First Weekend Eve of the New Year

Coral-hued clouds. Blue
shadows on snow. Weeping icicles...
Feels like spring.
...

Thoughts of Spring

This week's been crazy springlike....

It's only mid-February, and all is nice (and warm!) enough for me to walk to the Studio --

-- with only a little puddlejumping.

Little green sprouts are even appearing in my gardens.

I'm sure this delightful weather won't last, right? It's Minne-snow-tah, after all.

And that's OK!

Because I'm not yet ready to stop enjoying winter.

I'm so grateful that I live where there are seasons!

What's it like where YOU are?

...

Savoring the Season

This time of year makes my socks go up and down....

But it's packed full of activity -- family birthdays, my OWN birthday, the end of Fest followed by all the post-Fest clean-up and the post-Fest art commissions and the post-Fest recovery period. And don't forget my favorite holiday: Halloween.

The season deserves all my attention, though, it's that spectacular. I wish it wasn't so brief.... I could spend whole hours/days/weeks just being still and watching it, feeling the temperature changes, following each leaf as it falls, enjoying the fragrance of loam and woodsmoke, wishing on each milkweed seed as it floats away....

But by the time I stop to do this, it seems I'm already smelling snow. Autumn is curled up and sleeping, and I have yet to rake her leaves! And so I don't.... I don't put the gardens to bed either. I leave them wild and shaggy like little enchanted forests full of burrs and brambles, where rabbits hunker and mice burrow under the leaves....

Maybe it's just that I can't bear to let go of my season. If I rake, if I garden, it's like I've tucked it all away like my Halloween decorations, to be forgotten about until the holiday sneaks up on me again and I hurriedly pull them out and enjoy them briefly without really smelling the candles and tasting the pumpkin spice and wearing the witch's hat....

My season deserves to be savored.

And so THAT is what is on my list today. Savor the season. And do it all again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

Join me.

Happy Solstice

It's less than a handful of days before Christmas here in Minne-snow-tah, and there's NO SNOW. I'm having a heckuva time getting into the spirit....

Feeling a bit desperate today, I tried wrapping gifts while listening to instrumental holiday music. I enjoyed some eggnog, took a bite or two (or ten) of peanut brittle, and even threw a top hat on my wraith -- "Old Blue Eyes" -- and dubbed him the Ghost of Christmas Future. But his Dickens vibe still didn't put me over the edge. And Dickens always puts me over the edge at Christmastime....

There were cards in the mail and brown paper packages (sans string) on the doorstep. And snow could be smelled on the air....

Still.... No 'holly jolly.'

I stood for a long moment at the front door and breathed in the scents of woodsmoke and the promise of snow. Twilight had come early in tints of slate and lavender. My Little Free Library was a shadow at the curb. Rowanberries trembled on their branches in the chilly December gusts, while a rabbit sheltered beneath the tree in a stand of frozen coneflower heads.... 

Suddenly I got it. And gone were thoughts of Burl Ives and Toys R Us and Amazon Wish Lists and whether or not I should schedule a haircut before Christmas. I'd been focusing on the wrong stuff.

(*Deep breath*)

So now I pour myself a glass of wine and raise a toast to that rabbit, that twilight, those shadows and wintry scents. And to you.

May the season wrap you in its wintry arms and fill your heart and spirit with peace. Happy Solstice.

Love,
...me.

Focusing on Sparkles

Something on Facebook this morning triggered a full-blown case of the panics (dang anxiety....), so I've spent my day working hard to focus on sparkles. Here are a few of them:

• A decent night's sleep.
• Soft clothes! (And matching socks.)
• A long walk in the wintry wind.
• Wispy clouds across a robin's-egg sky.
• Hearing the mailman at my front door.
• A postcard from a dear friend.
• Cat on my lap, cockatiel at my shoulder, and a sleepy rattie in my pocket.
• Twilight shadows in a silent house....
• The hum of the fridge and the rhythm of the faux firelog.
• Mac-and-cheese thoughts of tonight's supper....
• The liquid jade color and sweet seafoam taste of my cup of matcha tea latte.
• Typing to YOU.

Love you, my friend. I hope your day has sparkles in it, too.

...

An A-Ha Moment Whilst Walking on an Autumn Day

A Day in the Life....

I wake to the sounds of lovebird Thurston downstairs shrieking from his cage, and a frantic look around tells me that the cat's not in bed with me. I immediately wonder if I left someone's cage door open overnight and Boo has taken notice.

