A Wander through the Garden


A perfect autumn day.

First came the dawn, lit by a cool, quiet glow while the day prepared to sigh gently and present the first of its gifts.



A painterly sunrise and the breakfast bar preparing to open its doors to the small bird population.



The afternoon was warm and pleasing as I wandered to and fro, considering an ever changing plan for next year's garden, - what needs to be moved, - where can it be moved to, - would it do better here, or there?



The sedum is perfect where it is, lighting up various parts of the fall garden.



The small Turtle plant was moved in the spring, but it is still being squeezed out by the invasive mint that goes galumphing through the garden, - the solution is obvious. Move the mint, somewhere out against a far fence where it can spread to its heart's content without digging elbows into its mild neighbour.



The second blooming of the lovely blue delphinium met with disaster when a wild wind bent the Barn Flower down upon it, breaking its tender stems. Out with the Barn flower, - off with its head. It will have an abandoned beauty across the pasture, waving far into the air against the same fence with the mint!



I have nothing to say about the sunflower, - it grows where it will, and we always leave enough small plants scattered amongst the garden to brighten the summer months and feed the small birds in the fall.



The white phlox is a favourite, but it is side by each with an overgrown day lily and on the other side a rambunctious fall chrysanthemum, - I think they would be lovely candidates for the new garden in Midway that grandchildren are enthusiastically tending....

Well, there is another corner of the garden that is a hodge podge of colour, all blooming in a lovely mosaic of wild grasses, yellow daisies, weigelia, lavender, a clump of chinese lanterns that thought this would be a good place to establish a subway station, a few persistent borage plants, with their ice blue stars. And the Rhubarb.

There is no end to pondering when you are considering the fate of the garden.

Sky Watch Friday

The sunset here in the Similkameen on Monday evening was so spectacular I was overcome by a snapping frenzy and took over eighty pictures from twelve minutes after seven until seven twenty-seven. Just like a good evening's fish feed, snap, snap, snap.... oh my!

I chose forty pictures to make a slide show which can be seen HERE. A few pictures from that lovely interlude....











Visit Skywatch Friday by clicking here, and prepare to be delighted.

ABC Wednesday

H is for Higgeldy Piggeldy



Higgledy Piggledy,
My black hen,
She lays eggs
For gentlemen;
Sometimes nine,
And sometimes ten,
Higgledy Piggledy,
My black hen!

'Many Nursery rhymes of the 16th and 17th centuries featured animals like the Cat, Frog, Toad, Pig, Goose, Raven, Goat, Wolf, Bat and Mouse. This was also the era when people were obsessed by Witches. These animals were associated with witches as their familiars and Mother Goose is often illustrated in the guise of a witch - is there a connection between the Origins of Nursery Rhymes like ' Higgledy Piggledy'and the Witch?'

But hearken to the modern day Higgeldy Piggeldy verses

"The double-dactyl is a short verse form invented by the American poets Anthony Hecht
and John Hollander in 1966. The poem consists of one sentence containing forty-four
syllables that are distributed over eight lines and fall into two four-line stanzas.
The first three lines of each stanza are dactylic dimeter; the last one is a choriamb.
The two stanzas end with a masculine rhyme on the last syllable of the choriamb. The
final feature of the form is found in line six of the poem: a single, six-syllable
word which is a double-dactyl".

Here are some examples......

Rachmaninov

Higeldy Piggeldy
Sergei Rachmaninov
wrote his concertos for
handspans like wings.
Few realistically
can pianistically
digitalistically
play the damned things.
(games mag.)


Classics II: Anthony and Cleopatra

Patty-cake, patty-cake,
marcus Antonius
what do you think of the
African Queen?
Gubernatorial
duties require my
presence in Egypt. Ya
know what I mean?
-Paul Pascal

the origins of technology

Higgledy-piggledy
modern technology
started with antedi-
luvian zeal
when some uncivilized
Mesopotamian
unostentatiously
built the first wheel.
-RP (1987)


the mystery planet

Uranus, Uranus,
Herschel's discovery
axis inverted, past
Saturn it swings.
Who would have thought that the
antepenultimate
solar constituent
also had rings?
-RP (1987)

new-age medicine

Higgeldy Piggeldy
neo-aquarian
witch-doctors know what a
client expects:
non-pharmaceutical
homeopathical
remdies based on pla-
cebo effects.
-RP (1994)


Stephen J. Gould

Higgeldy Piggeldy
heterodoxical
paleontologist
Stephen J. Gould,
iconoclastically
trumpeted evidence
countering Darwin, but
no one was fooled.
-RP (1994)

Thank you to Denise who hosts ABC Wednesday. Slide over here and see what else H stands for.

