Another cloudy Sunday, but will it rain? We’ve already had more than five unnecessary inches of rain this week. The backyard is squishy and marshy and full of puddles. We can’t mow.
The flowers love it. The veg do not. I doubt I’ll get a single decent tomato this season, and pill bugs–Armadillium vulgare? I’m not a bug person, so I’m never sure of proper names–have infested my lettuce.
Meanwhile, here is a photo of an old cottonwood tree stump that Jim believes will turn back into a tree. The interesting part is the nest I found while trying to cut back the suckers. Since we have broken robins’ eggs all over the yard, I suspect baby robins lived there for a time.
Here’s to another possibly wet Sunday. Wishing each of you a good week to come.
We had a terrific Mother’s Day, starting with a 5k run/walk during which it did not rain. Followed by a family lunch. My daughter-in-law took this photo of my son, Gordon and me.
Looking at it, I’m amazed at how much I resemble my father’s mother–Grandma Ida. I tried to scan a photo of her at about the same age I am now, but that was back in the 19-hmm’s, and frankly, I wasn’t happy with the scan results. Just imagine a shorter woman with more gray hair and not as well dressed.
The beauties in my family were all from my mother’s side. But thinking today of Grandma Ida, I’m astounded anew by her determination and courage. She had the equivalent of a high school education back when women weren’t educated. She came to America as an immigrant, met and married my grandfather, and ran his milliner shop–allowing him to create fabulous hats while she took care of business.
Ida had a series of miscarriages and stillbirths, culminating in a child born by Caesarian section back when C-sections were dangerous. Tragically, that child was killed at age three or four when he fell out of a third-story window. Grandma used to say her hair turned white the day after Willie died.
Undeterred by the fact that no one ever–ever–survived a second C-section, she was determined to give birth to another child. And the family story is that she’s the first woman in America to survive two C-sections.
Courage and determination, two great characteristics. I’m lucky to take after her.
I don’t know about you, but by mid-summer, I only have left-hand gloves. Who knows where the right-hand gloves go to. Maybe squirrels steal them.
About five years ago while trolling the aisles in one of the big-box stores, I saw clothesline and clothespins. Hadn’t seen those in a very long time, but the sight gave me the kernel of an idea. I threw them in the cart and carried them home.
That was in 2014. My idea was to hang the line and pin pairs of gloves to it. A sort of gardener’s “tidying-up”. But my request for nails in the ceiling–to string the line–went unheeded. Eventually, the packet with the clothesline disappeared into the black hole that is the barn. Somehow, I managed to hang onto the clothespins.
This year, 2019, in the annual garden shed cleanup, I found a gazillion garden gloves, mostly left-handed. Determined to put my hack into practice, I went through Jim’s barn looking for my clothesline. Never found it, but found some usable string instead. Using the nails hammered under the shelves (originally designed to hold tools), I strung the line and started pairing gloves.
As you see in the photo.
I ended up with ten full pairs of gloves, and threw away all my leftover lefties.
Maybe you already have a method for keeping right-and-left gloves together?