomes a square in the adjacent block, and each large block is themed blue, aqua, purple or green. The overall effect is rather kaleidoscopic. The pieces are shadow-quilted with a star at the centers of the small squares and intersecting diagonals in the rectangles. As with most quilts, the hand-quilting is best observed by flipping the work over. At the rate of one block per day and time off for good behaviour, I should have it done within six weeks.

Definitely Anna's

Day 322: There was still some lingering doubt in my mind regarding my identification of what appeared to be an Anna's...no, a swarm of Anna's Hummingbirds visiting my yard. I'd never confirmed the presence of Anna's here before, although there was that one incident with the funny-coloured "Rufous" female at the feeder about ten years ago, captured only on video as a darting blur which may or may not have had a grey belly and a flash of red under the chin. But yesterday while I was riding my exercise bike, camera at my side just in case, half a dozen that-can't-be-Rufouses showed up, popcorning between the Sitka Mountain-ash and the feeder in the fuchsias. Then one perched on the preferred branch of the mountain-ash, remaining in place for several minutes as I stopped pedalling and picked up the camera. Then I got off the bike and edged closer...and closer...and closer...and..."Oh, look at those freckles!" I said in observation of the breast, "And you have a dark patch...was that a wink of red?...under your little chin!" The light had to be just right to catch it, and the camera did not, but it was enough to confirm that yes, the Ash Group is definitely comprised of Anna's, juveniles and females, and very possibly at least one subadult male. It's been an exciting summer at the feeders!

A Quilt And A Crow

Day 321: For the historical record, here is Mousie's grandma's heirloom quilt, complete. When it arrived at my house, it consisted of sixteen hand-pieced Dresden plates mounted on a sheet of unbleached muslin. The plates were not aligned evenly, having as much four inches difference in their spacing, so after conferring with Mousie, I cut them into 16" blocks and put them back together using a blue cotton broadcloth to try to change the colour scheme from pink to blue. Darker centers were placed at each intersection of the "streets" between the blocks, and each of these was quilted with a shamrock to reflect Mousie's Irish origins. The streets were quilted from a commercial template I referred to as "DNA," a double-helix. I also used commercial stencils for the "hibiscus" flowers and leaves in the top and bottom borders, but the sides were my own designs. There are two repeats of four patterns on each side: a crow for me, a mouse for Mousie, a goldfinch for our other sister-of-the-heart and a hummingbird for Mousie's husband. They are set among oak leaves, acorns, butterflies, dragonflies and bees. As is the case with most detailed quilting, you don't see the design until you flip the quilt over, but I could not get a good image of the back side. It goes in the mail today, and after 11 months of work, I'm going to miss it. That said, I had taken another quilt off the frame before it was completed in order to work on Mousie's. That quilt is back on, and I should be able to finish it in about six weeks.

Red-Breasted Nuthatch

Day 320: Determined to capture a "field-guide" shot of my little Nutty friend, I settled into a lawn chair in the shade of the contorted filbert yesterday, camera on my raised knee and my finger on the shutter button. I knew I'd have to be quick. Nutty seldom remained on the feeder more than five seconds, and even then was in motion. I took lots of pictures of an empty platform, digital response even slower than my own, but eventually made this capture. I believe this is a male based on the richer "red" of its breast and underparts. That said, I may actually have a pair. Something which seemed to fly like a Nuthatch in my peripheral vision landed on the far side of the feeder while my attention was on this bird.

Now for a few cool facts about Nuthatches. First of all, look at the size of those feet! No wonder the little bugger is so good at hanging upside-down to feed. I'm sure the stubby tail gives him better balance in that position as well. Nuthatches are bark foragers, feeding primarily on insects. Perhaps they were drawn to my yard by the ash-borers which would devastate my Sitka Mountain-ash if it wasn't for the sapsuckers' diligence. Nuthatches are cavity-nesters, with a preference for holes in dead trees or dead branches. They line their nests with grass, pine needles and bark, and use finer material like feathers and fur to insulate them. They also apply a ring of resin to the edges of their entryways, the male "painting" outside while the female does the interior and, interestingly, they frequently use bits of bark to transport gobs of pitch to the nesting site, and as a tool to apply it. At the feeder, their preferred diet is black-oil seed (no shortage of that at this establishment!), and will also take mealworms and suet. They cache food for consumption later, and usually take the bigger, heavier bits first. If the items are too large to swallow, they anchor them in a crack and hammer them into smaller pieces. They are also known to associate with chickadees, another reason they may have appeared for the first time in my yard this year.

