G a r d e n M o t h e r

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TESS

2012-01-31T06:42:00.004-06:00

from this ......

to this.....

foto courtesy of McClanahan Studios, Ames, IA

THE BIG and the small

2012-01-29T06:37:00.000-06:00

This is our neighbor's pup Fergie sleeping on their kitchen table.

This is the YouTube video of a doormouse sleeping in the palm of a hand.

snow-ice pattern on drive

2012-01-23T07:57:00.001-06:00

ahhhhhh

2012-01-22T08:30:00.001-06:00

image supplied by Kohler.

2012-01-02T08:56:00.002-06:00

High Trestle Trail Bridge

This image was selected for the
Rails to Trails Conservancy's 2012 calendar.

Photo by Troy Hendrickson
of Peas Creek Studio, Boone.

2012-01-02T06:04:00.000-06:00

Bunnies for Breakfast?

2011-12-27T09:07:00.002-06:00

I was talking to the furnace guy the other day about geothermal and we just happened to glance out the kitchen window to check the backyard for square footage. We spotted this juvenile red-tailed hawk sitting in the red bud tree. He was focused on a rabbit that had taken cover under a wheelbarrow in the veggie garden. I have seen owls, sharp-shinned, and Cooper's hawks in the back garden, but never a red tailed. He was huge....and obviously hungry. He stayed put for about ten minutes, then gave up on the quaking bunny and flew away.

Filed Under "Christmas"

2011-12-27T08:54:00.006-06:00

Now that things have settled down a bit, I wanted to post a photo I snapped the other morning after assembling the Monkey Bread. This sugary delight represents a long-held tradition in my version of Cooper Christmas. Yearly, this gooey breakfast treat was popped in the oven to bake while the kiddies opened their presents from Santa. The recipe card, which is just as special as the bread and the tradition it represents, was passed to me by a sister-in-law from a Christmas of long ago. I remember her assurance that there would be lots of memories stuck to those sugary balls of dough. Mary was so right.

This year's memory attached to the Monkey Bread will be especially poignant with Ev's arrival home from Vietnam. Last year, Christmas was spent in Nha Trang, Vietnam on a beach that looked out on the waters of the South China Sea. It was the first Christmas the kids went without their beloved bread. We had just gone through the line of the hotel Christmas buffet where Tess had made a bee-line to the German stolen. She took that first bite and declared, "Not Monkey Bread!"

Looking at this photo today, I remember the sticky fingers of my children clutching their newly-unwrapped Batman and Barbie, carried to the breakfast table to share our Christmas feast of sugary bread, sweet tangerines, and hot cocoa. Barbie and Batman have long since been packed away. However, each year when I pull out the recipe card for Monkey Bread, all the special memories flood my kitchen - including a Christmas so many years ago when Mary shared her secret for the Holidays.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-23T19:00:00.004-06:00

the High Trestle Bridge

2011-12-19T09:09:00.001-06:00

Today my son and I ventured over to the High Trestle Bridge - one of the Seven Wonders of Iowa! We had a picture-perfect day to tromp the bridge. It was nice just hanging with Ev to share such a magnificent gesture on the landscape.

Rocky Mountain National Park

2011-11-29T21:38:00.010-06:00

This is a Colorado magpie, Pica hudsonia.

This is an Iowa magpie, Pica cooperia, at Emerald Lake in Colorado.

Iowa Cairns

2011-11-13T15:23:00.001-06:00

Studio for Story People in Decorah, Iowa

2011-11-13T15:22:00.003-06:00

2011-11-13T15:22:00.001-06:00

the New MINI S

2011-11-13T15:21:00.004-06:00

Sculpture at Luther College, Decorah, Iowa

2011-11-13T15:19:00.001-06:00

I've Been Flamingo-ed!

2011-11-10T09:23:00.000-06:00

Tribute to Biking the Bridge

2011-11-05T22:04:00.001-05:00

e.e. cummings

2011-11-04T16:41:00.004-05:00

I think that I shall never see

A billboard lovely as a tree.

Indeed, unless the billboards fall,

I'll never see a tree at all.

Tess and Screechy Sittin' in a Tree...

2011-10-22T22:21:00.002-05:00

courtesy of McClanahan Studio, Ames, IA

Gardens are for People

2011-10-22T07:27:00.006-05:00

photo by dlcooper

A Thomas Church garden discovered in San Francisco,
October, 2011.

2011-10-19T07:51:00.000-05:00

Senior Swim Night at Ames High

2011-10-11T20:33:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday, Mom

2011-10-10T12:27:00.001-05:00

2011-10-09T12:19:00.001-05:00

the beckoning lane....

