What Pride Means To Me

Day 231: I celebrate Pride not because I'm gay (I'm not...not that it's any of your business what goes on in my bedroom), but because I have friends who are gay. They are not gay "by choice." They are gay because their biology draws them to same-sex companions. The idea of this being somehow "sinful" was instituted by organized religion and its lust for power over individuals. Religions thrive on control, demanding certain diets, certain behaviours, modes of dress, etc. Any action deviating from that which is approved is seen as an offense against God. But religion is a construct, and varies from culture to culture. It is largely in those societies where the Christian influence is felt that homosexuality is viewed as "unnatural." In the US today, the number of Christians who are strongly homophobic is growing and becoming more vitriolic with every passing day. The hate is almost palpable. It strikes me that this is rather opposite to the purported teachings of Christ and indeed looks more to me like the Devil's work in light of the fact that these peoples' very Christianity is being used to promulgate hatred. Isn't that how Satan is said to work? But then, who am I, godless heathen, to suggest that maybe we should all respect each other for who we are rather than trying to remake others into something they are not.

Harbingers

Day 127: Almost! I think I find the snowdrops' pendent buds more pleasurable to the eye than their fully-opened flowers. They hint at the broadening of daylight and warmer breezes, the retreat of snow from the rolling foothills, and dare to suggest by their pure white that more raucous, rambunctious colour is yet to come in the garden and the alpine meadows. They are the toe in the doorway of winter, peddling the wares of a brighter and festive spring. Ahead of the grape hyacinths and daffodils by weeks, they sprint through the winner's tape unchallenged, in a clear victory over frost and cold. Cheer the humble snowdrop as it dispels grey, lumbering clouds and calls out to the sun. Hurrah for the harbingers of spring!

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.

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.

Resilience

Day 165: My snowdrops had already formed buds when our mild winter turned suddenly cold and snowy a month ago, and soon found themselves buried beneath an 18" thick blanket of white. While I expected them to survive almost anything Nature could throw at them, I wasn't too sure if their resilience would carry them through the additional insult of having the driveway glacier shovelled onto their heads. I hadn't thought about it when Kevin and Daniel appeared unexpectedly in my yard to dig me out; I was too grateful to think about anything beyond being able to get to the grocery store before June. It wasn't until I went out to get the mail later that day that I saw where the driveway snow had gone, i.e., into the mostly-barren flower beds and over the tops of the budding snowdrops.

Well, the glacier has finally retreated after a week of summer (our foretaste of things to come), and even the shadier spots against my neighbour's woods show no lingering patches of ice. Nighttime temps have again dipped into the 20s, but there they are, happy as Larry, little snowdrops demonstrating that delicacy doesn't necessarily preclude strength in adversity.

A Taste Of Summer

Day 118: For several months now, I've been digging into the foods I put by from the garden, savouring each little taste of summer. Ten pints of frozen raspberries are gone, the last of them nibbled to keep a sore throat at bay. The last jar of canned plums is chilling in the fridge, and while I still have a dozen pints of apple chunks, I got a surprise when I pulled out a jar and discovered it was actually pears. Likewise, going through the freezer, I unearthed a cup of blueberries this morning, just enough for a batch of muffins. Only a handful of dried tomatoes remain to augment vegetable soup. With Snowpocalypse just now beginning outside my windows, summer reigns in my kitchen.

Bleeding-Hearts

Day 217: Yes, they're pink, and I doubt that a single one of my readers remains unaware of my distaste for the colour. That said, I can excuse it in nature and yes, in some cases, I even find it to be acceptable in my garden. I don't want it to be the theme, you understand, but when it provides colour in a space where it is much needed, I'll use it. The shady north side of my carport is a case in point. Not much survives there except ferns and the persistent buttercups which are the weeder's bane. The only way I could defeat the Ranuculus invasion was to lay down barrier cloth and top it with a thick layer of bark mulch. Asian Bleeding-heart, Andromeda (bog rosemary), maidenhair and other ferns fill out the space beneath boughs of rampant Wisteria. The arching stems of Bleeding-heart are particularly heavy with bloom this year, pink which despite my general aversion is a welcome sight.

