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?

Piranha Birds

Lovey's on the left, complete with paper butt tiara.

Peachy-faced Piranha Birds is my new name for lovebirds 'Lovey' and 'Thurston.'

 

It's not original to me; my friend CollegeGuy (who watches our 'zoo' in our absence) coined the name, and I'm sure he speaks from experience. As do I as of yesterday, as one of the highlights of my weekend was the mega-cleaning of their cage which resulted in a Lovey bite.

 

Since their rescue, my cage-cleaning efforts have been limited pretty much to changing out the papers on the bottom of their cage. Aggressive little Lovey (I suspect) could skeletonize my exposed flesh in a second, and even though I've been patient and caring around her (and her beaky lunges have subsided somewhat as a result) I'm still a little fearful. I'm pretty sure she's guessed this. Thurston, bless him, is her hopelessly devoted boy toy -- clueless and lovesick and long-suffering. But Lovey is a cold and calculating harpy waiting for the day when I accidentally leave the cage door ajar so she can scissor my face from my skull like a can-opener. And until then she'll bide her time with silly Thurston, having birdy sex....

 

My biggest challenge has been how to get at the interior of their cage without being flayed alive, and I've put it off. And off. And off.... I wondered what would be the best (and safest) way to go about it. Should I let them out in an enclosed space, like the bathroom, and risk having them fly at the closed window or go right for my earlobes? Would they just naturally return to the cage when I was done with it? What if I had to leave the bathroom for something and they escaped? How hard would it be to catch them in a butterfly net if I had to? Would throwing a towel over them enrage Lovey such that I'd never be able to get near the cage again?.... 

 

So many things to consider.... But I couldn't stand their digs a second longer. It was now or never.

 

I'm happy to report that today they're clean and content, but at the expense of my entire Sunday and my thumb. And what I ended up doing was this: I outfitted an old birdcage with a water tube and enough paper to keep Lovey happily shredding her brains out for the rest of the day if necessary. Then I fashioned a square tube out of cardboard, one that would fit snuggly into the cage door, taped it together, then fed it from the door of the new cage to the door of the old one.

 

Lovey smelled a rat right off the bat and was highly suspicious, but when she saw all the paper on the other side of the little corridor she was through it in a heartbeat. Thurston, on the other hand, stood on this side of it and called to her. Back and forth she went, shredding paper in the new cage, tucking it into her butt feathers, and bringing it all back to the old cage. Don't ask me how I managed to get scaredy-cat Thurston over to the other side, but when I did he panicked. And, of course, he couldn't put two and two together and figure out how he suddenly found himself in this new environment.... Lovey sat in the tube and screamed at him but it didn't work. And when she hopped down to square off with him right to his face, I shut the cage door.

 

Easy-peasy.

 

Cleaning that hell hole was a pleasure. And pretty easy, too, as it turns out: Lovey's nest was a 'pooper'-maché creation that fell out in one big lump. Then it was all about the scrubbing and disinfecting. I added a furry 'love nest' that hung from the cage's rooftop, sort of a soft-sided triangular hammock that they could snuggle in. I clipped a new-fangled nesting box on the side and threw in enough flyers and junk mail to keep Lovey happily nestmaking for days. 

 

Then I grabbed the cardboard tube.

 

Lovey instantly knew what was going to happen. She dove for the door as I was trying to place the tube and slowly open it at the same time, and that's when she nailed me. Her bite wasn't nearly as bad as I was anticipating, but it was still a surprising pinch, and I yelled at her. And now I think she likes the idea that she got such a great reaction. (Dang. Back to square one again....)

 

Anyway. Thurston took forever again figuring out how to get to the other side, but Lovey's no-nonsense scolding helped. He claimed dibs on the love nest until she kicked him out. And last night I saw him sleeping on the top of it while she was inside, nibbling paper strips and chittering to herself..... 

 

And today they're back to being their horrid, noisy, nasty, delightful, sweet-faced, smiling selves. They may be ferocious little piranha birds, but they're all mine and I adore them.

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Come On In

Inch by inch, I'm putting the gardens to bed today. It's slow going. Mostly because I keep stopping to appreciate stuff. 

You understand.

I'm behind this year for a bunch of reasons and am having a hard time catching up. And also I can't help but wonder if the gardens even want tucking in so much.... 

Looking around me at the rest of the neighborhood I see leafless lawns and plants trimmed back, and then I look at mine and see tiny purple petunias and fresh phlox blossoms with their faces to the clouds. I'm just going to leave them there to enjoy this trying-to-snow day.

Garden flotsam gets to enjoy the day now, too, as the tall and leggy milkweed stalks are now podless and have died back. If the snow holds off until the November weekend, I might just get to add some spooky Halloween decorations to their autumn garden party.

 











And what's this? ~ a fairy stone in my fairy garden? How appropriate. :) Perhaps it's a gift from whomever has left the door open? Such a sweet little lantern must be used to having something magickal take up residence in it, candle or no candle.... 

And now I'm chilled. Must go in for a cup of tea. 

Oh look -- the kitchen's warm and steamy. You go first, 'k? Ignore the horizontal surfaces all covered with books and dust and art supplies. Mind the shoes that have piled up at the door. And prepare to have your lap filled up with kitten....

Almost forgot: Earl Grey or Darjeeling? I'll put the kettle on.

:)
 

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
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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.
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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!
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Starting the Day Right

It's a habit now.

Everytime I light the burner under the coffee pot these days, my head starts singing in Pink's 'who-you-lookin'-at??' voice.

"Ahhhhhhhhhm wakin' up so you better get the coffee started!"

And then maybe two or three cups into my quaffing it just progresses, regresses?, 'goes on' from there....

"Open up the Folger's and it's easy to see
None o' that ol' decaf's gonna do it for me!"

Only now all is in my real voice. Not quite so pitch-perfect but at least sassy. And there's some (dare I say it?) dancing going on as well. In an Eeyore nightshirt. One that says, "I don't do mornings." At least I think that's what's written in that worn and faded word balloon....

I like to sleep. I do it well. And while I'm doing it well my mind is in overdrive. There are images and scenarios and metaphors and characters stacking up in there like cordwood, all stuff that needs processing. I'm learning things. I'm being inspired. And I'm getting exhausted. So much so that starting my day can be like pulling the cord on a lawnmower that hasn't had a tune-up in Forever. Not gonna happen -- at least not anytime soon -- so I might as well give it a rest and try again later....

And so -- singing and dancing aside -- if the prospect of coffee is enough to make this Eeyore open her eyes, then the stuff is fairy gold in my book.

Because a day has to be started after all. :)
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