FieldMother

2011-10-05T12:52:00.001-05:00

The Industrious Honey Bee

2011-09-23T15:19:00.008-05:00

The other day I was hosing off the screened porch in preparation for the arrival of close to 100 guests who were coming to the ISU student chapter of ASLA (google it!). I was just finishing up when I felt the first intense sting on the front of my thigh. Within seconds, I felt another sharp sting on the back of my leg. It was then that I noticed the bees that were inside the screen of the porch. I figured they had gotten in through the door when I left it open for the water to drain.

The next afternoon when I was sitting at the drafting table upstairs hammering out one of the drafts of the skeleton copy of my thesis, I was struck by all the insects flying past the window. The sun caught their arc as they flew by and I was mesmerized by this display. It suddenly dawned on me that there was an incredible number of insects that all looked the same, so I headed downstairs and out the door. I thought they were the dreaded Japanese beetle that had been eating up all the green leaves in my garden. Well, maybe not all, but certainly more than their share. My fear was that they had descended upon the new Pagoda Dogwood, Cornus alternifolia. That was the last straw, so I headed out to the back of the house thinking I would hose them off and keep a vigilante watch to discourage their devouring the tree.

When I got outside , I realized that it wasn't beetles I was seeing but honey bees. And they had a taken up residence in a niche under the floor of the porch. How could I be upset that the honey bees chose my house for their hive. The painters next spring might have a problem with it, but I felt blessed that these industrious workers have found shelter in my garden. Everyday, as my focus and determination flag, I notice the bees flying up and out, then back down and in, as they carry on their mission. They do what they do and it is all part of the process.

More importantly, they remind me to keep working through this incredibly difficult task of putting all the pieces of the puzzle together into one sane and sensible, and hopefully, enlightening, document that holds the key to my graduation this December and also for realizing a long-held and hard-fought-for dream.

Buzzzz...buzzzz....buzzzz.

Garbage Sale Treasures

2011-09-18T10:11:00.004-05:00

Swimmer of the Meet

2011-09-14T23:32:00.003-05:00

Tess was named "Swimmer of the Meet" last night for her top performance and dedicated effort in all her events. Congratulations!

HAPPY 23RD !!!!!

2011-09-08T07:38:00.000-05:00

2011-09-07T09:37:00.000-05:00

Sycamore Row

2011-09-04T16:56:00.002-05:00

: ) Here is the link to the Iowa Public Radio "Audio Postcard" segment on Sycamore Row ( :

The Path of the Sycamores on ISU Campus

2011-09-02T17:17:00.002-05:00

Update!!

2011-09-02T10:24:00.002-05:00

I just received an email from a Facilities person. He was responding to a heartfelt thank you I sent off late last night after the swim meet. (FYI: the Ames High girls' swim team dominated last night!)

He was informing me that there were actually four sycamores saplings planted - two more further down the line closer to Elwood Drive. In my haste to get to the swim meet, my joy! with discovering the first two saplings, and my vigilante navigation through the 5 o'clock traffic around the campus, I totally missed them.

It seems like another bike ride over to Sycamore Row is in order today with photos to follow.

Hallelujah!

Sycamore Row ReDux!

2011-09-02T06:51:00.018-05:00

Late yesterday afternoon I was pedaling like a mad woman trying to make it to my daughter's swim meet at the high school in time to see her first event. I am
without the Mini these days, which is a good thing....no temptations from work on the thesis. She has the car from 5:30 AM to 5:30 PM now that school has started and swimming practice is in full swing.

If I want to go somewhere, it is under my own power-either by foot or on bike. The bus is also an option, but I always need the fresh air and exercise. With temps hitting close to 100 yesterday, I was not looking forward to pedaling the 3 miles - uphill- to the high school, but decided it would be faster than taking Cy-Ride. The bus involves several transfers to get from Point A on my side of town to Point F at the high school. Luckily, the fastest route is alongside Sycamore Row, which is also the coolest, literally and figuratively!

I was zooming along the old cinder path (now asphalt) thinking, "I'm late! I'm late" when I noticed a small amount of tree debris strewn across the path. I slowed my bike so I could look around to investigate, but did not notice any areas with new mulch, or evidence of tree removal. It looked like shavings from overhead. I got off the bike to check up into the canopy of one of the sycamores, listening for a woodpecker drilling, checking for a newly sawed-off stump where a damaged limb might have been removed. Nothing was apparent, so I hopped back on my bike and took off. I had just hit maximum speed on the old Schwinn when, out of the corner of my eye, it registered that there was something newly planted a little further down the line.

