Our young visitor

Ken and I always enjoyed having nieces and nephews visit us overnight when they were young. We tried to fill their visits with special activities they would remember when they grew older.

Now those nieces and nephews have children of their own. One nephew said he particularly wanted his daughter to visit us for an overnighter because he had such good memories of doing so when he was a child.

I have a great photo of one of his visits, but darned if I can put my finger on it today.

Anyway, little Violet arrived in a blaze of glory on Friday morning. We had a full schedule of activities planned, the first being to build a fairy house in my rock garden. As I mentioned in an earlier post, fairies have been leaving jewels in my garden just before Violet's brief visits, so we figured it might be a good idea to build a house for them in the garden, as a thank-you for the jewels and maybe even encouraging them to leave more.

So Violet and I set out for the garden with supplies in hand: sea shells, sea glass, acorns, "loose moss" for a soft carpet, etc.

We needed help in getting the project started because neither she nor I am all that knowledgeable about house construction. We called on Uncle Ken to give us a hand. He was a bit reluctant at first, not fully understanding what Violet and I had in mind, but once he got into the swing of it, he actually suggested a second fairy house, to be used as a guest cottage, positioned to the right of the first house. He was sawing a tree that had come down during last Wednesday's bad storm (including tornadoes nearby), and one section of the tree had a fine knothole, perfect as an entrance for fairies. So he brought that section of the tree to us in the garden, and we now had ourselves not one, but two fairy houses.

All of this talk of fairies put Violet in the mood to become a fairy herself, which was entirely understandable, so before I knew it I was fashioning fairy wings out of construction paper. To add to the effect, I gave her a fairy's magic wand, which had been waiting for an appropriate home since I came into possession of it last spring. She used it to spread fairy magic on her uncle and me.

I was a little nervous about nightfall, fearing a certain someone might get homesick and want her mom and dad. I needn't have worried. She and I slept together, and she chattered away for at least an hour after we'd gone to bed and I'd read two books to her. She tried to trick me a couple of times, telling me there was a skunk on the ceiling. I didn't fall for it, though. I'm onto her. Just before she fell asleep she sighed deeply and said, "I'm so happy to be here, Aunt Jean." The kid knows how to melt my heart.

At 2:45 a.m. I felt a light tap on my shoulder and a whisper, "Aunt Jean, Is it wake-up-time yet?" I assured her we needed to sleep a little longer, so she promptly settled down again. I tried to sneak out of bed at 5:30, but before I knew it, little feet were trotting along behind me and our day was underway.

The big event for Saturday was taking in the Dorcas Fair, an annual crafts fair in a nearby town. Violet was quite enthralled with the jewelry vendors. She chose two 50¢ bracelets and a 50¢ ring for herself. Soon she was bedecked with her purchases.

Once we returned home, I decided Molly the dog needed a good brushing. I've never seen a time when Molly doesn't need a good brushing. Violet collected the fur as I removed it from Molly and said she was going to make a poodle from it.

When her dad came to take her home, Violet announced she'd like to stay one more day. I wish she could have, but Uncle Ken and I had a busy weekend ahead of us. I promised her she could come back soon, though, and I'm sure she will. Uncle Ken and I both had a lot of fun with Miss V. as a guest.

Fortitude and Resilience

Ken's 50th high school reunion was held a couple of weeks ago. This event was a full year in the planning, and Ken did his part in seeing that the event was a big success. All former graduates of the class of 1960 were invited, as were as many of their teachers who are still "here."

The high point of the event was, I'm quite sure, the visit from Mrs. C, who had been the English, French and Latin teacher of many of those there. In addition, I had worked with Mrs. C during my first two years of teaching and hadn't seen her in 40 years.

When Mrs. C arrived, she promptly announced that she could stay "only 30 minutes," because she had other things that needed to get done that day.

I was amazed to hear her call her former students by their names as they walked up to give her a hug and a kiss. When I approached her, I said, "I'm Jean...." She quickly set me straight with, "I know who you are!"

Mrs. C was certainly independent and self-sufficient when I knew her, and those qualities have hardly diminished over the years. She lost her husband this past year, and since she and he were the same age, that puts her current age at 96 or 97.

She didn't wear her teeth to the reunion. She explained that she does, indeed, have teeth, but they hurt her mouth, so they were "home in a jar."