Garden Muffins

Day 215: "Oh, look! Muffins!" That's what I said on my way back from the mailbox when I noticed these textbook specimens of Agrocybe praecox outlined against the juniper. According to "Mushrooms of the Pacific Northwest," this species commonly occurs where bark chips or mulch has been laid down. Yep, that fits the profile! The cracked cap is typical of the genus and indeed there are some look-alikes which can be separated out by the presence/absence of an annulus (ring), remnants of a veil, preferred substrate, variations in colour, striations on the stipe and, if push comes to shove, microscopic examination and measurement of the spores. Purportedly edible, A. praecox is said to have a bitter taste. Thank you, I'll give the muffins a pass.

Tickling The Akebias

Day 209: Last year, I successfully cross-pollinated my two Akebia vines, but only in one direction. I lifted pollen from the anthers of the white varietal and fertilized the female purple flowers. The male purple flowers never developed pollen to transfer back to the white stigmas. As a result, only the purple-flowered plant bore fruit. After making several attempts to convince myself that the pith was even remotely edible, I decided that the plants provided better service as novelty vines. Trust me on this, the fruit was nasty. That said, the experiment was interesting, so I've decided to repeat the process this year. So far, I have been able to lift pollen only from the white-flowered plant. No pollen has developed on the purple anthers, making me wonder if the male flowers are sterile. My observations have been somewhat hampered by rain, so it's possible that a few days of warm weather may generate pollen formation, but this may not occur while the female white flowers are receptive.

May Day Bouquet

Day 200: Sound & Fury Morris is dancing the sun up at Gasworks Park in honour of May Day, and I will have been on the road for several hours before dawn. That won't prevent the May faeries from carrying out my instructions to leave this lovely May basket on your doorstep, though. Okay, in some cases it will arrive a little early; we must make allowances as the need arises. It would seem that the practice of leaving May baskets for friends and neighbours has all but gone by the wayside, in my opinion a sad thing for such a lovely old custom to fall from use. I have fond memories from my childhood of constructing paper baskets and filling them with pretty posies, sometimes purloined from the flowerbeds of the very neighbours who were the intended recipients of the baskets. And if no cultivated blossoms were to be had, there were always dandelions and forget-me-nots and the occasional fern to brighten someone's day with a floral consideration. It was the thought behind the remembrance: you are my neighbour and my friend. Here is a gift from a simpler time, my May basket for you.

Infestation!

Day 112: "Ladybug, ladybug...The most commonly seen ladybugs (ladybird beetles) were introduced to the United States to control aphids. As cute as they may be, these red and black insects may outcompete native species in some areas." So reads the interpretive tag I am including with the ladybug hats bound for Mass Audubon Joppa Flats Education Center's gift shop. As you can see, they've taken over my front flower bed and are wreaking havoc with the junipers. Oh dear! Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home!

I can vouch for these critters as competitors. They very nearly won over the rights to my house about twenty years ago. For about two weeks, I kept finding them everywhere, but the capping climax was the morning I removed 38 of them from my shower! And did you know that some species bite? I learned that the hard way, too. But all that aside, there has never been a more adorable "bug" despite the fact that they need to be accompanied by warning labels.

It's A Jungle Out There

Day 24: "Leaf" them lay! The fall and subsequent decay of healthy leaves provides nutrition and shelter for a wide variety of small ground-living organisms, and if left to decompose naturally, serves as a mulch against weeds. The coarser materials add texture to soil. If you don't like the appearance of a blanket of leaves, hit 'em a lick with a mulching mower. If that doesn't fit into your urban lifestyle, go ahead and rake them, but compost them over the winter and add them back into your garden in the spring. Make good use of Ma Nature's gifts!

Fence Gardening

Day 21: I take as much pleasure in what grows in my garden naturally as I do in the species I carefully cultivate. My rail fence is a wonderland of lichen forms, from squamous and cupped Cladonias to thready Usneas and puffy Hypogymias. They are colourful as well as diverse in shape and size, ranging from lime green through grey-green or sometimes tinted with a blush of orange or pink. The fruiting bodies (apothecia) of the Cladonias dot the colonies with specks of brown and brilliant red, and one could imagine that the faerie folk were decorating for the holidays. A four inch by four inch section of rail may hold a forest of half a dozen species, each one as alien in appearance as the next. Take a closer look at lichens when you're on the trail. You may become as fascinated by them as I am.

