Pray tell me spring is only 2 weeks away, you old groundhog! Not 6 weeks away?! I cannot take much more of this frozen precipitation and arctic winds! Physically or mentally! I think hell froze over.
Icy roads again this snowy night. Trucks jack-knived off the highways coming home from our Farmington family visit. Warming stations once again are set up in the community this week. If I wanted to live up North I would move there. I chose to live in Missouri where the winters are suppose to be a bit milder. Relocation to a warmer destination may be warranted in the nearer future.
My earlier January blog posts I have written about many winter time musings, though I forgot to mention Scrabble, and its return with vigor at work and at home. You may have to refer to my summertime “Scrabble Words” blog post on July 18 to understand the history and humor behind my Scrabble games. With the frigid cold air and wind, I have to stay indoors. Cold-induced angiodema is not anything to mess with. So happy my husband along with my dog and cat do not mind my indoor exercise routine in the mornings, because I miss my walks on campus this winter. Scrabble replaces the walks during breaks and lunch time. Words appearing on the Scrabble board this week include “vast”,”port”,”pew”,”vow”,”foggy”,”hoard”,”wrecker”,and “tomb”. There is some inner meaning in the choice of words a person uses, I truly believe this. As you see my words range from the openness of “vast” and “port” and closing words of “wrecker” and “tomb”. Clearly, I am having a multitude of feelings, consciously or subconciously. Dean and I’s lives are at a fork in the road, with many roads to choose from. Each experience leads to another. More details will come out later, but I am praying for guidance for Dean and I. Will you please pray the same? Ultimately, I want to look at the whole of my life and see it spells “love” at each port.
As we frequent the greenhouse more often with our watering duties, I wonder about our visitors to Boone Hollow Farm and Deanna Greens And Garden Art greenhouse and screenhouse. What critters are there when we are not, or hiding when we are there? Ticks, bees, and dozens of bugs make an appearance at every visit. No deer seen yet by Dean and I, but we see their prints. The neighbor farmer has crops chewed on. A couple of weeks ago I placed my large planters of geraniums outside to greet us when we drive up the dirt road to the greenhouse. No signs of deer eating on them for a snack none less dinner. While in the screenhouse this week, I found a baby copperhead snake, with its shedded skin just inches from him. He wiggled his tongue at me, and I quickly hollered for Dean’s assistance. Relieved I had my muck boots on. The baby toad Dean found earlier would be this slicky guy’s dinner if we did not get him outside as far from the screenhouse as possible. I will share our plant space with frogs and toads, but not snakes. Sorry Slick. And keep your brothers out, too! Butterflies flutter about and bees buzz from the hives our neighbors have. Always good to have natural pollinators with plants. An owl starts hooting about 4:00 every afternoon. In past posts I have written about coyotes and I believe, Chuck the groundhog. God is the Creator of all these critters. So what do these critters think of us? Is our dog, Midnight, Dean, and I invading their homes? What prints are we leaving in the countryside? Maybe Midnight, Dean, and I are the visitors at Boone Hollow Farm?
I blame EarthDance Farms for my plant habit, or at least unveiling it once again. It started as a child, but I did not know the habit had formed within my roots. I find ways to support my plant habit. Those greens and flowers are more than worth it! The greenhouse work, the planning, plucking, pruning, planting, sowing, soaking, and selling is therapy.
For this season in my life, I need to take on a part-time weekend job educating and selling spices, herbs, teas, and foodie accessories to patrons at the Olde Town Spice Shoppe on Main Street in historic St. Charles, Missouri. Tourists as well as locals are the client base. The owners at the spice shoppe are looking for a long-term relationship, and I think I am the one. Over the years I enjoyed being a patron at this niche store, but as an employee I get a dose of the foodie culture every weekend. I will write about my spicy adventures on this blog, as it is a part of my life now.
But back to the plant habit and farm culture. Dean & I do not want to get underwater with Deanna Greens And Garden Art. The first 3 years in any business are the most expensive and crucial. The plants and business grow together. I can still play with the plants a couple of evenings during the week, and on a Saturday or Sunday evening. Dean will be taking the plants to the farmers’ markets most weekends. I believe in knocking on the door of opportunity, as it leads to another opportunity down the road. My farming childhood, culinary background, home economics and human resources education with my wholeness and wellness passion are trails to more dreams. I cannot say for sure where, but I am on this path, enjoying the stops along the way. Not rest stops, but interactive interludes. My days of rest come few and far in between. No worries, I still make time for my hubby, family, friends, and church. Days away from work and chores are planned for this summer. Though my housekeeping has gone to pots, literally!
This St. Patrick’s Day brought snow flurries, sleety rain, thunder, and later pouring rain. No rainbow with a pot of gold, though the soil still welcomes much moisture after the parched seasons of past. Hard to believe yesterday was a warm and partly sunny spring-like day. Yellow daffodils blooming on the country hillsides contrasting green while tree frogs croaked near the rain-filled creek beds. Midnight, our labrador retriever seemed to be in heaven sitting in the slushy cold rain, dreaming of ducks and geese landing on the water while Dean and I worked at the greenhouse. I, bundled in boots, snow pants, heavy winter coat, and hat kept warming water on the camp stove for hot tea. My Irish blessings came with an old hymn this morning at church …
An Old Irish Blessing
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the wind always be at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
and rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of His hand.
