Skywatch Friday

March 10th, 2010

Sunrise in the Similkameen

For more skies from around the world visit here.

ABC Wednesday

H is for Hellebore





These are the Hellebores that live in our garden, and who, as we speak, are preparing themselves for a second night of -5C weather under a star filled sky.

And here are a lot of interesting facts and myths about Hellebores through the ages, - perhaps more than you ever wanted to know, but they are a lovely and welcome flower when winter is coming to an end.

From Wikipedia.......

Hellebores are widely grown in gardens for decorative purposes, as well as for their purported medicinal abilities and uses in witchcraft. They are particularly valued by gardeners for their winter and early spring flowering period; the plants are surprisingly frost-resistant and many are evergreen. Many species of hellebore have green or greenish-purple flowers and are of limited garden value, although Corsican hellebore (H. argutifolius), a robust plant with pale green, cup-shaped flowers and attractive leathery foliage, is widely grown. So is stinking hellebore or setterwort (H. foetidus), which has drooping clusters of small, pale green, bell-shaped flowers, often edged with maroon, which contrast delightfully with its dark evergreen foliage. H. foetidus 'Wester Flisk', with red-flushed flowers and flower stalks, is becoming popular, as are more recent selections with golden-yellow foliage.
The so-called Christmas rose (H. niger), a traditional cottage garden favourite, bears its pure white flowers (which often age to pink) in the depths of winter; large-flowered cultivars are available, as are pink-flowered and double-flowered selections.

The most popular hellebores for garden use, however, are undoubtedly H. orientalis and its colourful hybrids (H. × hybridus). They flower in early spring, around the period of Lent, and are often known as Lenten hellebores, oriental hellebores, or Lenten roses. They are excellent for bringing early colour to shady herbaceous borders and areas between deciduous shrubs and under trees.

In the early days of medicine, two kinds of hellebore were recognized: black hellebore, which included various species of Helleborus, and white hellebore, now known as Veratrum album ("false hellebore"), which belongs to a different plant family, the Melanthiaceae [3]. Although the former plant is highly toxic, containing veratrine and the teratogens cyclopamine and jervine, it is believed to be the "hellebore" used by Hippocrates as a purgative. California corn lily is similar in appearance to V. album and has sometimes been mistaken for it.[citation needed]
"Black hellebore" was used by the ancients in paralysis, gout and other diseases, more particularly in insanity. "Black hellebore" is also toxic, causing tinnitus, vertigo, stupor, thirst, a feeling of suffocation, swelling of the tongue and throat, emesis and catharsis, bradycardia (slowing of the pulse), and finally collapse and death from cardiac arrest.[4] Although Helleborus niger (black hellebore or Christmas rose) contains protoanemonin[5], or ranunculin,[6] which has an acrid taste and can cause burning of the eyes, mouth and throat, oral ulceration, gastroenteritis and hematemesis[7], research in the 1970s showed that its roots do not contain the cardiotoxic compounds helleborin, hellebrin, and helleborein responsible for the lethal reputation of "black hellebore". It seems that earlier studies may have used a commercial preparation containing a mixture of material from other species such as H. viridis, green hellebore.[8]

Several legends surround the hellebore; in witchcraft it is believed to have ties to summoning demons. Helleborus niger is commonly called the Christmas rose, due to an old legend that it sprouted in the snow from the tears of a young girl who had no gift to give the Christ child in Bethlehem.

In Greek mythology, Melampus of Pylos used hellebore to save the daughters of the king of Argos from a madness, induced by Dionysus, that caused them to run naked through the city, crying, weeping, and screaming.

During the Siege of Kirrha in 585 BC, hellebore was reportedly used by the Greek besiegers to poison the city's water supply. The defenders were subsequently so weakened by diarrhea that they were unable to defend the city from assault.
Some historians believe that Alexander the Great died because of a hellebore overdose, when he took it as medication.


For more posts on H visit here at ABC Wednesday, with thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind helpers.

Bits and Pieces - A day in March

On nice days, when the sun is shining and the wind is resting in the hills we go out into the garden, knowing full well that March will visit us with cold and blustery days while Spring goes calling elsewhere.

Today was such a day, - nice warm temperature but the wind came in gusts when Caspar and I went out early this morning, blowing his newly shampooed coat in little curly swirls and my hair into wild disarray.



(a windswept dog from Flickr, but he could be Caspar's cousin)



(windswept hair from heaven knows where)

This was definitely not a garden day. After breakfast and a little visit and gossip with our youngest daughter Charles retired to the mud room and his project for the day, whilst I examined some oranges that seemed to be losing some of their freshness and decided on Orange Muffins to cheer up the day in general and coffee time in particular.