Adopt A Rock

Day 5: I've adopted a rock...which is to say that I was hiking in an area where taking something home with you was not prohibited (i.e., allowable from an old logging road) and came across a more or less loose 7 x 10" rock covered with my favourite lichen, Pilophorus acicularis, and...well...I mean, how could I resist? Pilophorus is native to the immediate area...no sins committed against the environment by introducing a non-native species. I can give it exactly the conditions it likes best, and I can even be sure that it doesn't get too dry in the summertime. Okay, I had to carry it about half a mile to get it back to the car, a process which inspired me to think about leaving it behind several times, but it was Pilophorus! It just seemed to have "Take me home!" written all over it. I bedded it comfortably at the base of the dogwood where I can admire it daily even if I don't go outside. Much better than a chia pet, I think!

Summer Whimsy

Day 333: The hot weather of the last few weeks brought out the Whites by the hundreds...not the usual Margined Whites (Pieris marginalis) or Pine Whites (Neophasia menapia) I'm used to seeing in my yard, but good old-fashioned Cabbage Whites (Pieris rapae). I don't recall having ever seen them here before, supported by the fact that I have no photos of them in my archives. With them came the Woodland Skippers, both strongly attracted to the few remaining lavender flowers in the garden. These two butterflies were common when I was young, and among the first I learned to identify with common names. While I am happy to have both in my yard, I would like to know what shifts in climate brought them here. And why such huge numbers of them in a location where I have never observed them previously? Certainly some precursor to this phenomenon evaded my notice in 2016; butterflies don't generate from thin air. There were far too many to have come from an isolated pair mating outside their normal range. Such is the nature of science: not to solve the mysteries of the world with one discovery, but to raise more questions with each new revelation.

Orbital Spring

Day 154: Every now and then, I pull out old flower pictures and play with turning them into Orbs. Today, I proceeded slightly differently. I took fresh photos of snowdrops and a crocus (one of two the deer missed), and although I'd originally intended them for separate posts in their original forms, they suggested Orbs to me...soft spring greens and delicate lavender hinting at brighter colours to come. Orbs are enchanting and their creation can be addictive, if for no other reason than to satisfy a curiosity about what may turn up. I've never been able to visualize a specific end-product, so the resultant Orb is always a surprise. Sometimes you just need to do something because you can, the old "because."

Pair O' Parrots

Day 218: I've spent several hours sitting out on my back step, hoping to capture Brewer's Blackbird through my lens. Brewer's was a Life List sighting for me when they first appeared at the feeder a few days ago, one male and one female. Standing at my window, I remarked on the yellow eye, but as soon as I moved, he was off like a shot. A few hours later, the male returned and fed on the ground, again flying off at my slightest movement. I took up a vigil on the porch, but although other birds flocked to the food, Brewer's never came within range. Purple Finches, Towhees, Cowbirds, Black-Headed Grosbeaks and assorted sparrows visited by the dozens, giving me plenty of photo opportunities, but for today, a "pair o' parrots" (Evening Grosbeaks) stole my heart. Crows and Ravens notwithstanding, Porch Parrots are my favourite people.

Busy Bees!

Day 340: What's the latest buzz? You'd have known the front-page news was poppies if you'd walked past my garden this morning. The honeybees were having a heyday in the Shirleys, up to five at once at the center of a blossom, frantically working gathering pollen. I've never seen them as busy. What was it about the poppies? They ignored the lavender and the Livingston daisies, didn't give a glance to the Nigella or Globe Gilia. Their attention was focused solely on the Shirleys. Seeing them so busy made me glad I had another obligation this morning which precluded joining a work party at the site where I was stung three weeks ago!

Today, This Is A Rainflower

Day 355: The first storm of the season has not come in with quite the flourish the forecast warned us to expect, and although it's blown the tomato screens flat a couple of times, this sunflower...rainflower...remains undaunted. It's a "volunteer," a seed thrown into the garden by a Jay or a Towhee, the careless eaters of my avian dinner guests, and possibly close enough to the house to escape Bambi's predations. Sunflowers never survive to maturity here, not with deer and elk bold enough to walk right up to my doorstep. I gave up trying to grow them years ago, but the birds have been discouraged from their horticulture not a whit. They plant with no expectations of a harvest, in contrast to my agrarian motives, leaving me to wonder if there isn't more wisdom in those little brains than in my own.