Evan's Surprise

I received this photo of my grandson three days ago and have been thinking about it ever since.

That first tooth is gone and others will soon follow.  I've been through it before with his daddy.  Back then, the tooth fairy brought him quarters.  These days, Evan gets silver dollars.

Inflation changes some things, but not others.   I still have all of Chris's baby teeth in my jewelry box.  I remember the tristesse as I watched them accumulate there. It's the same now.

Yes, those teeth coming out are part of growing up, but that's the part I don't like: the growing up.  When all the baby teeth are gone, and the permanent teeth in, the shape of Evan's face will change.  Gone will be the smooth little baby face I've loved.  He will still be Evan, but a growing Evan.  Before we know it, he'll be worrying about zits and girls.   Then comes driving.  College.   By then, his grandmother will not count for much in his life.

Ah, life goes on.  I hope the tooth fairy collects those little teeth and puts them somewhere safe.  They are precious, as is Evan.

The Old Homestead

After running errands in Appleton, I was cruising up French Road, looking at crops to see what's coming up.  Once a farm girl, always a farm girl.

Then I saw it, a rummage sale sign.  And not just any sign, it was a sign at the farm where I grew up.  Without thinking more than a second, I pulled into the driveway.  I was less interested in the sale, and more interested to see what the old place was like.  I hadn't been there in at least thirty years.

Of late, I have been dreaming about that farm and more specific, I have been dreaming of the woods on the far east of what was then an eighty acre farm..  I used to pick wildflowers there in the spring, disappearing from the house for hours as I happily wandered through those trees.  It was the beginning of my love affair with nature. That time has been returning to me in the night.

But I found out from the current owner of the house that the woods were now owned by a well to do family who built a house there with a long lane.  They don't welcome visitors.  Did they save the glens where the hepatica and bloodroot used to grow?  Do they still have sugar maple gathering?  Do they cut their own Christmas trees?   I don't suppose I'll ever know.

As for the homestead, there are so many changes.  The circle drive that went around the house was truncated to make an attached two car garage.  There are new windows, a deck, and other changes.  What happened to the porch where my mother's morning glories grew?  Gone, like so much.  I didn't even ask to go inside. Some things are best left to memory.

The barn looks the same from the outside, but it no longer houses cows.  The "shack" that we used to play in is gone.  In the Great Depression, it housed a hired man.  Later it was a chicken coop.  After that, we cleaned it and took our toys in there. Gone are the lilac bushes as are most of the trees my grandfather planted.

There's still an orchard there, and I remembered how I used to sit in an apple tree, hidden from the view of my mother, and eat green apples as I read my favorite books.

I talked to the owner, learned some neighborhood gossip, and bought a straw hat that I can use on my trip this summer. And that was it.

I don't think I'll dream of the woods tonight.

technical problems

Our internet server is down which is frustrating, but then I thought about it and realized I would have to have alternatives when I am traveling this summer, so I've picked up my notebook computer and taken it to the library here in Seymour to do my blog, using the library's server.  I should be able to connect in any of the libraries I visit on tour.

One thing I'm finding out right away is that the patrons have a certain curiosity about what I am doing.  There are children who find my little computer interesting.  I have friends, too, that stop by to see what's going on in my life. I don't suppose that will be an issue on the road.

Getting used to a smaller keyboard is always a problem, but I will have to adapt.  I've done it in the past.

In a week's time, I'll be joining Gary in the Nicolet National Forest.  He tells me he is at a campground only a mile from Clam Lake, a small community with a wonderful restaurant with wireless service that is kept on 24 hours a day.   I'll have a pleasant hike on a trail through the forest, have some ice cream, and catch up with my e-mail and write this blog.

I look at the internet problems as practice time for the tour.  So far, so good.

Missing Gary

Yesterday Gary and I were talking with a friend.  Gary told him he was leaving on a camping trip today.  First I had heard about that!   I knew we would be camping next week, but I didn't realize he was going today.  It was on my calendar for next Monday.

This means I am on my own in yard clearing.  Instead of his rototiller, which is being repaired, I have to dig up the vegetable garden by hand.

When I get angry, I put my energies into gardening. After he drove away this morning, I whacked away at weeds. When I used the shovel, I slugged it into the ground as if I were planting something six feet under. I tore at old vines, yanking them down from the trellises.

