Ready to Freeze

 It's spider time on my Kentucky acre,

just ahead of the frost next week.

They're frantically spinning elaborate orbs before they freeze to death.

It's poetic and awfully artsy, don't you think?

I hurriedly inspect these for any scribbled symbol or message. 

The smarter spiders choose to make their last stand in the 

hydrangea bushes. It's an excellent place to freeze.

This year, I have only one blooming Heavenly Blue Morning Glory vine. 

Last year's vine was extravagant, a year of blues I'm sure will never happen again.

Because last year, against my husband's better judgment, 

I allowed the morning glory vines to take over a small dogwood. 

The tree wasn't so happy, but I could blame all the damage 

on the cicada invasion. And I did. 

The first blue bloom opened today, somewhat late in the season. 

But much better later- than never-blooming. 

There's something special about those heavenly blues. 

Even their gracefully-twining vines and 

miniature buds hold unique charm.

You're charmed, right? 

Seasonal Updates and a Sneak-Peek Scene

I picked up this ornamental pepper plant

on the last business day at a local plant nursery. 

"Wow--last day! You must be so excited to have some time off."

But the nurseryman didn't seem thrilled. 

At least not as thrilled as I was for him. 

The tiny peppers were all purple, then turned 

a lovely, seasonal orange.

I got outside with my "real" camera on a foggy 

morning this week. Mist laced every spiderweb 

with delicate droplets. As the sun burned through 

the haze, it turned the drops to diamonds.

My heavenly blue morning glory vine is finally showing off. 

The vines have tangled themselves into a crown studded 

with sun-pointing buds. The base of the vine is as 

thick as a young tree--amazing.

Side Note: 

I've been working on a novella set in midcentury bluegrass Kentucky. I'd love to hear what you think about this scene from chapter 8. Main character, Etta Everman, a curmudgeonly spinster, made it to church early and picked her favorite seat...

    The Cedar Bridge United Methodist Church opened its doors for Sunday services at 9 o’clock. It wasn’t easy to dress properly, have a cup of tea, and walk around the corner in time to be early, but always worth the effort. If she’d been five minutes later, she’d have to watch in the narrow vestibule while the deacon pulled the bell rope. Witnessing his delight at the slight hop he received from the pull of the bell on the rope was embarrassing. Where was the dignity of the church elders? Long gone, that’s what.

    Not today, though. Etta rested in her half-pew, third from the front, on the pulpit side. She relished the half-pew, knowing if she sat in the middle, no one would be able to squeeze in on either side. She placed her Bible to her left and her black handbag to her right on the red twill. Only the pastor’s wife would sit in front of her, as was proper. The new pastor’s young children would be downstairs singing or praying—or whatever children did down there. 

    In her childhood, Etta’s family filled the second row from the back, choir side on the Sabbath Day. Mama’s favorite stained-glass panel, to the near right, featured white Easter lilies. After Mama passed, her father wanted to sit in the back pew so he could leave whenever he had a mind to. When he’d stopped going, Etta enjoyed attending alone. But she hadn’t always been alone, had she? 

    Etta pulled her purse to her lap and unsnapped it to retrieve a hanky. She smoothed the thin white fabric and fingered the blue-stitched initials in the corner—T. F. It was one of his, a left-behind, unlikely keepsake. She swiped her nose with the quartered square. No use thinking about all that mess now, not when she had this afternoon’s dinner with Claiborne Lee and his family to consider. 

Bring the Sky Inside

It's November's last day, but I still have a bit of summer in my kitchen. 

When my stubborn, spoiled morning glory vines wouldn't bloom, 

I searched for answers. 

One helpful gardener noted that she cut almost-blooming 

vines to bring indoors. Contained in a vase and 

positioned in a sunny window--they bloomed.

Of course, I had to try this. 

  From my pile of Heavenly Blue vines, I trimmed a long tangle

covered with buds still tight and tiny. They fit easily in a 

glass vase and hung happily from a cup hook in the window sill. 

In no time at all, pointed swirls of bloom emerged and finally opened. 

Every morning, newly vibrant blooms greet me. 

It's been the highlight of a fairly dismal gardening season.

The Heavenly Blues are almost finished now. 

It's time for Christmas colors to take center stage.

 

Hurry Along

Pumpkins and gourds appeared around here early this year. 

I've been hurrying around seasonal corners, trying to finish 2020 early. 

