Time to enjoy the little things

This unexpected and prolonged time off of work has meant that I have had opportunities to embrace special moments, great and small.  Here are some of the recent highlights

Final Graduation  The youngest graduated from college.   Wow.  Phew.  His older brother took him skydiving for graduation.  I was so relieved when they both returned and did not find their nervous, pre-flight joking about life insurance and forgetting to pull the cord at all funny.  Yes I am blessed to have them both alive and well educated.  We have had a lot of time together this summer.  Two of us are looking for work.

Lucky 

Lucky

Happy, Liberated Frogs  Lucky the frog has completely acclimated to life in the pond.  He began croaking his lonesome "jug-a-rum" noise about a week after his liberation from the meat department at The Great Wall grocery store.  Last week my friend and I liberated two pals for him.  We chose smaller frogs, in hopes that one or both would be ladies.  We named them Lucky Lady and Sam.  They seemed stunned by the pond at first and then quickly became used to the good life.  Now two frogs sing at all hours of the day and night.  I hope that means that the third one is in fact a lady frog.  One day this week I bent down to pull a stick out of the pond and Lucky was right beneath me, unaware, and begin his "humm..jug-a-rum..." right next to me.  Wow what a voice and the echo off the water was intense.  He quickly realized I was there and made a loud "hruumph" and dove to the bottom.


On July 4 we had quite a show from the two male frogs, croaking and puffing out their chins and hopping all over one another.  It seems Lucky Lady was nowhere to be found and not receiving their signals that they were interested.  But we are still not sure if Lucky Lady is a man or a lady.  We can't get close enough to clearly see the color under the chin and the size of the ear circles.  The croaking goes on day and night.  It is quite a show.

One of the many creative displays at the Chesapeake Bay Exploration Center

Glorious days, Unplanned fun  There have been many beautiful weather days this year, but last week was exceptionally wonderful because it was so beastly hot the week before.  The first morning of the trio of glorious days, I woke up cheerful and ready to enjoy the day.  I cancelled out of my Bikram yoga class (sweating in 105-degrees was an unpleasant thought when it was barely 80-degrees outdoors).  I called my friend and an hour later we met around the beltway and drove together to Annapolis, Maryland and then over the Bay Bridge to Kent Island.   There we enjoyed walking by the water, eating crab cakes at a new waterside restaurant, Bridges, and visited the Chesapeake Bay Exploration Center that was filled with interesting hands-on exhibits (some creatively displayed in old kitchen appliances) and an observation tower with a spiral staircase.  The best part about the whole day is that it was completely spur of the moment (no time to make plans or change plans) and absolutely relaxing.

curious catbird in a ray of sunshine

Bird in the House  Last week I left the door open to let in the cool breeze.  When I returned to the room, a curious catbird flew in.  After a few disoriented minutes for both of us, including the dog barking when he finally realized his space had been invaded, and a sweet moment when the bird hopped on my wrist and looked up at me ask if to say "please help me out", my son interceded and suggested I simply open the window next to the bird and let him out.  Sometimes it takes another person to make you realize the obvious solutions.  Out he flew and that was that.  Today he was in the garden, intrigued by the bucket of compost.


Praying Mantis  When I sat down for lunch at Kent Island last week, a small brown praying mantis flew onto my arm and began to pray.  It was such a sweet moment and I felt the urge to join him, all the while conscious that restaurant patrons don't always take kindly to seeing "bugs" while eating.  So I held my hands out so he could stairstep up them, thinking he would just fly off and go about his business.  He had no intention of leaving me so I walked to the outskirts of the patio where there were small bushes to  place him on.  A little girl noticed him and said to her grandmother, "look, that lady has a grasshopper."  Clearly not a bug fan (at least in restaurants), the grandmother scowled; I thought it best not to show her that it was actually a praying mantis.  I put him on the bush, hopeful that he would find others of his kind and glad to have had that little moment of prayer with him.

Juniper after the haircut

Juniper clippings

Haircut  While work is scarce, my haircuts are intermittent and I appreciate them all the more.  There is nothing like feeling that your hair looks good.  At my last appointment, I was surprised at how much hair I needed to have cut.  Recently, I gave the juniper bonsai a haircut and was amazed at the pile of clippings.  Taking care of these small trees requires patience and at the same time gives me the opportunity to meditate and enjoy nature and the act of giving.  While doing my caretaking, I watched the birds, listened to the frogs croaking, and relaxed.