Convolvulus Arvensis, Field Bindweed

Day 319: If you've ever walked through a field or even a patch of grass where this rhizomatous perennial weed grows, you will understand why it's called "Bindweed." Convolvulus arvensis is related to Morning Glories and as such, is a twining, tough vine which is resistant to breakage when one is trying to free one's ankle from its snare. Although it has a flower smaller than that of Morning Glory, it is similar in shape and may or may not be striped with pink. It is quite difficult to eradicate once established as I can testify; it still crops up occasionally in my yard and in the Barren Wasteland where I believe it was introduced in a package of commercially-marketed "wildflowers for Pacific Northwest gardens." It is certainly not the only weed I've found in those packets. California poppies are a popular addition, and they are becoming an issue in some areas of Washington where they are crowding out native species. As for the Bindweed, it has an extensive root system and is impossible to dig out. The best means of attack is to pull it regularly and often to prevent the plant from being able to photosynthesize.

Red-Breasted Nuthatch, Sitta Canadensis

Day 318: Although not a Life List bird for me, today marks the first appearance of a Red-Breasted Nuthatch (Sitta canadensis) at my present location. We had a rather startling introduction, little Nutty and I, meeting first as my hand entered a bird feeder from one side just as he entered from the other. We both jumped, but not very far. After pouring a cupful of black-oil seed in the tray, I proceeded to the enclosed feeder shown in this photo. Nutty sat atop the shepherd's hook as I loaded it up, less than six inches from my face. By that point, I'd recovered from our first encounter and met him eye to eye. "Oh! You're a Nuthatch!" I said, after noting his identification points (not that there's much chance of misidentifying one of these cheeky little birds). "I don't s'pose you'd let me go get the camera, would you?" Predictably, he was gone when I got back. I settled in to do some sewing in the kitchen, thought at one point that I might have seen him in the Philadelphus, and when I migrated back out to the living room and sat down at the computer, he made another split-second appearance at the feeder. Now thoroughly motivated, I moved the quilting frame to a spot where I had a clear view of both of the feeders he'd visited, set the camera on a stool beside me and waited. He returned several times, and I took half a dozen photos of an empty feeder, an equal number of shots of red-breasted blurs, and then at last he settled in long enough for me to focus the lens through the kitty-nose-printed double pane window and bingo, I got my documentation shot. Hopefully, he will allow me a field-guide photo session once he becomes accustomed to my presence...if, of course, he's not just passing through.

Mystery Sparrow Solved

Day 317: It's been a year for hard-to-identify birds at my house. I finally confirmed that the swarm of female hummingbirds were indeed Anna's after a female Rufous came to visit the feeder only a few minutes after a distinctly grey-bellied guest left it, allowing me to note the differences almost as easily as if they had been side-by-side. However, a bunch of ground-foraging sparrows settled in to cause a great deal of consternation as I pulled bird book after bird book down from the shelf in an effort to sort them out. The fact that they were feeding on the ground, behaving like Spotted Towhees with a cute little jump backwards to raise seeds from the grass, was the first clue that they weren't any of my regular sparrows. My first thought had been that they were young White-Crowned whose "racing stripes" hadn't fully brightened up, but their streaky undersides and behaviour took that out of consideration. The same reasoning ruled out Golden-Crowned, which appear here more infrequently. Song Sparrow was ruled out by the presence of faint white wing bars on many of them, as did the lack of a "tie-tack" on the breast. Their call was something I don't hear regularly as well. Standing at the window trying to get a clear view and/or photos as they scrabbled about in the weeds which pass as my lawn, I hadn't been able to observe the dark line through the eye. Once I saw it, all the puzzle pieces fell into place: ground forager, streaky underparts, faint wing bars, weak "moustache"...I had a flock of young Chipping Sparrows (Spizella passerina), another infrequent visitor to my yard. Now the "pip!" calls made sense, as did pinkish-yellow beaks beginning to turn black at the tips. LBJ or LGB (Little Brown Job or Little Grey Bird) identifications can be tricky, especially when the bird hasn't matured into its adult colouration.

Almost Done

Day 316: I realize that this is a little precipitous, but it represents the point at which a decision had to be made. When in late October 2019, I took on the project of finishing a king-sized heirloom quilt begun by a friend's grandmother over fifty years ago, the plan had been to have an old-fashioned quilting bee in the spring, a get-together which would allow both her and our other sister-of-the-heart to place a few stitches in the design. We were in the middle of trying to work out a schedule for the bee when COVID hit, and the plan had to be put on hold. I kept working on the quilt between other projects with the thought that by the time I had it nearly done, the pandemic would be history. Ah, what a nice dream that was! At this point, the quilt is done but for the last two blocks I had intended to leave unfinished until we could hold the bee, but COVID is still strong among us and not showing any signs of waning. Thus it was that I posed the question to Mousie yesterday about how she wanted me to proceed. Her decision saddens me, but it seems the only reasonable option. She wants me to finish it: "You. My sister, who has shown such care and love and thoughtfulness throughout this process" which of course means that the bee will not be. Still, knowing that the quilt will be keeping her warm in her New York home this winter fills me with the pride of accomplishment even as it makes me wonder if I, aged markedly by the stresses of these times, will see my dear friends again.