It's similar to pushing an entire helping of 

elementary-school-cafeteria 

spinach/succotash/peas into your mouth at once 

so you'll be allowed to go to recess.

Anybody?

 The side benefit of buying early was surprisingly simple--selection.

Summer clingers like me don't usually enjoy this advantage. 

Pumpkins and gourds of all shapes, colors, and sizes were still 

sitting pretty in the supermarket bins. 

 And they all still had stems. 

It was a cheap grocery-store thrill, the perfect way to hurry 2020 along. 

I planted a whole packet of heavenly blue morning glories this spring and 

pampered them all summer with regular watering and fertilizing. 

I made sure they were in high-quality soil with leaf mulch 

topdressing to retain moisture. 

It's past mid-October with one frost already 

on the books ... but not a single sky-blue bloom. 

Yards and yards of vine sporting tiny bud sets--and no blooms. 

This isn't the first time it's happened, but it was the most disappointing. 

My eyes couldn't have been more eager for those heavenly blues to show. 

Because ... 2020.

Garden Lesson: 

Turns out, pampering the vines is the downfall of blooms. 

The plant is so blissfully comfortable that it produces lush foliage instead of 

beautiful blooms. And there will be no fruit to produce seeds, the result 

of a pollinated blossom. 

***

That, friends, is worth pondering, especially if 

you're a comfort-seeking soul like me. It's my takeaway 

lesson for the 2020 growing season. 

Ponder further here. 

***

Plenty of Space

Sapphire skies host cotton candy clouds while

drowsy river waters float Kentucky kayaks

and carry conversations,

bouncing laughter bank to bank and back. 

Paddles dip, then lift and switch—

providing plenty of space for the 

what-ifs, 

how-abouts, 

and did-you-evers

which stitch our summer together.

Bare Bushes

It's time to call it quits in the garden. 

Here on my one Kentucky acre, we've had drought conditions until just 

about two weeks ago. My container plants got just too shabby 

in the dry heat...so I fixed them. 

"Look at this," I said to my patient husband. "I fixed the container plants."

"You sure did," he agreed and took a few steps back.

Because, friends, I pulled them all up and threw their spindly stems

and crispy blooms in the firepit. What a relief! 

I plopped gourds and pumpkins in the empty containers—no watering needed. 

When we finally got a little rain, all the garden plants went back to work, 

creating new leaves and blooms. 

Look at this cypress vine, so cheerful in the summer-like heat.

Then this week on Monday, fall arrived. 

We've had a one-week color change with all the wonder of a true fall compressed 

into just a few days. Yesterday's wind and rain moved the color party to the ground.

Last night we swerved around another seasonal corner as temperatures dropped below freezing. 

I had time to save these beautiful blues, and a few zinnias, 

from the first killing frost.

The bushes are bare, but my windowsills are filled with vases of color. 

Hosting Bluebirds

"The bluebird carries the sky on his back." -  Henry David Thoreau

We hosted a family of bluebirds this spring in an 

ancient box on the backyard fence. I was so excited at the 

first sight of them checking out the area.

"I have had more than half a century of such happiness. A great deal of worry and sorrow, too, 
but never a worry or a sorrow that was not offset by a purple iris, a lark, a bluebird, 
or a dewy morning glory."  
- Mary McLeod Bethune

Watching the parents continually tending their twins was 

an every-night distraction. 

"What do you want to do tonight?"

"Hmmm ... should we check on the bluebirds?"

"Yes!"

"The bluebird enjoys the pre-eminence of being the first bit of color that cheers our northern landscape. 
The other birds that arrive about the same time--the sparrow, the robin, the phoebe-bird--are clad in neutral tints, gray, brown, or russet; but the bluebird brings one of the primary hues and the divinest of them all."  
- John Burroughs

Now the box is empty and we never see their beautiful blue 

on our small Kentucky acre. But we hope they'll return next year. 

We added another box in case they bring friends.

These cards, featuring the eastern bluebird, are tiny, signed lithographs 
which used to be found inside boxes of Arm & Hammer Baking Soda. 
In 1938, these beautifully detailed treasures were collected by bird lovers ... and quickly discarded 
by those who just wanted to "clean enamel surfaces," "boil rat traps," or "put out a fire." * 
This collection is for sale in my Etsy vintage shop. Take a look at more photos here.

* These suggestions, and others, on the back of every card.

