~
Saturday, July 31, 2004, 7:45 a.m.
68 degrees, breezy, overcast, showers
Rain has been falling off and on since just before dawn.
This is no intermittent drizzle.
Hard rain falls down with amazing speed and lots of
splattering in puddles and on rooftops.
It starts and stops as quickly as if a switch had been
thrown. Rain-free periods are breezy
and refreshingly cool after the steamy heat of the past
few days. The sky is overcast and yet
very bright, not a gloomy morning at all. Last night the
moon appeared, framed by clouds that
were backlit by its silvery light. Once again it was the
color of a new penny, not just at moonrise,
but well into the night. We will be looking for it again
tonight, to see if our blue moon may indeed
be red instead. It will be interesting to go for a walk
today; put on your pancho and wicking
socks and head out. There won’t be any deerflies
divebombing your head while it is raining,
and the beautiful colors of midsummer will be bright with
water.
Have a great day,
Daisy
Friday, July 30, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
70 degrees, gentle breeze, hazy sun
I hope everyone had a chance to enjoy the nearly full
moon last night as it rose
slowly into the night sky, glowing copper and gold. It
will be full tomorrow night,
making it a blue moon, the second full moon during
one calendar month. There
is a full moon every twenty nine days; a blue moon will
occur about seven times in
a period of nineteen years. (Somebody else did the math,
and I take their word for this).
Sometimes there will even be two blue moons in the same
calendar year. Rain is in the
forecast for the next several days, so if you missed the
beautiful moon last night, you
may not see it again until it is waning. Meanwhile, today
will give us enough time to
tend to the beans, both the ripe ones weighing down the
plants and the young ones
that need to be thinned and weeded. Raspberries are
ripening every day, and the haul
has been steady. In one day of heat and sunshine our
tomatoes have nearly doubled in
size, and the little golden grape tomatoes are beginning
to show hints of color.
Now if we could just get a few more hot days like
yesterday...
Enjoy today,
Daisy
~
Thursday, July 29, 2004, 7:00 a.m.
60 degrees, breezy, mostly cloudy
I was just looking at the extended forecast, and all next
week is supposed to be
hot and sunny. Deja vu ! That’s exactly what
this week was supposed to be like.
I am no longer making plans based on the weather. I
picked peas and pulled weeds
in the rain, and the only real drawback was carrying
around five extra pounds of clay
soil on the bottom of each shoe. Yesterday afternoon was
partly sunny and breezy,
and by the end of the day I was able to start pruning and
tying up tomato plants. There
are a lot of blank stems where blossoms never set fruit,
a result of poor pollination.
I think bees don’t work very hard in the rain, and
they have had a lot of time off lately.
The green tomatoes that are hanging patiently on the
vines are perfect little fruits, no
blossom end rot or cracks. We put a heavy layer of old
hay around the plants which
keeps the slugs away, and also maintains even soil
moisture (so far, not a problem this
season). Today is supposed to be hot and sunny; I was
outdoors earlier, and so far it
is cloudy and chilly. If, by some miracle, the sun
appears and dries things out, I will try to
cram a week’s worth of garden chores into the few
hours I have before I leave for work.
Make the most of your day,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, July 28, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
60 degrees, slightly breezy, foggy
Soggy skies and saturated soil will limit the extent of
gardening that can be done
today. I still can pick what’s left of the red
raspberries if I dash out quick, before
the rain starts again. Showers were steady yesterday, and
picking anything would
have increased the chances of spreading mold, mildew or
other kinds of leaf disease
that lurk about on dank days like we have been
experiencing. I really need to pick
beans, but soil-borne disease hits legumes particularly
hard, causing leaves to rot and
beans to turn to slime. We should be able to get one more
bucket of snap peas gathered
in; those vines are on their last legs anyway, having
given us a bumper crop of sweet
crunchy peapods for our stir-fried suppers. We harvested
all of our stiff-necked garlic
last weekend, and it is strewn about the barn on screens
to cure. Their rank, slightly
skunky aroma is the first thing that assaults the nose
when entering our barn; those
beautiful long stems terminate in huge bulbs, four giant
cloves in each. These cloves
are so large they must be cut at least in half to fit
into the garlic press. They are hard
to peel right now, but yesterday we couldn’t wait;
we split crusty peasant bread
lengthwise, painted it with garlic and olive oil, and
crisped it up under the broiler until
the whole neighborhood could tell what we were having for
lunch. Garlic is good for
what ails you, and adds zest to the simplest of fare.
Garnish those garlic-laden dishes
with a sprig of parsley. More than merely decorative, the
chlorophyll in parsley helps
neutralize the sulfur in garlic, and sweetens breath
naturally.
Parsley: it takes your breath away !
Have a sweet day,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, July 27, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
56 degrees, windy, foggy, raining
When I heard the rain begin last night my first thought
was, “Oh no, the raspberries!”
I picked a bunch on Sunday and made a double batch of
seedless jelly; there were a
zillion berries left on the bushes that weren’t
quite ripe before I left for work yesterday
afternoon. I had hoped to do the first major picking
today and sell the sweet treasures
this afternoon. As the rain falls harder I know the
ripest fruits are being dashed to the
ground by the deluge, and any berries that I manage to
harvest in between showers
will be waterlogged and useless for anything beyond more
jelly. New plan: sell jelly.
