Drizmal Days

Another weekend is over.  It was a busy one, too.  On Friday, we all helped Joel celebrate his 25th birthday.  (Where did that time go?)  At least he didn't set off the smoke detectors when he blew out the candles, not like when we celebrate my birthday.  For Mom's birthday, we're going to just buy some number candles  (91 candles would really cause a blaze, plus Mom said she prefers to eat her cake with a nice frosting that is not encased in wax.)

We've been having a few days of rain again, so not much is getting done in the gardens.  We did work all day Saturday on transplanting flowers from the Formal Garden for our downsizing attempt.   That project is really proving to be a long drawn-out process especially since everything is so wet.  Oh, well, my late father always used to quote, 'The creeks have to run in June or we'll have a dry summer."    So far, I'd say we're not in any danger of a dry summer.

Yesterday when we were working on the transplanting process, I was kinda down about the garden.  I don't know if this ever happens to other gardeners, but I suspect it does...you just get to feeling what you've created is blah.  You see everything that is wrong with it.  Every weed, every crooked rock, every chewed up leaf, everything that needs doing.  And this time of year, everything that needs doing is overwhelming with a Capital O.  Sometimes we feel we have created a monster, a garden that owns us, not the other way around.  We worked until dark on Saturday and put all the tools away when a slow, steady drizzle started. A fitting end to a 'drizmal' day.

Just as we were wrapping things up, Richard & Emily and their adorable toddler, Courtney stopped in for a visit.  Carl had such a good time with Courtney 'exploring textures' in the popcorn bowl.  According to Carl, Courtney was searching for just 'the right' shape of popcorn morsel. 

Pudding Dog had a good time reaping the benefits of the Textural Exploration.  (And yes, there's that old floor of ours again...looks better with popcorn covering it.)

Sunday morning dawned and along with it, another steady, straight down rain.  We decided to take the day off and headed out for a ride with Joel.  Sometimes just getting away from the mess at home is the best remedy for a case of the blahs. As we drove through the countryside we saw some beautiful, picturesque places, homes with beautiful gardens and wild, open spaces.  There is nothing I love better than farm and woodland views.  Carl said he really enjoyed his Father's Day, too. 

We got home right around dark and I went out for a little stroll through the gardens with the camera.  Something about being gone for the afternoon changed my perspective on our projects here.  It was too dark to take really good pictures, but that's ok, because this way I didn't see as much of the work that needs doing.

It just looks better different when the light isn't so bright.  I couldn't see that the pan fountain could use a cleaning.

And a few of my annuals are finally starting to show some color.  (Can't quite see how badly the beds needs edging in this light.)

Our little Horstmann's Silberlocke fir tree is putting on an amazing show with it's new cones and the reverse curved needles. 

Love those cones.

I couldn't see any weeds to pull in the Woodland Bed, either.

Looks like a big ol' Quilt O' Hostas, doesn't it?  They really did grow this year after all the rain.

'Baby Blue Eyes' spruce really shows up with a flash at night especially when the needles are wet.  I had to be careful here, this one is planted right on the edge of the quarry, I didn't want to go for a swim.

The light was fading, so some of the pictures I took with a flash and some without, which really makes for a different effect. 

Last weekend, Carl decided to try pruning one of our white pines in the Quarry to look more open.  Well, the result was a little unsettling, but we'll see how it turns out.  The tree might just give up and die from sheer embarrassment or it might survive; we hope it does, anyway.  The picture above was taken without a flash, and below is one with a flash.  (We really aren't trying to torture our trees, we're just trying to 'train' them...the problem is, we're the ones who need the training.)  Joel was mortified when he saw the end result.  I avert my eyes when I walk past it, too, poor thing.  At least we didn't try to make a poodle tree out of it.

 

Here's our Bosnian Pine out on the point rock down in the pond...this one was planted when the Quarry was first built in 2002. (We don't prune this one, it's safe from experimentation, plus it has the sharpest needles of any pine I've ever encountered-- I think it should have been named Porcu-Pine)

 The flash caught something reflecting back at me.  Of course, it's Screech, following me around like usual.

The Dry River Bed looks a whole lot better in the dark but I really do need to do something with the golden moneywort climbing all over. 

Looks like I polished the waterlily leaves, they sure are shiny.