Beautiful Blues and Flash Fiction

The Heavenly Blue Morning Glory is pulling out all the stops on our garden tepee, 

even if the sky is the bleakest of grays today. 

And in other news, 

Splickety Publishing Group featured my flash fiction piece titled, "Frowzy."

It's about a bad haircut—I wonder if you've ever had an experience quite like Doris's? 

Check it out here and let me know in the comment section if you can identify.

Fall Flowers & Family

The garden is starting to slide downhill in my Kentucky acre,

but it still has lots to offer.

The Coral Drift rose bush is turning cartwheels in a garden plot where everything

else is finished for the season. 

My garden true love, Heavenly Blue morning glory, finally reached the top of 

the tepee and is blooming like crazy. It's one tall, majestic cascade of sky blue.

But they're best appreciated up close. These lucky black bugs think so too.

More on morning glories from a few years ago here.

And as always, the zinnia is the hardy hero that saves the fall garden.

Zinnias bloom and bloom and bloom without any attention. 

Extra watering, deadheading, staking—it's just not going to happen in October. 

This photo was taken a month ago today. It was a Friday night, just before a backyard 

party. My husband arrived home from the vet with bad news—

our family dog only of fourteen years had very little time left 

and there was nothing to be done to help. 

"I want to get a photo of all of us with her."

My Middle Son put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Then we should do it now."

So we did. 

I stopped filling coolers and Steve put away the grilling tools. 

All the guys delayed their work/school/social schedules long enough to get this photo.

It's a keeper.

Umbrella Lights

Umbrella lights that blink on just as the sky turns dusky-dark blue 

- dreamy!

I wonder what the fireflies think about 

this new backyard feature ...

Purple Blue

Who doesn't need a big dose of blue? 

For me, it's the most startling color in the garden. 

The color of the heavens so close to the dust of the earth—pretty incredible.

Uh-oh. 

Are you saying to yourself—"Wait. That's not blue; it's purple!"

Oh, friends! Toe-may-toe ... toe-mah-toe!

Haven't you ever seen a sky so lusciously deep blue that it leaned toward purple? 

Of course you have. I'll bet you've even seen what my father-in-law calls  

"sky-blue pink" on the horizon, but you probably didn't know to call it that.

We learn something new everyday. 

This is the delicious purple-blue of Georgia Blue Speedwell.

It's widely available, and if you live nearby, I'm happy to share mine.

It's been a while since I gave you a Story Snapshot. Here's a quick one: 

 Fall Into the Blue

     Her nerves still thrummed with the energy of the concert. Joyce hated to leave the arena and return to her everyday life, but return she must. Following close behind Evan, navigating the crowded aisles was easy and she let her eyes wander over the other departing audience members. But soon the press of the crowd lifted them along with more urgency toward the doors. Joyce clung to the bend in her husband's arm, then moved to hold hands, and when the inevitable separation came, she did not allow panic to take hold. "I'll meet you outside, at the clock on the corner!" she called over her shoulder. 

     "I'll be right behind you," he assured, his voice raised but calm.

     In the crisp air outside the arena, Joyce slowed her pace as people surged past. Where's Evan? At the clock on the corner. The illuminated clock face stood tall and peaceful over departing fans. Joyce lowered her head and began to make her way across. "Excuse me. Pardon me. Just coming through..." 

   

  He sat on the sidewalk, right in the middle of the swirling throng, holding a sign: "Navy Vet. Down and Out. Need Help." Determined to reach the clock, she didn't see him in time to swirl past like the rest of the human tide. In awkward wedge heels, she tilted toward him, away from him, to the side, then inevitably, back in his direction. Joyce landed on both knees directly in front of the man, her hand on the shoulder of his heavy coat the only thing that kept her from rolling into his lap. 

     Of course time slowed to lengthen the excruciating embarrassment. The man's can of collected change rattled and threatened to spill. He lunged for it as she got one knee under herself. Then Joyce felt one of Evan's hands at her elbow and the other around her waist, his familiar cologne identifying him as her rescuer. 

    "I'm so sorry!" Joyce brushed dust from the knees of her slacks, glanced into the sitting man's face ... and gasped. His eyes! Startled and large, they pierced her through. His gaze, a dreadfully familiar vivid blue, locked on hers. 