First day of flying lessons

More flying lessons

Flying Lessons   The mother robins have been giving flying lessons in our backyard and not all of the children are good at it yet.  They spend a lot of time complaining loudly and the moms leave them unattended so that they are forced to try to fly.  One sat on the deck railing for a long time, not even calling his mother but looking fearfully at the ground and his surroundings, as if paralyzed.  Eventually, he flew and in the next several days I saw him with his sibling who was less fearful and a bit better at the art.

Three's a Crowd   There was a nest of baby robins in the hedge across the street.  My neighbor and I had a good time watching their hungry little heads bobbing up and down when a branch moved or they heard a noise that sounded like mom coming with dinner.  They opened their beaks in anticipation of a yummy worm and squawked disappointedly when they were not rewarded.  They were stuffed in their nest so tightly that it looked as if it would burst open.  The day after I took this photo, their mother brought them to my yard for lessons and they have not returned to the nest.  They probably no longer fit.

Happy Father's Day

Father's Day makes me think about my own Dad who passed away early in 2002 after a stroke.  

Here he is in 1998 at my house, about this time of year, after having arranged these beautiful hydrangeas for me.  My hydrangeas are just as beautiful this year and I am always reminded of him when I pick and arrange them.  

Dad loved flowers and on visits here in the spring he would go to the garden center and buy me a few treasures and plant them for me.  Here is one of the clematis that he planted.  It always blooms in May and June and usually has beautiful flowers on Father's Day.

Here is a yellow rose on the bush I bought in Dad's honor on his birthday back in April.  The beetles are bothering it and the flower is nibbled a bit around the edges, but he would have loved it anyway and remembered that yellow roses are my favorite.

Dad loved my boys and spent quality time with them.  Here he is teaching Matt some manly skills.  

He was happy to hold my boys when they were babies as long as they didn't cry or have "messy pants."  When they had issues, he returned them.  I don't think he was much help to Mother with those things when we were babies, either.

Dad regularly told me he was proud of me.  What a feeling that was.  I miss that.  He was probably the last person who told me they were proud of me.  A kind word of praise can really turn a mediocre day around.  

At dinner this evening, I remembered Dad in my blessing, and said that I hope he is helping the Lord watch over us.  We continue to need his guidance and remember the lessons he taught us. 

Thanks Dad, for making me feel special.  This is your day and we all remember you fondly.

See also Happy Birthday Dad!

Sometimes A Thousand Words Are Better Than A Picture

My brief Memorial Day weekend at our cabin in Kentucky was filled with memories and mental pictures I will carry with me for years to come.  I have been coming to this place since I was a child, and it just gets better.  Each visit is unique and builds on the last.  This one was no exception.

Sure, I took photos, but sometimes I didn’t want to be behind the camera but right there where things were happening to enjoy the full beauty, not the amplification by my zoom lens or the super closeness from the macro.  Sometimes it was better to just be there and take the photos inside my own head, processed and stored somewhere, retrievable without electricity, with my eyes open or shut.

Some things just can’t be photographed adequately, either.  Like the night my son, dog and I sat in the dark by the lake, watching the fireflies light up the fog rolling in and looking to the hills in the distance and where lightening was flashing around growing rain clouds, approaching very slowly.  It was a beautiful sight to see the jagged forks of lightening that looked like they were cracking open the galaxies beyond.  We sat in awe for a long time.  No camera could capture the sight nor the intimacy of sharing that time together.

Later that night the thunder, lightening and heavy rain reached our cabin and it was quite a storm.  At night there is no light at the lake and the lightening is the sole illuminator.  The rain pelting down on the tin roof makes quite a commotion.  Two lightening bugs found their way indoors and danced in the dark cabin, brightening the blackness with their un-choreographed etch-a-sketching.

I tried photographing the view from our cabin in the early evening when the lake shimmers with the last of the day's sunshine.  It looks pretty in the photograph but it looks glorious in real life, as if tiny fairies are dancing along the top of the ripples of water, searching for something above or below, uncertain which way to go.

There is a carpet of moss next to the old sulphur spring on the opposite side of the lake from our cabin.  We always walk across the moss and go to the spring, checking to see how many frogs hop into the water as we get closer.  The moss is bright green and very soft.  I often reach down to feel it, or take off my shoes and walk across it, feeling the tickle between my toes and the soft dampness.  This photograph doesn’t capture the look or the feel of really being there.  My mental picture is far better; being there is just the best.