Ah well, the slugs that live underneath the thicket will
be pleased with this unexpected
bounty falling on their heads, if indeed they have heads
at all. Our cats begged to go
outside this morning, then spent about thirty
seconds on the porch before calling us
back to the door. It is a good day for pets and humans
alike to tend to indoor jobs,
like trying to find the closet floor, or defrosting the
chest freezer. Perhaps the rain will
let up later today and everything will be steaming with
bright shiny colors and intense
aromas. This is a dream we can have while knee-deep in
shoeboxes, or swabbing
up icewater headfirst in the freezer. Put on some crazy
tunes and tackle a task or two;
when the sun comes out, it will be a wonderful reward for
jobs well done.
Get busy,
Daisy
~
Monday, July 26, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
62 degrees, calm, overcast
A fawn cavorts and gambols around the east meadow,
running through the
obstacle course formed by huge hay bales. Crows and
vultures huddle in little
groups as they clean up the carrion left by all of the
farm equipment that rolled
over the ground last week. As we walked the fields
yesterday, our dog could
have run anywhere he wanted, yet mostly stayed on the old
mown paths, preferring
soft velvety lawn-like clover to harsh new-mown stubble.
(Sometimes it is hard
to cover new ground, for people as well as little dogs.)
Last night I noticed that
lightning bugs were absent from our fields, but they were
thick in the standing hay
across the road. Clouds moved in, blocking our view of
the moon and stars. It was
a bit chilly, and goose bumps accompanied me on a purple-hour
stroll after dinner.
These cool nights have been excellent for snuggling, but
not real good for peppers
and tomatoes. The plants are loaded with marble-sized
goodies, but they have been
marble-sized for weeks, not gaining any ground at all.
Come on, summer, where are
you hiding ? Did you decide to take the summer off ? You
can’t do that, you’re summer,
for pete’s sake ! Do you ever see autumn withholding
its morning frosts or lovely colorful
foliage ? Doesn’t old man winter come through with
his share of snow and sparkling ice ?
And spring, now there’s a season that really
delivers: Mud, birds, flowers, rain,
and hope, all in one short season. Is it too much to ask
of you, dear summer,
just some sunshine and warmth to nourish our gardens and
ourselves ?
Come on, be a sport.
Doing a sun dance,
Daisy
~
Sunday, July 25, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
72 degrees, calm, partly sunny
A whisper of wind selectively shivers one or two aspen
leaves here and there,
but for the most part it is a perfectly calm morning.
Last night was still as well,
and just past midnight a half moon disappeared over the
treeline and left behind
a sky overstuffed with stars. I had hoped to see some
northern lights during the
past week, as there has been a lot of solar activity
which is associated with the
aurora borealis. My late night excursions have, so
far, revealed a waxing moon,
carpets of nightcrawlers, and meadows full of fireflies.
Occasionally a few airplanes
or satellites wend their way across the heavenly dome,
and two shooting stars caused
gasps of appreciation to break the mid-night silence.
Late night bouts of insomnia may
send some folks to the medicine cabinet, but
instead, we should take advantage of the
opportunity to explore the other side of daylight. Sit on
your porch, or take a little walk
with your pet, or curl up in a sleeping bag on top of the
picnic table for a little while and
check out the sky. We tend to sleep through some of the
best parts of our planetary
rotation. Instead of annoyance at sleeplessness, look at
it as an early wake-up call.
Reach for your jacket instead of your pills. Take a
little time to enjoy the darkness
and fresh air, let your mind empty itself of worldly care
and tune into the subtle sights,
sounds, and scents of the night. Then come back inside,
snuggle down in your
flannel sheets with a clear head, and chances are sleep
will find you.
Have a great day,
and a great night as well,
Daisy
~
Saturday, July 24, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
54 degrees, breezy, partly sunny
This morning is as dry as yesterday was damp. A large
variety of clouds lets the sun
through in brief bursts, and the quality of light has run
the gamut from softly shimmering
dapple to full-tilt dazzle. I took a long walk with our
dog yesterday before supper and
was suddenly struck by an eerie feeling that we were
being watched. The forest is thick
with foliage and dense undergrowth, and no birds called
as we hiked along the dirt road.
Two ravens flew silently by, and I glimpsed a few
chickadees flitting from branch to branch,
but it was quiet. If life were a movie, the star would
have said “It’s quiet... too quiet.”
A
chipmunk dashed across the road, running as fast as his
little legs could carry him. My dog
stopped dead in his tracks, stuck his nose in the air,
and ran to the end of his reel toward
the edge of the road where the chipmunk had appeared.
Something was in the quiet forest,
and I hadn’t a clue what it was. I knew what it could
be... Cougar, wolf, coyote... why, just
the other day a woman jogged by the house and reported
seeing a large bear right across
the road from our barn. Here I was, two miles away from
home, and every hair on my entire
body stood straight up with fear. I had no real evidence
that anything was amiss, just a primal
feeling that I was not alone. Did I dash home in a mad
frenzy, dragging my dog behind me ?