Never mind that I wish I'd never been given the yellow flag iris and that it's an invasive and tough to get rid of...it is pretty when it blooms.   Whenever someone tells you, 'Oh, do I have a plant for you!  You couldn't kill this one if you tried!" beware!  Someone brought this iris over as a gift years ago and it looked so sad and wilted, I laid it in the pond to recover.  Soon after, it rooted.  Well, guess what?  It really, really, really loves where it is now and we've been trying to curb it's enthusiasm every year.  We do deadhead it regularly, though, because the seedlings sprout up everywhere.)

In the dark I can't tell that the gate could use some paint touch-up work.

Finally the last lingering light faded and the camera kept flashing 'Subject Too Dark'.  It was time to go in.   I was feeling a little better about the gardens after my stroll.

Between remembering my doctor's advice to quit gardening and feeling overwhelmed by the amount of work to do, it was a bit depressing around here lately.

But to quit gardening entirely is a Subject Much Too Dark to entertain.

I think my next garden tours will be conducted after dark. 


The garden looks much better then.

(Well, MOST of it looks better, anyway!)

Hidden Cameras

Have trowel, will garden.  Despite the Polar Bear MD's advice, we went back to doing what we always do. 

Gardening.

This past weekend's weather was glorious, we had an inch of rain on Friday night followed by a cool and glorious Saturday and Sunday.  I love weather in the upper 60's and low 70's.  Just right for digging in the garden.

Joel was gone for several days on a fishing trip and Dave was here and there most of the weekend, so we kind of lost track of time and didn't quit working until it was too dark to see.  Time flies in the garden, doesn't it?  You go out to work and before you know it, hours have sped by.  We were pruning pine trees and weeded the Quarry on Saturday.  Our plan was to work until 7:30 and then get ready to go to a graduation party for David's girlfriend, Kayla, but since the days are so long, I didn't look at the time until it was 8:30 and still had to try to look presentable, well, at least take a shower, so we were late to her party.  Bless her heart, she understood!  She knows we are nuts.

On Sunday we had church and another graduation party at noon for Jessie, which was alot of fun, too.  Good food, great company and we didn't get home until 4:30PM.  We quickly shed our 'glad rags' (that's what my mother always called her Sunday clothes) and crawled back into our garden rags and back to work in the Formal Garden, still removing plants and transplanting so we can get that wall done down there.  I still say tearing an old garden out is harder work than starting with a new bed.  I just hate to pitch flowers to the compost pile.  I made a few phone calls and have another source for adopting them out, though, which is good. 

Joel came home very late in the afternoon and since I was covered in pine pitch, I asked him if he'd take pictures of the garden for me.  I always love to have guest photographers because everyone sees the same vista in a different way.

This morning I sat down to see what he photographed.  I was in for a shock.

Oh, my.

Ok, so the spelling isn't perfect, but what a goofball!

I told him to take pictures of the GARDEN, not the gardeners.

There's Carl & I, digging out iris.

Spying on the Old Folks and turning us into a Nature Documentary.

Yes, Joel, you've got that right.  I was wondering why he took this picture yesterday, he really startled me sitting in the shrubbery.  Now I know. Just wait 'til he gets home from work tonight.

Thankfully, he moved on to taking some much prettier subject matter:

Screech is always photogenic.

There's that mimulus again...I don't get the nickname 'Monkey Flower'

Doesn't look much like a monkey to me.

 

I wish dianthus lasted longer....love their fragrance.

I'm running out of time this morning, have lots to do.  My thanks to Joel for his photography last night, yes, even the sneaky ones.  I'm not fond of my picture being taken, but those are the memories worth keeping, aren't they?  Gardens aren't perfect all the time, just like life.  I have some pictures of the Elusive Lucille (my mom) that she would just love to destroy, but they are precious to me.  I wish I had more pictures of her working and doing every day stuff.  We don't live most of our lives in our Glad Rags, do we?

Joel took this picture of me with his phone one day in May....no I wasn't napping (or passed out) I was taking a picture of the daffodils. Hmmmm......not my best side.

But of such things, memories are made.

Thank you, Joel for being my guest photographer, and for your enormous help in making this garden happen.

And you've got some 'splainin to do when you get home!

 

Polar Bears Are Mean

I had a doctor's appointment yesterday.  Sigh.  I need a new doctor.  I can see this clearly.  So can Carl, who so very kindly went along with me for moral support.  This is still the 10-15 Mile a Day Doctor I saw last year. No, I didn't find a new one yet.  But, boy,  I have to.