After thirty minutes had passed, Mrs. C, as promised, got up and headed for the door. What left the crowd speechless, though, was watching her get into her car, back it up, pull out onto the road, and head home!

It hadn't occurred to us that she'd driven herself to the reunion, but looking back, it didn't surprise us, either.

I love lavender, but this is ridiculous

I do love the fragrance of lavender. I can't get enough of it. But when a friend of a friend gave me this lavender plant on Monday, I knew my love of lavender had gone too far. You see, this particular strain of lavender bears my name, Jean Davis.

I know it wasn't named after me, for crying out loud. To be honest, I first heard of this lavender strain several years ago, when a student gave me a Jean Davis lavender plant. That was before I knew how to care for lavender, and it died after a season or two.

So I'm glad to have this plant to add to my other two lavenders in the garden. Both of them are the "Munstead Strain," which is more easily found at greenhouses in southern Maine. The friend of a friend said she found this at Longfellow's Greenhouses in Manchester, ME, near Augusta. That's a garden center I hope to visit some day.

From my knitting department, the Mondo Cable Pulli is showing signs of actually nearing completion. Once I overcame the need to read directions only partially and knit on past key points, resulting in much raveling, I've been pleased to see progress. The second sleeve is coming along nicely. After that I'll add the neckline finishing detail and voila! a warm wool sweater for this next Maine winter, which, unfortunately, isn't all that far away.

Days are growing shorter and soon there will be the sound of crickets singing in the grass as well as golden rod in full bloom. That always means there's no turning back: winter is approaching.

Just stuff

Ken's Model T, the Jitney, now sports a windshield of sorts. I can't see that it would be of much help to a passenger beside the driver, but at least the driver will get a little protection from the rush of air while out and about.

Yesterday while walking past a bush out front, my eye caught a glimpse of bright orange beneath the bush. I stooped down for a closer look and discovered these mushrooms. I think they might be the same mushroom that Cheryl posted a photo of recently, but I don't know what they're called. Amazing color, anyway. This photo doesn't do justice to the color. (I just went through Cheryl's posts as far back as February and can't find the photo she took. It's got to be there somewhere.)

My stargazer lilies are abloom this morning. I love their color but find their fragrance a little overwhelming. A student mentioned in an essay once that she liked stargazer lilies until she was in the hospital for a leg operation. Someone sent stargazer lilies to her hospital room, the scent nauseated her, and she hasn't been able to stand them since then. Now I always think of Paige when my stargazers come into bloom.

Miss V discovered yesterday that fairies have been leaving jewels in my large flower garden. The jewels look remarkably like the round glass "pebbles" used in flower vases.

Since the jewels were of various colors, they of course needed to be sorted once collected. Miss V is heavy into sorting and categorizing.

July 14

My mother died four years ago today.

I don't care how old a person is when he or she loses their mother, they still miss her.

My mother was just short of her 102nd birthday when she died, so she certainly wasn't cheated out of a good, long life, like some mothers are. For that I'm thankful.

In this photo she's giving a knitting lesson to one of her grand daughters. I've always liked this picture.

Cautiously optimistic

I'm trying not to be toooooo smug about my vegetable garden this summer, but so far things are looking good.

After last summer's gardening disaster, thanks to Mother Nature and rain almost every day of June and much of July, I was skeptical about even planting a garden this year. I scaled back my usual 24 tomato seedlings to 18; I planted only a few mounds of cucumber, zucchini, and summer squash seeds; I reluctantly planted 12 green pepper seedlings only because Ken insisted I should; and I sat back and waited for seeds and seedlings to be washed away or rotted during the month of June.

But that didn't happen. In fact, we've had unusually good gardening weather this year: occasional rain, much heat, and a lot of humidity. My garden seems to be happy and contented.

The tomatoes are already outdoing last year's crop, and new buds are emerging every day. The green peppers look the best I've seen in my garden in years.

Everything else is coming along nicely, too. The basil, as you can see in the header, is growing abundantly.

I realize that things still have a way to go before I can declare a sure victory. There's the possibility of blossom-end rot on the tomatoes, for instance, if the fruits lack calcium. That happened in my garden a few years ago. Therefore, I'm being careful to water the plants regularly.
There's also a danger of Early Blight. That's happened in my garden, too. The leaves turn dark from the base of the plant upward and have to be destroyed. Wet weather can invite Early Blight, but so far that hasn't happened this summer.