Nope. I decided that I would continue my normal four-mile-per-hour
pace and wait for the
critter to show itself. I let go of fear for a half hour,
because it is pointless to waste energy
fearing the unknown. I heard something rustling through
the underbrush once, turned to look,
and could see nothing. If a bear had suddenly emerged
from the darkness, then I would be
entitled to a measure of fear. I am pretty sure the bear
would be a little frightened too.
What things frighten you? How many of these scary
things are really liable to happen ?
Do you lie awake at night worrying about your health,
poverty, terrorism, old age,
or the death of a loved one? All are possibilities, to be
sure.
Until the wolf is actually at your door, remember what
Franklin D. Roosevelt said:
“We have nothing to fear but fear itself.”
Have a frightfully good day,
Daisy
~
Friday, July 23, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
67 degrees, calm, drizzle, fog
It is hard to tell if the moisture that condensed on the
windshield earlier
this morning was really rain, or if it was merely
monumentally huge droplets of fog.
They didn’t splat on the surface, they just kind of
materialized, a little too heavy for
the intermittent wiper setting, but not dense enough to
advance the lever to slow speed.
The sun almost appeared a couple of times, but now that I
have returned back to Tug
Hill it is very foggy, drippy, and grey all around.
Although it is not yet seventy degrees,
the air has a tropical humidity that carries all of the
rich scents of summer, with sweet
milkweed blossoms carrying the show. Undertones of dozens
of clover varieties tag along,
and underneath it all is the faint musky odor of hay that
has been on the ground a day or
two too long. A hint of roses wafts out from the hedge on
wispy tendrils of fog, but only
as we pass close by the dense thorny tangle. I will clip
a few buds to bring inside, better
than any incense on the market. My Granny used glycerin
and rosewater as a moisturizer,
and she left a gentle reminder of Victorian days-gone-by
every time she passed through a
room. Scent is a powerful memory-jogger. Every time I
smell the heady exotic heliotrope
flowers in my friend’s garden, I am swept back in
time to Saturday nights when my Mom
and Dad would leave me in charge of my little sister and
drive off to the movies for a date.
Mom would never wear heliotrope to church; it was for my
father’s nose alone. Forty years
later I return to those wonderful nights of baking
tollhouse cookies with my sister and letting
her stay up way past her bedtime to watch Steve Allen
hosting the Tonight Show. One whiff
of a childhood scent and the doors are wide open, good
and bad memories alike. A woman
in our church choir used to bathe in jungle gardenia
perfume, and I spent many a Sunday
morning trying to control my gag reflex and quell the
awful headache that would creep up on
me just before the sermon. We finally asked her to try
something different, and she switched
to something even more cloying and sickening. And who
among us doesn’t have a favorite
holiday scent that triggers memories of family and
childhood: butter cookies, pine garland,
gingerbread, bayberry candles... What olfactory memories
have you made in your life ?
More importantly, are you still making them? Forty years
from now (gods willing)
will I smell a wild rose and recall the lovely rosa
rugosa hedge that grew on the
beautiful Tug Hill farm of my middle years ?
Take time to smell the roses,
Daisy
~
Thursday, July 22, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
75 degrees, breezy, hazy sunshine
It is foggy everywhere but here, no sign of the neighbor’s
house or anything else
beyond the hedgerow. It is raining in Utica, and there is
a possibility of a storm
here sometime today. Red raspberries are just beginning
to ripen; there may be
just enough to make a pie. Raspberries have a way of
sneaking up on you. One
day you are wondering if there will ever be enough to
make it worth picking, just
nibbling your way down the rows, not even bothering to
carry a bowl. The next thing
you know, there aren’t enough hours in the day to
corral them all into pint boxes.
Now that the days and nights are finally warming up, the
raspberry canes
will be loaded with beautiful rubylicious jewels before
long.
Yum !
Daisy
~
Wednesday, July 21, 2004, 9:00 a.m.
76 degrees, breezy, hazy sunshine
What a fabulous summer morning !
It looks like the valley might be having some fog, but
here on Tug Hill the sun is hot
and getting hotter. Today the hay will be put into
monstrously large bales, so huge and
heavy that they need a forklift to carry them away. I
first learned about making hay as
a young girl visiting my then-boyfriend-now-spouse’s
family dairy farm. Bale-kickers
had not yet been invented. I walked around fifty acre
fields with the local high school
boys, picking up bales of hay and heaving them onto a
flatbed trailer, where two other
boys stacked them up. Later I learned how to drive a
tractor, and was allowed to creep
around the fields in first gear pulling the flatbed.
