Forget-Me-Not Thoughts

Forget-me-not blues. 

These have dotted my garden in years past, but they 

always seem to die out. Not in an ugly 

way--just not there when you look for them

in the spring. 

When I browsed hopeful rows of perennials this year, the 

sky blue and yellow color combination caught my eye. 

The plant name struck my heart and sealed the deal. 

"You're coming home with me." 

Do you ever whisper to your plants? 

Maybe we shouldn't admit such things.

The blooms are intricately crafted dainties, clustered 

in small bouquets. This would have been enough, 

but my macro lens revealed an extra bit of shareable beauty.

 Tiny yellow hearts ring the center, 

one heart for each petal.

In a season of home-goings, this plant spoke the 

exact language I needed to express a deluge 

of thoughts, emotions, and grief.

A backyard garden often reflects its keeper in this way. 

The gardener walks the rows and remembers--

these were Grandma's favorite flowers.

She spreads protective mulch and ponders--

I want to be tenacious like the tiger lilies.

In hottest July, she waters dry ground and nods along 

with the Master Gardener, whose plan is continually unfolding--

even to include a hydrangea blooming through a fence.

What reminders do the plants in your garden offer? 

What memories do they whisper at nightfall?

Do its citizens inspire any lofty ambitions? 

I'd love to know. 

Simple Summer Icebox Pie

 I'm no culinary diva, especially in the summer. 

I'm happy with grilled meat and corn on the cob every night.

Simple is my favorite adjective for hot-weather food. 

And that's the best description for this summer pie. Grandma might've 

called it "icebox pie," since it sets up in the freezer. Typical icebox pies are 

high-calorie and loaded with fat, things I'm not absolutely opposed to, 

but if I can easily dodge those, I (probably) will. 

This casual concoction features Greek yogurt in place of cream cheese 

or sweetened condensed milk. Topped with whatever fruit you find 

in your garden or at the farmer's market, it's a win for sure. 

The variations are nearly endless and simply delicious.

Simple Summertime Icebox Pie

1. Make(or buy)a graham cracker or cookie crust. 

2. Gently combine and spoon into crust: 

one large container of vanilla Greek yogurt

one regular-sized container of whipped topping

3. Prepare fruit and layer on top of yogurt cream filling.

4. Chill in your freezer for about two hours. Allow to thaw for a few minutes before serving. 

The opportunities for upgrades are endless here ... think chips, drizzles, and mix-ins. 

Crazy Bouquet

Can you imagine a flower bouquet 

just on the brink of blooming? 

Imagine cutting and arranging a bountiful armful of 

almost-but-not-yet beauty.

Nearly-open sunflowers would complement daylilies, still zipped shut.

Almost unfurled fern fronds and barely blue hydrangeas could keep each other company.

Would it be crazy to give the gift of beauty 

without enjoying its fullness first?

To pass the highest enjoyment over to the recipient?

Well, that would be an extravagant gift, and yes ... 

maybe a little crazy.

 

Consider the Lilies

It's been a summer of the richest blooms. 

This year, I watched for the last daylily bloom 

and made sure to admire and enjoy it. 

Of course, lots of years have passed in which 

I didn't notice or care that the daylilies 

were almost gone, and I certainly 

didn't take note of the last one. 

Surely we rejoice that we have a
hope-filled future, brimming with 
unimagined amazements and 
exceeding great joy. 

But looking forward to these doesn't cancel 

the wisdom of savoring what's before us in the now. 

So consider the lilies in your life—savor and enjoy. 

This may be wisdom born of years, friends . . .

since I'll be fifty-five this year, 

I can say things like this. 

For a picture book that will drive 
home the message and maybe 

give you a good cry, check out 

Let Me Hold You Longer by Karen Kingsbury. 

Have tissues at the ready. 

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. 

***

Finally, Buds

I planted three moonflower vines and one Heavenly Blue vine 

in the same pot and popped on a trellis-style topper.

Experienced vine-growers among you will immediately 

recognize my mistake: too many plants in one pot.

It happens. 