At the end of the day I felt better.  Then he called from the National Forest campground near Clam Lake to tell me that he had to stop on his way in to let seven elk cross the road.  He is camping in the middle of the elk reserve.   And I am not there to watch the show.

I won't be able to get away to join him until a week from tomorrow.  I am getting miffed again. It should be another good gardening day tomorrow.

The jacks-in-the-pulpit are up in the wildflower garden.  They aren't colorful, just a green that blends in to the rest of the plants back there, but I love those guys anyhow.  They face in all directions as they give their spring sermons.  Sometimes they seem to be preaching to each other. 

I wonder if in the middle of the night, they find their voices and begin theological arguments.  Are they all the same denomination?  Do they tell the rest of the plants to shape up?  Do they threaten weeds with eternal damnation?  

By fall they will have given off their sermonizing and will produce bright red but inedible berries.  

But that is far off.  Summer is yet to arrive.  

Warblers

Warblers drive me crazy.

As a general rule, warblers arrive a week or so after all the trees have leafed out.  They hide in the trees and move constantly.  I sit with binoculars and camera trying to figure out what kind of bird is sneaking around, but I never get a good look.  Most expert birders locate them by call and don't bother looking for them.  Me, I can never keep track of the calls.  Then they migrate farther north.

Gary sometimes suggests the Audubon solution.  John James Audubon, in order to paint his epic Birds of America, asked his assistants to shoot the birds so he could get a good look at them.

The one time I could really get a good look at warblers was at Matinicus Rock, a lighthouse 22 miles off the coast of Maine, where my cousin and I were babysitting puffins and other assorted sea birds the Memorial Day week. There were no trees or shrubs at Matinicus, just rocky cliffs.  When the warblers stopped on their long migration north, they sat exhausted on the rocks and we were able to figure out every bird from Magnolia warblers to redstarts.

It's almost like that in my back yard this week. The ways of nature are a bit messed up with the unseasonably cold weather.  The trees have yet to sprout leaves but the warblers are here at their usual time. They can fly, but they can't hide for long.   First thing this morning, I saw a Blackburnian warbler and that soon was followed by the Cape May warbler.

They both are cuties, but don't expect photos because they are warblers and that means constant movement.  All my camera can capture is a blur.

To make this more difficult, the birds are in mating mode, chasing each other around.  They are a randy bunch.  Then there's the Baltimore oriole.  The warblers try to sip at the jelly feeder where I might get a good look, but the oriole is having none of that.  He is doing is best to chase them off.

There are more warblers though not all were as easy to identify.  Gary followed one around and around the yard with his binoculars and said it was either a Nashville or a Tennessee warbler.   He finally decided to call it a Grand Ol' Opry warbler and that is what it is until it finally sits still long enough for a proper ID.

I love them all, every one of the species that come to visit us at Mathom House....except at 4:00 a.m.

The Baltimore Oriole

As soon as I sat down in my office chair, I saw them, a pair of male indigo buntings shimmering in the morning sun.  I grabbed my camera  but it was too late.  They were about to shift from the apple tree to the safflower feeder when the orange blur came hurtling down from the cottonwood.  The Baltimore oriole was letting them know the seed was off limits to the likes of them.  The buntings flew away and I've not seen them since.

Feeling proud of himself, the oriole perched on top of the feeder, keeping an eye on things. When the ruby-throated hummingbird went after the grape jelly, there was the oriole, chasing him off.   A tiny thing like a hummingbird, yet it did not escape his notice.

The hummingbirds will soon have their own feeder, so will stick around.  If the oriole is in territorial mode, so will he.  Right now he is lord of all he surveys.  Best be careful, sir, there's a Cooper's hawk in the neighborhood.

Today's color pallet:
Red:  the cardinal
Yellow:  the gold finches
Rose:  the rose-breasted grosbeak and the house finch
Orange:  the Baltimore oriole
Green:  the ruby throated hummingbird and his lady
Blue:  the indigo bunting
Brown:  the mourning dove and house sparrows

Then add in the flowers in yellow, red, blue, pink, purple, and even the green jack-in-the-pulpit.  It's getting mighty colorful out there.