Eventually I learned how to operate some
of the equipment, the crimper that squeezed the juice
from the new-mown hay, the tedder
that fluffed it up, and the rake that wound it up into
neat long coils of dry grass, ready for
the baler. I also helped stack hay in the barn, and at
the end of the day I drove the boys
home. They worked for fifty cents an hour, and I was
happy to help in exchange for a
hearty supper and comfy place to sleep. When we bought
our place on the Gomer Hill
Road, we got some second-hand equipment and harvested hay
from our beautiful wind-
swept meadows. We hired local high school boys until our
own kids were old enough to
help, and I finally graduated to operating the baler, a
much easier task than stacking it in
the barn. Our hay was excellent, and we sold it to horse
farmers in the area; occasionally
we planted new timothy, just for the horses. Now the
horse farmers are gone, and we are
happy to sit on the porch with a cold beverage admire the
new fancy equipment our friends
use to clean up the fields. The big rotary mower goes
lickety-split, cutting twice as fast and
half again as wide a swath as our haybine. Their rake
rolls up two rows at once, and the
new tractor allows the driver to lounge in air-conditioned
comfort with a stereo sound
system playing his favorite tunes as he bales it up.
Machines pick up the hay and stack it,
saving on labor costs and back pains. Now all we mow is
the lawn, which,
during this rainy summer, has kept us on our toes. Enjoy
your tasks today,
whatever they may be,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, July 20, 2004, 9:00 a.m.
66 degrees, gentle breeze, partly sunny
If the haze burns off, it will be totally sunny. There
don’t appear to be any
really big clouds, just a light cover that keeps the sun
from casting sharp shadows.
Everything has soft edges and dreamlike furry qualities.
Yesterday our friends came
and mowed the hay, so our view is very different this
morning. A big flock of crows
is mining the windrows for unfortunate critters that met
their maker by means of a
high-speed rotating blade. “This,” I whispered
to the happy crows “is your payoff for
leaving our cornfield alone...” Soon seagulls will
appear to gulp down entire families of
mice, moles and voles that are too slow on the draw. It
is unfortunate that haymaking
takes such a toll on meadow wildlife, but the fastest and
smartest are sure to escape to
the weeds around the spring and then breed and produce
more smart fast critters. In
another few years, natural selection will have created
little rodents and birds that dive
for safe cover at the first sound of a diesel motor. We
kept the cats indoors while the
mowers were working, and they were so happy to be let out
later in the day that two
of them stayed out all night, never a good thing in this
land of coyotes and other predators.
All are safe this morning, dozing in the sun and dreaming
of their night on the town.
Have a wonderful day,
Daisy
~
Monday, July 19, 2004, 9:00 a.m.
71 degrees, breezy, mostly cloudy
We had lots of thunder booming the edges of the Hill
yesterday but only one
very brief rain shower at the end of the day. We pulled
a bunch of weeds from
the damp loose garden soil, things are looking good. I
cleared several wheelbarrow
loads of woodbine (also known as virginia creeper) out of
the privet hedge. This
invasive vine is related to grapevine, and it has sent
one long strand wandering through
the hedge for many years past. The large five-part glossy
leaves turn a beautiful shade
of crimson in autumn, and I had let it grow for its (so I
thought) harmless beauty. We
trimmed the hedge this spring and that was the start of a
huge growth spurt for the
woodbine. All of a sudden it seemed like there was more
woodbine than privet, and
the sturdy hedge was slowly being strangled to death by
masses of twining vines.
Gathering the vines from the shrubbery was like doing a
jigsaw puzzle in reverse,
or untangling a skein of yarn. Start at the tip, and
follow it to the base of the vine...
crawl around like a reptile under the hedge and grub up
the roots. I will take the pile
over to the woods, and maybe some of the beautiful vines
will take hold and give us
a good color show every fall. A weed is nothing more than
a wildflower that
has forgotten its place is in the wild.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Sunday, July 18, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
76 degrees, gentle breeze, mostly sunny... for now...
It is a perfect summer morning, and I believe I could
have remained in the comfy chair
on the back porch until noon, letting the warmth soak
into my bones and enjoying the
antics of birds. A pair of hairy woodpeckers is trying to
keep track of their young,
swooping from tree to tree as they utter hearty cackles
and siren-like wails. Robins
chirp and warble happy springsongs, relieved that the
current brood is on their own
at last. Goldfinches swoop around the birdbath, teasing
the three-legged cat who waits
below. Crows are nowhere to be seen, not even to be heard.
I hope I haven’t sent them
away for good with my stern admonition to leave the corn
sprouts alone. I’m guessing
they found another nearby cornfield to raid for a while.
Meanwhile, grasshoppers and
crickets are all over the meadows, growing more robust
every day. Swallows, phoebes,
blackbirds, kingbirds, and bobolinks all swoop low,
picking the little bugs out of the
air in mid-hop. Let’s hope they thin them out to a
more moderate population before
they get big enough to chew away everything green in
sight.
Enjoy this beautiful morning, get out and romp;
rain may move in later today.
Go find the sunscreen,
Daisy
~
Saturday, July 17, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
75 degrees, calm, partly sunny
Unless a breeze appears, the laundry is doomed to hang
limp on the line for
most of the day, then rain will reappear to give it a
final rinse if I don’t read the
skies for early warnings. The sun is hot, but everything
is so saturated with water
that it is like being in a steam-filled sweat lodge, one
with a full compliment of
swarming hungry blackflies. Fat drops of water cling to
every surface, and my toes
are still wet even after being indoors for fifteen
minutes. Mist is rising out of the valley
to meet low heavy clouds hanging here and there overhead.