Of course the dastardly horn worm will surely make an appearance in August, as sure as my name's Jean. At the first sign that a of leaves, I'll be in the garden with a jar of water/ammonia to drop the horn worms into. Perhaps it's a cruel death, but killing my tomato plants seems even crueler, so there. I'll go over each plant with a magnifying glass, practically, to find any horn worms and pick them off. They're clever little (actually, big) buggers because their color matches exactly the color of the tomato leaf stem, so they're hard to spot.

There's also the danger of a sudden hailstorm with hail the size of golf balls, or a mini-tornado, or a deluge lasting five days straight, but I try not to think of those possibilities. They're out of my hands. There's also the possibility of deer visiting my garden in the night and having themselves a regular smorgasbord. I'm regularly mixing up my special deer repellent recipe and spraying the plants, and I've hung little sacks of Dial soap throughout the garden. I hope these efforts will send the deer in our woods elsewhere for a snack. Meanwhile, I remain cautiously optimistic.

My mother's switchel

These hot, humid days remind me of haying season on my family's farm in central Maine when I was a child.

(I heard on t.v. this morning that Maine farmers have already begun haying, about two weeks ahead of schedule, because the weather has been cooperative. This contrasts sharply with last summer's haying season, which didn't get under way until the end of August, due to all the rain. And once the hay was harvested, it was of poor quality.)

I sometimes drove the tractor which hauled the hay bailer, or I drove the truck. My brothers would load bales of hay into the truck, we'd take the load back to the barn, and from there we'd lift bales onto the conveyor belt to be taken up into the haymow. It was hot, heavy, and dirty work. Hay chaff was especially difficult to tolerate as we tried to breathe in the hot haymow (hayloft). The bales were bound with wire or twine. Both were hard on the hands, so it was important to wear leather gloves, even on the hottest of days.

I remember being up in the haymow, helping to stack bales, when my mother came up the ladder to tell us the Quint boys had been killed in a car accident, along with the girlfriend of the older boy. I felt sick. The younger boy was my age. He was in junior high. How could someone that young, and that innocent, die? And die so violently. His mother gave me his ice skates a few months later, and I always felt sad when I wore them.

I remember the evening my brothers suggested we go get a load of hay bales still lying in the fields. They'd waited until the sun went down so it would be a little cooler to do such exhausting work. I must've been driving the truck that evening as my brothers filled it with bales. Suddenly the truck tipped slightly, due to the uneven terrain, and the entire load tumbled off the truck.

My brothers decided we'd best keep this little mishap to ourselves as we re-loaded the truck and headed to the hay barn.

I remember the time, years earlier, when I'd gone out into the hayfield to ride on the baler with my brothers. This was when a person sat on each side of the emerging bale and pulled a lever to operate whatever mechanism caused the bale to become tied with wire, and the wire to become cut. I climbed into my brother Eldon's lap. He didn't object. It was fun for me to "help" my big brothers with their hard work. Apparently my head got in the way between Eldon's hand and the lever, for he pulled it down hard...onto my head. He felt terrible, and I felt even worse. No serious harm was done, though.

Probably my favorite memory of haying season on my family's farm is of delivering switchel to the hay crew. My mother would mix up a batch in a half-gallon jug, hand my sister and me a stack of cups, and tell us to take a drink out to the "boys."

The recipe above for my mother's switchel is in her own handwriting. Beneath it, just barely visible, is my handwriting, which says, "Bertie, Oct. 1983." I obviously asked her for this recipe when we were visiting her, probably on her birthday. I'd never seen the recipe in writing before, because this recipe, like most of my mother's good recipes, was stored in her memory.

When my niece Cheryl's son recently asked for the family's switchel recipe, because he wanted to make a batch, I was pleased. It's nice to know this family tradition is being carried on.

I suppose switchel is a rather odd-sounding recipe for a thirst-quenching drink, but it does the trick. I googled "switchel" recently and found several similar recipes, many of them including molasses, which I don't recall my mother ever including. The uncooked rolled oats, however, she always included. I guess they were added to give the drink a little more substance. My parents came from New Brunswick, Canada, so I imagine the switchel recipe was handed down to her from my Haines grandparents, who were farmers as well.

I don't miss the extremely hard, hot work of summer haying, but to this day the fragrance of new-mown hay is something that can't be beat.

My new very-best friend has a swimming pool!