Still half asleep and disoriented, I stub my toe on the door frame as I run for the stairs. Tattletale Thurston is fine, but I discover Lily's cage is open. She's safe on her perch as usual, now looking at me in alarm.

What was the problem? Thurston thought it was high time he was fed....

He's not the only one. My whole house is hungry.

Before bothering to turn on the kettle, I begin feeding the 30+ monarch caterpillars that are enclosed in their little beer cups on my kitchen counter. One by one. Leaf by leaf. Each 'cat' is studied (is it eating?, thriving?, otherwise healthy?). Each cup is emptied of its poop. Each leaf remnant is replaced with fresh milkweed. Each 'cat' is transferred onto its fresh leaf with a paintbrush....

The task takes time but could be so much worse. I've fostered 100+ caterpillars at one time in the past; feeding that many is a full-time affair. And today I'm also collecting info, taking pics, measuring one caterpillar in each instar phase -- all to be used as props and documentation in any opportunities I may have at this season's Fest to teach others about the monarchs.

Knee-deep in my caterpillar routine there's a familiar 'thunk' at my back door. I know what it is. This happens every morning on the days that I feed Lily and Thurston but fail to bring their spent seed and leftovers outside to the feeder. Sure enough -- moments later there's a scrabbling outside my kitchen and soon a grey squirrel is peering in the window over my sink, giving me the stink-eye as I stand at my counter.

I pause in my routine to bring seed outside to the feeder and I see him hiding behind the trunk of the mulberry, watching me with one eye. I see the chipmunk, too, hiding in the hostas. And beyond is Bad Bunny in a patch of blooming clover. Wrens dart from birdhouse to birdhouse, chittering. A monarch flutters up from the back corner, reminding me that I must check that dwindling milkweed patch for eggs and caterpillars. My back garden is full of activity and I long to pull up a patio chair, enjoy a cup of coffee, and just watch it. But there's too much to do....

A quick walk through the dining room in search of my reading glasses reveals the turtles in their tank,  finished with their breakfast now and further worrying a strip of plastic caulk in the corner of the aquarium. I pause to remove it and to appreciate their wonderfulness. Tiny turtle hatchlings, so small and perfect, almost like jewelry. And with SO much personality!

I quickly check Nell in her terrarium below them and notice she looks 'different.' Long hairy tarantula legs poking at odd angles from the end of her hollow log. A quick blow into the screen top doesn't make them retract, but it does make an additional pair of legs appear at the other end! The effect is bizarre and makes me think of a slinkydog or a pushme-pullyu. But it's just that she's moulted. I must remember to look for a jar or a specimen box just in case the moult is all in one piece (because how cool would that be??).

About the time I've finished feeding and checking on the others -- James's beta fish, his snake Syntche, the little housemouse, rattie Max -- Boo appears. It's foodtime for her, too. I've wondered where she's been hiding since my frantic wake-up call revealed she wasn't in bed with me. Or in any of her other hide-outs. Or underfoot, as usually happens first thing in the morning. Who knows where she's been? But wherever it was, I'm sure it's cozy. Someplace I'd like to curl up in if I were a cat.

I feed her before putting on my shoes and grabbing my tool caddies -- two cardboard 6-pack Guinness carriers wrapped in duct tape and outfitted with a pair of scissors, a bottle of drinking water, two ziploc containers lined with moist paper towels, and a little bottle of WD-40 in the event my bike -- 'Gladys' -- is especially squeaky. I pack everything into her basket and we're off.

And then I remember: I fed everyone but myself! Good thing I brought an apple. :)

The day is glorious. A Calvin and Hobbes day. The sun is warm on my back. The clouds are billowy overhead. I reach Postage Stamp Pond and it's too pretty for words, but I'd best keep my eye on the bike path so I can be sure to dodge the occasional pile of dog poop and the dozen or so fly-covered toads, all squashed into the tar by bike tires. Some sad in the midst of my happy.... The poop disgusts me. The toad bodies just break my heart. I love toads. I used to see so many of them when I was a child, and now it seems there are so few. So when I suspect they're being targeted on the walking path, it pains me. Although, to be fair, when James and I walked it recently at the very end of the day, it alarmed us how the toads looked just like rocks in front of us as they lay basking in the heat of the day-warmed path. Had we not been vigilant we'd have squashed a dozen or so between us. They didn't move, even when we prodded them with a toe. Perfect targets....