Townsend's Troublemaker

Day 315: Over the last two or three years, I have been steadily relocating Douglas squirrels to suitable habitats at least two miles and one river crossing from my home. While I seem to have won the Squirrel War, I failed to take into account the fact that I was opening up the area to another pesky little rodent, Townsend's Chipmunk (Neotamias townsendii). These cute little troublemakers aren't destructive like squirrels. They don't get into your attic to gnaw your electric wiring; they live in burrows rather than taking over bird nests and woodpecker holes. Their diet consists of seeds, fruit and fungi rather than the nuts and bird's eggs preferred by squirrels, but they do have a penchant for emptying my bird feeders of black-oil seed, and that, my budget will not abide. I knew I had two and managed to live-trap one in short order using date bits as bait. The second one proved more difficult, and my raspberries were disappearing before they could ripen completely. Eventually, the stripy little critter couldn't resist sampling dried plums, and was rewarded with a trip to a nearby trail system. Within half an hour of having reset the trap ("just in case"), I stood at my window muttering, "It's like trying to dip the ocean dry with a teaspoon!" as a third Townsend's Troublemaker scrabbled up the metal bird-feeder pole after the fresh supply of seed. Mango...I wonder if that's what he's waiting for?

Plumming Project

Day 314: It's that time of the year again, and I'd like to give a shout out to a Parkie friend who presented me with two bags of delicious red plums, more than I could reasonably eat before they went bad. That said, I am not one to turn down free fruit, so the question became what to do with the remainder. Plum crumble? Canned plums? Frozen plums? Plum butter! Well, as they say, "It seemed like a good idea at the time," but after tenderizing them and putting them through the food mill, I realized that by the time they were cooked to the "butter" stage, I might not have enough to fill a four-ounce jar. I decided to make plum jelly instead. By that point, I was definitely winging it as far as the recipe was concerned, so I checked my pectin supply, added more sugar, put the jars on to boil, and roughly 45 minutes later, I had three half-pints canned up and cooling. There was a slight over-run which went in the fridge and was taste-tested on sourdough toast this morning. It's a little runny, but tasty.

Lifestyles

Day 313: Let's talk about lifestyles, shall we? I'm speaking botanically, of course, and I'm talking about the three strategies represented in vascular plants. If you do any gardening at all, you're familiar with the terms "annual" and "perennial" as they apply to flowers. You may also be familiar with the word "biennial," or perhaps not. Simply put, here are what those terms mean. An annual is a plant which blooms the first year from seed. It dies off at the end of the season and, if fertile, the seeds it has formed are capable of sprouting a new generation. You could also call it a one-season plant. On the other hand, perennials are those things which once planted, come back every year from the root. They may or may not be capable of producing fertile seed, but if so, the plants which sprout from those seeds can be transplanted to permanent locations in your garden where, if their requirements are met, they will return year after year. Biennials are a different story. They do not flower in their first year from seed, producing only foliage. The blooms emerge in the second year, and if the seed from them sprouts, those plants will not flower until their second year. If you plant biennials, it's best to do it two years in a row to ensure that you have flowers every year. Examples of garden-variety annuals would be snapdragons, marigolds, lobelia, etc.; perennials might include such things as rudbeckia, hardy fuchsia, hellebore and so on. A common biennial is the hollyhock, and mine like the hot back wall of my house so much that they behave as if they are perennial, but if their seeds drop and sprout, I have to take care not to recognize the first-year plants so that I don't inadvertently weed them out. Normal lifespan for a biennial is two years: one to grow, one to bloom, and then it's done.

Now you might be asking why plants would have three different lifestyles. There are definite benefits to each and, in fact, some plants which are considered annuals or biennials may behave as perennials under certain conditions. Most of our alpine/sub-alpine wildflowers are perennial or annual. Let's look at the advantages to each strategy.

Annuals tend to put all their energy into reproduction. They produce abundant seed quickly, counting on sheer numbers to ensure survival of their species. Some annuals' seeds may lay dormant for a year or more before sprouting, or until scarified by fire which weakens the outer hull of the seed.