It is perfectly still outside,
not a breath of a whisper of a flutter of a breeze. Aspen
leaves quake not one single
shiver. Even the birds are quiet, going about the
business of harvesting waterlogged
wormies with single-minded intent; no time for singing
when there is such a tasty
smorgasbord laid out for free. It seems like it has
rained a little bit just about every
day this summer, at least here on Tug Hill. I would hate
to be trying to put in hay
this summer, although I guess with the new round haylage
bales it doesn’t matter
so much if the grass is entirely dry before it is baled
up. Our hay is still standing,
turning golden brown as it ripens into bedding for a
friend’s herd. Black-eyed
susans brighten the meadow here and there, and goldenrod
is beginning to bloom.
Those cows will have beautiful flowers strewn throughout
their winter bowers,
and maybe they will dream of summer meadows on the
coldest winter nights.
Enjoy this dream of a day,
Daisy
~
Friday, July 16, 2004, 9:00 a.m.
60 degrees, calm, raining
Top ten reasons why a rainy day is better than a sunny
one:
1. The sound of rain on a tin roof sings us awake.
2. The rain barrel is full of water for our houseplants.
3. Worms are close to the surface and easier to dig for
fishing.
4. Weeds pull easier.
5. We save money on sunscreen.
6. Black flies don’t swarm around our heads in the
rain.
7. Potatoes grow best when the weather is like that of
Ireland.
8. Warm fresh-baked bread aromas don’t leak out
through open windows.
9. When the sun finally comes out, it is more beautiful
than ever!
10. The sound of rain on a tin roof sings us asleep.
Enjoy the rain,
Daisy
~
Thursday, July 15, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
61 degrees, calm, overcast
It is bright and clear on Tug Hill, although the sun is
behind high clouds. Fog blankets
the valley. The sun has just made a brief appearance; it
looks like we may be able to
go out and pick a few bucketsful of snow peas before the
deluge starts. Today will
produce some heavy showers and possible a thunderstorm or
two. It is the anniversary
of the awesome microburst of 1995, the storm of a
lifetime. We had very little damage
around our place, but 80-90 mph winds wreaked havoc with
trees and power lines all
across the state. Some areas looked like a giant hand had
just descended from the sky
and smacked everything flat in a matter of seconds. It
had been a hot humid night, and
every window in the house was flung wide open. The wind
and rain came out of nowhere,
and it was a trick to get the windows shut fast enough.
The noise was incredible, like the
roar of a huge waterfall. We were without power for three
days; thank goodness for a
neighbor’s generator to keep our freezers running.
Many homes were a month getting
things back up and running. Today’s rain will be a
bit of a nuisance, but it is only water.
Could be worse,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, July 14, 2004, 7:00 a.m.
59 degrees, breezy, fog
Fog is beginning to thin out a bit; earlier I could
barely make out the outline of our barn
through the thick mist. The breeze is damp and cold, a
forerunner of storms to the west
that should arrive by lunchtime. Several people have
walked by the house, taking advantage
of the relatively nice morning weather before rain hits.
There seems to be an increase in foot
traffic this summer, folks jogging or walking around the
block. Around the block the short
way is a little more than two miles of steep uphill and
down, paved road for part and stony
riprap for the rest. It is a good workout. One guy always
carries a bag for roadside trash;
I want to get an Adopt-a-Highway sign and put it
up with his name on it. The reward for
climbing the steep hill is a far-reaching view of the
Black River Valley with the Adirondack
Mountains in the distance. On a clear day the sky is huge.
Today the view is a little more
personal, blue chicory and viper’s bugloss waving in
the breeze among low pink sweetpeas
and ground clover. A small herd of horses will keep pace
for a while, coming to the fence
to see of you have any treats for them. The descent down
a seasonal road follows Mill
Creek for part of the way, a very pretty stream that adds
music to any hike.
When we walk the block, we seldom take the paved road; we
walk down the creek trail
and then back up the same way. There is less traffic and
it is more peaceful.
Put on your jacket and go for a walk soon.
Enjoy your day,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, July 13, 2004, 7:15 a.m.
60 degrees, windy, overcast, misty rain
For some reason robins have been singing their spring
songs since dawn. Perhaps
the weather has confused them a little. Blackbirds have
been very vocal as well,
calling back and forth to their youngsters, “Watch
out for the cat ! Stay out of the
road ! Don’t go near Daisy’s new corn !” (I
am just hoping about that last one.)
So far, so good; the corn we replanted is still poking
out of the ground instead of
tossed about willy-nilly by birds. Crows are awesome
friends and allies, and while
I appreciate their huge appetite for grasshoppers I wish
they didn’t find plump sweet
corn seeds so appealing. I am hoping we can work out a
deal. Our early corn is
starting to poke whisk-broom tasseled tops through the
center of the stalks; with
luck and more hot weather we will have corn on the table
in just a few weeks. Early
beans are tiny and velvety, blink and we will be overrun,
beans by the spackle bucketful.
I can’t wait,
Daisy
~
Monday, July 12, 2004, 7:15 a.m.