Spring was long-gone into summer, and there I 

stood with more seedlings than I really wanted. 

Instead of throwing them away--

I'd already given many of them away--

I just tucked them all together, shot it with a hose, 

and declared the planting season "finished."

They've been battling it out, overcrowded and slow to produce any kind of bud—not 

a bloom in sight. This photo shows the vines still reaching, tender tips 

tapping the air, seeking anything to grab and entwine. 

It's the name of the game for vines, right? 

Here in September, these plants have finally gotten the message that 

there's nothing else to grab—no fence, tree, or trellis nearby to support it.

That's when the buds start to appear.

Much to ponder here ...

I'll share photos of the blooms as they arrive.

This is a moonflower bud. I hope to see the white moonflowers and 

 blue morning glories on the same trellis, blooming at opposite 

times of day. That's the master plan, at least. 

    

    Entering the publishing world is a lot like being one of these vines. You feel your way gingerly, hoping to find a place for your work — a publishing house that shares your vision ... a place to bloom. When you find one, like I did when I signed with Familius Publishing, it's hard to overstate the excitement. 

    The release of my first title with them has been delayed until 2022 because of the pandemic-slow economy of 2020. I've heard from the publishing folks at Familius though, and while my book-bloom is slightly postponed, Familius is still my place to set buds and eventually bloom. 

    It's hard to overstate the gratitude for this blessing. I might see some illustrations concepts for the Family Dog / Lit Pups project before the end of the year. If I'm allowed to share them, I will. 

 

Summer Snapshots

The pandemic season may have kept me out 

of the garden centers, but my mailbox has done 

a brisk business. Park Seed Company provided 

wonderful seed packets in early spring. 

The entire process of planting and watering provided 

the perfect distraction from virus droplets, 

un-flattened curves, and

the mask/no-mask debate. 

And look at just two of the rewards of that labor: 

cleome

dwarf mix sunflower

This little stripey gourd is from last fall's leftovers.

We're enjoying lots of family gatherings.

Our backyard has never seemed more like a safe haven 

than it does now. 

But we're going out into the wide world soon, 

if we can only remember how to vacation out there.

 I found this reminder from 2015:

My family has changed so drastically since this vacation 

photo was taken. Instead of five, we are nine. 

And now I'm not the only female among men—

I'm joined by three amazing lovelies. 

Together, I think we balance out the group well. 

Grandchildren provide endless entertainment, 

hugs, and giggles—the biggest upgrade of all.

Read the vacation blog post from 2015 here. 

"Worth It" 

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.

Here Comes a Duck

She waddled up our seen-better-days driveway, 

 chatting to herself the way ducks do, and stood in a puddle, commanding our attention.

She got that and much more. 

All summer, we carried around bits of bread and cracker crumbs 

and became her best option for some decent take out.

In exchange, she followed us around the acre like a family dog providing a 

soothing backdrop of duck talk. 

I often wondered exactly what 

she was saying, but never could get close enough to make out 

any real words. It might have been a complaint about the 

 bread quality or the boring variety of crackers, because she 

disappeared after a few visits—on to better menus, I'm sure.

Exactly what your granny used to say, right? 

"Just when you think you know what to expect, 

here comes a duck."

Backyard Days and a Story Snapshot

It was my last year as a homeschool mom.

The sweetgum showered red-gold leaves, the bees buzzed lazy tunes,

 and my youngest teenager read aloud from Tolkien.

It was a memory moment—the kind meant for savoring.

Today was the same kind of day, but I didn't get to read in the backyard. 

I hope you did, though.

 

I took this photo of a pair of glasses I found at a sale. 

Purchased for a few quarters, they sold again for much more. 

My writing fund appreciated the small contribution. 

So, here's a bit of flash fiction inspired by these seen-better-days specs. 

     Missing

     "Where are my glasses?" Craig ran his hand up his forehead then back down, mashing his nose flat. "Every time I lay them down, they go missing." He flopped into his armchair and a slight veil of dust puffed into the afternoon sun and floated toward thick window panes. 