Perennials bloom and form seed year after year. Most of these seeds/seedlings rot or are eaten, but eventually, one will take hold and will mature into another seed-producing plant. Perennials tend to be taller, and often shade out shorter annuals. Their root systems can be quite extensive, allowing them to draw nutrients and moisture from the soil during harsh conditions.

Biennials put their effort into growing a sturdy plant with a healthy root system in the first year, securing food reserves in the roots in order to bloom in their second year.

Misumena Vatia

Day 312: Misumena vatia is known commonly as the Flower Crab Spider or Goldenrod Crab Spider because that's where you usually find members of the species hunting or waiting for their prey. They do not construct webs, tunnels or nests in which to over-winter. Their colouration is highly variable from nearly white to banana yellow, and an individual spider's hue may become brighter over a period of two to three weeks as yellow pigments are secreted into the outer layer of its body's cellular structure. If the spider moves to a white flower, the reverse occurs more quickly (approximately six days) as the pigment is excreted. The sides of the body may be marked with brown or red. Misumena vatia's venom is particularly toxic to bees. Its other favoured prey species include butterflies, wasps and grasshoppers.

A Quilt Of Cats

Day 311: Yeah, yeah, you're getting tired of quilt pictures, but in case you hadn't noticed, we're in the middle of a pandemic and I'm not going anywhere. Besides, this merits celebrating. I began cutting the pieces for this Cathedral Window "Kitty Quilt" on July 20, and finished tying it (tacking at the "meets" to secure the top to the backing and batting) just after dinner last night, a mere 30 days from start to finish. It was not the only project on my agenda, either. In between bouts of hand-stitching kitties into their frames, I was also hand-quilting my friend Mousie's heirloom quilt as well as cutting and piecing the hexagons I posted yesterday.

I am no stranger to social isolation. I spent most of my married life at home, doing much the same as I am doing in COVID times, i.e., needlework, reading, gardening, walking, bicycling. I did not "neighbour" or go visiting, and no one expected it of me because I did not drive, an excuse I found quite handy to justify my naturally anti-social attitude. In fact, since my husband worked nights, our paths generally crossed for no more than an hour or two each day, a situation which suited me just fine. He had a television set in his den; I never watched it, preferring the sounds of birds, rain and wind outside our prairie home to the gabble of nonsense the annoying box seemed to emit. The merits of isolation far outweigh its bad points, to my way of thinking. I amuse myself with the hand-work I love doing, and select friends benefit from the results. I keep very little of it for myself, but the Kitty Quilt will be an exception. It's mine, all mine...well, and Tippy's, because he helped.

Flower Garden Hexagons

Day 310: "What's next?" That question is often posed by my loyal readers, but not nearly as often as it is heard inside my head. In this case, the decision was made for me when I discovered a pile of cut-out hexagons while looking for fabrics for a different quilt. They'd been hidden so long I'd forgotten all about them, or indeed what my original intent had been with respect to a pattern. I decided to assemble them as a traditional Flower Garden, keeping each grouping more or less to a particular colour scheme rather than making them entirely random. Two "flowers" were already sewn together, so I laid out the rest of the prints to see how many more I could make. In the end, I wound up cutting new fabric for four "flowers," which I then assembled for a total of 39 blocks.

Although the prints had been ready to sew, the white background hexagons still needed to be marked and cut. While precision cutting is not a requirement for this pattern, precision marking is mandatory. If the edges of the hexagons are marked precisely, sewing them together is almost trouble-free. However, each side has to be sewn as a short seam backstitched at both ends, and at the end of each seam, the thread is cut. The sewing wastes a lot of thread, but it's worth it in the final accounting to be able to turn tidy corners. In fact, assembly goes rather quickly if accuracy is maintained. That said, it takes a bit of concentration to place the blocks in the right order. The finished design is laid out for you to see in the inset. The edges of the outer hexagons will be appliqued to a white border, and then the whole project will be hand-quilted.

Leaves

Day 309: Here's a quick lesson in basic botany, presented in the form of a visual quiz. Don't worry, you won't be graded on your response.

We talk about leaves in many ways, throwing around words like "serrulate" and "runcinate" to describe their margins, referring to their tips as "cirrose," "aristate" and so on, "obelliptic" and "flabellate" for their shapes, but in the most elementary terms, leaves can be placed in one of two categories: simple or compound. A simple leaf is just that: it has a central vein and if it is lobed (think of an oak leaf), the most deeply cut portion of the lobes do not reach the central vein. It is generally attached to the main stem of the plant by a petiole (stalk). Please note that I said "generally." Sessile (stalkless) forms do occur. A compound leaf is made up of multiple leaflets arising from a single petiole, and compound leaves can be palmate (shaped like a hand) or pinnate (resembling a feather).

