Updated walkway project... downsized with a small patio table and chairs

The original walkway project I did several years ago was a mistake... it added work to my garden duties. The Roses became too large and hung in the way and I was overwhelmed with a new place to manage and weed. So we removed it and made the existing path between the two beds gravel/flagstone... and added a little curve to a new 'patio'.

Old path: I loved it, but the roses as well as everything else in the bed overgrew... spilling seeds into the gravel. I became a terrible hassle to keep it trimmed and debris free... so we moved the gravel to the new path and will let the old one go to grass for a croquet court.

Here is the new one, located between the two beds. Much more manageable! I like the 'patio' too.

LeRoy is even using the new path!!

Ducky and Jenny Guinea

It was May of 1990 when I found a lone duck egg covered in dust and straw on the floor of the chicken house. Needless to say it had been abandoned, shoved under the nest boxes, scratched about by the chickens, and it was exceedingly cold. Always the optimist, I decided to give a try hatching it so I found a high sided basket, lined it with a soft towel, and put my egg under a desk light on the kitchen counter. I dutifully turned it, checked the thermometer… and all ten of the family members waited. While we waited, we researched everything possible about hatching a duckling. It seems that ducklings are incredibly good at imprinting, meaning they will instantly bond with the first living thing they see, so the whole family spent the next 28 days peering in the basket, eagerly anticipating the arrival of our hatchling. And Ducky arrived right on schedule, bright eyed and beautiful.

I helped pick the last bits of shell from her pin feathers and then fluffed and warmed her with my hairdryer before putting her back to bed to rest. She had seen the entire family and true to the theory of imprinting, from the moment of her birth, acted as though she was person. She lived in a box and was constantly handled by everyone until she was old enough to go outside when the kids went out to play. She followed them everywhere, played in the sandbox, went to the creek to paddle around as they caught crawdads, ‘helped’ in the gardens and was eventually transferred to a steel reinforced night-time cage.

The twins were almost 14 that year, too young to date and old enough to baby sit and allow Michael and I our first evenings ‘out’ in decades. Since we didn’t watch much TV except for the news and weather, as an incentive I would buy a half gallon of ice cream and let everyone pile into my bed for an evening of tv, snacks, and fun. Of course, Ducky watched tv with them… she had a rubber mat she sat on in case of an accident, and was only put to bed outside after the younger kids had drifted off.

She grew and thrived... in fact her presence was a constant. Her quacks indicated happiness or anger, joy at the discovery of a tasty grub, and she even announced the arrival of guests. She followed behind the tiller for spring and fall plantings, pouncing on overturned worms; she followed behind at garden harvest as well, happily quacking as bits of produce were tossed her way. She sat under Marshall’s arm as he and Dolan watched for tornados, she dove in the pond to bedevil the fish, and she accompanied us on the ‘Great Chicken Release’ in the top field... and she was grateful to be going home. The dogs gave her deference, the cats were terrified of her temper, and the chickens were most certainly beneath her. She was very much in love with Marshall and often, in a tiff of feminine jealousy, she would lower herself and in a sudden rush nip Lize or I if we were spending too much time with him. He put her up each evening and would have her ‘fly’ to her cage, wings flapping as he held her body and ran with her; she loved the game. It was an outrageously simple, happy, and joyful time in our lives, and she was part of it.

As in all tales there is a bittersweet sadness that occurred as well. The children grew up and two by two left home until there was no one left here but Michael and I, the dogs... and Ducky. Since she had been most in love with Marshall, when he first moved to the cabin and then to Weatherford, she became rather despondent even though he came by to get her up and put her to bed. Her loss was mine as well so eventually we became friends, puttering about the rather empty gardens together... two mature ladies who enjoyed each other’s company.

I really had no idea how much she meant to me until suddenly she was very old. By age eighteen one of her little webbed feet had a broken toe, she had arthritis in her legs, her feathers had begun to look rather lack luster, and she could no longer get out of the pond without help. As she exited her cage one crisp Fall morning, she collapsed and could not get up. As she struggled for a footing, attempting to lift herself with her bill, I picked her up and noted she was light as a feather, her bottom feathers were wet and cold, and her breastbone protruded. It was obvious she had not groomed herself in days so not only was she cold and starving, she was too addled to even complain! I was ashamed for not taking care of her myself and was ill prepared to let her go... so I began Duck Rehabilitation that gave a certain meaning to both of our lives.

She suddenly she looked very old~

I took her to a warm bath, towel dried her, hair dried her to further warm her, and then fed her some softened dog food. Apparently the trees over her cage had grown and the shade which was a plus in summer, by the cool evenings of October had created a damp, dank, and cold habitat… it was not the proper place for the elderly. We moved her cage to a new (and dry) place, I put love grass hay in it and covered it with heavy clear plastic… it became a sun warmed cozy little house for her to sleep in at night. I got her up every morning and put her in the pond, tossing her puppy chow, which replaced the cracked corn of her younger days. She began to groom herself again, she put on weight, and although she limped when she walked, she managed to follow me and settle nicely to quack to me as I worked.

Through the Summer and Fall of her 19th year, she looked fabulous! The puppy chow seemed to provide the perfect nutrients so her feathers were absolutely beautiful and her mind was sharp. The arthritis in her legs had improved and she quacked as she waddled excitedly to her morning swim in the pond; she dove and dove, spreading her wings, flapping them joyfully. I always helped her out and she spent her day resting and relaxing before I put her to bed by seven. December that year had blizzards and sub-zero temperatures so I put her in a crate on the heated porch and let her in the house for many evening visits.

Warm and snug... and happy~

It was on a fine winter day in early January of 2010 that I last saw her. I let her out, gave her food and water and set off to run company errands with Michael. The sun was warm and there was not a single breeze... it was a perfect day. When we got home, John-Michael came in and spoke to Michael in hushed tones. Michael in turn took my arm and told me Ducky had been killed sometime about mid-morning… I was not to look at her but we would have a funeral after lunch. I was devastated! How, why? I had seen the hawk in the Cottonwood for several days and thought he was hunting mice but that was not the case... he was hunting Ducky. The unthinkable had happened and I consoled myself with the fact he hit her at 40 MPH, killing her instantly before devouring her. As my father had often said, “Nature in the raw is seldom mild” and for my darling Ducky to have passed over in this manner was too bizarre, too brutal to imagine! All of the guys and Michael were visibly shaken and disturbed and forbid Marshall and I to look at her. We buried her under the lilacs and I must sat it was incredibly sad to watch grown men wipe their eyes as they said goodbye to their last childhood friend.