I ride to where the path meets the busy road. And instead of crossing and continuing on, I turn around, leave Gladys to graze on the verge, and begin to collect milkweed. Dried white spatters tell me where I harvested leaves the day before; the milkweed juice is opaque as paint. There are bees everywhere, and electric blue 'darning needles.' A family of Canada geese eyes me warily as I inch along, but I ignore them. My hunting turns up nothing but a single monarch egg.... I fill a plastic container with enough leaves for my existing herd and return to where Gladys waits on the bike path.

Back again in my cluttery kitchen I put the leaf with its little monarch egg into a shotglass full of fresh water. The ziploc containers with their fresh milkweed leaves get placed in the fridge; their contents will come in handy tonight when I feed and check the late-stage caterpillars before bed. It's afternoon now and all the monarch work is over for a bit, I think. But then I remember the little patch of dwindling milkweed at the bottom of my garden and I go outside to check it.

Happy day! -- three more hatchlings.

Work's not over yet.
...

Thinking of You

Summer afternoon,
Sidewalk chalk in happy shades --
This wish is for you.

...me.

A Wonder-Filled Visit

My champion -- aka the Grandson -- visited for a bit not long ago. As soon as his seatbelt was unbuckled he hit the ground running, and I could hear him excitedly shouting all the way to my back door.

"Gwamma! Guess what?" he said as he navigated the back step. "The Wild is in the pwayoffs!"

"The Wild?" I said. "The playoffs? Cool! They must be good at basketball."

He gave a puzzled look as I held the door for him. "Gwamma, don't you know anything about hockey??"

I do, sort of. I was teasing him. But it appears that I'll have to know a bit more about it in future if I want to earn his undying love and admiration.... He attempted to educate me as he peeled off his cap and shoes, filling me in about the stats and players and teams I've never heard of.

"The 'Blues?' The blue whats exactly? The Blue jays? The Blue birds?"

He rolled his eyes. "Gwamma, they're just the Bwoos. And the wed team is the Fwames."

"The 'Flames,' huh?"

"Yep. And they're wed because fire is WED."

"You don't say!" :)

First it was a game or two or twelve of Angry Birds. ("Gwamma, I will teach you how to pway. Watch and learn.")

Then it was outside for some croquet action. "Hey.... Did you buy this game Up North??" (Someone's obviously played croquet at a cabin.) Nevermind the stakes and hoops; we spent our time in the sun knocking each other's balls out of play and laughing as they rolled into the garden and under the vines.

In the course of our game we paused to watch the busy chickadees as they carved out a cavity in my locust tree. (The face of my Green Man merely looked amused as birds took turns darting in and out of his moustache.) The grandson was captivated, but only for a bit. Then it was back to the competition! He was The Wild and I was The Bwoos and there was no way he was going to let me win The Pway-Offs. :)

I didn't try too hard. And he made sure to encourage me after every swing I took that missed.

All too soon his mom phoned to tell us she was on her way, so before he left for home again we took a break for Freezie Pops.

It was a VERY good day. :)
...

Just Me Saying Hi

Yep. It's been a looong time. Much has kept me from writing and sharing, but it's all stuff that's not worthy of a post.

A sun dog! It's almost holy, isn't it?

But now it's time to get back on the word horse and take a dang ride already. And today's a good day for it. Bright and windy and warm. There's a ring around the sun! And marsh brush surrounding Postage Stamp Pond is gearing up to become a watercolor wash of yellow and green. I'll give it another day or two (and I'd best pay attention so that I don't miss the moment).

I can aaaaalmost see a smear of green....

I can hear a lawn machine droning in the distance and smell hot tar as its tamped into the post-winter potholes. Two chickadees methodically excavate a crevice in my elderly (and possibly dying) locust tree, taking turns widening a mouth under the moustache of the Green Man face I've tacked to its trunk....

He doesn't seem too worried about it. :)

Fat earthworms appear with every sweep of my rake, and stands of catnip fill my nose with fragrance as I bruise them with the tines. The woodbine buds are plump and green, its ropes are supple, and I gather them up and drape them over the dome of the plastic jungle gym I rescued curbside on Garbage Day. Someday it'll all be a grandbug-sized (and hopefully gramma-sized) 'twig house,' at least that's what I see in my imagination; a future hollow mound of shady green just right for crawling into with a book.... Dreaming of crocheting a plastic-bag rug for its interior and hanging a sign over its door helps me enjoy the tedium of raking. Forget the 'spoonful of sugar.' My imagination is even better for helping the medicine go down....

Doesn't look like much yet, I know. But just you wait!