65 degrees, windy, partly sunny
What a gorgeous and colorful sunrise to start a day full
of weather changes !
There is plenty of time to enjoy being outdoors before
rain showers start, and
the only day that looks like it might be a total washout
this week is Wednesday.
Otherwise, the combination of hot temperatures and plenty
of occasional rain
means that everything will be growing well, especially
our recently transplanted
broccoli seedlings. It is lovely out this morning, with
enough wind to keep the bugs
away and relieve the humidity a bit. We have been seeing
lots of young’uns out and
about. Turkey hens and their little goblets rise like
whirlwinds out of the tall grass
when we pass their hidey-holes, flying farther down the
meadow only to be roused
into action a few minutes later from their new spot. Twin
fawns follow momma along
the paths, which at this point all lead straight to any
of our three gardens. Soap shavings
here and there should deter them from grazing on tender
spinach, beans, and lettuce.
The other day I saw five baby skunks walking single file
behind their mom, miniature
black and white copies, cute as the dickens. I knew
better than to try to get a better
look. The albino skunk that haunts our compost pile at
twilight hasn’t been around lately;
perhaps it has moved on. The meadows are full of baby
birds, adults scolding loudly
whenever the cats get too close. We walked by a hollow
beech tree and low murmurings
came from a deep cavity, possibly young coons or
porcupines. They grew very quiet as
we approached, and we saw no scat or other evidence
underneath the tree. Perhaps
later I will perch on a nearby log with binoculars and
try to figure out what is in that tree.
Solve a mystery today,
Daisy
~
Sunday, July 11, 2004, 9:30 a.m.
78 degrees, breezy, mostly sunny
Ah, now this is more like it ! No jacket required, sun
shining hot
right from the get-go. I can practically watch the
zucchini double in size;
they really need heat to develop properly. Unfortunate
that this summery
weather showed up today just in time for the Utica
Boilermaker 15K race,
the largest footrace of that length in the country. I can’t
imaging running more
nine miles on city pavement under a blazing sun. There is
probably no breeze
in Utica, either. We were out last night under the stars,
and although we wore
sweaters, the breeze wasn’t cold enough for hats and
mittens. It was a summer
breeze, worth leaving my hair unbound to feel July’s
fragrant breath teasing the
strands asunder. It looks like this is the start of a
warm week, highs in the eighties,
although there is a chance of rain every day. This will
be the boost all of the warm-
weather crops are looking for. Finally the blossoms that
have seemed merely
ornamental during the past weeks will set little peppers
and tomatoes, instead
of dropping to the ground fruitlessly. Hopefully our hay
will be hauled away this
week, giving us a better view of the critters that have
been nibbling the beans
and beet tops. So far they have only been sampling here
and there,
no real damage done. There appears to be plenty for all.
Enjoy this beautiful day,
Daisy
~
Saturday, July 10, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
60 degrees, breezy. overcast
If it were thirty degrees warmer, it would be sultry, the
way a midsummer morning
is supposed to be. But it’s not; it’s chilly
and damp and the air is heavy with moisture.
We still have flannel sheets on the beds, and must enrobe
our bodies with fleece when
we take our morning coffee on the back porch. Our light
summer suppers of grilled fish,
barbecued chicken, and big salads seem incongruous with
the down vests we wear while
we dine. More appropriate, it seems, would be the comfort
foods of winter: hearty stews,
macaroni and cheese, ham and scalloped potatoes, and
potroast with mashed yukon golds.
Stirfried snow peas, green onions and rice is a meal to
be made quickly, so as not to heat
up the kitchen. Last night I should have made slow-roasted
chicken and dumplings, and
heated the house as an extra benefit of food prep. It isn’t
quite cold enough to light a fire,
but it would be nice to take the chill off for just a few
hours. Maybe if I light just a small
fire, the sun will magically (or perversely, depending on
your point of view) appear, the
clouds will part, and I will rue the decision. It’s
worth a try; now where did I put my
matches? Ha! Just having that thought has made the sun
briefly appear! Hmmm,
now you see it, now you don’t. I believe I will
kindle a few sticks anyway,
and see if I can coax the sun back out.
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Friday, July 9, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
56 degrees, windy, mostly cloudy
There was a little threat of rain earlier, but I
think all the action is taking place
northeast of here. It will be a cool breezy day with
peeks of sun now and then,
adding depth and luminescence to the massive cloud banks
passing overhead.
It almost seems like a late September morn, but instead
of scrambling to gather
in tomatoes and peppers we are picking snow peas by the
gallon. After I pull
up the rest of the second spinach crop I will plant some
more peas, this time an
english variety of petit pois, a pain to shell but worth
the effort when the tasty tiny
raw morsels are scattered throughout potato salad, adding
both color and sweet
crunchiness. Any variety of pea will do well planted in
July, contrary to the myth
that they can only be started in early spring. Of course,
lettuce and spinach can
go in the ground now as well, choosing varieties that are
slow to bolt, such as
bloomsdale long-standing spinach or red deertongue, green
ice, or bibb buttercrunch
lettuce. We have even planted beans this late in the
season, and are rewarded with
a bountiful harvest in September, long after the first
planting has gone over to soup
size. Poke a few zucchini seeds into the ground now and
keep those small squash
on the menu long after the earlier plants are producing
tough old gigantic fungobats.
