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Writing Outside

Writing Outside

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The far end of the new lounge chair was already exposed, so I whipped away the rest of the waterproof green covering, brushed off the acorns that landed overnight and raised the recliner to the proper angle for writing.

The air is moist with the fullness of summer. Also summer-like is the background music. Crickets sing the sostenuto line, and wrens and sparrows chirp a tremolo. Bluejays screech, and in the distance a crow caws. 
Now the wind has picked up and leaves are stirring. A distant lawn mower whirrs, and a low plane thrums. It strikes me that today’s white noise is not unlike yesterday’s artless arrangement of fall flora: beautiful in its randomness. 
Sweet Little Liriope

Sweet Little Liriope

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I know few plants by their proper names. I only accidentally learned the name liriope when a friend, an avid gardener, admired it in the yard. I acted like I knew what she was talking about: “Oh yes, the liriope. I like it too.”

In truth I didn’t know what it was, and I certainly didn’t know that it flowered. I thought it was a grass-like ground cover that never bloomed. But I’ve learned to appreciate its sweet lavender blossom, its hardiness. Like the crepe myrtle, it brings color to the late-summer garden.

It’s also demure, and I’ve come to realize that I admire that in a plant. Something that doesn’t call attention to itself, that improves on second glance, that brightens the dreariest corner.

And that would be … liriope.

Feeling Tropical

Feeling Tropical

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… And why not, with these in the front yard.?

The elephant ears (colocasia) started as tubers in June, but they’re as tall as I am now and show no signs of stopping. I snapped a picture of them over the weekend.

Elephant ears salute the sun, wave in the breeze and shade weeds (I’m hoping enough to kill a few).

Rain and dew pool on their soft leaves. They give the front yard a primeval look, which matches the ferns.

While I’d rather have an English cottage garden, it’s hard to argue with success.

Butterfly Garden

Butterfly Garden

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Morning in the backyard, monarchs light on the coneflowers. I only capture one each in these photos but there have been pairs and trios and even more.

Meanwhile, in another section of the garden, a female cardinal splashes in the bird bath, wiggles her little body around, then jumps out.

A small plane and a loud lawnmower provide the background noise to this seasonal tableau. It’s July, summer’s in full swing.

Alfie, Solo

Alfie, Solo

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Since Dominique the parakeet died last Saturday I’ve been spending some quality time with Alfie, the remaining budgie. He’s sitting on the outdoor table where I’m working this morning, chirping away at the wild birds, calling out to the day in a way that could be seen as pitiful (poor caged creature who needs companionship) or triumphant (being outside on this glorious summer morning).

I’m interpreting it as the latter … and I’m marveling at this tiny guy, the beauty of his plumage and the variety of sounds he can produce.  I’m especially admiring his throat spots, the little black dots that encircle his neck like a string of black pearls.

What extravagance, what artistry! The way the black complements the blue of his breast and cere (nose). That nature could contrive such a thing, such an unnecessary but perfect thing, buoys me up this summer day and fills me with wonder.

From Above

From Above

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The climbing roses are hitting their peak, creamy pink flowers on a carpet of green. While you can enjoy them from the deck or yard, they are best seen from a second floor bedroom window, where I snapped this shot.

I think there may be a life lesson in this: getting up and above things to see them whole.

With the climbing roses, as with life, perspective is all.

Peony for your Thoughts

Peony for your Thoughts

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It’s been here for decades, this peony. It doesn’t always thrive; some years it doesn’t even bloom. But it remains. A stalwart.

Does it like where it’s been planted? It looks more comfortable than usual this year. The greenery is full and the ants were in place (which is required, I believe), so I tucked the mulch carefully around the stems, and snapped this shot.

The peony was one of the originals I ordered in my early attempt at an English cottage garden, an idea that didn’t flourish in this hard-packed Virginia clay soil. But it reminds me of my youthful enthusiasm and my gardening naïveté. It harkens back to a time before deer ate most of the plants and stilt grass had yet to invade our turf.

But enough of this gardening gloom. It’s May, and the peony (singular) is in bloom. All’s right with the world!

The Return

The Return

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Sometimes it’s the ordinary miracles that touch us most. So it was yesterday when we spotted a hummingbird at the feeder. It’s always good to see these amazing birds return in the spring. But this time, we knew when they returned last year and were watching and waiting, filling feeders.

And then … a little bird appeared. It was April 28 — the exact same day they returned in 2018.

Do they have little timers inside? Small clocks? What is it that tells them when to leave and when to return? What propels them across mountains and oceans, back to this suburban backyard?

I’m sure there are theories, actual knowledge. I’ve probably even read some of it. But I don’t want to know about any of this right now. I’d rather just marvel at it all.

Picking Up Sticks

Picking Up Sticks

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Is there a less glamorous but more necessary lawn task than the picking up of sticks?

It must happen before mowing, of course, but preferably sooner than that. Around here, it needs to be done every day or so, at least in the spring when strong winds rattle the oaks and do as much pruning as shears or clippers.

With every bending down and picking up, I fell myself that I’m building up a pile of kindling for a bonfire some day. Or at the very least enough to stuff a can of yard waste for the recycling pick-up next week.

Most of all, I tell myself that these are nothing, mere toothpicks, the balsa wood of yard flotsam. The big trees they came from, they’re still standing. And that’s what matters most.

Kubota Garden

Kubota Garden

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It’s where Seattle goes on a sunny day … or at least it felt that way last Sunday. There were lovers and families and dog walkers. The elderly in wheel chairs and walkers. Cameras with tripods, their earnest photographers snapping shots of engaged couples and even a bride.

Kubota Gardens is an oasis of green in the midst of the city. Even a city as green as Seattle, one nestled between water and mountains, needs the relaxation potential of an urban park. Kubota satisfies all the senses: the splash of water, the aroma of autumn leaves — and everywhere, flaming foliage, artful arrangements of flower and leaf and grass.

This time of year, Kubota is a riot of reds, oranges and yellows, as the Japanese maple, euonymus and  gingko flare up in their rich tones.

I did a lot of people watching on Sunday, a lot of strolling and stopping, a lot of deep breathing. It was just the respite I needed before a hectic week.