It wasn't a 'wash the inside windows' day, either, - mainly because I was tired and not inclined that way. So I read a little bit. Bonnie Burnard's first novel and Giller Prize book 'A Good House'. The Montreal Gazette says of this book "It's the small details, bits of ordinary life, that make this story real. These are the kinds of characters we can't help growing attached to; we wish them well and worry for them-een after we've set Burnard's book aside...Burnard is such an accomplished story-teller that she manages to blur the line between fact and fiction."

I have recently read Burnard's latest novel, "Suddenly" and I found the story and the matter of fact way of telling it equally compelling. She brings her characters to life, and they occasionally reminds you of someone you knew, someone you met or someone you loved.

When my eyes got tired and lost their focus I picked up my knitting. This will be the eighth sock in the Christmas series, - as elegant as a work sock can be in black with white toe and heel and one discreet stripe up near the top.

Charles appeared out of the mudroom some time around twelve, - went to hang on his inversion table (stretches the back) and I made a lazy lunch of toasted mushroom soup sandwiches (deliciously easy, - daughter's recipe).

A little nap, a quick trip to town to get groceries and birdseed, and before one could say Jack Robinson it was happy hour!

When Caspar and I went out again before supper the wind was back in hiding and it was pleasant as we passed the garden, - I was wont to bend over and dislodge a little coutch grass from around the chrysanthemums, but further thought made me decide they were going to have to be dug up, the coutch grass was going to have to be painstakingly removed from the roots and the surrounding soil, and then they could be replanted (the chrysanthemums, - not the coutch grass - although you can bet your bottom dollar that some wee snippets of grass will slip into the pristine soil to start next year's crop).

Will it be this pleasant in the morning? Even if it is, alas it will not be a garden day as The Ladies are coming for lunch - which means it will be just as pleasing and fun besides. The Ladies are all widows and old friends, so Charles' presence at lunch always adds a certain welcome masculinity, and he is ever gallant and ever entertaining. A little spice to the gathering....

A picture of the Lenten roses as the bees buzzed around them today in the sunshine - framed specially to announce the Grand Re-opening of the Garden Diary, noted in the Sidebar. Do come and visit and see how our garden grows.

As an aside from the garden two things I read today that expressed what I have been feeling for quite some time.

Sheila Wray Gregoire in her weekly 'reality check' comments on the changes in society over the last few decades.

"As the idea of objective truth has grown passé, it's been replaced by the ultimate idea that our feelings are the proper arbiter for the goodness or rightness of anything. Truth is what feels right to us.

At one point, people believed in a higher morality, even if they themselves weren't religious. People gave generously, or volunteered, or lent a hand, because it was the right thing to do. They didn't have to be convinced to do it because it would make them feel good about themselves; they did it simply because it was the right thing to do, and doing the right thing mattered.

We no longer believe in "the right thing" as much as we believe in "the right thing for me".


And as I finished the last pages of Alexander McCall Smith's endearing book "The Unbearable Lightness of Scones" one of his characters (Angus Lorde) is remarking in conversation on the importance of rituals and how they lend order to life and a grace to living. He comments on the Sixties, and the resulting chaos when people threw tradition to the wind, tossed their caps into the air and took to the road in search of themselves. And nothing has been the same since, he laments.

I question myself continually as to why I feel that this is so, and I wonder if it is a generational thing - if we weren't Ancient and if the Sixties hadn't turned our ordered life topsy-turvy and if I were one of the flower children, would I believe that the lack of order and rituals (I don't necessarily mean church rituals) and a moral day by day concern for others was necessarily wrong?

And then I think that I generalize far beyond what the actual situation is, and I consider the young people,the middle-aged and the Ancients we know who who cling to honesty and truth and grace and integrity and respect for others (maybe not traditions, she said, ruefully).

Oh well, - what do you think? Are we all going to Hell in a Handcart, or have we just taken a little swerve off the straight and narrow and soon we will all get back on the path and become more civilized again.



Things are quiet and peaceful so far in the garden - we have it looking neat and tidy and orderly, - but when I was digging up some cutch grass today I ran into one of the Chinese Lantern Underground Lines, so trouble is brewing there, as well.

I am off to post some pictures in the Garden Diary....

Skywatch Friday

Not a breath of air and in the stillness Skaha Lake, in the Okanagan, reflects the shoreline, the mountains and the clouds.