I missed her terribly. Possibly the habit of getting her up, taking her to the pond, checking on her, and putting her to bed had so filled my day that there was now a viable void that could not be filled. Then on Father’s Day the twins arrived with Michael’s gift… five young adult Guineas!

Everyone who knows Guineas, knows they are highly nervous freakers, so we put them in the old chicken house for a week to acclimate so they would not disappear into the woods and get lost or killed. Their job would be to scout the garden for bugs… to organically control them. After a week, we allowed two out on the first day, three the second day, and finally all five were released to patrol the gardens. They were fantastic, putting themselves to bed in their original cage each evening all by themselves; we only needed to close the door behind them until morning to protect our little army. And all went well for a little over a month…

Well, naturally the former silence of the garden was interrupted by this small flock of fowl, so the local Bobcat took notice and decided that supper would be far easier than he had imagined. One by one, they disappeared… I would only find feathers. After several weeks, there was only one small, frightened Guinea left… Jenny alone had survived. She began following me everywhere, sitting a few feet from where I worked… perhaps for assurance she was safe. She then became friends with Rajah, and together they roost in the Black Walnut each evening. (He has fallen in love with her and is doing his lovely mating dance for her several times a day… she is unimpressed.) She comes when I call her, notifies me when unannounced guests arrive, and is an extremely pleasant, dutiful, and charming friend.

I have lived long enough to know that when something dear is lost, something else will come as a compensation... if the heart is open to it. It is with this thought that I have accepted Jenny’s friendship. And is it possible that she is an incarnation of Ducky? She certainly seems to know the place in a familiar manner... and she likes me a lot.

*I had hoped Ducky would break the oldest duck record; a Muskovy lived to be 25~

Wildflowers and Lilies... and my 'To Do' List

*Note: It was 93 to 102 degrees here for the first 10 days of May... with no rain since last October! It was 36 degrees this morning!

The cool this week is certainly a welcome respite from the unprecedented heat which arrived the first of May. Not since the year 2000 have spring temperatures been so high this early. Our internal systems, as well as those of the garden, were ill prepared for the sudden rush; ideally heat should arrive gradually. However the amazing rainfall last Thursday banished it, if only momentarily. With only minimum rain, the brittle brown fields sprang to life as in a time-lapse scene from the African Savannas. There plant life may remain dormant for years until a sudden downpour releases it from entrapment in dusty, hardened tombs. Our native grasses and wildflowers awoke and are in magnificent form this week; it is a pleasure to see they were not lost to us altogether this year! The old adage 'better late than never' is a truism.

The true lilies are beginning their show and since they begin blooming after the Iris and Peonies, yet before the annuals, they are a perfect addition to the garden. They take up a small space in the flower bed, arriving with compact foliage, heads high above companion plantings residing at their feet. There are over 2,000 species and twelve are native to the United States where they may still be found growing in woodland settings. All along the southeastern coast the Meadow Lily and Southern Red Lily grow and both have either orange, red or yellow flowers spotted with deep purple. The Leopard and Sierra Lily grows from California to Oregon and the Wood Lily may be found from Maine to Missouri. All have a hot orange to red color and signature purple spotting.

The most famous of the cultivated true lilies are the Easter lily, Tiger Lily, and Madonna Lily. Other favorites include the Chinese and Japanese hybrids which are believed to symbolize prosperity and wealth… the lovely Stargazer is among these. Surprising members of the lily family include asparagus, aloe, hyacinth, trillium, hosta, and tulip, with the daylily and water lily not family members at all. Since a true lily is never dormant it must be treated as a perennial plant where action occurs continually, even when it seems to be resting. Therefore it needs a permanent place in the bed where it may live undisturbed; it will not divide or travel.

Some of the Asiatic varieties present multiple blooms on one stem, providing an outstanding display of color and form. Other lilies present just one perfect flower at the top of a delicate stem. If properly cared for, freshly harvested Asiatic lilies will last a week in your home. To prepare a bouquet submerge the flowers in tap water as you cut them. Once inside, put them directly in a vase of tepid water then place the arrangement in a cool room, changing the water each day for a week of scented splendor.

* Important to Remember: Leave the foliage but cut the spent flowers following blooming... before it forms that silly seed pod. The pod will take energy from the bulb and yet will not form viable seeds.

To Do List... the bottom chore that's missing was 'weed the garden... again'. Will I ever get it all done?

Heirloom Roses

I don't know her name, but my rescued rose has been here for 30 years!

The weather of late is reminiscent of the fourth of July and it is not yet mid-May. The drought has reached epic proportions and in all my years of observing Nature, this is the first time that no spring field grasses are seen at all. In fact the regional drought is so extensive that April 22-24 were proclaimed “Days of Prayer for Rain in the State of Texas“ by Gov. Rick Perry. He urged Texans of all faiths to offer prayers “for the healing of our land, the rebuilding of our communities and the restoration of our normal and robust way of life.” May we all pray for rain and remember to add a request that we are spared Nature‘s wrath… it seems to be in great abundance to our East.

In spite of the drought the heirloom roses may be seen blooming in a scented profusion of pink, yellow, or white clusters. Roses were wildly popular and easily affordable in the early nineteen hundreds when cemetery boards encouraged people to plant them to beautify the grave sites of loved ones. These hardy roses were also set about rural farmhouses; Grandma Dougherty hand watered her roses each Wednesday with the rinse water from the family laundry. However times change and the roses were forgotten, remaining in lost obscurity long after the farm residents departed. Trampled by cattle, overgrown by native grasses, starved for water, they managed to survive and it became a personal mission to ‘save’ them. So when we first began our garden thirty five years ago, we trekked about and collected roses from creaky farmhouses where these marvelous specimens had survived the Dust Bowl... unattended! They have been a delight for these many years and bloom faithfully with few requirements and little fuss.