A few days ago the Weaver of Grass made reference to the migration of the swallows, and posted a delightful poem in which she echoed the questions a young swallow puts to its mother as they prepare for the young one's first migration, and the gentle encouragementin the mother's replies.

I thought about the swallows who inhabited our barn on the farm, and the cliff swallows who build their nests in the clay cliffs of the Okanagan. And my memories brought to mind the nighthawks which were so prevalent in the summers of the years we spent on the farm. All during that 35 years or so, from 1950 to the mid 1980's, after a hot day and when conditions were just right, and when the insects were close to the ground in the evening, the nighthawks would swoop and soar over the road and the farms in great flocks, rejoicing in a veritable feast. The evening shimmered with insect wings and the air whooshed with the sound of their wings.

The nighthawk is not a raptor, as one might conclude from their name, but belongs to the family Caprimulgidae, the same family as the Whip-poor-will, and the swallow. It is about the size of a dove, and their slender shape and erratic flight help identify them in flight.



The nighthawk nests on the ground, but around the 1900's they also adapted themselves to living in towns, and nesting on the flat gravel roofs of buildings.

They generally feed at dusk and during the day they camouflage themselves by stretching out on branches or in bushes. The nighthawks mouth opens far back under its ears and forms a yawning trap to engulf any insects that happen to be out meandering in the early evening.

I realized that it had been a long while since I had seen this marvelous feeding frenzy, - not since we had left the farm in the late 1980's. I knew that nighthawks were quite at home in towns, and often nested on flat rooftops where they raised two chicks each summer, so where were they now?

Off to Google, and I found that there has been a general decline in the nighthawk population all over America. The reasons are not clear, but could include habitat loss, migration hazards, crow predation, and one theory links the bird's decline to the shift from the once common pea stone gravel roofs where nighthawks laid their eggs to roofs made of rubber or polyvinyl. The old style gravel roofs provided perfect camouflage for the bird's speckled brown, grey and white colours, and some protection from marauding crows.

The apparent disappearance from the valley of any large flocks of nighthawks saddened me, but I was encouraged by tonight's pictures of a gorgeous sunset. Off to the north I spied a bird, then another and another. I tried to capture with the camera, but couldn't be sure I had, they were moving so swiftly and erratically.

When I transferred the pictures from the camera to the computer I was surprised and elated to see the silhouettes of the nighthawk scattered across the sky.





There were only a few, and you may have to click to enlarge in order to see them, but they were there, and I was so grateful for the chance to see them.

It is time for them to migrate. They won't go in great flocks, but they will take off in small bunches, stopping on their way to rest and eat, flying by day and in the evening opening their wide, wide mouths for any resident insects. They have a long migration to Argentina, and the young ones are barely two months old. A long way to go, but think of the scenery....

Google informed me that there are many people concerned about this beautiful bird, and the conditions which affect it so adversely. There are people throughout Canada and the U.S. who watch and record their migration, and most likely are as delighted as I was when their evening watch is rewarded.

p.s. The nighthawk is also known as 'nightjar' or 'goatsucker', having in early days gained an erroneous reputation amongst country folk for suckling the milk from cows and other milk giving animal with their large mouths. But we know better now.....

Up behind the garage where the apples are ripening and where the sumac grows the afternoon sun was shining on the wild clematis.



Each day brings its own glory.....



and the light of the autumn sun performs it's own miracles. (click to enlarge and enjoy the lovely glitter...)

Sky Watch Friday



A charming Saturday evening sky in the Similkameen...



And on Tuesday some comic relief, - if you have the eye for it. (click to enlarge)



The evening settled down and was lit by a golden lantern, skimming the tops of the hills.

Many more wonderful skies at SkyWatch Friday.

ABC Wednesday

Moving along the alphabet we come to "G"

G is for Gillyflower



Sweet old fashioned flowers that take on many disguises.

Some of the old names for "Pinks" and carnations and gilliflowers are cloves, Picotees, and Sops-in-wine

Gardeners now call them pinks, clove pinks, Scotch pinks, old laced pinks, lilac pinks and of course, Sweet William. (Dianthus)

By any name Gillyflowers are one of the oldest of favourite garden flowers.

It is old and precious, - loved by our grandmothers, and their grandmothers, and so prolific in gardens that it is even recognized by non-gardeners, even if they don't know its name.

Slide down the garden path over to ABC Wednesday and see what other wonderful things G stands for.

Late this afternoon Charles and I went off to pick up the newspapers and take pictures of river and rock, trees and skies.

At the Sportsmen Garage, where the papers lie in wait for us, we took our first picture of the Talus Slides that are found on the mountains of the Similkameen. In this picture you can see the trails of the rocks which slip away from the tops of the hills and slide to the bottom where they form a rocky debris. When No. 2 son was in his teens he and a friend were recruited to help a research team studying the formation of the Talus slides.