But I had to take a moment to come inside, brew a cuppa, and send you a long overdue post. It's felt good to write to you again! And now my cuppa's done, and there's still sooooooo much to do.

Best get to it!

Enjoy your day, my friend.

...me.
...

Catching My Breath

Fest is one big thing I love about my year, but it overlaps everything else I love about it, too. It comes just as my favorite season begins. And by its final weekend, Autumn is close to being spent.

Harvesting the garden, canning tomatoes, planning for Halloween, celebrating my birthday, just appreciating the Fall colors at my leisure -- all the things I long to immerse myself in get shelved or rescheduled or just plain crossed off my list as I deal with post-Fest nonsense: shop flotsam, heaps of costumes, boxes of dusty prints, art order follow-ups, the clearing out and closing up and securing of Mayfaire....

This year was no exception. But it was an unusual post-Fest time for me that involved more on my agenda than ever before, and today feels like my first real day to assess where I am in the grand scheme of my season. I'm upright, which is a good thing; but I can feel the annual bout of respiratory 'fest chest' dancing along the edges of my lungs. It's been there since September and greets me every morning, and so far I've managed to hold it at bay somehow while I deal with more important things that have filled up my days and made time speed by. Ups and downs, highs and lows; a rollercoaster Fall. I've tried holding it together, and I think I've done OK at it, too.

But it's already late October. The trees have peaked and shed their leaves. Mayfaire still needs putting to bed! The gardens do, too. My birthday's back there somewhere, and Halloween is already under way. And I can scratch 'canning' off my list again. I'm so behind....

Every year I imagine my Autumn to be a time of cocooning. A time of retreating and re-assessing, moving slow, going within. I look forward to battening down the hatches while outside the seasons change and eventually snow me in with my thoughts and blank paper. That 'nothingness' is the only thing that fills my well, and right now my well is so done.

But one doesn't need a full well to rake leaves, right? Or strip milkweed pods. Or put gardens to bed. There's a 'nothingness' in those tasks that can be fulfilling.

Full-filling....

Best get to them then. This well is bone dry.
...

Winterspring

The wedding-cake world

Of a Minnesota spring.

Winter's parting gift.
~delayne. 

Tumbledown looked just like this last year, only two weeks later than today.

I whined about it then; a lot of natives did. We're not too happy about this snowstorm either, but we're dealing with it like we've been dealing now for months. It's Minne-snow-ta. It's what happens here. We're used to it.

And seriously? You can't step outside on a day like today and not be flippin' awed....

I'll be eating those words in a moment when I try to dig my driveway out of this heavy, heart-attack snow. But it's do-able in little bits. And during those moments of rest I'll look around myself with wonder.

These are the last breaths of this dying season. What a gift they are!

Thank you, Winter.
...

Dear You:

Season's Greetings from Tumbledown

A heart full of happiness.

Loved ones just a phone call, postage stamp, status update, email, heartfelt thought, arm's length away.

Good health getting 'gooder' by the minute.

Time enough to spend engaged in your heart's delight.

An already dipped-in-gold year to look forward to.

Whatever you celebrate at this time of year, I hope the season finds you over your head in all of the above.

Love,
...me.
...

'Tis the Season

Winter Begins

Snow piling up outside. Soup bubbling on the stovetop. Candles casting dancing shadows. Greens on the mantlepiece scenting the house like a woodland walk. Frank Sinatra on the radio, jazzing up the carols. My guy downstairs, enjoying a Snow Day....

Forget hustle and bustle, car commercials and diamonds, and 'stoplights blinking a bright red and green.' I'll take this for my holiday, thank you.
...

Sun In My Eyes

Although all the sun and sky suggested otherwise, there was nothing balmy about my walk this morning. The wind on my exposed forehead was like a hammer blow to my brain -- it shocked me awake, it brought tears to my eyes, it made my cheeks bloom like peonies, it made my nose run. But the return trip, with the wind at my back, was perfection.

Clouds sailed the blue sea-sky and made my day appear springlike. As I walked I recalled similar days in my memory of icy winds and moments spent tethered to a kite string, and the thought had hardly formed in my head before I saw one in a tree. Sponge Bob, upside-down, smiling at the sun.

I walk this route almost every day and don't recall ever seeing it before. Had it been there since spring, hiding in the leaves? Or did someone look outside today and think, like I did, that everything looks and smells like kite-flying weather?

Thought for Today (10/26/13)

Half past autumn has arrived.
Gordon Parks
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/autumn.html#vr0lZADvbvEMQBGA.99

“Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” ~Albert Camus
...