I promised you a quick lesson, so I won't go any further down the rabbit hole than this. From left to right, top row: 1) Golden Chain Tree, 2) Red Alder, 3) Sitka Mountain-ash; bottom row: 4) Vine Maple, 5) Philadelphus, 6) Horse Chestnut. Categorize these six leaves as follows: simple, palmately compound, pinnately compound.

And there. You learned a couple of new words in a relatively painless manner.

Answers: elpmis, evif, ruof, owt; dnuopmoc yletamlap, xis dna eno; dnuopmoc yletannip, eerht.

Not The Brightest Crayon

Day 308: They're just not the brightest crayons in the box, if you know what I mean. This year, I have had a pair of Mourning Doves (Zenaida macroura) whose favourite resting spot is in the middle of my driveway. They often sit side-by-side, whispering sweet nothings to one another in a haunting, soft coo, but I do not see them feeding on insects in the gravel like the grosbeaks do, or engaging in any other activity outside of simply sitting there. They remain there for long periods of time, half an hour or more is a lengthy period for a bird to sit still. Sometimes one or the other of them will tuck its head under its wing for a nap, only rousing if my neighbour happens to drive through. They seem to be paired, flying off together toward a mutually agreed upon destination when they do take wing and returning together for another round of gravel-hatching. Try as I might, I just can't get inside their minds...not that there's much room in that pointy pigeon head.

Growing Goldenseal

Day 307: Goldenseal (Hydrastis canadensis) is native to the northeastern portions of the US and Canada, and has long been believed to afford health benefits to those who drink a tea made from its roots or leaves. While I can't speak to its efficacity as an herbal remedy, I can say that the bitter tea is a very effective thirst-quencher. It takes a while to accustom your taste buds to the flavour, but I now find it quite pleasant even without being sweetened. That said, Goldenseal was so hard to find in spice shops thirty years ago that when I found live plants for sale at Seattle's Pike Place Market, I bought two for my garden. After researching Hydrastis' habitat preferences, I uprooted an annoying patch of buttercups (also a member of the Ranunculaceae) on the north side of my garage and erected a short "lath house" over it to protect the plants from morning sun. A few years later, I removed the lath house and the plants have continued to flourish. I still have to pull buttercups from their bed every spring nevertheless.

You might think that by now, I should have a pretty good Goldenseal bed, and as far as personal use goes, that's true. However, each plant only bears two leaves...that's right, two is all you get. The roots are too precious to harvest for tea, so several times during the growing season, I go out with scissors in hand and trim an inch or so from the tips of the leaves until I have enough to steep in a quart of water. I take only one tip per leaf, returning later in the season to do another trimming. I keep the tea in the fridge for when I get really thirsty. One mouthful is all it takes to slake even a burning thirst. I leave the berries to develop, hoping that they will drop and make more little Goldenseal plants. My original two have multiplied to roughly a dozen and a half, thirty-six leaves which must be judiciously harvested with a mind to the future.

Mint Jelly, Mint Tea

Day 306: The problem with growing your own mint is exactly that: growing mint. It doesn't know when to stop. Once it's established, it will spread by stolon and by seed until it takes over your garden. The solution to the problem is to use as much of it as possible, remove the flowers before they can set seed, or pull it until only a small bit remains. Trust me, that "small bit" will be back next year with a vengeance. Fortunately, I like both mint tea and mint jelly (the latter goes very well on homemade sourdough bread), so I keep it pretty well in check. In any event, it occupies a spot in the Barren Wasteland alongside other things I consider too weedy for the flower beds or veg garden. That said, some day after I'm gone, that spot will still be coming up mint, mint and more mint. I hope whoever lives here next likes mint jelly.

The Anna's Tree

Day 304: The larger of my two Sitka mountain-ash trees shall forevermore be known as the Anna's Tree. I have never had Anna's hummingbirds in my yard, but that is what I have concluded these are (juveniles) after careful examination of multiple photos and observing them as they hover at the hardy fuchsias. There is no evidence of rufous colouration on the tails, and they are definitely "dingy grey-green" on their tummies. I first noted them while I was riding my exercise bike about a week ago. Something just didn't look right about them. "Huh," I said aloud, "that doesn't look like a Rufous. Could it...nah, must be the light." I couldn't get a clear view at the time with the sun in my eyes, but when they perched on the mountain-ash, another observation filtered its way up from my subconscious: the green feathers on their backs had a different tonal quality, bluish, but so subtly different that again, it might have been a deception of the light. Their behaviour was different, too. The Rufouses perch in the contorted filbert or dart in among the leaves of the Japanese maple. These little buggers stick exclusively to the mountain-ash, and there are...well, maybe not millions, but there must be at least ten, all of which go from fuchsia to tree repeatedly, sometimes with three or four perched in the tree almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Admittedly, I fudged this photo a bit to have both of them in focus by stacking two images, but this was the view through the lens. I've moved the feeder to hang just above the fuchsias, immediately outside my front window. Hopefully, I'll get an even closer look once theiy figure out where it is.