     His voice croaked, "Joycie ... ?"                                            

Mighty Blues

 How could something so small,

 

 something that lasts only one day,

 

 be so extravagantly glorious?

* Pondering verses here.

In light of those verses, you might want to 

sing a little bit. Or even alot.  

 

What Rhymes With Nine?

It's my forty-ninth birthday today, and

I'm pondering my slogan for the coming year.

You have birthday slogans, right? A new one every year?

A short motto, preferably rhyming, to launch the 

the next year of life. I'm leaving behind last year's:

Life will be great while I'm forty-eight!

A lot of great things rhyme with "nine" ...  and I'm happy 

to take suggestions.

Side Note:

Heavenly Blue morning glory is twining up the greenhouse downspout.

When the early morning sun lights those blooms - OH! 

There's no choice other than an hour or so of pajama photography. 

Here, Fishy, Fishy!

Only a few hydrangeas had any blooms here this season, due to the incredibly harsh winter just past.

The only traditional hydrangea of mine that had any blooms was a single Blue Billows bush. 

Not usually one of my favorites, but I appreciated the blue when it was so scarce in my garden this spring.

* This morning I saw that one of my Nikko bushes has added a whole new 

layer of small blooms!  It's going to do a fall bloom!  Whoo-hoo!

Super short stems make Blue Billows work best in a very small vase.

My fish is interested in anything that happens in his windowsill. 

I tell you, this fish is more like a dog in a bowl than a regular pet fish.

He (it?) rests on the bottom of his vase until someone comes to the sink for a drink 

or to wash dishes. Then he flutters at the edge, watching the water stream and wanting attention. 
Or food, whichever. 

His wife is in the background - a solar hula dancer from the Dollar Tree.

He is, after all, a 'fighting fish', so it took them a while to make their relationship work, 

but now they are inseparable. 

Home Again

A week is  along time to be on vacation. 

It can get a little big jiggy at the end.

Three adult-sized males 

crammed in the rear of even a generously sized (rented) SUV can be 

unenthusiastic travel companions when facing an eight hour drive home.

 It makes coming home all the sweeter, doesn't it?

Vacation photos of the fun part - - - soon to follow.

***

My speedwell was going strong a couple of weeks ago. Bees love the purple-blue spikes which are upright and colorful all the way to the end of their bloom time. When they're finished though, they're like  old ladies who've been too long at the ball - they lay all over gasping and taking up too much room. I trim mine back to about three inches. They look awful for a couple of weeks, while the other plants fill in and disguise their rough mornings. But soon speedwell will green back up and make nice foliage plants with a stray bloom here and there for the rest of the summer. They love the sun but will also bloom in pretty deep shade.

 

Browning Blues

We closed the gardens on Saturday, since it was such a warm day. 

It's all hands on deck when that big job looms between me and the (real) Holidays.

But this year, all hands meant only 6 - Husband, My Youngest and myself.

One of us was less than enthusiastic about spending Saturday afternoon this way.

And it wasn't those of us over twenty years of age.

Now listen, I know it's way more effective to motivate an un-motivated teenager by 

praising positive effort and casting a vision of the many 

satisfactions of a job well done

 than it is to 

goad and fuss, or prompt and point.  

Encouragement is always better than prodding - that seems easy to agree with, doesn't it?

But when I want something to be done, I find it so, so hard to discipline myself to stay on the right side! 

And in a nutshell, that's what parenting is REALLY all about, isn't it? 

Yes, there are lots of hugs and warmth and blessing abound, 

but I don't think it's hard to admit that it's also the Refiner's fire at times. 

The poor kid probably thought I was having some sort of personality disorder eruption right there

in the middle of the lamb's ear patch. One moment pleasant and smiling, encouraging ---

then frowning, huffing and haranguing. It's a battle, people! 

*** Making a side note of the obvious - these photos! ***

One of the jobs on Saturday was removing old hydrangea blooms. The weight of a heavy snowfall(or ice)  can break the canes if the mopheads remain on the bush through the winter, so it's better to take them off as part of the fall clean-up. 

An easy, standing up sort of job! Clip and toss! It's freeing! They just blow away! 

What teenager wouldn't want that job, I ask you?

Look how the deep blue color fades top to bottom from this bloom - is that cool or what? You can see on some individual petals how the color is fading to brown - brown and sky blue on the same petals! Beauty in the most ordinary, disposable items!  The Father is certainly lavish in His displays of splendor!