Appreciating the Season

Got my walk in early today, out to Postage Stamp Pond and back again. I arrived there just as an arrow of Canadian geese landed spectacularly into it, and the mallards swam out to investigate them.

'Postage Stamp' is the name I gave the little pond years ago when I first encountered it on the walking trail near my house. It was more of a lake then, albeit still stamp-sized. And immediately after my discovery, the whole thing drained into a mud flat and stayed that way for ages, only moistening for a bit in the spring.... This year has seen some fortunate changes to Postage Stamp, and I'm happy to say that it's held water for much of the summer. Its centerpiece, Birds-Eye Island (another of my names), is back to being an island again.

Of course, I remembered to pack a collapsible canvas bag in my jacket pocket, just in case I encountered something take-home-worthy. And it was put to good use, of course, to the tune of another bagful of milkweed pods. I've always wanted to try spinning the fluff (yes, I now know that the stems and their contents are what's usually used for spinning), and the idea is crowding up my head so it's best that I give it attention....

The recent hard frosts have caused many leaves to fall before they've reached their autumnal brilliance. Much of the area is cloaked now in shades of brown. Occasionally, though, there's a burning bush all afire in the drabness and I'll have to pause to appreciate it. Like today.

Clouds dogged me as I returned to Tumbledown, and I'd begun to anticipate some hot coffee and a warm kitten and a good book. But before I could even unlock the door, a drop of red in the garden caught my eye and made me reach for the camera again: a currant not yet discovered by birds, yet so apparently appreciated by my Green Man that he's shed an oakleaf tear for it.

And now, hours later, the day is shadowed. Inside, all is silent. I prepare to write letters, finish some sewing, grind flax seed into meal, bake a squash for supper.

But before I do, I'll finish this post to you and let you know that you're in my thoughts, my friend. Here's to the season! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
...

Harvestime at Tumbledown

Frost predictions. Snow in the forecast. Salt already on the sidewalks in the City! Just another October day here in Minne-snow-tah....

Many folks are putting up storm windows and picking the last of their tomatoes today. But me? I'm drying milkweed seeds.

I picked the pods a week or so ago. And yesterday (a Sunday) I dealt with them proper. It was the perfect day for it, too; rainy and cold. My kitchen was toasty, my house was shadowed. Downstairs the dryer tumbled bluejeans and sheets, upstairs the lovebirds chewed happily in their sleep. And I was at the sink, my fingers flocked with milkweed fluff as I shelled seeds into a bowl.

And it'd have been super-smart of me to be outside at the patio table as I worked, but there was the rain thing, of course. And when you have neighbors like I do -- ones who have manicured lawns and spend fortunes on pesticides and weed control chemicals -- keeping your milkweed fluff to yourself ('in an enclosed area,' in other words) is probably best, as no one enjoys having a complaint issued against them, not to mention a formal visit from the city's Weed Inspector. However, shelling pods indoors poses a special problem: beware the fluff!....

I have lots of milkweed plants in my gardens here at Tumbledown. And friends have shared with me many different varieties of them, too. I have the usual Swamp Milkweed and Showy Milkweed, which grow everywhere here in the Midwest. But I now over-winter some tropical varieties that wouldn't survive our cold temps here. I always think that they'll come in handy someday should our weird new weather patterns prevent a future year's local crops from growing in time for the Monarchs to need them upon their arrival in the spring....

Harvesting pods is a job I wouldn't want for a Job, I don't think. But once a year it's a special pleasure. I'm That Person who enjoys shelling ears of corn and running my thumb along columns of fat peas (maybe you like to do this, too?), and this is similar. It's also a lot like preparing full-blown dandelion blossoms to become Liquid Sunshine (aka dandelion wine). Sticky and messy. But satisfying, too. While I'm knee-deep in it, there's nothing else to do but go away in my head.

On Sunday as worked I thought of past seasons' Monarch butterflies and the people I've talked to about them at Fest. I happily recalled the looks on the faces of both kids and adults alike as they studied my hatchlings and asked me questions.