Click to enlarge.

More wonderful world wide skies here, at Skywatch Friday.

In my mail today -----

A copy of the Handwoven eNewsletter telling of a planned conference in Peru this coming October where 'we have the opportunity to experience the treasure of the Incas first-hand. Weavers, spinners, and dyers from all over the world will gather in Cusco, Peru, for Encuentro de Tejedores de las Américas, the Gathering of Weavers of the Americas. They will come to celebrate the rich textile heritage and cultures of the Americas; to share techniques, knowledge, and weaving experience; and to build ties of friendship that will enrich the community and the craft.

Off to the side was an information note about weaving in the empire of the Incas which impressed me so much I had to share.

"The website Suite101.com reports that “In Tiwantinsuyu, the empire of the Incas, spindles and looms were just as important as spears and shields. Cloth pervaded every aspect of Inca society, from adolescent rites of passage to major political alliances. The production and exchange of cloth held the Inca realm together just as effectively as the power of the Inca armies.”

According to Hiram Bingham (who some speculate was the inspiration for Indiana Jones): “[The textiles of the Incas] are as worthy of admiration as the finest specimens of Egyptian or Chinese weaving.... We are told that the finest textiles were made in the convents connected with the Temples of the Sun, by the Chosen Women, sometime called the Virgins of the Sun, who were carefully trained in this difficult art. Some of their products are as fine and soft as the finest silk.” If you want to know more about Hiram Bingham and see a crazy, psychedelic animation of an Inca woven tunic, click here.'

Do go and look, - even if you are not a weaver you cannot help but be amazed at the awesome creativity and techniques that were required to produce such gorgeous cloth.

Go further into the site by clicking on weaving in the sidebar and marvel at the intricacies of the designs within designs, - the golden rectangles and triangles in the Inca weaving.

Here is a sample of patterned cloth woven on a backstrap loom, - that is the one where you tie the warp around a tree and weave on the most primitive of looms. It is a different intellect from that which produces the technological marvels of today, but I am equally as appreciative of the concentration and the artistry and intellect that produced this cloth.



I suppose that given the great technological advance of this age it is only natural that there would be some arrogance about our achievements, and not a lot of appreciation of the 'primitive' cultures. But as you get older you get humbler, and you realize more and more that today's wonders are built on the shoulders of the cultures and the art and creativity of yesterday's civilizations.

I think weavers are especially aware of this, - and knitters too!

ABC Wednesday

G is for GINGER





My favourite spice....

'Ginger is a tuber that is consumed whole as a delicacy, medicine, or spice. It is the rhizome of the plant Zingiber officinale. It lends its name to its genus and family (Zingiberaceae). Other notable members of this plant family are turmeric, cardamom, and galangal.
Ginger cultivation began in Asia and has since spread to West Africa and the Caribbean.[2] It is sometimes called root ginger to distinguish it from other things that share the name ginger.'

And for more information from Wikipedia on the wonderful medicinal attributes of ginger, the delicious ways it adds pleasure to the palate, a little of its history and other bits and pieces about this fine tuber, visit here.

A little ginger tea when the tummy is upset....



Here is a recipe - a great soother for sore throats as well.

Ingredients:
• About a 3 inch piece of ginger root
• 6 Cups of water
• Honey
Directions:
1. Grate the ginger as fine as you can get it, leaving the skin on.
2. Put the ginger in the 6 cups of water and bring to a boil
3. Once the water is boiling, simmer it on low for about 15 – 20 min
4. Use a fine strainer and ladle to pour out the tea into a cup, toss the ginger in the strainer back into the pot
5. Add about a teaspoon of honey or to your likeness.
6. Sip slowly and enjoy!

Ginger is said to contribute to the relief of pain and swelling in arthritis and is a strong and wonderful antioxidant.

And when the summer afternoon is hot and humid and you rest, panting, in the shade, what is more appealing that a glass of ginger beer... and perhaps a gingersnap or two.





When the children were all home and the summers in the orchard were hot we used to refresh ourselves in peach picking time with homemade Rootbeer, or Gingerbeer, - whichever we had been energetic to make in the cool of the morning.

Early in the last century the Chinese who helped build the towns in the valley left a legacy of ginger pots. They weren't the elaborate ones that delight the eye, - very ordinary and practical. We have one which Charles found in the old part of town, and it looks something like this, only a little rougherin construction. It sat on the mantel in our last house for years, but is now in a box, stored away when we down-sized.



Ginger adds zest and comfort to life, and it's all too true, a spoonful a day helps keep the medicine man away.