Tonight we will be having our first little zucchinis,
split lengthwise, brushed with butter
and garlic, and grilled outdoors with teriyaki-marinated
tuna steaks. Add a salad
of fresh mixed greens, oregano, basil, snow peas and
garlic skates,
and have ourselves a big en-joy !
Bon apetit,
Daisy
~
Thursday, July 8, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
65 degrees, calm, overcast
Moist flat light serves to accentuate the many colors of
green that lay on
Tug Hill like a lush hundred-foot thick carpet. Uncut
meadow hay is a soft
yellow-green, bordering on brown with dark green
cloverleaf and vetch accents.
Trees are in full leaf, foliage hanging huge and leathery
against dull grey sky.
Potato vines are so lush and heavy that there is scarcely
room to walk between
the rows. Deep pink clover blossoms gleam with raindrops;
here and there
golden black-eyed susans are just beginning to unfold.
Despite colorful wild-
flowers all over the place, the general impression
of the day is undeniably green.
Enjoy your day,
Daisy
~
Wednesday, July 7, 2004, 7:15 a.m.
57 degrees, calm, mostly cloudy
The weatherdude was wrong about yesterday; It never
really warmed up,
with temps staying in the mid-sixties all day. A little
sun appeared late in the day,
but laundry never got entirely dry. Sunrise was pretty
this morning with multiple
layers of clouds to display the many colors of dawn. Dark
clouds are beginning
to move in from the west, and it looks like rain will
soon be here. I’d better get out
and pick spinach before the day turns wet. Here’s a
good way to prepare spinach:
Pick more than you think you will need, wash and chop
fine. Sauté the spinach with
mushrooms and chopped garlic in a little olive oil. Add
salt, pepper, and lemon juice.
Toss this with broken fettuccini, cooked al dente and
dressed with a dollop of butter.
Add feta cheese, cover the stuff with a lid long enough
for the cheese to get melty.
Yum ! Spinach: It’s not just for Popeye any more.
Don’t live to eat...
eat to live,
Daisy
~
Tuesday, July 6, 2004, 8:15 a.m.
54 degrees, windy, fog
It is very chilly and damp this morning. I am tempted to
light a small fire
in the kitchen range, but as soon as I do the sun will
blast through and then it will
be hard to cool the house down. Hmmm, just typing that
last sentence caused some
sunbeams to sneak through the fog, so I guess I will put
on a sweater instead of kindling
a fire. If the wind dies down there will be perfect
conditions to plant broccoli seedlings.
We have a half dozen early plants getting ready to head
up, but we start the main crop
from seed in early June and transplant it five or six
weeks later. This allows the plants
to mature during September, when it is a little cooler
and the heads won’t go to seed
as quickly. All of our brassica plants have been infested
by flea beetles, and when the
weather gets hot and dry again we will have to spray the
leaves with mild soapy water.
There is another pest waiting in the wings that I dare
not even think about. My little
blond-haired dog came out of the tall grass the other day
covered with baby grasshoppers,
looking just like the full-blown size, only tiny. There
were dozens tangled in his wooly hair,
and although we have never had an invasion of these
insects on Tug Hill I have heard tales
of their voracious appetites and penchant for defoliating
everything in their path. Hopefully
the masses of blackbirds that are out strutting their
stuff will discover the grasshoppers
and devour them with relish. (I would be more than happy
to provide the relish...)
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
Monday, July 5, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
63 degrees, calm, overcast
The morning air hangs damp and heavy and rain seems
imminent. Last night’s
thunderstorms never materialized but the potential for
rain has been building
since sundown; everything is dripping with moisture, and
the humidity is at least
a thousand percent. Now fat drops are starting to fall,
plinking one at a time into
the birdbath.The shower is gathering speed, and streams
cascade from one corner
of the porch roof. Rain falls straight down, like the
song The Pencil Rain by
alternative group They Might Be Giants. This is just the ticket to get the corn and
cucumber seeds plumped up and sprouting. The gardens are
freshly weeded and
tilled; this water will soak right into the loose soil. A
family reunion of blackbirds is
marching across the yard, steadily snatching up insects
that rainwater has immobilized.
Earlier we scared up a hen turkey and five little ones
that flew up into the relative safety
of an apple tree as we approached. It is a good day to
tend to indoor chores,
the mundane repetitive work that keeps house and home
running smoothly.
Yuck. I’d rather go out and play in the puddles.