     Janice handed him the newspaper. "You had them in the church this morning, didn't you? Then you stopped at the Danaher's on the way home ..." She glanced up at him from her own reading, hoping for a clue. Craig had gone still at the mention of the Danaher home, the crazed epicenter of the once-quiet village. "Did you have a chance to talk with—" 

     "No." Craig shot up from his chair and the newspaper fell to the floor, unnoticed. "I remember now. They are at the church." At the door, he grabbed his hat from the hook and pulled it low on his forehead. "You're right, Janice," he said. "You're always right." 

     

When Your Umbrella Flaps

When you're on a hot beach and the noontime sun is beating down, this is not what you want 

to see above your head. But that's exactly what happened on our tiny patch of Florida beach this year. 

We were happily gawking beach scenery—parents corralling sandy littles, sun-darkened seniors 

knee-slapping, and shark tooth seekers bent double, surf scanning—when

WHOOF! 

Our umbrella lost its battle with the wind. 

For a while, we let it flap, too lazy to get up and wrestle it back into a proper form. 

I took a few photos of its free-form, flappy beauty—some of my favorites of the week.

Next time things go wrong on your patch of sand, instead of rushing to repair, 

take a breath ... can you see it? 

Beauty often shines in unexpected, less-than-ideal circumstances.

Hummingbird Nectar Recipe

They're curious and eager in early spring.

Brilliant, winged beggars actually peer in my kitchen windows. 

They're looking for me, demanding attention. 

The earliest hummingbirds seem to prompt, "Hey—feed us!"

As spring grows older they grow bolder, sipping sugar no matter who's nearby.

We have deep-summer memories of laying under the hummingbird feeder, 

watching them joust through the heat and into the dusk.

In late August, their feeding becomes frantic, they guard and defend.
 The nectar wars begin ... 

... and this guy always wins.

Some tips for feeding hummingbirds: 

* Hang the feeder in the open where it's easily found. 
Near a flower bed or container garden is ideal.

* I use Miss Helen's simple recipe: 

1 cup water + 1/4 cup sugar. No need to boil, just stir until the 

sugar is completely dissolved. 

* Keep the feeder clean. Before you refill it, empty it and scrub it. 
Make sure to rinse away any soap residue. 

* Make it impossible for ants to ruin your feeder by using an ant moat. 

It's the easiest and cleanest way to keep ants away from the nectar.

Do you feed hummingbirds? 
I'd love to hear your stories and comments. 
Meanwhile, enjoy this and this. 
And you must see this. 

Emerging

An unsuspecting luna moth caterpillar made its slow and deliberate way across our front yard. 

The black suitcase he scaled happened to be one of the left-behind items in the yard sale we 

attempt every five years or so, and his bright green color was eye-grabbing.

 A glass vase topped with some leftover door screen made the perfect spontaneous terrarium.

Wrapping itself in maple leaves and sticky silk, it constructed a cocoon by 

nightfall the same day, and the watching and waiting began. In all honesty, 

I gave up seeing the miracle of metamorphosis; sure that my

fumbling attempt to capture  transformation  in a glass vase would fail.

But about two weeks later ...

The day it emerged, we celebrated like children—the ones we truly are on the inside— and 

made an event of setting it free.

The left-behind chrysalis contained the dried, discolored bits of the caterpillar's body. 

The moth emerged with everything it needed for success in its glorious new life.

And someday ... so shall we. 

Sunflower Lessons

This single bloom was enough to satisfy my sunflower hunger this year.

I found it as a seedling, accidentally sprouted between bricks on the greenhouse

floor—a birdseed spill only partly cleaned up during our spring chaos. 

Admiring its gumption, I transferred it to a pot and expected it to die. 

But it thrived.

It earned an honored spot in a raised bed with the zinnias, 

guaranteeing protection from the roly-poly rabbit mob. 

What started as accident—completely unplanned, unexpected, and unlikely—speaks its lessons 
to my backyard world daily: Determination. Strength. Perseverance. 
TRUST in the Master Gardener who notices the tiniest seedlings of grace in our lives 
and takes action to deliver an abundant yield.

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.