Here is another Ginger, - equally delightful, loved and admired.



For more Gs go here, where Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind friends host the meme ABC Wednesday.

This and That

Some pictures and a few comments - all I have time for tonight. Bed beckons.....

How I have been filling my time.....

A trip to Osoyoos on Friday to pick up our new bar height table and chairs. A gift from the 'meadow' people to make it easy for the Ancients (Charles and I) to slide off the chairs. And they swivel too.

I used to know a lady who we nicknamed 'Mrs. Lovely Lovely' because that is how she described most things. Unless they were 'shocking, shocking'. or 'dreadful, dreadful'!

This is just how I feel about this 'lovely, lovely' high table and chair set. It fits perfectly in the breakfast room. However, being perched up on a bar seat, with my feet on the rail that encircles the table pedestal, I am more in the mood for a glass of wine, a few nuts, and a biscuit or two, rather than a prosaic breakfast. Naughtiest of all I have this strange pining for a cigarette (something which hasn't been part of our lives for many years) and maybe a pair of bewitching shoes with rhinestoned heels to hook over the bar railing. 'Shocking, shocking'



On the way over the Pass to Osoyoos we passed new grape plantings, which are gradually replacing orchards and cattle ranches in the valley. I find it ironic that the valley is part of the B.C. Agricultural Land Reserve which prohibits farmers from subdividing their land and which was introduced to encourage food production, - in the future will we all be sitting around high bar tables drinking wine, rather than feasting on a good steak and apple pie?




We did see some nice big spreads of calving cows, and in some of the orchards that still hang on the sap is rising and the peach trees glow scarlet in the sunshine.





And there was green grass in the meadows....



Early in the morning, before breakfast (when it is too early in the day to drink wine and wear high heels) I have been working on the sock project while I read McCall Smith's wonderfully civilized and gently humorous 'Unbearable Lightness of Scones'.



I am on my seventh sock! Only twenty more to go before Christmas! I was afraid they might get boring, but I find that it is such a habit now to pick them up and knit a few rows without a great amount of concentration. I almost knit unconsciously, and if you're not conscious of something how can it bore you? Does this sound logical.



When the sun shines I am also out in the garden a bit. A few budding blooms, and the faint sound of the Chinese lantern underground railway getting into production, searching out spots for new stations to co-habitat with any friendly plant that gives them the slightest encouragement.

And so go my days - longing for spring!

Skywatch Friday

Late this afternoon I snapped these pictures of a tender spring sky here in the Similkameen.





The waxing moon rose early, nestled in the clouds. Squint a bit and look for the girl stretching out her arms to catch the ethereal moon.



Out in the West the clouds gather and obscured the setting sun but there is still a
slender glow hugging the horizon.



For world-wide skies visit Skywatch Friday here.

ABC Wednesday

F is for Fragrance



Technically, here, we expand a little on the meaning and the means by which fragrance (or any other smells) are perceived.

Noun 1. fragrance - a distinctive odor that is pleasant
perfume, scent, aroma
odour, olfactory perception, olfactory sensation, smell, odor- the sensation that results when olfactory receptors in the nose are stimulated by particular chemicals in gaseous form; "she loved the smell of roses"
incense - the pleasing scent produced when incense is burned; "incense filled the room"
2. fragrance - a pleasingly sweet olfactory property
fragrancy, redolence, bouquet, sweetness
aroma, odor, olfactory property, odour, smell, scent - any property detected by the olfactory system

But then there is the spirit of fragrance whose connection to emotions and memory take precedence. I think so, anyway!

The warmth of feeling that is aroused by the fragrance of bread baking, bacon frying, wood smoke, oranges or ginger, a rose, a lily, or perhaps the distinctive smell of a train that envelopes us in memories, or a favourite perfume worn by a beloved person.

Like music fragrance has a certain magic that plays on our emotions, and brings us pleasure - and sometimes pain.

To be overcome by the fragrance of flowers is a delectable form of defeat. Beverley Nichols

The fragrance always remains in the hand that gives the rose. Heda Bejar



Well, on the lighter side - did you ever wear Tweed? I did.... what memories the faintest whiff of this particular perfume must rouse in the lady in the picture. And maybe the gentlemen too.....



See what other ways F has been interpreted here, at ABC Wednesday.

Gang aft agley

It is Monday morning. We have finished breakfast and I am thinking of how I will fill the morning hours.... I glance at the wall calender where all the important stuff gets penciled in, and sigh with pleasure at its emptiness. No commitments until Thursday when we will go to the Optometrist.