Daisy
~
Sunday, July 4, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
70 degrees, breezy, mostly sunny
Yesterday was a perfect summer day and it looks like
today will be a repeat
performance. We replanted all of the corn that had been
pulled up; the hay will
be gone by the time it sprouts and marauders should leave
it alone. Last night
we took a walk just after dark to try and catch moonrise,
and were treated to
an entire valley full of fireworks shows. The night was
clear and wind was from
the east so we had great visibility and sound effects as
well. I knew there was a
display in Boonville, but there were dozens more spread
out in a line as far as our
view extended. Some were in the valley, some on the
hillsides, and some (Old Forge?)
were far away on the horizon. It was our own private
show, framed by zillions of
stars in the sky and countless fireflies sparkling in the
tall meadow grasses. What
an unexpected treat to see such things and not have to
drive, deal with overly festive
noisy crowds, or be permeated with acrid sulphur smoke. I
wonder if there will be
a repeat performance tonight? Last night held an
unexpected surprise, a total sensory
delight that came with no strings. We sought the moon and
found more. If we look for
this to happen again tonight, will we be content with
mere moonrise? Extraordinary
events are so special because of their rarity; let’s
remember to appreciate normal
everyday phenomena and live in the moment, no matter how
commonplace.
Feel the breeze on your face, the sun on your back, the
soft grass between your toes.
Every now and then a scarlet tanager will visit, or a
double rainbow will fill the sky,
or the night sky will be filled with sparkling colors
from afar.
It’s all good,
Daisy
~
Saturday, July 3, 2004, 7:00 a.m.
68 degrees, breezy, sunny
The holiday weekend is off to a great start and it looks
like it will be beautiful weather
right through tomorrow. It always seems to storm
immediately following Independence
Day; my grandpa used to say that all those fireworks
called down the rain. There is
plenty to do in the garden. Weeds have been growing like,
well, like weeds, and snow
peas are ready for the freezer. Strawberries are still
few and far between, but I think
they will be scarce this year anyway, due to the advanced
age of the current bed. Just
like many older people, they have shrunk with age but are
still nice and sweet when
you find them. Next year’s new beds will run rampant
with brash and bold berries
full of juice, here I am, pick me, pick me... like
a classroom full of five-year-olds
begging for attention. All of our strawberries stem from
just three plants that were set
into the ground twenty years ago, and by transplanting
and renewing the crop every
three or four years we carry on the line. The plants have
adapted to our harsh hilltop
habitat in a way that new plants every year would not. As
we grow older, we renew
our spirit from time to time and continue to grow and
adapt to our surroundings,
remaining sweet in spite of challenging circumstances.
Life... it’s the berries !
Daisy
~
Friday, July 2, 2004, 8:00 a.m.
67 degrees, breezy, mostly sunny
It is cool enough for a sweater; the morning air is a
little damp after yesterday’s
monster thunderstorms. Lightning and thunder roared over
the farm with no pause
between huge crash and bright slash. Hard rain ran in
streams across the yard and
washed out some newly planted soil in the garden.
Cucumbers will probably sprout
at the bottom of the meadow. Power cut out several times,
and I ran around unplugging
everything, not trusting the surge strips that are
supposed to protect electronic equipment
during storms. It was an awesome storm, dark as night and
full of noise. I went to work
in the afternoon and drove right out of the mayhem into
dry sundrenched land that hadn’t
seen one drop of water all day. Weather on Tug Hill is
funny that way. It seems like we
get the best and the worst. Right now it is beautiful and
clear, but I can see nothing but fog
in the valley. I know folks who live along the Black
River that envy our constant breeze,
keeping summer insects at bay and cooling the air even
during the dog days of August.
On the downside, often it is so windy up here that
vegetable plants die an early death
from exposure. Ours is a land of contrasts and miracles:
cute little fawns and their
ravenous garden-raiding mommas, gently babbling brooks
and storm driven washouts,
soft caressing breezes and tree limbs blown through
windshields. I could go on,
but you get the picture. I wouldn’t have it any
other way.
I love this view,
Daisy
~
Thursday, July 1, 2004, 8:30 a.m.
75 degrees, breezy, mostly sunny
It is a perfect day for just about anything, with a
slight chance of a thunderstorm
late in the day. The breeze should keep away all flying
pests except for deerflies.
These annoying hard-biting insects don’t know when
to quit, and all of the usual tricks
like wearing a hat or white shirt don’t work with
them. Even if one lands on your leg
and you give it a good smack it usually flies away,
leaving you with a red handprint on
your skin. Ah well, at least the skeeters and black flies
will be blown away today.
Our strawberries need a couple of hot days to ripen, a
good illustration of how altitude
affects certain crops. Berries in the valley are nearing
the end of production, while ours
are just getting started. We will be tilling our current
beds under at the end of the summer
so we haven’t weeded the plants. We transplanted a
hundred little plants to make new
beds so that next year’s berries should be really
good. This year, the waxwings that have
begun to gather in anticipation of sweet juicy fruit will
be hard pressed to spot berries from
the air, as they are sheltered under redroot and pigweed.
There are even several hollyhock
plants that have sprung up here and there among the
berries. The hardneck garlic has sent
up flower spikes, one per bulb, and it is not commonly
known that these are edible and
choice. Cut it off a couple of inches below the bud and
then chop it into two inch pieces.
We stir-fried them with snow peas and sweet red pepper.
They are tasty raw as well, but
cooking makes them less stringy. I am going to put some
in the freezer, see how that works.
I may cut some smaller and dehydrate them too, what have
I got to lose ?
Have a great day,
Daisy
~
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