Cichorium Intybus, Chicory

Day 304: Cichorium intybus (Chicory) is considered an invasive in Washington and is commonly found in compacted soils such as those found in vacant lots and other waste areas. Its narrow, woody stems may grow to three feet in height. Its roots can be roasted and ground for use as a coffee substitute, although because it is rather bitter, the product is best tempered with some real grounds. For me, however, this plant's attractive sky-blue flowers overshadow its undesirability, and each year when it comes into bloom, my lens is drawn toward them. A closer look reveals petal tips which look as if they were cut out with a faerie's pinking shears, accented by banded and striped stamens. As much as I know I should, I can't bring myself to hate it, invasive or not.

Crane Fly

Day 303: No, it's not the Mozzie from Hell. It's a Crane Fly, Tipula pubera to be precise, with no common name. It's easy to identify this one because no other Crane Fly with patterned wings can compare to it in size. Tipula pubera can attain a body length of an inch and a quarter! Most members of Tipula have very short lifespans, generally under two weeks. Their larvae feed on rotting vegetation, playing an essential role in the decomposition process. The adults do not feed as a general rule, although some occasionally sip nectar. Crane flies are harmless, although they are sometimes considered pests when they populate cultivated lawns or grassy sports fields.

More Hardy Fuchsias

Day 302: I have to admit that I've fallen in love with hardy fuchsias and wouldn't mind populating my entire yard with them, but then, nobody else would have any hummingbirds. I haven't had a clear look yet, but I think I may have Anna's visiting Dollar Princess (center). If so, it would be the first time Anna's have come to my yard. In a recent post, I mentioned that some hardy fuchsia varieties bear an edible berry. Riccartonii (left) is one of those, as is Genii, which is very similar in appearance. The berries are juicy ovals, and although not particularly flavourful, they are lightly perfumed and I think they would go nicely as an addition to jelly in much the same way as rose petals or scented violets do. I plan to collect the fruit this year as an experiment. The larger-flowered varieties don't seem to produce as abundantly. I have never had berries on Erecta (right) and very few on the others. Currently, my garden hosts seven varieties, The seventh, Dutch Pearl, has not yet come into bloom.

Hexed

Day 301: Remember those hexagons I mentioned finding in a box not long ago? The ones I said I "might pick away at?" In my copious spare time between other projects, I've managed to piece 18 of them into the "flowers" which will eventually become a Flower Garden quilt. The flowers can be made as large or as small as you desire. I've chosen to limit them to 6-hex print blocks with a solid at the center. They will be joined with white as shown in this demonstration piece laid out on fleece. This will also be a puzzle quilt. During the days of my distant youth, I enjoyed bedding down under a Double Wedding Ring quilt which my great-grandmother had made (I still have it). I would amuse myself by trying to count the number of times a print appeared, taking special delight in those which had no counterpart. My Flower Garden blooms sometimes have a maximum of three hexagons of one print, others have two. Are there any blocks in which all of the prints are different? Are there any which are made using only two prints? You'll have to wait until it's finished to find out! In fact, I'm not even sure myself.

Blue (Sooty) Grouse, Dendragapus Obscurus

Day 300: As a birder, I know that grouse frequently perch in trees, but it always amuses me to see one of these fat brown "chickens" take wing from the side of the road to land on a branch. I half-expect the ungainly thing to pitch off the other side in a cartoon-like demonstration of Newton's First Law, "an object in motion tends to remain in motion," yet it compensates for its mass. The claws dig into the rough bark, perhaps the wings flutter a little, and the bird comes to rest with barely a wobble. Blue (Sooty) Grouse are relatively common in Mount Rainier National Park. I've been surprised by them on many occasions when a piece of "trail" ten feet in front of me suddenly lifted off with an enormous clatter of wings. Their colouration camouflages them well against dirt and gravel or, for that matter, against the grey-brown bark of conifer boughs. There is some confusion regarding the proper scientific name of this species, and field guides may have it listed as "Blue Grouse," separated further into "Sooty" (Pacific) and "Dusky" (interior) forms. The difference is only noticeable in males of Dendragapus obscurus; females of both forms are visually similar.