Interestingly Oklahoma Living Magazine contained information about these robust roses this month. In an article by Allan Storjohann, who is Manager of the Myriad gardens, the story of the reintroduction of these old roses is told. It seems a few dedicated people felt the ‘farmhouse roses’ needed to be saved so for twenty five years they collected specimens just as I did... from abandoned farmhouses and overgrown cemeteries.

The Texas ‘Rose Rustlers’, as they are called, worked with Texas A and M Research and the Antique Rose Emporium to propagate these extraordinary species for re-release to the public. The poor roses youngsters were given every torturous and extreme circumstance to overcome and only survivors were kept. Given very little water, planted in either clay or alkaline soils, with no chemical insecticides or fungicides allowed and no fertilizer applied makes for ‘trial by fire‘ for a rose! Needless to say, many did not live however those that did are tough! The list is located at Earth Kind Roses and it seems there is a lovely rose for every for garden circumstance… and one may be planted even during a drought.

Plant Your Easter Lily in the Garden

Thousands of lovely Easter lilies were part of the celebration and most will be relegated to the rubbish bin, discarded as useless. However since the flowering lily springs from a bulb your plant may be easily integrated into the garden to provide beauty for many years to come.

Easter Lilies usually bloom in summer but were ‘forced’ to bloom early for Easter so do not expect any more action until next year; the bulb needs to rest. The lily enjoys sun on her head but a coolness about her feet, so pick a sunny place in the garden and tuck the bulb amongst other guests. Also, our driving winds or extreme heat may adversely affect the lily, so a site with some afternoon shelter and shade is preferable.

As you pull your lily from the pot, you will notice the extreme root growth that has occurred from being in a greenhouse under conditions which provided the premature blooms. If the roots are tightly bound in a circular pattern, the lily was grown in too small a pot and is ‘root bound’. The roots must be loosened and spread out to allow the poor thing to grow without strangling itself. Loosen the roots and it will not harm the bulb if some are cut back a bit.

Root Binding must be eased~

Dig a hole that is twice the width of the root ball and five or six inches deeper. Work some potting soil into it and then plant your lily, spreading the newly loosened roots down and out. Often there will be three bulbs in a standard Easter lily pot so carefully divide them and plan on planting them six or seven inches apart. Fill the hole with soil, and water while working your hands in the mush. Jiggle and wiggle the plant while looking for air bubbles to surface and when no more appear, there are no hidden pockets to cause rot. Once the water level has receded, lightly water once again.

Cut off the wilting flowers, but wait to cut back the foliage until it appears yellow; the foliage will nourish the bulb and help store energy for flowers next year. The unforced flowers will appear on time... in the early summer when the lily normally blooms. Your lily will live for many years, reminding you of the joyous occasion when it was introduced as a guest at an Easter gathering.

*This spring I noted the profusion of flowers available at almost all retail outlets. Many have been forced like the lilies and flowers which normally bloom in mid to late summer are in full bloom now. The novice gardener may be lured into purchase by appearance and is often unaware the blooms are practically spent; the plant will not bloom again this year. To avoid expensive mistakes, perhaps plant a packet of seeds... they will not provide an instant garden but watching them grow to adulthood is a daily thrill.

Garden Bouquets to Make the House Smell Like Spring!

Tulips are in bloom too!

The Lilacs smell wonderful!

Do you like the little man spitting up the seed beads? (bottom right)

The Tragic Disappearance of the Dung Beetle… May he RIP

What a talent!

Anyone who is observant in the garden has met the darling dung beetle. He’s the fascinating little dark gray guy who plays in a mound of dung… any sort will do. He works it as though it is an important assigment pushing this way and that. And when he has it ‘just so’ in a small ball, he stands on his head and begins to roll his creation using his hind legs to balance the whole thing as it rolls. Sometimes they work as a crew, with many little beetles hard at work.

Unfortunately, this incredibly useful little beetle has met his demise through the use of Ivomec, a highly successful internal and external parasite control for cattle. “Discovered and developed by scientists from Merck Research Laboratories, IVOMEC Pour-On contains ivermectin, a unique chemical entity“ (Their qoute) Yes indeed… and the poisoned parasites are excreted and the poor dung beetle, just doing his job, is poisoned as well.

As we say farewell to yet another important life form living on our Planet, the dung beetle needs the recognition he deserves so perhaps reviewing his job is in order. These little beetles reside in pastures and clean the waste droppings by rolling them and burying them in tunnels six inches deep. The tunnels create greater water retention in the fields and improve root and soil aeration. Besides being fertilized, the pasture is clean which reduces the gastrointestinal parasite larvae which may be ingested by the cattle, excreted by the cattle then ingested again in an ongoing life cycle. By rapidly cleaning the pasture, dung beetles reduce the numbers of flies, whom we all know adore manure as a nesting site for their nasty youngsters, the maggots.

I had noted the past few years, the pastures had begun look like cattle ghettos… as though the sanitation crews had abandoned them. Unfortunately the sanitation crews have been killed.

The dung beetle is a true loss… to a degree of which only time can tell. I was very fond of them and spent a good part of my childhood and adulthood stopping to watch them work, enamored and fascinated by their duty and obligation. May our little beetles RIP… and may Merck be ashamed of themselves for not doing their homework!

Please do not use this product in any form!

Plant a Riot of Annuals~

Electric Blue Salvia


Good Friday felt more like full blown summer than spring, and the parched countryside seemed depressingly stressed without rain. It had begun to feel like the savannas of Africa and last week the wheat began turning yellow at the ground while the shafts dipped their heads in mourning. And so the sound of distant thunder in the wee hours of Easter morning seemed truly an unexpected blessing ordained by God. Thankfully this year Easter was a complete wash-out and the misty rain which finally made a gentle entrance was appreciated by everyone… except small children who missed the egg hunts. We may also be thankful that our communities missed the storms with tornados and baseball-sized hail that devastated many of our neighboring states to the north and east.

