Yarrow

Day 323: Common Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) can be a pest in the garden, and although it came to me in a "native wildflower" mix, this plant may be genetically distinct from our native species. Both native and non-native types are found in Washington. It comes in a wide variety of colours: white, yellow, orange and several intensities of pink. It is sometimes called Milfoil, but it is not related to the invasive aquatic weed. The misleading appellation derives from the similarity in appearance of the lacy foliage (have I mentioned how much I dislike common names?). It is sometimes used medicinally, however it is toxic to both cats and dogs. It self-seeds and establishes easily, but can be difficult to remove for that reason. As an ornamental, the white varieties leave a bit to be desired, at least in this writer's opinion.

Green Gold

Day 322: First frost missed me by a scant few miles and about 200' in elevation. For cryin' out loud! It's still August! It's way too early to be thinking about frosty nights! I don't recall that we've ever made it all the way through September without a frost, but neither do I remember it happening so close to me in what is historically our hottest month of the year. The occasion inspired me to prune back some of the kiwi foliage so that maximum sun will reach the berries, and in so doing, I discovered a few more on the east end of the tangle. Kiwis are vigorous (I repeat "vigorous") vines and need to be trimmed three times a year to obtain maximum yield. That said, "maximum yield" for me this year will be roughly 10 end-of-thumb sized fruits, as delicious as their large, furry cousins. Why so few? Cold nights persisted into late spring, and if that wasn't enough, they alternated every few days with temps at 90 or above. The poor vines didn't know if they were coming or going, and only produced a few blossoms.

Who, Me?

Day 321: Before you say it, I've heard all the horror stories...dryers, washing machines, microwaves, ovens...and I emphatically do NOT want to hear them again. Please keep them to yourselves. This activity is only allowed under strict supervision, and I monitor him every second when I'm loading wet clothes into the dryer to be sure there is no possibility of an accident. Don't ask me what the appeal is for being covered in wet laundry. I'm not a cat. I can understand wanting to burrow into all the soft, warm, mama-smelling things when the cycle is done, but wet? There's no accounting for cats. In any event, today was wash day, and as soon as I opened the dryer door, Merry came streaking in and leapt inside. I did feel compelled to advise, "That's not really a kitty place," but he just gave me the "Who, me?" stare.

Flip Book

Day 320: Remember those little flip books you had when you were in elementary school? This sequence reminds me of them. The sad, sad sack started yesterday afternoon in the middle of the living room floor. A streak of silver-grey lightning bolted out of the kitchen, into the fold, and kept right on going until the combination came up against the Turbo Scratcher. And the ball made the mistake of moving, whereupon it was attacked while still within the dark confines of the sack. A head appeared through a gap in the paper, eyes searching for the missing ball. As the poor ball passed under a hole in the sack, the sack's impeller spun free and landed on top of it, stopping any further motion. Then a real search began, hands groping, patting, burrowing, and the ball, now freed from the restricting weight, broke free again and shot into the open in a desperate attempt at escape. It was not to be. Half an hour later, ball, sack and cat were all pretty well worn out and silence once more ruled the living room, but the game was not forgotten. Before breakfast, it started up again, leaving the sack in much worse condition than it began. Never underestimate the amount of energy contained in a kitten.

Happy Faces

Day 319: Viola tricolor goes by a vast number of common names. I either call them Violas or Johnny-Jump-ups, but you might know them as Wild Pansy or Heart's-ease, or more rarely, Heart's Delight, Tickle-my-fancy, Come-and-cuddle-me, and Wikipedia suggests Jack-jump-up-and-kiss-me, three faces in a hood, love in idleness, or pink of my john. I can honestly say I've never heard any of the last four, but apparently "love in idleness" occurs several times in Shakespeare. In any event, they're a cute little flower, but in a tended flower bed, they can be a real nuisance. They reseed themselves with a vengeance, and although they're lovely en masse in the spring, the foliage goes brown as soon as hot weather arrives. I don't mind letting these johnnies jump up in my yard, but I desire no love in idleness or pink of anyone's john in my bed!

Still Life With Sourdough

Day 318: What one comestible would you be unwilling to forgo? I think I would give up coffee before I gave up homemade bread, and that's saying a lot. In the last fifty-plus years, I have probably purchased less than two dozen loaves of the commercial substance I refer to as "whipped air," and that only when I needed to make croutons for stuffing or possibly emergency sandwiches. The stuff sold in grocery stores is barely edible. True bread has substance and weight. It "sticks to your ribs," as my mother used to say. Since discovering how to make a high-hydration sourdough in a Dutch oven, it has been my go-to, with occasional detours for cinnamon swirl, bagels, a millet loaf I call "birdseed bread" or oatmeal-whole wheat. I feel white is too boring to bother with, although sometimes I'll make a sweeter egg bread. If I'm ever confined to a home or hospital where meals are prepared, I hope someone among my friends will smuggle in homemade bread.

Fall Migration

Day 317: Fall migration is under way, so if you're of a birding bent, be on the alert for migratory species, including an influx of some species you may see throughout the summer. Black-headed Grosbeaks (Pheucticus melanocephalus) are a common sight at my feeders from May to September with a few outliers at the extremes, but currently, they're here in droves, parents with youngsters in tow, the juveniles still at the begging stage. The young are fed by both parents, and indicate their desire for food by trembling their wings, raising their open beaks and slightly lowering their shoulders. It's fun to watch mom or dad trying to educate them into finding food for themselves by refusing the first few pleas while eating a little, as if to say, "Look, here it is. Just bend over and pick up a seed. I'm not going to do this forever." My yard has been full of young birds for several weeks now, from Mourning Doves to Goldfinches, Grosbeaks (both Black-headed and Evening), even the young Steller's Jays who will remain here through the winter. Yesterday, the family of Grey Jays stopped by for a snack. They'll be headed UP, not south, going back to the snowy alpine areas where they've cached food to carry them through the cold months.