Actually our friendship isn't new; we've been friends for 37 years.

But I sure do appreciate her swimming pool this week, and the fact that she lives just over a mile away. And the fact that she has invited us over for a swim every day this week.

Maine is sweltering in the heat wave enveloping the entire Northeast.

I close all the windows during the day in an attempt to lock in any air that's cooler than what's outside.

While it IS noticeably cooler inside, the indoor thermometer is reading 81° at the moment, while the outside thermometer says it's 89° in the shade.

But it's not the temperature that's so uncomfortable; it's the humidity. Phew. The air, both inside and outside, seems almost too thick to breathe.

I must remember this heat wave next January.

"English" signs in China

Ken and I get a kick out of signs in China that have been translated into English, sort of.

"For your safety, please don't close toit" is a sign on the escalator as you travel to the second floor of Carrefour, the large grocery/department store in Chengdu. The original sign, four years ago, said, "Watch up you head." The up and down escalators meet at one point, and it would be easy for a careless person to hang his head over the railing as he's riding up, only to get his head jammed when the up and down tracks meet. Not a pretty thought. I assume this sign and its predecessor are warning about this safety hazard.

(Safety hazards abound in China. It's not unusual to be walking on a sidewalk only to come to a large, gaping hole with no temporary cover and no warning that it's there.)

This sign in particular amused us because we couldn't begin to figure out what it might mean. It's a sign at the panda park in Chengdu, near the new swinging rope bridge. I suppose it might be telling park visitors not to run on the bridge, but that's just a guess. Strinding????

The Chinese are notorious for spitting on sidewalks. It's not unusual to be walking along only to find yourself suddenly dodging someone's pile of phlegm. (Sorry) I think this sign, at Mt. Qingcheng, is actually telling visitors not to SPIT, rather than SPLIT. The mountain is considered a sacred place, so spitting while there would surely be a sacrilege.

Another sign from Qingcheng, this one self explanatory.

This sign is also on the escalator at Carrefour.

On the down escalator, a sign reads "No serambling."( I have a photo if it, too, but I've reached my maximum of five photos per blog entry, to which my browser holds me.)

Some of you might remember my all-time favorite sign in Chengdu. It was at a hotel swimming pool: "No shi--ing or pi-sing in the pool."

Before the 2008 Beijing Olympics, I read an article about the city's plans to rewrite its signs in order to avoid errors in English translations that might be offensive. I can see why!

A creepy story, a success, some flowers, and a brief failure

First, the creepy story. This was told to my friend Lynn and me as we were enduring our Friday version of our M-W-F self-torture (also known as exercise) at our community building.

A secretary in the town office half-awoke a couple of nights ago and realized her hand was resting on something cool and slimey. She started to go back to sleep, but her brain clicked in and she knew something just wasn't right. She leaped out of bed, turned on the light, and found a snake in bed with her.

Luckily the snake was dead. Her cat had killed it and brought the trophy to the secretary's bed to show her his prowess, I guess.

The secretary lived to tell about it. I'm not sure I would have.

Peasy is officially done, as you can see above and below. I sewed on her buttons yesterday.

It's fun to go into my gardens now with new flowers in bloom almost daily. Right now it's these amazing lilies that I'm all agog at. The plant is heavy with buds, so I'm hoping to see blossoms like this for days to come.

And finally, the brief failure, again. Have you ever been driving right along and missed a turn-off? That's what I did with the Mondo cable pulli. I was knitting up a storm after having raveled it, as I mentioned in my last post. Suddenly, as before, a direction made sense to me. I was supposed to have joined the two front sections, to form the "v" of the v-neck, about ten rows back.

More raveling ensued, but it didn't take me long to get back to where I'd been. Then I put the sleeve stitches onto holders, so I'm now knitting in the round. Progress is being made! But now that I've bragged about it, I'll probably find another glaring error soon and have to back-track again.

Mother Nature has promised us a perfect Fourth of July weekend, and so far she's delivering on that promise. Sunny, very warm, but some humidity moving in as the weekend progresses. The humidity I'd just as soon do without, but the rest of it I'll take.

Below is the Mondo pulli after its most recent raveling. Why I take pictures of train wrecks, I don't know. I have a morbid need to memorialize them, I guess.

Have a wonderful holiday weekend. Aren't we fortunate to be living in such a great country, even though it has a few warts? I wouldn't trade places with anyone.