For those new to gardening, there is nothing better than planning a flower garden of annuals which will provide riotous color all summer. And for visual interest it is important to remember to layer by height from the front to the back of the bed. Plan for low growing flowers to be at the front and gradually increase the height to give the visual feel of ‘movement‘. In an area which receives full sun, tiny low growing Rose Moss or Portulaca are both perfect in front, love it hot, require little care and will provide an ever-blooming cheerful spot of color all season. Behind them, perhaps plant the short variety of Marigolds; they do well in the heat and will also help with insect control as they are a natural pesticide. Next could come some intermediate Zinnias, and the new varieties have an amazing spectrum of colors. Medium height Cannas could provide a perfect backdrop and even though they bloom later in the season, in many varieties, the foliage is an interesting combination of greens and yellows which surpasses the flowers in interest and beauty.

Or perhaps plan a ‘theme garden’ this year using annuals. One year on a whim, we had a South American themed garden and filled the kidney shaped bed on the upper level solely with flowers that had a Mexican flair and would attract butterflies. It seems flowers originating in South America have the brightest and deepest colors, the easy habit of drought survival and they all seem to shout Fiesta! We planted Mexican heather, red and yellow Nastursums, deep purple Petunias, scarlet red Chile Pepper Scabiosa, electric blue Salvia, scarlet and deep yellow swirl Zinnias, and anything else we could find that seemed fun. Everything was planted too closely and all with contrasting colors adjacent to each other. The result was intermingling of colors spilling out and over the bed in a riot of color by mid summer. Everyone who saw it had a giggle… it was so over the top. Since annuals are not true garden guests, merely tourists passing through who last but one season, there are few rules in planting them. Allow the imagination to run rampant!

*Since we finally had a rain… perhaps the morels have decided to make an appearance!

How to Proceed... Grow A vegetable Garden

Our gardens when the children were growing up...

As the news on the down turn of our economy is reported with increasingly depressing predictions, it would be wise to revisit the past for instructions on how to proceed. With the onset of both World War I and II, the nation was required to tighten their collective belt and a program of rationing was initiated. When my father was stationed at the Pentagon his letters to his parents speak of his offer to send them his coffee and sugar vouchers so shortages were a daily reality.

In 1917 and then again in 1941, the Agriculture Department informed the American public if they wanted fresh fruits and vegetables, they would have to grow their own. With that edict, the concept of the Victory Garden was born and many people who did not know a trowel from a hoe began to garden. To aid in the effort, the War Garden Commission compiled instruction booklets which were distributed by the Department of Agriculture, International Harvester, and Beech-Nut.

From the efforts of individuals America was transformed. Over forty percent of all vegetables consumed nationally were produced from small scale gardens. Back yards, apartment building roof tops, and vacant lots became gardens and individuals felt they were contributing in a patriotic sense. From the World War II data, it was estimated these ‘Sunday farmers’ had created over 20 million victory gardens and added eight to ten million tons of food for consumption here at home.

Oddly since the turn of the century, many large cities have begun to reinstate the premise. In San Francisco the “Victory Garden Project 2008” was created and built on the aforementioned premise with the term ‘victory’ redefined to mean urban sustainability. Growing food at home for health benefits, security, and reduction of the food miles associated with the transport of produce makes logical sense.

With our country at war, rising gas prices, the loss of many retirement funds, and the word ‘recession’ being tossed about, perhaps now is the time for us to remember who we are! Even though we are a rural community and famous for our self sufficiency, many of the younger generation need to be encouraged. By growing food one may save money by not having to buy at inflated prices and be assured of quality. The message that will be sent is that in a time of recession we will find a better use of our time and efforts than shopping! Resourceful hard work and voluntary simplicity are our honored traditions and must not be lost.

Squash, Blue Lake Green Beans... and a wall of Morning Glories

Pink and Red Poppies~

Thank you Jeremy for my Red~

The Story Behind the Gathering... Funny Stuff

Minnie Goodbear... Head Lady Dancer

Introduction: I am a semi-klutz. Michael is always 'repairing' something about my person as we go out in public. Smudged mascara, mustard on my chin, the cowlick in the back of my hair parted. I just never quite get it completely together so it has been his personal mission to make me presentable for the last thirty odd years.

As we entered the camp ground at the Gathering of Nations, I noticed that in addition to the familiar Cheyenne and Arapaho tribal members there were representatives of many Native American tribes I did not know. The regalia is quite different from tribe to tribe so various tribes may be identified by their clothing and bead work, shawls and embroidery, porcupine quills and feathers. The intimidating and traditional Sioux from North Dakota, the Grovan of South Dakota, the Winnipeg from Canada, the austere Pawnee of eastern Oklahoma as well as many other tribes were all gathered there. Since this was not an event for tourists, I was rather intimidated and hoped to blend in as inconspicuously as possible, which is no easy feat since I am so blond. Not particularly dressed for festivities, I moved to a group I knew well and sat down to enjoy the dances. The little girls in their waving shawls imitating butterflies, the men portraying the stampede of the buffalo and the flight of eagle, the women whose feet caressed Mother Earth… all beautiful and exciting.

When it came time for the intermission, I was totally unprepared for my name to be called over the loud speaker requesting for me to come to the front. The grandstand was located at the far most point of the dance grounds and is where the Master of Ceremonies, dignitaries, judges, special elders and chiefs from all the tribes gather to watch and judge the contests. When my name was called, I had to walk the center of an entire length of a football field with 5,000 curious eyes upon me individually! My throat tightened, my knees went weak, my mouth became dry and suddenly I was afraid I would pass out before I reached the front. Walking carefully with each step, head up, wondering if I appeared dignified, wondering if I should smile or look somber, hoping I would not embarrass myself or my friend who was honoring me. Step by step with all eyes on me. For the first time in my life, I was a true minority.

As I had stood to go, I had accidentally stepped on one of my trademark high top Converse shoe strings untying it; unbeknownst to me it was left to dangle and dance with each step I took. With abject horror Michael noticed immediately and watched as the shoe string whipped back and forth, back and forth with each successive step. Later he confessed that he prayed "Please God, don't let her fall, please don't let her fall" as a mantra hundreds of times..one prayer with each of my foot steps.