Imagine my surprise and complete exhilaration when I spotted two new saplings...sycamore saplings with trunks the size of my fist...freshly planted and mulched along the Row. I let out a whoop and a holler! Holy Cow! For all the years I have taken this path, I have noticed this gap in the Row. And especially now since Sycamore Row has been bestowed with the recognition it deserves as one of The Cultural Landscape Foundation's 2010 "Every Tree Tells A Story" landscapes, I have hoped I would see this very thing one day.

These saplings are beautiful. Even though they are just squirts compared to their bigger bros along the Row, they now stand as memorial trees for those who have been lost over the last 100 years. As I snapped these photos, they were waving their big leafy heads. Their peeling, reptilian-colored bark, even at this tender age, is signature sycamore.

I tip my hat to Facilities at Iowa State University. These young trees are in good company here on Sycamore Row.

2011-08-30T08:44:00.001-05:00

Clouded sulphurs puddling along Squaw Creek.

image source: dlcooper

image source: showmejoeblog @ joecoelho

The Boone River

2011-08-25T06:59:00.016-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I headed up north to Hancock County, IA to find the headwaters of the Boone River. After studying this aerial, I was able to locate these agricultural fields that had been tiled and drained for farming. This is where the Boone River originates.

aerial of the west and east channels emptying into the main channel of the Boone River

source: orthogis@iastate.edu

west and east channels drain into the main channel of the Boone River....channelization, 8-ft culverts, and corn as far as the eye can see (looking north)

Contrast the above images with these below. This is the mouth of the Boone River, 85 miles to the south, at the confluence with the Des Moines River. This site is magnificent on so many levels....the old channels, the braiding, the deposition and erosion, the sandbars, the floodplain, the river banks, the soils and vegetation, and of course, the power in the movement of water.

Google aerial at the confluence

source: google.com

sculptural sand deposition

where the waters mingle...Boone River entering the Des Moines River

A LIDAR aerial of the confluence

source: orthogis@iastate.edu

Water know where it wants to be and goes there.

- Michael Carey, farmer poet.

source of all other color photos: dlcooper

2011-08-17T06:24:00.003-05:00

postcard courtesy Playle's
August 11 - 21, 2011

More Dubuque Over the Years

2011-08-17T06:02:00.008-05:00

Grandview Tourist Camp in Dubuque, IA
circa 1920-1940s

Sunny Crest Sanatorium in Dubuque, IA
no date given

Fourth Street Elevator aka as the Fenelon Place Elevator
circa 1960-1970s

postcards courtesy of Playle's

2011-08-16T08:50:00.004-05:00

I came across this old postcard the other day while searching Playle's for images of Midwestern cemeteries. This old elevator, over the years, has carried many visitors up to the top of the bluff to take in the dramatic views of Miss River and the city of Dubuque.

When it popped onto the screen of my laptop, it brought back so many memories of my life there in the late 70s. We used to climb into those little cars that chugged and lurched up to Fenelon Place to visit friends. There was also a set of steps that hugged the incline and offered a vigorous workout to anyone daring enough to take on that steep ascent.

I remember one night when we were waiting for a friend to arrive for a dinner party on Fenelon Place. When he did not show at the appointed time, we set out to find him. This involved a descent down those steps, in the dark, the cold, and such icy conditions that prevented the elevator from running during the winter season.

We found our friend, sitting near the top of the staircase, trying to catch his breath from the long, slippery climb. He was cold. And exhausted. We gathered round him and walked back toward the light of his home, ravenous and ready to party!

image courtesy of Playle's

the Ames Straw Poll

2011-08-12T15:30:00.018-05:00

Lots of signs announcing events to follow.

Even a big bus announcing events to follow.

A candidate's tent going up.

And banners galore.

And bouncy games for this pro-family event.

AARP has the biggest tent for all of us now in the over-the-hill gang.

This space is called the "listening post" tent and here is the schedule of events.

Fox News!

And the peacock channel.

And the blessed Mid-South Tea Party trailer has finally arrived.

This was the coolest thing....a trailer loaded with just one blade of a wind turbine...signed, sealed, and delivered to the Ames Straw Poll.

Actually, this was the coolest thing over at the ISU Center....a dangling cluster of common baldcypress cones...Taxodium distichum.

God Bless America. The Republicans are here!