On slides which are more or less stable there is some growth, - in the summer a green haze covers some slides, and in the autumn the growth turns red and gives a rosy cast to the slide.



These Talus slides are unique to this area, and you can find more information about them here.

We turned down a back road, admiring an orchard planted to pillar type trees, heavy with scarlet apples.



Across the bridge and meandering eastward down the riverbank, the low water sparkled in the sunlight, rippling over rocks that hug the bottom of the river bed when the river runs swift and high. Now there were people wading in the small pools and a fisherman casting from the edge of the water.





The water and trees are quiet and serene, and inviting on a hot afternoon.



A scout quail keeps watch on an old log while his charges scurry off the other end when we slow down, into the grass where they are hidden.



Westward from the bridge the road winds through ranch country until it comes to a great outcropping of multicoloured rock.



The river, the rocks, the sky and the warm afternoon, - we all say goodbye to August and will enjoy the crispness of September.





We came home to supper in the slow cooker, - another plus.

Two pictures, by request.

Here are the blankets that sit at the foot of our bed, - handwoven many years ago (thirty five or forty) and woven from pure wool. The wool was dyed with Rabbit Brush and Golden Rod,plants that naturally produce yellow, but with the use of mordants can achieve lovely greens and tans and browns.






Here are the two plants that were used to dye these old blankets. Both the Rabbit Brush and the Goldenrod grow profusely in this valley, and what fun I had collecting them when I was young and agile.



Goldenrod – All goldenrod will produce a beautiful bright yellow, but it is necessary to use a mordant to make the colour 'take'. The safest and easiest mordant to use is alum and tartaric acid (cream of tartar purchased from the grocery store). The alum must be purchased from a craft store, - drug store alum won't do the trick.

The yellow in the border of the blanket on the left was dyed with goldenrod, and I wish I could remember for sure what I used to obtain the brown but it was probably walnut hulls. When I had this blanket on the loom I was doing quite a bit of demonstrating and teaching, and the blanket grew longer and longer. When I eventually cut it from the loom it was (and still is) long enough to make two cot sized blankets. It is lovely and warm.



Rabbit brush also yields golden dyes. Climate, seasons and plant maturity factor into the colour any given dye plant will produce and this applies to Rabbit Brush particularly. This randomness in color is part of the excitement in dyeing. In this semi-desert country the amount of rainfall, or lack of it, will affect the depth of colour.

Mordants also affect dye colors. A mordant is usually a mineral salt such as alum, tin or copper which is added to a dye bath to assist the bonding between dye molecules and the protein fibers of sheep's wool'.

The blanket on the right was woven exclusively with wool dyed from Rabbit Brush and various mordants, - the addition of copper produces green, chrome and tin both brighten (chrome is toxic and requires the use of rubber gloves) and iron saddens the colours.

If you are interested in dyeing wool with natural plants here is a good place to start.

And Barb, here is a picture of the Sweet Autumn Clematis that grew in our old garden - it looks so delicate, but was strong and hardy and bloomed right until frost - even until November.

We were on the road again early this morning. The slight morning haze and the dry hillsides bespoke of fall and coming glories. I watched for signs of yellow rabbit brush, which at one time would have made my heart leap and my clippers click, as I gathered it to make a natural dye for wool. The blanket that sits on the chest at the bottom of the bed is handwoven with mellowed shades of rabbit brush from various mordants, - tin, iron, alum, copper and chrome. I caught just a small clump of yellow rabbit brush with the camera as the car went whizzing along.



We passed the waters of Yellow Lake, and those of the Skaha, glittering in the sunlight.





The campgrounds along the lake were full to overflowing. We passed people leaving them, heading for the last warm, lazy days at the beach. Along the highway serious contenders for the Ironman race which is to be held on Sunday were wheeling along the side of the road, familiarizing themselves with the long miles they will cycle on race day.



While Charles visited the optometrist I moved the car into the shade and had a lovely hour to sit and read Agatha Christie's "Come, Tell me How You Live". I can't remember who it was in Blogland who recommended this book but I am finding it wonderfully entertaining.

On the way home we climbed the hill out of Penticton and far off in the distance were five shades of hazy blue mountains, but I think I only caught three or four of them.



Definitely signs that Summer is slipping away, and this evening I went out into the garden and took pictures of the tangled wild Clematis and the apple trees, growing heavy and fragrant with the smell of ripe fruit.





There is a magic in September that awakens all kinds of energy and enthusiasm, and I can hardly wait....

Skywatch Friday

I opened my eyes tentatively this morning. Beyond the window the sky was pink, delicately pink.

It wasn't even six o'clock, and so my eyes closed lazily, but my mind said 'pink sky, pink sky'.....

And so I got up and here are the lovely pictures that were my reward.