After what seemed to be a lifetime, I arrived at the grandstand and was greeted by my spiritual sister, Minnie Goodbear, who gave a small speech about me and introduced me to the gathering. Many very important Natives were being honored as well, so I was introduced to each of them. She placed a gorgeous sterling and turquoise necklace around my neck, hugged me, then all the dignitaries shook my hand and welcomed me. When the ceremony was over I was immediately surrounded by people congratulating me and admiring the necklace.

Michael appeared miraculously and calm.. he smiled and nodded to everyone, gently took my arm, pulled me aside and whispered in my ear….. "For the love of God, tie your damn shoe string!"

Grow some herbs this year.

My Apple Mint~

Rosemary, Spearmint and Oregano~


This year consider the legendary uses of herbs and perhaps select a few to include in the scope of your garden. Selection should include herbs for making tea. Tea is second only to water as the most consumed beverage in the world. Herbal teas made from dried fruit, flowers or herbs that have been collected from the garden are lighter and more flavorful than traditional tea.

Legend says the Chinese Emperor Shen Nung was boiling drinking water one day in 2737 B.C. when some leaves from a tea plant fell into the water. The emperor drank the mixture and declared it gave one "vigor of body, contentment of mind, and determination of purpose." In 400 B.C. the Greeks included herbal teas in their regime of wellness. By 50 B.C. the Romans were collecting and cultivating herbs and by 200 A.D., Galen wrote the first classification system that paired common illnesses with their herbal remedy. By 800 Monks had taken over the care of the sick and had herbal gardens at most monasteries. By 1500 herbalists were promoted and supported by Henry VII and the Parliament while apothecaries (drug stores of the time) were accused of giving substandard care. Charles Wesley gave his endorsement in 1700 when he advocated sensible eating, good hygiene and herbal treatments for healthy living.

In 1800 pharmaceuticals become popular and herbal treatments were designated for the poor. However as the side effects of drugs began to be documented, herbal remedies came into favor again. The National Association of Medical Herbalists was formed, and later renamed the National Institute of Medical Herbalists (NIMH.) By 1900 and the first World War pharmaceutical drugs were unavailable so herbal medicines were once again used. After the war pharmaceutical production increased and penicillin was discovered. Herbal practitioners had their rights to dispense their medications taken away and then reinstated. The British Herbal Medicine Association was founded and produced the British Herbal Pharmacopoeia. People began to express the concern over the large number of side effects and environmental impact of the drugs of the 1950s so herbs once again gained importance. Herbs are an outdoor pharmacy provided to us by the Almighty. Simple grow and easy to make, an herbal tea from the garden is a natural health drink.

Spearmint would be a lovely addition to the herb bed. Used in ancient Rome, the ensuing drink made from dried leaves was said the ‘stir up the mind’. Since it is caffeine-free, an afternoon cup could be savored as valuable ‘pick me up’ that has no side effects.

Chamomile is another lovely plant. Originally from the Nile region of Egypt, it was believed to cure almost any ailment. It has remained a favorite as its true properties relieve anxiety and promote calm. It was the tea Mrs. Rabbit made for Peter as she gently tucked him into bed following his harrowing escape from Mr. McGreggor. In these stressful times a sweetly scented evening cup would be a wonderful way to end the day. The list of herbs and their medicinal qualities is endless... and as close as your garden.

Sage

Spring Came~ Take off your shoes!

Earth Day, Arbor Day, and Rachael Carson

“Trees are the earth’s endless effort to speak to the listening heavens.” Rabindranath Tagore

All of us who garden are acutely aware of our environment. As we dig in the soil, we connect with the magical realm of Mother Earth and the results of our work are the rewards bestowed upon us for our efforts. This April, we celebrate monumental efforts made by others to conserve our precious planet. And in light of the horrific catastrophe in Japan, perhaps we should revisit the past to find instructions for the future.

First to be considered is our oldest conservation effort, National Arbor Day, which is celebrated each year on April 22nd, the birthday of its founder Sterling J. Morris. Mr. Morris, the publisher of a Nebraska newspaper, began a campaign to encourage his community in the planting of trees almost 140 years ago. The plains of Nebraska were bare and almost treeless when he began his efforts and by 1885 Arbor Day was declared a state holiday. Since then, due to Mr. Morris and his vision, Arbor Day is embraced by all of the states.

Arbor means tree in Latin. The Arbor Foundation annually gives away thousands of trees to individuals and communities. There is a wonderful pleasure in watching a tiny sprout grow into a young sapling and then continue on until it becomes a magnificent tree. Many Indian tribes planted a tree with the birth of a child and watched as both the tree and child matured. We adopted that custom when our children were little and it is truly wonderful to see the height and breadth of the trees we planted on the first birthdays of our now grown sons and daughter.

Secondly, we have Rachael Carson to thank for her efforts to bring to light the hazards of chemical toxicity. A marine biologist by profession, she noted the unprecedented losses of plant and animal life and her research concluded it was the result of chemical poisonings. Following WWII, America embarked on a path of chemical use that was not only unexplored but tenacious at best. DDT, which killed all insects good or bad, was at first considered a miracle. With it the mosquito became a thing of the past as neighborhoods full of children were regularly fogged. As a child I recall riding my bicycle in and out of the dense fog as the truck slowly rolled by! Finally banned in 1972 and considered one of the most hazardous chemical carcinogens ever created, one wonders what people were thinking. Ms. Carson lived only a few years past publication of her monumental work ‘Silent Spring’ but her legacy of thoughtful research alerted a grateful nation. The title alone was an ominous prediction of a world without the buzzing of bees, the song of birds, the croaking of frogs, the splash of fish.

Photo Credit: Life Magazine

Following in her footsteps was Senator Gaylord Nelson, who first initiated the concept of ‘Earth Day’. By the early 1960’s America’s love affair with chemicals had begun to take a terrible toll. The environmental degradation was becoming astonishingly evident so Senator Nelson first presented his concerns to President Kennedy in 1962. The evidence was conclusive yet the environment would not be on the political agenda for almost a decade. Finally on November 30, 1969, the New York Times ran an article which read “Rising concern about the environmental crisis is sweeping the nation’s campuses with an intensity that is on its way to eclipsing student discontent over the war in Vietnam.”, thus setting the stage for the first official celebration of ‘Earth Day’.