Fungi

2011-08-09T10:22:00.003-05:00

Acorn to Oak filmed over an 8 month period time-lapse

2011-08-05T20:43:00.000-05:00

And old-fashioned shrub....

2011-08-05T16:58:00.005-05:00

I came across these beautiful shrubs blooming in an alley earlier this morning while riding my bike.
Rose-of-Sharon, Hibiscus syriacus .

Sycamore Row Revisited

2011-08-03T06:18:00.009-05:00

More national...and local buzz...about Sycamore Row. I was surprised to see this column in our local paper when I opened the Sunday edition. I was even more taken back when I read that USA Today had published a story last May on "Every Tree Tells a Story" and it was just now trickling back our local paper.

The university did a media blast last November when The Cultural Landscape Foundation gave their OK to release the story, but the Ames Tribune never published anything at the time about this designed cultural landscape. Sunday's article appeared only because a reader sent an inquiry to "Ask the Tribune". The columnist was up against a deadline, so she pursued the lead and found the story through the ISU e-newletter.

Better late than never, right? I was grateful that Sycamore Row got another shot at fame...locally. This is where it really matters. It is through grass-roots awareness and efforts that these cultural landscapes are talked about and protected. When a community realizes that they have a historical landscape right under their collective nose, or in this case, over head, residents tend to pay closer attention to these significant gems.

I tip my hat to you, Laura, for taking the time to tell this story.

Update on Sycamore Row

2011-07-30T15:05:00.004-05:00

I was so sad to see what I saw this morning approaching Sycamore Row from the south. The sycamore that was stuck by lightning several weeks ago is starting to show the effects of that strike.

You can see the damaged limb in these two photos. It is disheartening to think that there is nothing we can do to alleviate the stress this tree is under. We will have to wait to see what happens.

A Teaching Moment

2011-07-27T21:25:00.008-05:00

The other early morning when I was riding my bike, I happened upon this little teaching moment... Plant of the Week.

This garden was posted with a sign that identified a specific flower that was in bloom. It listed both common and Latin names, zones for growth, and a lovely description of the plant. This sign refers to the plant near the upper landing at the top of the steps, the blackberry lily, B elamcanda chinensis.

A couple mornings before, I stopped to take in an earlier posting for the yellow coneflower, Ratibida pinnata, which was in full bloom.

This seems like some sort of guerrilla-gardening-in-reverse. Rather than going out into the world and secretly changing the landscape, this person was inviting the world to stop by their garden and behold an evolving landscape. What a wonderful way to reach out to all those who pass by and offer a moment of beauty.

Fly Away Home

2011-07-24T19:24:00.009-05:00

I just got back from the release of 4 young kestrels. These small-ish raptors have been in the care of the Wildlife Care Center that is associated with the Vet College at Iowa State University.

Earlier I got the call from my daughter, who volunteers there four days a week. One of the staff members sent her a text that they were going to release these birds, so Tess called me to come "quick!" I jumped into my Birks and headed out the door. As I pulled into the small parking lot along the river at the designated spot, J.C. and another staff member were unloading a small animal carrier covered with a surgical drape. I could hear some very vocal prisoners letting whoever was within earshot that they were ready to fly.

Sadly, more often than not, these injured animals are beyond repair when they are brought into the center. Most recently, there was a blue heron that dropped out of the sky into a family's backyard when poisonous chemicals rendered it too weak to fly. There have been owls, eagles, and hawks who have met their fate on the grill of a vehicle. The latest victim of the car vs. animal tangle is a fawn with a broken pelvis. Things are not looking up for this little guy, so we are keeping our fingers crossed.

So days like today are a triumph. When an animal is returned to the wild, the center has accomplished what it is there to do...rehabilitate wildlife so that it can be returned to its native habitat. This is a good thing. Tess says once an animal becomes feisty and hard to handle, once they can kill their prey rather than having to be force-fed with bits of cut-up frozen rat or mice, then they have graduated from this program and are ready to "fly."

J.C. opened the door and out popped one of the kestrels. Then another and another. Rather than taking off, they just sat and sized up this new situation. Out of nowhere, one very large robin dive-bombed the group of us, but especially those kestrels. Obviously, they did not know who they were messing with. One of the raptors took flight. Then the rest followed. They landed in the lower canopy and took in their new surroundings. One robin became two and the noise of robin vs. kestrel told us it was time to leave these birds to figure out things for themselves.

2011-07-19T14:43:00.004-05:00

I found this old foto in a pile of papers on my workbench. I love the old farmhouse with its open porch, altho the gingerbread is a bit much for my tastes. What I really like about this foto is what you can see along the left side of the image.