This Fest season I couldn't believe how many adults found the whole butterfly process gross! One little girl (whose mother was asking me a question about my artwork) was standing near the butterfly tent and eyeing a chrysalis when it began to hatch. She stepped back in absolute open-mouthed awe, trying to draw our attention to what was happening. The whole event took a millisecond, I swear -- then the fat butterfly was out, suspended, its tiny wrinkled wings moist and curled.... "What's wrong with it??," her mother asked, now eyeing the very-unbutterfly-looking creature, and I explained how the latex-like substance that it consumed while eating milkweed as a caterpillar would now flow from its fat abdomen into the veins of its wet, floppy wings, extending them completely before stiffening and hardening, like a plastic. The mom grimaced while the little girl smiled with fascination.

A while later, when the wings had taken on as much fluid as possible, any leftovers were jettisoned in a blurp of Monarch 'afterbirth,' staining the paper towel at the bottom of my butterfly tent. The mother and her daughter were gone now, but a fresh set of adults were sickened and aghast. "How gross!" they complained. Oh well....

Over the seasons I've found that most adults are ooked out by the process, sadly. Not all, but most. However, every kid -- no matter what age -- seems fascinated. To them it's a messy and magickal miracle. Makes sense, right? Life IS messy.

This season I got the bright idea to bring my cache of saved milkweed seeds to Fest. I separated them into tiny Ziploc bags that I doled out to anyone interested. A number of folks took some home for planting. And any leftovers were scattered around the Site after the season had ended and I'd closed up my shop for the year.

Pods waiting to be opened

Have you ever been interested in saving a pod of milkweed for its seeds? You'll get dozens of them from a single pod, and you can scatter them in your own gardens, if you'd like. The Monarchs will love you forever if you do (and I will, too!). Here's what I do:

Collect ripe milkweed pods. You'll know they're ready if you spy a couple that have 'burst' a bit. And you'll want pods that haven't opened completely yet because they'll just be easier to handle. (I usually have to harvest mine way earlier than I'd like, but that's only to keep them from wreaking havoc with my neighbors....) If you're not going to harvest the seeds immediately, keep the pods in a paper bag so they get some air circulation.

Stem-side down; seam is on top

To open a pod, hold it in your hand with the stem away from you, facing down (the pointed end of the pod will be toward you).

Split open the seam. The seeds will be in a cluster at the stem-end of the pod and their fluffy ends will (hopefully) be gathered tightly at the pointed end, kind of like a seed bouquet. The goal is to grasp the bouquet in your fingers so that the seeds stay tightly together and no fluff escapes. Pull this cluster from the pod. It will look kind of like a pinecone.... (Don't forget to shake out any loosened seeds that have collected inside the pod.)

Separate seam to expose seeds and fluff

Holding the fluff-end of the bouquet tightly in the fingers of your left hand, gently 'back-comb' the exposed seeds with a finger of your right hand. If they're stubborn and refuse to fall away from the fluff, go ahead and scrub them between your fingers. You won't get them all, more than likely. (I'm guessing that they didn't separate from the fluff easily because they weren't dry enough.) Collect what you can before dropping the remaining fluffy mess into another paper bag. When the last pod is finished, close up the bag of leftovers to allow them some more Dry Time. As the leftovers age a bit, you can occasionally shake the bag to loosen the seeds from their fluff. Then after a time simply cut off a bottom corner of the bag and pour the seeds out. OR, sometime before winter arrives proper, grab a child and have them help you scatter the leftover fluff and seeds into a nearby field while you both make a bunch of wishes!

'Back-comb' seeds into bowl

It's my understanding that milkweed seeds need the winter season in order to germinate. You can scatter the ones that you've just 'shelled' now before winter. Or you can store and then refrigerate them for a period before sowing them in the spring. Before storing, make sure they're dry! Otherwise they may get moldy. (Mine are currently spread out on a sheet of newspaper.)

Dry completely before storing

And guess what I recently learned about milkweed seeds that I hadn't known before? 'Shocking' seeds that have been refrigerated seems to improve their germination rates! To 'shock' them, simply soak them in warm water for 24 hours before planting. Who knew?


The Pollination Station has all sorts of cool info on how to store and when to plant milkweed seeds. You can also purchase seeds there as well as sponsor a future butterfly and/or caterpillar. Cool beans!

Happy harvesting!
...

My Golden Day

Penning letters, fielding messages,

Writing down ideas, 

Finding a penny on the sidewalk, chatting with the mail man,

Picking up acorns 

and clusters of leaves....

Reading Ray Bradbury, watching a cobweb spider at work, checking up on a friend,

Spying an albino squirrel, inhaling the smoke-scented evening air.

Following pathways of the season.

And now home once more.

There's hot ginger tea. And a softly lit lamp. And Mr. Bradbury again, following something wicked.

Think I'll join him.
...