The phone rings!

It is our centarian (plus two) friend from Osoyoos, - can we come and visit tomorrow, - he sounds lonely and frail. Yes, we can do that, and it gets penciled in on the calendar. (Post scriptum - Charles took his tape recorder along and they had a lovely recorded interview about old times. Again, in the evening we went to the Shrove Tuesday pancake supper and sat with the local Cowboy Poet, gossiping and talking of rather more recent times - a nice day talking with two unique and interesting men)

Later in the morning the phone rings again. Can I put in a few hours at the Bargain Centre on Wednesday? Yes, I have no excuse not to do that!

On Tuesday the phone rings once more, - it is Charles' physio, - as long as we are going to be in Penticton on Thursday could we meet him at noon to look at various medical things that Veterans' Affairs is recommending he have. Yes, we can leave early and do that too....

Hmmm, - there is always Friday to luxuriate in idleness. But as a result of our visit to the Medical Suppliers one of their installers arrived during the morning to attach a seat extender in Charles' bathroom. It is so HIGH! When he had gone I lifted the lid, looked into the cavernous depths and called - 'Halloooo'. There was a faint echo resounding around the bowl. Best to keep the small great-grandchildren away from this facility, - if they were to fall in they might never climb out!

I digress, - when the M.S. man had gone we had a cup of coffee and then I went out to fill the bird feeders and when that was finished my eye fell upon the garden and the sad state it was in with old dry stalks covering all the tender leaves and bulbs that are at that stage that causes the heart to come all over faint at the thoughts of spring. It was an exhilarating time amongst the plants, so much so that I staggered in to lunch with dried seeds in my hair and the thoughts of getting lunch ready decidedly discouraging. Until I thought about peanut butter and honey sandwiches!

Mid afternoon Charles put on his good jacket and went out and revved up his vintage truck, and off we went to get the mail and take a few pictures. Some of which I show you below. It was a beautiful sunny day, - deliciously warm, and definitely speaking of spring.

The creek, with the willows glowing and lining its banks,
a wonderful foil for the naples yellow grasses.







Down at the town end of Ginty's Pond the still waters reflect mountains and trees and banks.





While at the other end of the Pond dead bullrushes clog the waterways in all but a few spots where two drakes and a duck were enjoying a late afternoon dip.



We came upon a wooded area at the side of the road where someone was 'park' logging, Charles called it. Clearing out the underbrush so that the great tall trees could shade an open area.



I held the camera out of the window and aimed it skyward at the top of those beautiful trees.



We came home to a pink glow along the ridge of the Cawston Basin and a nice pot roast in the oven.



Next week has just one birthday celebration, and the weatherman says it will be good gardening weather!

Skywatch Friday

How the blue grew this week in the Similkameen

Oh, Monday, an interesting sky, but hardly worth talking about where 'blue' is concerned.



Tuesday made a little more effort, and in the afternoon the sky to the west made a nice background for the walnut trees.



Wednesday the sunrise showed faint promise, but the pale peachy colours quickly faded.





But Thursday the sun finally claimed the day for his own, and on our way to Penticton contrails criss-crossed the lovely blue sky, and the snow covered hills glistened against a forget-me-not background.





Lots more interesting and beautiful skies here at Skywatch Friday.

Life is eternal and love is immortal;
And death is only a horizon,
And a horizon is
nothing save the limit of our sight. - Rossiter W. Raymond

Dorothy Emily Grace, b. February 16th, 1902

ABC Wednesday

E is for Eventide



A painting entitled 'Eventide' by William Harris Weatherhead - 1886.

And a poem........

Eventide by John McCrae

The day is past and the toilers cease;
The land grows dim 'mid the shadows grey,
And hearts are glad, for the dark brings peace
At the close of day.

Each weary toiler, with lingering pace,
As he homeward turns, with the long day done,
Looks out to the west, with the light on his face
Of the setting sun.

Yet some see not (with their sin-dimmed eyes)
The promise of rest in the fading light;
But the clouds loom dark in the angry skies
At the fall of night.

And some see only a golden sky
Where the elms their welcoming arms stretch wide
To the calling rooks, as they homeward fly
At the eventide.

It speaks of peace that comes after strife,
Of the rest He sends to the hearts He tried,
Of the calm that follows the stormiest life --
God's eventide.





A painting by H.H. Bingley. 'The Peace that Comes at Eventide' - Sunset over Dartmouth, Devonshire.


More interpretations of E here at ABC Wednesday thanks to Mrs. Nesbitt and her kind helpers.