Turtle Crossroads

Why did the chicken cross the road? Remember that old riddle? There should have been a chicken crossing sign to help it across. I pay attention to those signs. I have seen deer crossing, geese crossing, duck crossing though no chicken crossing signs along my local roads. It makes me aware of where I am, which I guess is the purpose of the signs, and since those on the sign cannot be counted on to watch out for me, I had better be responsible and watch out for them.

This sign was posted at the Edwin B. Forsythe National Wildlife Refuge in New Jersey. I did not see any turtles crossing that day though there were turtles lounging in the mud of the marshes. I have seen a number of turtles crossing the road over the years in a variety of places. The first one was when I lived in Queens, New York. I was driving and slowed down because a large rock was in the middle of the street – only this rock was moving! I got out of my car and saw a box turtle lumbering along. I picked it up before the next car came whizzing by and took it to my apartment. I soon learned that box turtles are protected and I could not harbor it. I couldn’t put it back where I found it so I released it on an expanse of wooded land near a water source, a few miles out of harm’s way. I worried, though, that perhaps I was separating it from its family. Would it be lost? Would it be able to forge a satisfactory life in its new surroundings? I wished it well and hoped for the best.

As people take over more land space, the creatures that call those spaces home will find themselves crossing man-made roads, pathways that cut through their natural environments. The chickens/geese/ducks/turtles just want to get to the other side. They are taking their chances with us. Have we forgotten that these crossroads used to be their crossroads? Surely we can suspend our need to rush about to let them get safely across. I expect there will be more crossing signs as our population grows and our need for land expands. I will be looking for them to remind me that we share this earth with many others and to be careful of all life.

The Edwin B. Forsythe National Wildlife Refuge is a beautiful place to visit. It has a variety of birds, expansive marshes, and opportunities to stop and connect with nature.

http://www.fws.gov/northeast/forsythe/

My Very Own Watermelon

I was showing my city-girl roots this week when I found a watermelon had actually grown in my tiny garden. I got so excited I couldn’t stand myself. How could I have grown such a thing? Yes, we had planted it and watched the vine creep steadily out into the lawn. Small flowers blossomed along the vine and then a few gourd-like fruits started to develop. It was fun to watch but I never really expected a full, fat watermelon to form. Yet it did and I was thrilled to pieces.

This was a big event. I tested the melon for ripeness the way I do in the supermarket where I usually buy watermelon; I thumped it. It had a solid sound and felt heavy for its size, nine beautiful inches. It had a slight flat spot where it had been resting (garden-bed head?) that was yellowish. All the right signs for a ripe melon. I carried it into the house as if I had the queen’s crown in my hands.

My husband was just as excited. I cut it and I served it fresh and juicy. Our first taste was savored. A sweet offering from Mother Nature and a healthy one, too. It’s an amazing food with an abundance of nutrients: a great source of Vitamin C, has beta carotene, calcium, and more: http://www.whfoods.com/genpage.php?tname=foodspice&dbid=31

Watermelon has always been one of my favorite fruits and now I have had the privilege to grow one. My little foray into gardening was a treat; it allowed me to produce my very own watermelon! I will never be a farmer but I am grateful for the farmer’s gifts. All I can say is, with appreciation, Thank you.

Hosta Happy

I am hosta happy. At last, a surviving, flowering hosta. This is not a criticism of the popular perrenial; this is a celebration. Of all the hostas we have planted, this is the only one that has made it to the flowering stage. How can that be? you might well ask. These are hardy plants. They tolerate shade, which we have a lot of in our backyard, though a little sun is welcome. Their leaves are their main attraction but they also flower with lily-like blossoms (appropriate as hostas are in the lily family). I see them all over the place. It seems that everyone can grow hostas.