The enormity of this grassroots effort held on April 20, 1970 was the impetus for the creation of the Environmental Protection Agency later that year. The mission of the EPA is to protect human health and the environment. It is expected that Earth Day will be celebrated by over 500 million people in 175 countries. Short of planting a tree this April, we should at least hug one!

Storms and Tornados

Illustration by N C Wyeth

As we continue to experience the drought, the weather last Friday forecast that a 'small tornado outbreak' could occur should we receive rain. Our son Dolan remarked he could handle a 'small tornado outbreak' if we received a little rain with it. I recalled the storms of April 2009 and my diary observations from that week...

April 29, 2009
I have always loved storms since early childhood and have a memory of being about four standing on a covered porch with my Father. We were watching horizontal rain, seeing bright lightening, and hearing the crashing and the roar of a storm. As an explanation my father told me it was nothing more than the ‘Old Man beating his thunder drum’. It was very exciting and that sense of excitement never left me. I have always experienced a rush almost akin to sexual excitement whenever a storm begins to build.

I have a friend who moved from Oklahoma to Portland to follow her lover. Early in her stay they were taking a walk when it began to mist. Oklahoma training kicked in and she bolted for the nearest store awning, seeking refuge from the inevitable onslaught. He followed and asked why her sudden lurch. She replied, ‘Isn't all hell getting ready to break loose?’ ‘No, its just rain’, he said. She was dumbfounded as she waited for the sudden drenching downpour, the 30 to 40 mile and hour winds, the roar and crash of the storm… it never arrived. The rain was gentle and soothing, a fine mist that could be walked through and enjoyed without terror. She was enthralled, married him, and still lives in Portland.

Not me! I could not survive without the excitement of breathlessly waiting, watching as the dark and darker clouds begin to form then swell and roll, churning in gigantic swirling motions, increasing in velocity with each passing moment. The wind begins and can be heard traveling through the trees minutes before it hits, rustling at first then twisting the branches in violent whirling circles. It builds to a crescendo and arrives with a deafening voice all its own making
communication available only through shouting. Your face is pelted with tiny particles of dust picked up from neighboring fields and the sky becomes black.

Standing in a field as this happens is enthralling, exciting and your heart begins to pound as your hair and clothing are whipped and you are barely able to keep your footing. And then the lightning begins to crack. One, two, three, four… counting while waiting for the thunder to tell you how many miles before the rain arrives. If the first drops are big, then hail will be within the storm; if they are small, it will be wind whipped horizontal sheets.

When we had horses, they would sense what was coming and begin pacing restlessly, neighing with uneasiness hours before the storms arrived. They would rear and paw the air as if it was alive with a force that they could defeat in a battle. We would release them from the paddock and they would run splashing through the creek, galloping to out run the approaching elements.

As the children grew, they studied cloud formations and raced to the North field to watch as tornados formed overhead. We saw the May third 1999 tornado form and watched as it moved to I-40 to follow the high way path to destruction in Oklahoma City; it was huge from the very beginning. We even had to out run one once. We saw black clouds to the North and had loaded into the station wagon to go to the top of the hill to check out the storm; it was sunny overhead. As we drove the storm suddenly blew out from the edge and a funnel snaked from the cloud, smashing to the ground on the hill in front of us, picking up dust and roaring. Michael hit reverse and squealed backwards at 40 MPH as it came rushing at us like a cosmic fullback. Then it lifted as quickly as it fell.

The elements are alive… that I know as fact. They are entities that must be placated and honored. When a storm approaches we give a shot of good whiskey to the Four Winds, asking them to show mercy on our person, our animals, and our small patch of ground. Asking them to accept our offering with kind favor… and often, they accept our submission to their force and glory and spare us their fury.

No, I could never live in Portland where the rain falls like a fine mist.


Footnote: The May 3, 1999 tornado we saw spawned an outbreak which produced at least 66 tornadoes in Oklahoma, making it by far the most prolific tornado outbreak in state history and included the only F-5 tornado ever recorded.

Wind Storms and Violets~

The arrival of Spring this year has been remarkable for never have so many early flowers, trees, and shrubs bloomed at the same time. Apparently the high temperatures have forced the usually staggered-paced blooming to appear in tandem. Consequently the sights and scents are truly spectacular and one must marvel at the beauty of the surrounding countryside. The Redbuds are providing a stunning display.

The drought is another matter entirely and has reached epic proportions, breaking all state records. As our neighbors on either coast and in between are experiencing flooding and even snowfall, we seem stuck in an unrelenting weather pattern that has the rains falling just to our east. The wind is a force unto itself with continuous forty to sixty MPH gusts for over two weeks now. With no significant rain since October and the wind storms drying the garden to the bone, it is important to begin watering. The urge to live is paramount in early spring, but everything needs a bit of moisture to survive the weekly onslaught of the wind. Since I have a rather vivid imagination, I often imagine dry flowers as horseless cowboys lost and wandering in a desert. Picture endless sand under a blazing hot sky, distant mirages swimming... trapped and gasping for a drink of water. Think Hildago... only with roots instead of boots, poor things. And a flower bravely trying to live in a crack of concrete on a busy city sidewalk can break my heart.

On any walk through the woodlands, one sees sweet violets peeking out among the dry leaves. Often called Johnny-Jump-Ups for this habit, they are among the first to arrive at the garden party and that precious little face is always welcomed. Appearing in a myriad of colors, the violet is native to our hemisphere and appears all over the world with over 500 species. The pansy, viola, and violet are all close cousins and among the most popular bedding plants.

As with most plants, there is a colorful mythological history surrounding the violet. According to Greek legend, Zeus who was King of the gods, had taken a fancy to a nymph named Io. Infidelity is certainly nothing new and Zeus was behaving badly in this instance. He attempted to hide his mistress from his wife Hera by changing her into a white cow. Needless to say Io was unimpressed with this change and complained bitterly over the taste and texture of the coarse grass. As she wept sad cow tears, Zeus changed them into dainty, sweet-smelling violets that only she was permitted to eat.