Lathyrus Torreyi

Day 299: I just had to have a pea. I can't take credit for this find of Lathyrus torreyi (Torrey's Peavine), a plant on the state's list of rarities. No, the information on where to find it came to me from the manager of the Burke Herbarium who got it from one of his colleagues. She had reported it from this SECRET location previously in 2017 and had seen it again recently. She alerted David, David alerted me, Arnie and other Park staff, and I emailed my botany partners, afraid that I wouldn't be able to document it myself, thanks to a Post Office screw-up which failed to forward my license tab renewal to me before my tags expired. I've been waiting for the new ones to arrive, which they did late yesterday. I was so excited about L. torreyi that I couldn't sleep last night and bounced out of bed at 4:30 this morning, grabbed a quick breakfast and was out the door a little after 5 so that I could arrive on site without risking contact with another human.

Don't let the photo fool you. This is a small, vetch-like legume, not a full-sized "sweet pea" flower. Most of the blossoms had withered since the plant had been sighted by David's colleague, but I was able to find two still fresh, if perhaps a little pale. They are normally somewhat darker blue. The site where L. torreyi occurs is at the extreme northern edge of its range, and as I said, it is considered rare in Washington. I'm glad I got to see it.

Closet Archaeology

Day 298: With fewer than two dozen prints left to hand-sew into the Kitty Quilt, I began thinking about my next piecework project. To that end, it would be necessary to inventory my fabric stash to see if it contained enough prints to create a fresh look even though some cats or orange pieces would probably be included by default. While digging in the closet, I found a box labelled "spinning supplies/quilt parts." I knew it held the carders I use exclusively for white wool, but "quilt parts" was something of a mystery. I opened it and pulled out three bags which contained templates of various sizes and...what? Hexagons? Already cut? Oh, boy! This was the equivalent of a prehistoric find! I'm not sure how far back it dates (not having C-14 at my disposal), but I think I can safely say it's been hiding in there for at least twenty years. Some of the fabrics I recognize as having been in the king-sized Memory Wreath quilt which my husband claimed when we divorced (and rightfully so, since it didn't fit my bed). The gold centers would have been cut before I used the rest of the fabric in a pinwheel quilt which my Cockatoo used for a trampoline while I was trying to stitch, providing the upper-end date. Why did I not finish it? There was a point in my life when I thought I'd never do any more quilting, so perhaps that was when I put it away. While it may not be my very next project (I'd already decided on a half-square triangle star pattern), it is now out where it will nag me, and with COVID showing no sign of relenting, I suspect I'll be doing a lot more quilting this winter.

Fuchsia Parade

Day 297: It began with Genii (left), the only type of hardy fuchsia I knew about at the time. Then as I was browsing the internet for horticultural information on it, I discovered that there were other hardy fuchsias, some with flowers to rival the annual varieties common to hanging baskets. Typical of rabbit-holes, the ground beneath my feet slid away and down I went into a wonderland of perennials I had never suspected of existing. Today, my garden holds half a dozen of these eminently gratifying plants, making me wish I had room for more. Not only are different flower forms and colours available, there are foliage options as well. Genii's leaves are golden-green, while those of Army Nurse (center) are a middle hue. If darker foliage is to your liking, the rich hunter-green headlines the fat pink and purple flowers of Garden News (right). Not shown, Erecta carries its flowers pointing upward as its name implies, Dollar Princess wears a slightly rosier skirt than Army Nurse, and Ricartonii's flowers are even more slender than those of Genii. Genii and Ricartonii also form edible fruits which, although rather bland, would lend an interesting flavour to an apple jelly. Might have to try that this year!

Western Tanager Female

Day 296: When I cannot go into Nature, Nature comes to me. Pedalling strongly on my exercise bike, I was watching for the butterfly I suspected of being an Orange-Tip and had the camera within arm's reach atop the recycle bin. A flutter of yellow pulled my eyes away from the hawkweed and into the branches of the Sitka mountain-ash, now heavily laden with bright orange berries. It took me a few seconds to find the bird, longer to find it in the lens, and when it was at last in my view, I said, "Well, who are you, then? You're not a Parrot, and you're certainly not a Goldfinch. You're too big to be a Wobbler" (my term for warblers). "Who the heck are you? Oh, I know! I bet you're a lady Tanager!" I recalled having seen a splash of orange amid the deep shadows of the contorted filbert's leaves a few days earlier, and possibly another instance of "orange flash" in the tangle of Philadelphus stems in the back yard, both typical of the type of sighting the males usually give me: a wink of colour which I can't even say for certain is a bird except that it would have to be, all other factors considered. Ms. Tanager sat on her bough long enough for me to get several photos which were sufficient to confirm my identification: young or molting female Western Tanager, Piranga ludoviciana. I wonder where her boyfriend is? And more to the point, do I now have a breeding pair? Oh, that would be exciting news! I seldom see one more than once every few years.