We can, too, which is a fact not lost on the rabbits. They have been munching on our hostas for a few years, now. Each season the hostas send up leaves and as soon as the plants are full the rabbits take over. We see them bounding up to the hostas and suddenly the leaves are gone, whittled down to short, denuded stalks. I heard that fabric softener sheets keep mosquitoes away so I surrounded a couple of the plants with white, flapping sheets – a cocoon of sorts. It seemed to work, for a short while at least, and then it didn’t. I suspect the rabbits were just taking the measure of the sheets and, finding them non-threatening, continued on their hosta fiesta.

I rescued one tiny plant that was left lying on its side, abandoned for some unknowable reason, and stuck it on the back patio in a flowerpot that had lost its previous occupant. Frankly, I did not expect it to live. But then it did. And it flowered! The rabbits did no nibbling. The squirrels left it alone. The chipmunks bypassed it on their urgent scamperings. Good. Let them all ignore it. I pay attention to it because I so appreciate its survival. I may also buy a companion plant next spring and see if I can grow another undisturbed hosta. I love the wildlife in my backyard but I like my garden, too. Surely we can all find a way to co-exist.

Everything you ever wanted to know about hostas from the University of Minnesota Extension Service:http://www.extension.umn.edu/distribution/horticulture/m1241.html

Wildflowers!

It has been several weeks since I last posted on my blog. Some of my readers and friends have asked if everything is okay. Thank you all for your concern. All is well though life got a little wild for a couple of months. And that leads me to…

Wildflowers! They appeared on the medians of some busy sections of one of my township’s major roads. At first the usually grassy strips looked neglected because they weren’t being mowed; there were actually signs telling workers not to mow the wildflowers though there weren’t any yet to be seen. Then they looked weedy because the plants were growing leafy and helter-skelter. But now they are glorious! Pink, yellow, orange, red, bursts of purple brighten up an ordinary functional road. Each time I pass I have to smile. There is a sense of freedom here that tickles me. It is unexpected beauty that can’t be ignored. It takes me from my runaway thoughts and helps me focus on the present, at least momentarily. What joy I feel in their wildness. It’s a feeling that remains with me as I continue through my day.

Flowers that grow on their own without cultivation are called wildflowers. Flowers that are natural to the environment where they are growing are called native, those brought in from other countries or environments are referred to as naturalized. They tend to be hardy, needing no help from gardeners. Sometimes they can be invasive and need to be controlled. Kudzu, anyone? But when they are contained and wanted, wildflowers can add something special to their surroundings. Like these do. I hope they last well into the fall when the leaves change color and add their own beauty to life.

So much to learn, so many plants to appreciate. This site has info and photos:

http://www.wildflowerinformation.org/

Heirlooms

At the beginning of the season I bought some heirloom tomato plants. I watched the tomatoes as they went from green to less green to a soft yellow and got larger and plumper, full of the sun’s heat. On the day a large yellow beauty was just about ready for picking, I went outside but couldn’t find it. I couldn’t find two others, either, that were on the verge of ripeness. What could have happened to them?

My initial thought was those wascally wabbits or perhaps the ubiquitous squirrels were at it again (I didn’t have any peaches this year again!) but I didn’t see any evidence that they might leave – no half eaten tomatoes, no splotchy seeds on the ground, no broken stems. Besides, the tomatoes were growing fairly high off the ground. It would take a good jumper to get at them. Could a person have taken them? I recently read in the NY Times that urban gardens are the target of veggie thefts. But this is not a city garden. It is also pretty insignificant and in a secluded place. Who would have discovered it? Besides, if someone had asked I would have been happy to share.

There is something delightful about eating something picked moments before and I felt annoyed that I was deprived of this. My husband’s parents were wonderful gardeners. I remember how we all picked corn at the moment they were ready and ran to the kitchen to toss them into the pot of water that was already boiling and waiting. No corn ever tasted better.
I looked at the tomatoes I had picked yesterday and today. There were three sizes - a Papa tomato, a Mama tomato and a wee baby tomato, like the three bears. I put them on a silver tray that was handed down in the family; heirloom tomatoes on an heirloom tray. Ah. Perspective kicked in. How lucky I have been. I smiled. At last I could put aside my annoyance. I hoped that whoever/whatever took the heirlooms at least enjoyed them. And perhaps those tomatoes were shared with the family, whether animal or human.