The Roman myth involves Venus, the goddess of love, who was always cross with mortal women. Apparently she fell into a jealous rage when foolish Cupid judged some mortal ladies more beautiful than she. In revenge, Venus swooped down and beat the poor maidens until they became blue before turning them into violets, thus eliminating the competition.

Napoleon was a devout fan of the violet and when he married Josephine she wore them in her hair. On every wedding anniversary he sent her a bouquet and before leaving for exile he visited her tomb where he picked woodland violets. Following his death, these violets were found in a locket he wore around his neck.

Symbolically, dreaming of violets is a promise of advancement in life and it is claimed a garland worn about the head prevents dizziness. They are considered a good luck gift to a woman but if violets bloom in autumn, it is said epidemics will follow within the year.

To pick the flowers, follow the short stem to the bottom and pinch between thumb and forefinger, find a short sweet vase, and enjoy…they last a week and smell delightful!

Bugs... think 'Art of War'

These bugs are making more bugs!!

Prior to the spring invasion of bugs, some rules should be established to deal with invasions. I feel a hands-on approach is best for the garden and gardener alike.

Often it seems gardeners are somewhat overwhelmed and outnumbered if one considers that there are over one million different species of insects in the world. Recently North Carolina scientists took a five-inch deep soil sample and tested it for insect and microorganism populations; their study indicated the presence of approximately 124 million living things per acre!

The good news is that most species are not remotely interested in what is growing in the garden and not all insects are created equal. Some are beneficial and others require extermination. It may also be noted that most insects are very selective about what they choose to eat. The same insect that has an affinity for dahlias may avoid the delphinium growing next to it so knowing the enemy is important.

Gardeners are basically pacifists so it is necessary to occasionally accept advice from 'The Art of War'; victory may be achieved only when one knows the enemy. In order to evaluate the damage caused by insects, one needs to first inspect the plants, preferably prior to wantonly killing every beneficial insect with widespread and random spraying. With overzealous spraying the darling Lady Bugs will meet the same fate as the Aphids. Cut worms must die, but the plump Striped Swallow Tail caterpillar eating the Dill should be left to cocoon then emerge as a lovely butterfly later in the season. Some bugs hide in the morning to emerge in the evening, while others (like grasshoppers) enjoy the heat of the day. Learn the habits of the hoards.

The slugs which inevitably arrive after spring rains dissolve nicely with a sprinkle of salt, and the rolly-pollies are usually in clusters which may be easily stepped on and squished. Perhaps entertain yourself by hand picking for awhile. Take a cup of hot water, squirt a little dish washing detergent into it to either kill what you pick or at least burn their eyes and prevent their escape. Squash bugs hate the solution!

If you have a tree that is 'weeping' buy a large syringe sans needle then fill it with one part vegetable oil, two parts dish washing detergent, and two parts water. Squirt the mixture in the weeping crevice and watch as tiny brown beetles and white thread like worms cluster from the crevice to writhe in agony before dying. This is wonderful garden entertainment that is very pro-active and empowering!

As summer arrives this year, no doubt the garden will suffer with the arrival of hoards of blister bugs, grasshoppers and other detestable vermin, but consider careful and prudent control... the Praying Mantis will thank you.

Besides being lovely, Dragonflies eat mosquitoes!

The Redbud and Tulips~

The current chill is exactly what we needed to assure beautiful blooms on the Peonies this year. They need a good dose of cold in order to produce bountiful flowers. Luckily, we lost only a few mid-blooming Jonquils that were in the boot last week.

The fabulous Redbud, our state tree, has begun to bloom and can be seen dotting the landscape everywhere. The delicate lavender and fuchsia flowers crawl along the bare branches before the heart-shaped leaves emerge, thus making it one of the earliest signs of spring. The Redbud is an ancient species common in North America, Europe, Japan, and Asia where it can grow as tall as 40 feet. It is also called the Judas tree because of the belief that Judas Iscariot, the betrayer of Christ, hanged himself on a Redbud tree.

The early tulips have begun to bloom as well. With over 3,000 varieties available at affordable prices, there are tulips for every taste. Gardeners can plan a continuous spring show by planting several varieties which bloom in successive intervals. The early pastel heirloom, the mid-blooming fragrant ruffled, and finally the late blooming sexy-scalloped parrot will provide continuous flowers for almost a month each spring.

One year we bought several hundred bulbs at a Fall close out sale for pennies on the dollar. Of course they were not top quality, but still we imagined at least some of them would produce a show for us. I carefully planted mine in appointed places in the beds while Michael tossed his indiscriminately into the vinca. I must admit, his looked far better than mine peeking up from the greenery here and there as an early spot of color.

Tulips make lively indoor arrangements and it is delightful to be able to bring cut flowers inside this early in the season. Do remember that tulip stems continue to grow several inches after they have been cut. This is the reason that many tulip displays tend to develop a droop over the edge of the vase after several days. This effect is quite attractive but choose a vase that will allow for dramatic flow.

Several retail outlets are offering marigolds and other summer annuals for sale now. It is too early for these flowers, who like it hot, and they will not survive erratic spring weather so it is best to wait awhile before purchasing them.
However they could all be started from seed on a windowsill now and they will be ready for the garden at the perfect time.

One year before a late freeze I cut everything and gifted my friends!

Viburnum and New Grass

With the world spinning very quickly these days, it is more important than ever to seek some harmonic softeners in some aspect of daily life. The escalation of current technology has become mind-boggling when one considers that only 100 years ago the main duty of School Boards in rural Oklahoma was to provide hay for the children’s horses and fire wood for the stoves. Now more than ever the peaceful expanse of the garden is not only desirable, but a necessary means to keep one grounded. Whether you are six or sixty, there is no pastime more joyful than playing in the dirt so this spring plan on some serious down-time in the garden.

The heat of last week pushed the garden headlong into spring, with almost all of the early bloomers making a show. With usual weather, the flowering arrives in staggered waves rather than all at once. Thankfully the chill will slow it down a bit so once it begins to warm again we may go outside to enjoy our early spring.