Not-So-Barren Wasteland

Day 295: Although this post is nominally about the Barren Wasteland ("nominally" as in "named"), the real news comes from the House of Chirp. For the last two days, I have been expecting one or both (or more?) of the fledglings to pop out and take wing. Yesterday, it appeared so imminent that I stood for a long time at the kitchen window several times throughout the day, but as evening settled, I saw mom make one more food delivery and one empty-beaked pass as she tried to lure the kids out of the box. They were still there when I gave up the vigil, but this morning, no little beak appeared to greet me as my toast was browning, no movement disturbed the white feather visible just inside the door. I stepped outside; not a sound came from the House of Chirp. They must have flown right at dawn. Nor did I see any swallows on the wing as I scanned the sky. Be well, be safe, my little grandbirdies! There will be a clean house waiting for you next spring, a home where you or your parents can start a new family.

Now as for the Barren Wasteland, it occupies the space between my viewpoint out the kitchen window and the garage wall where the House of Chirp hangs. I cannot see much of it from the kitchen because the window is too high, although when I had tall Cosmos out there, they rose past the sill. The Rudbeckia is tall enough, but set too far east to be seen unless I lean over the sink. The Barren Wasteland is far from barren now, although when I first moved here, it was nothing but grass and weeds interrupted by the wooden lid to the captive-air tank's pit and a concrete slab of undetermined purpose. When I cleared it of undesirable vegetation and tried to plant vegs in the soil, they failed without exception. Over the years, I've thrown out packets of seeds in the hopes that something would take firm root, transplanted "unkillable" plants like the Rudbeckia and Rose Campion, and by and large, I've let it go as wild as it wanted. The result is an "English garden" style hodgepodge of colourful survivors, both native and cultivated, but the name has stuck. The Barren Wasteland will always be the Barren Wasteland, despite the fact that not a square inch of soil can be seen through the dense vegetation which now covers it.

Too Many Rats

Day 294: Anyone who's been around me for any length of time will have heard me use the phrase, "Too many rats in the box." For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, allow me to explain.

There is a classic behavioural experiment in which observers (students) are provided with a habitat enclosure as well as adequate food, water and amusements for a sizeable number of rats. At first, only one rat is placed in the box (a lonely situation for a social creature like a rat) and then others are added on a strict schedule at set intervals. Food and water continue to be supplied, toys are changed out to prevent rat boredom, and the society within the habitat enclosure goes along smoothly with only the occasional dispute over territory or breeding. Then one day, despite the fact that to the observer's eye sufficient space, nourishment and mental stimulus are available to an extent which should, by all rights, support even more rats, the rats have a different opinion. They turn on each other in murderous frenzy until their population is reduced to a level acceptable to their psychology.

I would like to point out that we humans are at a crucial point in our global society. We are living on a dying planet, and are in competition for its dwindling resources whether we acknowledge it or not. It has now become an issue of survival of the species, not simply a matter of greed and selfishness, although some segments of the population are legendary for those characteristics and therefore the drive to survive is stronger in them. As occurs within the habitat enclosure, the more powerful rats win out, killing off those which are too weak to defend themselves. And they will stop at nothing: subterfuge, hoarding, violence and brutality. Yep, that's where we are, folks: too many rats in the box.

Just Keeps Going

Day 293: They weren't kidding when they named this particular Begonia cultivar "Non-Stop." I've lost track of how many years this particular tuber has bounced back to life in the spring after being in storage all winter. I've grown Non-Stop in a pot on my front steps every year for as long as I've lived here, occasionally changing up the "greeter" by discarding one tuber and replacing it with one of a different hue. With a wide variety of options and combinations of colours between foliage and flower, it's easy to do. That said, I thought I'd killed this one when I left it out too long last fall and the foliage was withered by a hard frost. Even so, I rooted the tuber out of the pot, wrapped it in a paper towel and stuck it in a cupboard in the cool part of the kitchen. I didn't remember to check on it until early May, and there it was, its stems pallid and bent by its confinement, but a few days after I stuck it in soil and gave it a good watering, it perked right up. "Non-Stop." You got that right. It's like the Energizer Bunny...it just keeps going and going.