Saturday morning we awoke to rain! This is an occasion as we have been in a severe drought since last spring. The 14 inches of snow we received in the past 2 weeks, melted to 4 inches of liquid according to the rain barrel at the greenhouse. Now with this rainy weekend, we received another 2 inches. River barges started moving on the rivers again after sitting idle for 2 months. The melted snow running into the northern streams have made their way to the Mississippi, Missouri, and Illinois Rivers. Creek beds have filled once again in Missouri. The 2 creeks on Boone Hollow Farm were running with a cold rush, a soothing sound to the ear. I walked the plank to get over the creek and up the hill to the greenhouse. We cleaned the barn while the rain watered our earth. Late morning the rain subsided, and finally the sun peeped out of the clouds. A chainsaw was used on old trees near the barn, trying to avoid storm damage to the outbuilding and roads. Working alongside the half-full creek bed, I lobbed small limbs. I hauled the twigs to the huge bush pile down the gravel road while the tree frogs croaked “its spring!” Honey bees and flies buzzed about the warm afternoon air. Nature’s critters tell us.
My brother wanted to bring my grandpa out for a visit. This was their first visit to Boone Hollow Farm, so a countryside adventure for both this fine Saturday afternoon. Cellular telephone service is hit or miss, so I hoped they heard my directions okay. I explained several times before, “we are between Chandler Hill Vineyards and the Daniel Boone Home off Highway F, look for the huge barn on the right side.” Our labrador, Midnight chewed on sticks and chased after two barn cats up the larger trees while I cleaned up the limbs. He would follow with such enthusiasm walking near the gravel path alongside the wheelbarrow. But when a white SUV pulled onto the gravel road off the highway, and he recognized the sound of the vehicle. It was my father’s old SUV, and in it was two of Midnight’s favorite persons, Grandpa Earl and my brother, Steve. Grandpa took care of Midnight as a young pup. This overgrown Christmas gift became my father’s hunting companion when Midnight was too much for my 97-year old grandfather to handle. Now Midnight is Steve’s duck and goose hunting companion. Midnight ran to greet his buddies, and stayed at their sides their entire visit. Grandpa could not make the walk up the hill to our greenhouse, and it was too muddy to get a vehicle up there. So that will have to be their next trip to Boone Hollow Farm. But the farmer chat while the elder sat on the farmer neighbor’s bushhog was so refreshing like that spring rain heard in the creek bed. It backed me up 45 years ago, when jaws jabbered during the farm visits in Franklin County, where my Grandpa and Uncle Lloyd made their father’s farm into a weekend get away for their families. That circle of life again, Dean and I making a weekend refuge for our family now. And Grandpa was able to enjoy it after the weekend rain.
The winter storm came as the sundogs told us. (See my previous blog, “Sundog” for details.) Ice and snow kept falling creating treacherous road conditions. The 35-minute commute became a 2-hour slippery ride home from work. Three excited grandkids, their two tired parents, and two black labs greeted Dean and I at the door mid-afternoon. Celine and Lily, our house cats were perched on the couch cackling at the birds feeding outside the windows. Black-capped chickadees, juncos, bright red cardinals, house wrens, and 3 or 4 types of sparrows were our entertainment this afternoon. The feeders and trays were filled with a seed mix twice since yesterday morning, and our feathered friends kept their energy supply up with the seeds. Chirps were heard until sunset. A gray squirrel visited twice, digging in the pot under one of the feeders. He scurried up a stow-away pecan at each visit. Celine twitched her whiskers and tail with anticipation to meet eye-to-eye with the 4-legged visitor. The double-pane window stood in her way for a good chase. Soon our youngest grandson was napping with his momma, and our granddaughters took the dogs out for winter play in the backyard. My heart is happy, so glad I came home early today.
ALL FOUR SEASONS
I met you in the autumn years of our lives.
We walked together in sunshine, wind, and rain.
We embraced the autumn colors, felt the crisp air, heard the music in the leaves.
A canvas to be completed sooner rather than later, a life to cycle through all four seasons.
You entered the winter years, though I not yet ready.
I with another stroll along a golden yellow, pumpkin orange, and burnt red lane.
You with another to touch snowflakes, lick icicles before the quiet hush of snowfall.
A blanket gray sky with woody cedars and small stone silhouettes.
In a slow-motion moment I witnessed your spring and summer years.
A beautiful blossom, the home nest welcomes sweet springtime.
Summertime love brought forth fruit twice, then eight times.
Your early autumn years, leaves on a tree trunk, your graduation cap atop long thick hair.
New roads on the horizon, friendships and love many a time, then sickness.
A life to cycle through all four seasons too quickly.
But now you are at peace and free to live forever.
Anna Marie Gall
in memory of Donald E Flood