I think she might be a good doctor for people she likes.  She clearly doesn't like me.  I just rub her the wrong way or remind her of someone in her past or present who drove her crazy or something.  I don't know what it is.  And no, I'm not a person who has to have a doctor who knows the names of my pets, don't get me wrong.  I don't care if a doctor doesn't remember who I am.  That's fine.  They see hundreds of people.  I get that.  I'm just one more ache and pain in a rotating, shuffling line of ailing humans she has to tend to. 

I had a good doctor though, once.  Not that I spend that much time at doctors, since I've been blessed with fairly good health up to this point.  But once upon a time, I did have a good doctor.   And the way I found him was when I took my aged father in for his appointment years ago.  I was so impressed with this kindly young medical professional who took the time to talk to my 88 year old father...talk TO him, not down to him, and who so very clearly cared about the effect my father's advancing senility was having on my elderly mother and even on me.  I became one of his new patients.  That was such a blissful ten years.  Some people are born to be doctors, and he was one of them.  He cared.

But then he moved away.  To Iowa. And ever since then, time spent at the doctor's office has been far from pleasant.  I'm not a hypochondriac.  At least I don't think I am.  My goal in life is to stay away from the MD's as much as possible, but I can't always because my thyroid up and threw a hissy fit way back when I was 32 and I need meds.  And with the meds, comes the bloodwork, at least once every six months and with the blood work comes the doctor visits and this all leads us back down the path to yesterday morning. Thyroid trouble is common, I realize that, but finding a doctor who will treat it as something worth treating is not common.  When the thyroid isn't working properly or is under or over medicated, you just don't feel well.  I've been through at least five doctors since the good one left.  And lots more when you rarely see the same one twice anyway because the clinics run a rotation of different doctors through all the time.  I had hopes for my current doctor, I really did.  She came highly recommended from a cousin of mine.  (Apparently she likes my cousin.)

But back to yesterday.  What an appointment.  We walked in and waited in the exam room for what felt like an hour, but I guess was only 15 minutes.  As the time ticked by, I was getting more and more anxious.  I had time to read a few articles from Reader's Digest to Carl--one was about a poor kid who was kayaking around in icebergs somewhere with a buddy and had the bad fortune of being attacked by a polar bear while asleep in their tent.  This roaring polar bear barged in to the tent and grabbed the guy's head in his jaws, dragging him around and shaking him like a rag doll.   Luckily, he lived to tell about it, due to his friend's quick thinking (and shotgun). 

Little did I know this story was setting the stage for my upcoming doctor visit. 

The doorknob opened and in she came.  (My doctor, not the Polar Bear.) Here we go. 

She asked me how I've been.  I said I wasn't feeling too bad, really.  No more daily headaches since the CPAP machine and I feel more rested. 

Well, did I have anything that was bothering me?

Yes, I have some shortness of breath once in awhile (when I'm trudging up steps with my laundry baskets) and some days my muscles and joints ache pretty bad.  But not everyday.  Kind of a comes and goes thing. I said I'd done some reading that suggested this could be normal for someone my age going through menopause with fluctuating hormones and what not.  I asked if she had any other patients who had the hot flashes and weird feelings subside after finally getting through the other side of menopause.



Suddenly, there was a Polar Bear in the room..........

"Well, this is just like puberty.  When you were younger, did you go to bed a girl and wake up the next morning a woman?  No, you did not.  It was a gradual process. And the same thing for menopause.  It doesn't just 'happen'.  It takes time.  And every one is different.  There is no set time table for how long this will take.  I have no crystal ball, I cannot tell you that by such and such a time you will be all done with it."

"I realize that you can't give me a guarantee," I said, " But I was just wondering if you have seen patients who have an easier time of it after the roller coaster ride of up and down hormones has subsided, even if it takes five or ten years.  If I knew that in time this will all even out, I can live with the aches and pains and whatnot for a few more years."

While I was talking, she was looking at her computer and clearly looking aggravated by what I just said.  When my silly little speech wound down, she blurted out:

 "I can see your problem right here.  Do you want to know why you feel the way you do?  Why you are short of breath and your joints ache?  You have gained weight over the winter.  Look at this!  I can see that whatever you are doing for exercise is not enough.  You have to get up and do something and watch what you put in your mouth.  People do not gain weight by breathing air, it is what you are eating.  You have to get out of your chair and exercise. You need to join a gym and get a personal trainer.  You need regular, physical exercise in your life and to cut calories down to 1200 a day."