Nobody photographed it when my son put his arm around me and said “I love it here, Mom”.  That is my special mental picture, and Canon couldn’t beat that with the most expensive camera they make.  Nope, that memory is all mine.

When our aging yellow dog galloped in the grass and gleefully walked in the stream and drank the cool water on our first walk of the day, I didn’t have my camera.  It was great fun to see his old spirit and energy return for a short time.  Back at the cabin, he slept for hours in preparation for the next walk.  I’m sure his mental picture was of himself as a younger dog, enjoying all the sights and sounds of nature that are part of every day there.

On a late afternoon walk, I found this lucky feather.  It felt like it had been put there especially for me.  I took the photo and never touched the feather, leaving it instead for the next person who might think it a lucky feather left there especially for them.  The photo doesn’t capture the beauty of the surroundings, nor the extraordinary spotlight of end of the day sunshine.

Thousands of newly-hatched bass swam in the still water at the end of one of the docks.  It was amazing to see so many, looking very much the same; but on closer inspection each had its own unique characteristics.  How amazing that they must have all hatched at once; and it was uncanny how they swam in waves, mimicking the movements of the adjacent brothers and sisters.  This photo does not show their synchronized swimming, nor the largess of the school.

The air is damp and crisp on the morning after a storm.  When the fog finally lifts off the lake it looks like glass and reflects the trees and the other cottages and everything is still.  The scent is sweet and grassy and the birds call out to one another.  No camera could take it all in but the memories are vivid.

My Father told me the story about our relative who planted two cypress trees by the lake and was told that they would never survive that far north.  She has been dead for about 40 years.  The two trees, now some 40 feet tall, are thriving.  I told the story to my son again during the weekend.  He loves that story, as did I when Dad told me; I hope he tells his children too.  This photograph doesn’t capture the beauty of the trees, nor the tenderness of the storytelling, but you get a little glimpse.

In May, the barn swallows are still tending their mud-caked nests under the docks around the lake.  They swoop about, guarding their new families and eating insects.  It is unusual to get more than a few second’s view of them, because they are always on the go and do not stop near humans.  I snapped two photos  of the birds at rest, with my zoom lens; I captured just a little bit of their beautiful colors and the serenity surrounding them.  They are too fast to capture in flight, and the photo would only show a split second in a larger panorama that only the eye and the mind can properly take in.

We rescued a medium-sized box turtle on the narrow country road leading up to the lake.  With nowhere to go but a steep cliff on the other side where he was headed, he was doomed and I decided to take him with us, barely a mile to our cabin.  There I turned him loose in the woods behind the cabin, free to wander back to his old turf or establish a new safer homestead.  He was a bright and yolky yellow with black.  His head and face were yellow.  I wasn’t able to get him to poke his head out for the photo and I left him to his business when I released him.  While in the car for those few minutes, he bravely wandered around the floor, searching for that place on the other side of the road where he was headed, clueless that he would have been flattened had he been under and not inside. 

Wildflowers and the smell of flowers are just part of the lake's beauty in May.  Iris bloom at the shore, first the yellow and then the blues.  Honeysuckle is in the woods and beside the lake and the scent is everywhere.  How can you photograph the sweetening it gives to every cleansing breath you take?

There is something really special about watching someone you love doing something they love.  My son loves fly fishing; this photo is of the first few minutes of the first day when the first thing he wanted to do was fish. 

While I have collected some memorable photographs, the real memories aren’t digital but mental.  The sounds and the smells are etched in my brain along with the great conversation and the laughing and the jokes that nobody else would understand.  Memories are a gift and I just love making them.


It was a perfect place to spend Memorial Day weekend.  I have years of memories of friends and family who have shared this place with us; many of them are no longer with us but we remember them and our time together each time we return.

The Magic of the Fireflies

We called them lightening bugs when I was a child.  That name evokes visions of streaks of light, thunder and stormy weather.  It also brings back a lot of good, simple memories.

I remember running around our backyard chasing lightening bugs when I was growing up in Florida.  My brother, sister and I would see who could catch the most.  We put them in jars and watched them glow and shook them to see the light streaks in the dark, like sparklers on the Fourth of July.  I always let mine loose quickly, afraid they would expire in their cramped quarters.