The Sunflowers and I, nodding with wonderment at the early morning painters who make the dawn glow so beautifully...

For more lovely skies click the Skywatch label on the sidebar.

ABC Wednesday

F is for Fintry and for Fire

Fintry is an historical part of British Columbia which is now a beautiful Provincial Park on the west shores of Okanagan Lake, half way between Kelowna and Vernon.

Captain Thomas Shorts first settled on this delta, preempting in 1882 what was soon called "Shorts' Point" but unfortunately the Captain was more interested in transportation on the lake than in fulfilling the terms of the official agreement that required him to improve the land. He had a thriving business, transporting freight and passengers from Vernon to the Penticton, but the arrival of CPR sternwheelers in 1893 put Shorts out of business.

He sold the delta, and eventually it ended up in the hands of James Cameron Dun-Waters, who renamed the property "Fintry" after his home in Scotland.



From the "history of Fintry" comes this description of the "Laird of Fintry"...

"He was a fascinating man of contrasts. He was a frugal Scot but generous, too. He revered tradition but was both innovative and inventive. Dun-Waters was an aristocrat but often dressed so casually he'd be mistaken for a tramp. He was a gracious host, passionate about his beliefs and a stern but fair employer. He would accept nothing but the best in himself, his staff or his projects".

James Dun-Waters built a Manor House for his first wife, Alice, from the Granite cliffs located on the property.



In 1924 Dun-Waters decided to add an impressive trophy room to the house, containing a stone grotto built to showcase a Kodiak bear he had shot and had mounted. While construction was underway Alice died and a month and a half later this version of the Manor House burned to the stone foundations. It was immediately rebuilt on the same foundations, and Dun-Waters lived there for the rest of his life.

Before he died he sold Fintry for one dollar to an English philanthropic organization that 'sent orphans from the streets to the 'Colonies" where they could learn to be farmers and earn a living for themselves'.

Fintry Falls, located on the property, was of immense help to Dun-Waters, but it took his ingenious mind to capture the creek's power in a system of wood stave, wire wrapped pipes. The harnessed water made it possible for the Laird to have spray irrigation for orchards and gardens plus running water in houses and barns and hydro power to grind grain and run a sawmill. 'By tying a Pelton wheel into the system he generated electricity. He even had his own telephone network linking the main buildings'.



You can read more about Fintry Estates here and the pleasures it provides for campers, hikers, birdwatchers and nature lovers.

This summer the Park was in dire danger from a voracious wild forest Fire that ravaged Terrace Mountain during parts of July and August, but all evacuees are now back in their homes and the Fire has left these parts and sprung up in other areas of the Province.



ABC Wednesday has "F" stories from all over the world, and you can click here to enjoy them, thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt.

Now that I am no longer playing hymns or practicing church music I have been indulging myself by digging through baskets and boxes of old music and the memories that these old books arouse.

In 'The Lives of a Cell' Lewis Thomas has a chapter headed Autonomy, and he begins it with these words;

'Working a typewriter by touch, like riding a bicycles or strolling on a path, is best done by not giving it a glancing thought. Once you do, your fingers fumble and hit the wrong keys. To do things involving practiced skills you need to turn loose the systems of muscles and nerves responsible for each maneuver, place them on their own, and stay out of it'.

He goes on to speak of autonomy and the possibility of visceral organs being taught to do various things by the reward system, but this is not the theme I want to follow.

I am more interested in the idea of enduring skills, accomplished by teaching the muscles in various parts of the body to do certain things, and then leaving them to it.

Wonder of wonders - somehow they retain these skills throughout a lifetime. Everyone knows that once you learn to ride a bicycle you never forget, and I have found that once your fingers learn to play a piece of music that skill might grow a little rusty, but it never leaves.

Amongst the music I have unearthed is Beethoven's Pathetique, - music that I once played passably well, but today the score looks familiar, but slightly beyond one with all its accidentals and complex chords.



That is until you start to play.

If you are wise enough to let the fingers have their way they proceed with great confidence, but once you grow self conscious, or look too closely at the notes, you are lost. And when you are playing by memory and you hit a cliff and tumble off, then you must start again from the beginning so that the fingers can follow the progression of their memory.

Fascinating stuff.

I am just doing the first three pages so far, - start off with all those lovely chords, then the crescendo's and the sf's and the chromatic runs. At one time Caspar used to sit by the piano and listen to me play, but now, with his deafness, it must be all a cacophony of sound to him and he pads off into another room and comparative quietness. I tell him about Beethoven and his lack of hearing, and the wonderment of hearing the music in his mind, but Caspar, poor dear, pays me no mind.

Here is Glenn Gould Playing Part 1 of the Sonata...



I love the Gould performance, but the Horowitz is excellent too.

My fingers curl up and sigh, - they never had this marvelous dexterity to begin with!