Carl then piped up, "She does exercise!  She walks every day and she gardens."

"Well, it is not enough, obviously.  Gardening is not good exercise.  It is not aerobic and very possibly you are not doing the 'exercise' you do correctly.  That is why you need a personal trainer."

I knew I had gained weight over the winter, but I also know it is on it's way back down.  The same thing happens every year, once gardening season is here, I tend to lose any weight I put on during the winter.  I know it's not a good thing, I know I'm a flawed person, I know I eat too much.  And I know I've been heavier than I am now.  And I'm not proud of it.  I shouldn't even be writing about this here, because I know how this makes me sound.  Pathetic donut eater.  (I cut out the donuts a while back, I really, really did.)

"What did you have for breakfast yesterday?" the Polar Bear MD asked. 

"A bowl of corn flakes and milk."

"How big was the bowl of corn flakes?" as she asks the question, she makes an imaginary bowl in the air, like the size of a hog trough.  "Do you measure your portions?  Do you even have a clue as to how much cereal you are eating?  And what was for lunch?  Oh, a salad?  And did you use the same size bowl for that too?  And you put dressing on it?  NO dressing is allowed, only a spritz of vinegar, no more.  And what about dinner?  Oh, you had a baked potato, well, NO more baked potatoes, no more starch, no more carbohydrates, no more bread, no more pasta, no more dessert, no.........no..........more.............."

By this time her strident voice had receded in my mind and I was the guy dangling from the jaws of the raging polar bear, being whipped from side to side staring at her glaring face as she tore me a new one. 

Ouch.

 I tried to defend myself one more time at least on the exercise thing. 

"I know you don't feel it qualifies as exercise, but I do garden extensively," I ventured cautiously.  "It's a big garden, around two acres, and last week I had over seven miles on my pedometer from working in it.  I still aim for five miles a day, though, even when I'm not gardening."

"Ah, the pedometer again.  The only way those steps count is if you are going out to exercise!  You cannot wear a pedometer all day long and then count all the steps you take as a total of exercise steps.  You have to walk the five (and I have told you before, ten, up to fifteen miles a day would be better) STRAIGHT through for exercise, no stopping and starting, for it to count.  IF you walked eight miles a day in your garden, so what?  If I kept track of all my steps in a day, you would be amazed.  No, only the actual straight walking steps count, no others! You have to devote at least an HOUR a day to exercise, and that is a minimum."

Say what?  I'm supposed to walk ten (or more!) miles a day in an HOUR?  Wow.  I'll be breaking some serious speed records if I can do that. 

And/or I only need to garden for an hour a day?  Wow.  I'll be having a pretty sorry looking garden too.

Carl piped up again, "She works very hard in the garden, I know she does.  You can't tell me it isn't work, because I do it, too, and it's tiring.  I don't see where a gym membership would be any more strenuous."

Oh, boy, here we go again.....the Polar Bear picked up Carl this time.

"I'm not saying the gym membership would be any more strenuous!  I'm saying she should quit gardening.  It's not working as exercise to keep her weight down, and she's probably doing more damage to her joints than anything else.  Pushing and pulling, lifting and hauling, and you wonder 'why' you hurt at night when you try to sleep??  Because you are getting up and down, kneeling, squatting, bending, overlifting, all the worst things to do for a body and yet, again, you 'wonder' why you hurt?  No, the gardening is a very bad thing.  Stop the gardening, get a personal trainer, lose the weight and get on with your life."  There was silence for a second and then:

"I do not know what else to tell you.  Do you want me to put in your chart that you have 'fibromyalgia'?  If I do, you will wear that title for the rest of your life and every doctor who sees it afterward will immediately think, 'Ha, another one of those people, who have 'fibromyalgia'."   

(Apparently, I am surmising that the Polar Bear thinks fibromyalgia is a catch-all phrase for a hysterical menopausal woman who really doesn't have anything wrong with her but wants attention.)

After she dropped Carl from her jaws, we both sat and stared at her, dazed.  Stop Gardening?  You might as well tell me to stop breathing. 

Carl said, "She grew up on a farm and was her father's right hand man with all the work. The gardening work isn't something new, she's worked hard all her life."