Sometime between childhood and this baby boomer age I have grown into, I started calling them fireflies.  I don't know why or if maybe it is a regional thing, but now they have come to mean the start of summer and the illumination of the garden and the tall pine trees that surround it.  It is a magical time in late May and into June, over before July 4.

Tonight was the first night I saw them, brightening the pine trees with their signal lights, calling silently  to their potential mates.  Summer  has begun and nights on the deck will be full of magic for weeks to come.

I'll want to linger over dinner on the deck, waiting until the dark sets in, signaled by the first bat sighting in the open spaces between the treetops.  Soon after the darkness falls, the tiny sparklers begin their show, gyrating among the trees, venturing out into the open spaces to light up the garden, the pond and the still-green grass.  The bats begin their hunting and the fireflies dodge them, intent on their own solicitations of the night.

There is something magical about the dancing lights that makes me think of a Tinkerbell convention or tiny little spaceships observing the activities of the earthings.  Occasionally when several are in close proximity, their light is bright enough to illuminate a spot in the trees or, when they come close, brighten the spot where I am.  I imagine a walk through the woods in the night, fireflies  lighting my path to a clearing where all the animals are having a hoe-down and dancing and communicating between species, illuminated by the magic of the fireflies.

I remember a special night when Mother was visiting some years ago and we sat on the lower deck, feet propped up on a bench, and watching the fireflies.  It was so peaceful and we enjoyed just sitting, lost in our own thoughts and taking in the beauty before us.

Eventually there will be thousands of them in my garden and the tiny little rockets with their afterglow will carouse through the night.  Intent on their personal missions, the fireflies are ignorant of the spectacle they make for those other than their own kind and we have the option of sitting back for a spell, using them as our excuse for slowing down and enjoying the simple things.

Tomorrow night cannot come too soon.   I plan to watch the show.  Tonight I might just wake up and go to the window for a spell.

Lucky Frog Liberation

When my brother was visiting last week we took a trip to The Great Wall, an international grocery store filled with interesting food items.  They also have amazing fruits and vegetables at great prices.

At the back of the store in the meat section they have live fish, live eels, live turtles and live frogs.  It breaks my heart to go back there and usually I avoid that part of the store; although sometimes I am just curious enough to view the assorted body parts, such as chicken feet, that are sold in styrofoam packages.  On this particular day, my brother, niece and son invited me to look over the live bullfrogs and choose which two I would like to liberate - to buy by the pound and take home to my pond.

The tiny container where the enormous bullfrogs were kept did not allow space for them to move about, much less swim.  It was sad to peer in, knowing only two would be saved.  Some did not look very healthy or even alive, but the two I chose were quite awake and seemingly not damaged in any way.  My brother dealt with the butcher who put both of them into a small paper bag.

I held the bag in my hand and as my warmth began to reach the frogs, the bag began to jiggle.  By the time we got to the checkout, they were bouncing about in the bag, trying to come out of the folded-down top.  We put them on the conveyer belt and the bag moved up and down and the top started to open a bit, a frog appendage attempting to reach the open air.  The checkout clerk made a gasping noise and put her hands to her face.  She did not know what to charge us and had to find out the frog price per pound.  I tried to explain that we were not going to eat them but instead to liberate them.  She didn't care.  She wanted those frogs off of her space, all two pounds of them - BIG FROGS!

Because frogs are wet and they pee everywhere, we decided to put the paper bag inside of a plastic one. It still gyrated as it sat on my brother's lap on the way home.   Soon they would be free, ready to face the wilds of the backyard and the challenges of life in the pond.

My eldest wisely was concerned about possible contamination of the existing pond inhabitants and we decided to put them in a large aquarium, filled with about 8" of water, a log and a couple of floating plants.  They had room to swim about or climb out to dry on the log.  Most importantly, we put an antibacterial solution in the water so that they would be disinfected by the time we released them into the pond.

It was very cold for the next three days of their quarantine period.  Once I went out out to check on them and they did not move.  I poked them and they did not respond and I though they had died.  Sadly, I turned one over and it flipped its leg and tried to right itself.  I was so relieved.  They were simply in hibernation mode, unprepared as they were for the change in temperature from the meat department.

Finally the day came to turn them loose.  My son picked the first one up and put him on a rock that jutted out into the pond.  He just sat there.  We tried to coax him into jumping; poking him did not help.  My son gave him a shove and into the water he went, probably swimming multiple strokes for the first time since he was a very tiny frog back at the frog farm.  It must have been exhilarating for him.  We noticed the second one had a damaged eye, probably poked during his time in the meat department.  We went through the same routine with him, ending by pushing him into the pond.