Rose of Sharon

I lived in the city when I was growing up. There wasn’t much room for growing things in the summer. My backyard consisted mainly of a paved driveway and a small slab of concrete, room enough for a couple of chairs that were never sat on. The tiny plot of grass was home to an outdoor clothes dryer. By contrast, the front of my house seemed almost lush. There were rows of white, purple and red portulacas on either side of the walkway leading to my house, a few hedges, and an exuberant Rose of Sharon shrub. Each time I left the house, the flowers would surprise me. They were so out there, bursts of pink that greeted the day and lasted until they closed and fell at night. They didn’t seem to mind that they were growing in a limited space or that they were far from their tropical roots. Each day was new and they made the most of it.

Now I have my own Rose of Sharon. It was a gift from my daughter’s in-laws who have a yardful at their home. They warned us, though, that it can take over. They were right. We remove any outcroppings we see around the bush but somehow the seeds made their way to the rear of our yard and they are now challenging the privets we have back there. It doesn’t seem to matter that they supposedly prefer full sun (they are in full shade) or that they like well-drained soil (we have marl that can be quite swampy). Sometimes they need reining in but I can’t help admiring them for their joie de vivre.

It is a boost to my spirit whenever I see them. There are so many reasons in our world to focus on the negative, to allow joy to withdraw or wither. These bushes thrive no matter what and express themselves in beauty and persistence. They are a vibrant life-force, as enticing as I remember. Seems like a good example to follow.

Being a member of the hibiscus family, Rose of Sharon is easy to grow. Take a look:
http://treesandshrubs.about.com/od/commonshrubs/p/RoseofSharon.htm

The Heat’s On

Last week we had a tiny bit of rain. It was so welcome but it didn’t add up to much and the garden was still panting with the heat. I took a photo of the leaves on the Flowering Plum tree just to document that we had some rain, little though it was. And then there was yesterday. Out of the blue, literally as the sky had been cloudless and the sun brilliant, gray clouds started to gather. Low rumbles could be heard. And then – BOOM – a flash of lightening, a loud bang of thunder, and the sky became a waterfall. The rain overwhelmed the gutters and cascaded down along the perimeter of the house. The water slooshed over driveways, flooded the sidewalks, pounded hard on unsuspecting plants. Then it started to ping against the siding. The raindrops now alternated with hail, small, hard ice balls, which grew larger as the storm continued. Crack. Ping. Splat. The percussion section in a weather symphony.

We were standing by our front door watching the concert and noticed the neighbors across the street and some down the block were doing the same. One of our neighbors pulled up in his pickup and made a mad dash for his porch. When things started to calm down, he took an umbrella and splashed his way across the lawn to check on his plants. I wondered how our tomatoes had fared. Had they been squashed? One was almost ripe – I wished I had picked it and let it finish ripening on my kitchen counter.

All-in-all the rain, even with the unexpected hail, was welcome. The rain gauge registered 1 ½ inches. Yay. Today the grass that had not succumbed to during the various heat waves was smiling green. And the temperature went from the low nineties to the mid seventies and way less humid. Breathing weather.

Nature has been so different this year, all around the globe. Extreme. So has the world of humans. Revolutions, disagreements, political disputes, economic challenges pretty much everywhere. Is this a chicken and egg issue or coincidence? (I can here the shouts of those who believe there is no such thing as a coincidence.) Things certainly have heated up on a grand scale. I wonder how we can all find some breathing weather for life in general.

Trenton, NJ, set a record with 108 degrees, Alaska with 97 degrees. Wow.http://www.ouramazingplanet.com/50-states-set-july-hot-weather-records-1812/