"So, she grew up on a farm.  Maybe she worked in wet, damp conditions.  Maybe she was bitten by a Lyme tick years ago.  Maybe she was overworked.  Every one is different.  My father farmed a 4000 acre farm, so what does that mean?  She's getting older.  People change.  She needs to stop gardening.  It is doing her no good.  She is getting fatter. And now, the tears.....I think you are depressed.  I really think you should be treated for depression, but I cannot force you to take the medication if you do not want to. You need to get exercise, exercise, exercise and watch what you put in your mouth!"

Yeah, I was crying.  Gads, I'm a sap.  I know.  And for her information, I had been treated for depression for many years, but once my thyroid was properly treated, I was able to go off of them, and I told her so.  And I told her that unfortunately, when I was taking the antidepressants, I weighed more than I do now.   Oh, she said, but there are other drugs out there that don't pack on the pounds, yeah, I know.  Though I was crying, I wasn't depressed.

I know depression, trust me. I garden because I love it.  It is my medication.

No, I was crying because it's safer than whacking a Polar Bear 'upside the head.  It's a more socially acceptable way of releasing tension than assault and battery.  Or firearms.  I didn't want to go to jail.  I just wanted her to stop.  And she did.  Oh, this is just the tip of the iceberg the Polar Bear made us listen to, and so much of it was contradictory.  Walk ten miles but do it in an hour.  Get a personal trainer who will teach me how to lift correctly. 

All this because I needed to have my thyroid prescription renewed and because I ventured to say that I have aches and pains at night and wondered if it was possible menopause might have something to do with it.

  I was ordered to the lab to give five vials of blood (I don't know what she's checking for, she didn't say) and I'm supposed to go to the hospital next week for a pulmonary stress test to see if I have asthma......?........because of my occasional shortness of breath.  I did give the blood, but the rest; oh, I don't know.  Asthma?  (She said she knows the reason I'm short of breath is because I am too porky, but sort of sarcastically ordered the breathing test....so I don't know if I should go through with it or not. Would you?)

I'm not going to quit gardening.

I'll try to eat better.  I'll try to work harder. 

I need a new doctor.

Preferably not of the Polar Bear persuasion.

Now, where's my hog trough?  It's time for my Corn Flakes.

A Wonderful Group

I'm happy to report that this past weekend's tour went very well.  The Wisconsin Hardy Plant Society visited us and they were such a friendly, warm group of Master Gardeners.

We worked as late into the evenings as we could last week and were up early on Saturday to try to get in some late minute touches.  Ann and Jessie were here bright and early to add some polish to the garden, too.  We all ran in six different directions at once, but finally had to cease and desist when I yelled, "The bus is just about here!"  Shovels, wheelbarrows and tools miraculously disappeared as the bus neared our driveway.

  There I am, waiting for the bus to back into our driveway.

Oops, guess we should have pruned the willow tree a bit more.  Buses are bigger than I thought.

There were 44 people onboard and they had only 45 minutes to see the yard.  We have a sort of a 'system' for taking folks through the gardens; we start in the driveway and work our way around the front:

After seeing the front of the gardens, it's time to view the Pachyberm, above.  Then we normally go back in front of the house and through the garden gate, but they had a tight schedule, so we bypassed the normal route and everyone picked a trail to get to the back yard.

On to the backyard

 I forgot to mention to them at the start of their visit that we were in the middle of remodeling our Formal Garden, but no one seemed to mind that it wasn't done.  (And was a total mess.)

My only regrets with larger groups of people is that I don't get a chance to talk to everyone.  I was able to ask some questions of their very illustrious members and learned a few things about my own plants that I didn't know before. 

Heading out toward Quarry Hill

We hoped to get a group photo of everyone, but there were members scattered all over the yard.

People everywhere!

Heading down the hill

Carl, in the dark blue shirt, leading the tour.

Joel managed to get a group picture of some of our visitors.

All too soon, it was time for them to leave.  Hard to believe how fast the time flies.

 

Screech Kitty led the tour through the Egress Garden Gate.  He's a veteran tour guide around here.  

I sure wish the MG's could have seen the yard at its peak bloom season.  And I wish the Formal Garden had been done on time, too, but oh, well, gardening is a process, right?

As we all know, a gardener's work is never done.

Our thanks to the Wisconsin Hardy Plant Society for some wonderful memories!

And a special Thank You to Ann, Jessie, Richard and Emily for their help, too!