Since then we have never seen one-eye again.  He was the one who rarely surfaced during the isolation period so maybe he stays below the surface of the pond all of the time.  Or maybe a predator came at him on his bad side and took advantage of him.  But Lucky, the first to jump, is just about the happiest frog I have ever seen.  He has enough fear that he won't let you get close to him, but he has the guts to surface and float happily among the plants, head above the water, front feet resting on a plant or floating.  When startled he darts below the surface and swims quickly to the opposite side, making it there in only a couple of strokes.

It must have all been so overwhelming for him at first, having never been outdoors and free to do what he wanted.  His legs seemed stiff and difficult to move, probably due to lack of use.  He seems to have regained his olympic swimming strength now.  He is a looker.  We think he is an American Bullfrog.   I hate to say it but as much as I think he is special, the pictures in the frog book look an awful lot alike.  But one thing is for sure, this is one lucky frog.  I just hope that he has sense enough to stay away from the hawks and owls and enjoys lots of mosquitoes and water bugs this summer.  It is a good life and I feel fantastic knowing that I was part of a successful liberation, for only $3.99 a pound!

Peony Envy

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

Recently I visited the US National Arboretum, one of my favorite spots.  In addition to walking through the azalea gardens,  empty of admirers because most had peaked and had only wilted flowers, we saw the boxwood gardens and adjacent perennial gardens featuring peonies. 

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

While I loved seeing the beautiful peonies, it made me envious and a little annoyed because they were excessively beautiful.  There were so many of different varieties and colors.  I was star-struck and coveted the collection.

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

I didn’t grow up with peonies and until the last couple of years, I never paid much attention to them.  Perhaps that is because I have had so much more time to open my eyes and enjoy the spring or maybe it's an aging thing.   

Puny Peony in Falls Church

There is a peony bush tucked in the back of a partially-shaded flower bed in my garden.  It never blooms and doesn't grow much.  In 13 years it hasn't changed size but it always comes back.   I think it is a puny peony.   Like some people, and animals, it just isn’t up to the challenge of blooming and instead puts out its greens and does no more.  It lives; it does not thrive.

My peony

A few years ago I purchased three peony tubers in the spring and planted them in a sunny spot in the garden.  They barely had any leaves that first year (I have since found out it is best to plant peonies in the fall).  The second year I had completely forgotten about them and was surprised to see them emerge from the cold earth late in the spring; again, no blooms.

My Peony

This year I had quite a surprise.  One of the three peony bushes put out two blooms.  They were not big gorgeous blooms like what you see at the National Arboretum or in my neighbors’ yards, but the color is beautiful and they lasted about a week.  I don’t know about the two smaller bushes; maybe next year will be the year for their to peak (or peek?).

Friend's Peonies

Meanwhile my dear neighbor and friend has brought me cuttings from her voluptuous peonies and on my morning walks with the dog I see the peonies of others in the neighborhood, all beautiful, full and enormous.  Mine pale in comparison.  It must be the lack of full sun in my yard.  Or maybe they need to be fed.

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

There is a lot to be said for shade in the summer months, but it makes it hard to grow some things – like jealousy-inducing peonies.  So I continue to be envious right now that everyone else's peonies outshine mine and remain gorgeous as my two little blooms lose their leaves. 

Sometimes you just have to work with and appreciate the resources you have.  My shade-loving hostas are gorgeous and enormous, and soon will have their fragrant beautiful flowers; my azaleas were full and brilliant this year; the bleeding hearts are to be coveted; the rhododendron are stunning; and soon my hydrangeas in dark pink, brilliant blue and deep purple will be blooming and ready to cut and share.  

US National Arboretum, Peony Collection

It seems there are lessons everywhere these days.  Peonies are good teachers.  Envy is not a particularly attractive trait and really I don't consider my problem with peony envy a serious personality flaw.  Rather it is an opportunity to reflect, examine my actions (maybe I should try feeding them and move the puny one to a sunny spot), rejoice for the beauty I am so fortunate to be able to enjoy, and wait patiently for the wonders unfolding in other parts of my garden as summer progresses.  No matter how gorgeous and prolific my perennials and bushes are, I promise I will never mention that mine are bigger than yours!

Visit the peony collection at the United States National Arboretum!