Nature endowed the earliest spring bloomers with the sweetest scents and the Viburnum is no exception. Of course we have the Asians to thank for the sweet spicy scent; our native Viburnum do not possess the spellbinding aroma. A member of the Honeysuckle family, Viburnum are seen all across North America, in Europe and all of Asia, making them a naturalized global sensation. And their early arrival makes them one of the first seasonal feasts for the bees.

The Viburnum is a small tree with easy growing habits that has been a garden necessity since the early 1900’s. The Korean Spice has lovely white or pink flower clusters which appear before all of the dark and heavily ribbed leaves have matured. Their scent is sweetly enchanting, almost delicious, as it wafts through the garden carried by the breezes. And their show does not end after flowering; the flowers become berries prized by birds and the foliage turns a lovely dusty red in the fall.

Summer Snowflake(above)is another fantastic Viburnum. Although not as fragrant as the Korean Spice, it blooms several weeks later and has the most lovely drifting layers... as though it is wearing white lace petticoats peeking from under a deep green dress. Both species are spectacular additions to the garden and promise years of carefree beauty.

The early grasses have arrived as well and the tender lush carpet is calling for bare feet to ‘feel’ the first sign of spring. If you do not have a baby of your own, borrow one and be the first to remove booties and let tiny feet feel grass for the first time. Crinkling toes gingerly curling, opening and closing, surprised and curious… first garden experiences are a great way to giggle!

Julia loves the grass~

Thoughts on Truning Sixty...

Turning sixty is most certainly a milestone in any life. In recognizing my age I am also able to recollect the events I have been able to witness and I am truly grateful for the opportunities I have had.

If I were not sixty, I would have missed:
The time when mothers were at home while fathers went to work. Childhood would not have included an extended family of grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins all gathering on Sunday to recount the week's events. Back then, neighborhoods were safe and watchful; people were polite and generous with a sense of purpose which involved caring for the young and the old with equal diligence. The term 'latch key' did not exist.
Pleasures were as simple as a walk in the park, fishing for crawdads, ice skating on a frozen pond, dancing in a community pavilion at the beach, occasionally going to the drive-in theater or having simple Sunday night dinners on with TV trays while the whole family watched Disney. I would have missed 'cruising' when gasoline was a quarter a gallon and everybody could go out on Saturday night knowing they would not be shot.

I would have missed:
The times of turbulence of the 1970's. I was in college at that singular time and it was incredibly exciting to be involved in the push to end the war, give women equal rights, and bring politicians to accountability. I burned my bra in a crowd of 300, lit candles when the National Guard gunned down innocent students at Kent State, gathered with thousands to protest Vietnam, heard Martin Luther King's speech live, sat up late at night over marijuana and strong coffee discussing strategies and writing intellectual and emotional essays to address the ills of our society. Entire intercity neighborhoods included old timers and hippie/students who put twinkle lights in the back yard and had cook outs while girls hand embroidered jeans, men hand tooled leather, and children danced about. Blue jeans became the universal uniform, sex was death free and rain wasn't acid. It was an outrageous and hopeful time full of unimagined collective energy. I am glad I was a young adult and not a child then... I would have missed it.

I am glad I didn't miss:
The 'Back to Earth' movement even if we didn't know it was a movement. The cities became so angry by 1975. Watergate, the assassinations of men of peace, the winding down of equal rights, the drugs which made their appearance were dangers that could not be escaped so we simply left. Many of us returned to our roots; to the places where our grandparents raised a family amid the simple pleasures of our own youth. The gift of a small town where the doors are never locked at night, where the car keys need not be removed, where you can call the pharmacist at home to meet you if the children became ill during the night... all this was too important to miss. I'm glad I didn't.

I am so happy I was able to experience:
Farm life before the disasters of the 1980's and closure of the family farm as a treasured institution. Family farming was over by the time John Cougar Mellencamp wrote the poignant song "The Auctioneer" and Willie Nelson began his battle to save them. Family farms were still on every section of land in 1975 so we became part of a close knit community of neighbors. I was able to go to quilting bees with little old ladies who had quilted together for forty years. My stitches are in their quilts and even though the ladies are all gone now, the quilts have been lovingly passed on. They took me under their wing and I learned short cuts to canning, how to milk a cow, plant a garden and the joy of fresh eggs. We attend family and community berry picking parties followed by homemade pies, guitar music, tall tales and ageless laughter. I was able to push back time a little and give my children an antique life style that has all but disappeared. I am happy I didn't miss it.

I am glad I was included:
In Native American cultures before casinos made their way there. In the 1990's the magic of the culture still existed. The elders were still living and tribal spirituality was an everyday way of life. The open generosity of Native Americans was to be envied. It included the belief that the measure of a person was not what you could amass personally, but rather what you could give to others. To admire a possession belonging to a Native American was for them to bestow it upon you. Condemnation was not in their vocabulary and laughter ran freely. I learned that Pow-Wow's were not a benefit where the promoters made money, but rather an event where they gave all that they could to each person attending asking only for collective prayers for the honoree. I would arrive at a camp with smoke drifting to the sky in the darkness above tepees, the drum beat as background music of another time, and my heart would leap. It called to me in an unimagined way and I felt at home there. To have been called to the grandstand to be honored and gifted by the Head Lady Dancer before a crowd of 5,000 Native Americans was truly one of the highlights of my life. The welcoming, the polite introductions, the respect and old fashioned manners reminded me of my childhood in its sense of propriety. It is gone now with the advent of drugs and the passing of the elders. I'm glad I didn't miss it.

I'm glad I joined:
The new age of cyberspace with MySpace in 2006. My last child was leaving home so in my moments of empty nest sadness, I found new friends. I met wonderful people from far reaching places and we shared thoughts, joys and successes. We discussed philosophy, religion, gardening and my women's group was supportive in a way I needed... with wisdom only dear friends provide. On MySpace we sent birthday cards, gifts, and even collective prayers for one another. We exchanged seeds and my garden contains living memories of friends I will forever cherish. MySpace is gone now... I'm so glad I didn't miss it.

I must say I have experienced a multitude of exciting and memorable events that I might have missed had I been born in another time...I'm happy to be sixty!