The house was built fairly close to what appears to be a narrow lane; check out that beautiful s-curve off in the distance. There is a wooden fence with a gate that follows the drop of the ditch down to the road. The gate is rather narrow but lends itself nicely to the delicate face of the homestead.

What the h@##?

2011-07-17T17:29:00.002-05:00

Horseshoes, Anyone?

2011-07-17T16:27:00.000-05:00

2011-07-17T09:26:00.004-05:00

July 17. SWEET CORN ABROAD...
Sweet Corn on the cob, one of the favorite items in the diet of American, has always been an object of wonder to foreigners. Russians scorn it as a food fit only for hogs. the French cannot quite be convinced of its succulence and the Brits look upon our method of eating it as a form of barbarism. Most of this criticism is based, of course, on the fact that until recently Sweet Corn did not mature properly in the climates of these countries.

~Richardson Wright, Another Gardener's Bed-Book, 1933

2011-07-15T20:13:00.004-05:00

I recently mentioned in a post about the "mother of all road trips".....I found this foto yesterday and think this might have been my first.....

The Birthday Bike Ride

2011-07-15T17:02:00.012-05:00

Yesterday when I ventured out to find the sycamore struck by lightning, I was on my old bike. I realized as I pedaled off that I had not been upon that seat since the end of the semester waaayyy back in early May.

After viewing the tree, I headed east along the rest of The Row. I wanted to survey the remaining segments of trees to see if any others had suffered in the latest storm. I didn't find anymore lightning strikes, but I did notice downed limbs and interestingly enough, they were of the same size on a half dozen trees....probably 10-12 inches in diameter. There were three trees in a row surrounded by these jagged limbs. From the looks of the leaves, they came down earlier than this past Monday. I thought it peculiar that of the six or seven affected trees, they had all given up similarly-sized limbs.

My bike ride continued on along an asphalt path that curved along the edge of this wooded floodplain. As I came 'round a bend, I stopped short where the path was blocked by a six-foot high cyclone fence. Beyond I could see where the stream bank had been scoured back to the walkway and not only the bank, but the asphalt had fallen into Squaw Creek. I had to stop and take some fotos of this "man vs. nature" disturbance.

My ride home took me past a foot bridge to the other side of the river, so I veered east for this short side trip over to Evan's Eagle Scout project...a butterfly garden completed for the City of Ames during the summer of 2006 and sited just to the north of the bridge and maybe 50 feet from the bank.

I had seen some activity down along the river; big construction equipment pushing soil and large rip-rap over the edge to stabilize another scoured stream bank.

Much to my dismay, the entry drive for all that heavy equipment went right over the top of the butterfly garden. The pavers edging the beds that were the "wings" of the garden were still there, but all the plant material was gone....scraped right down to the nubbins. I was last there weeding in late April. Crap!

Time to head home. Back across the bridge, across Elwood Drive, then up the hill to Friley Road. I forgot how wonderful it feels to just ride my bike. For these past four years, my bike has provided me with transportation back and forth to school. Usually loaded down with laptop and such, I never looked forward to those cold (or rainy or dark) rides home after studio. Today it was fun to just ride from here to there, stopping along the way to gather a curl of sycamore bark, take a foto, or chat with others who were out enjoying this beautiful day .

Sycamore v. Lightning

2011-07-15T07:46:00.010-05:00

Yesterday when I pulled up my email, I was alarmed to discover a missive from the university landscape architect. He was passing along information about one of the sycamores that stands in The Row.

Early this past Monday morning, a storm passed through Ames and lightning struck one of these beloved trees. As nearly as I could discern from my past research on Sycamore Row, these fast-growing, native North American trees were planted just after the turn of the 19th C. and they are now nearing the century mark. When I opened the email and read this upsetting news, I shot off a quick note thanking Chris for the heads up, then jumped on my bike and headed over to campus to check out the damage.

Yesterday was my birthday and I had heard from family and friends from all corners....my son Evan called from Vietnam to sing "Happy Birthday"! This sycamore business had the potential to put a real damper on what was turning out to be a very nice day. I wasn't sure I wanted to see one of these massive trees down. I should back up by saying that the land architect had attached a map and fotos, but I never opened any of them. I wanted to find the tree and see for myself the damage.

I spotted the stricken tree from a distance. I was sick when I realized I was still a good 1/2 block away and the yellow gash loomed ahead. As I approached and came up under the canopy, I could see this amazing "imprint" of a forked lightning bolt carved into the trunk. The gash actually looked like someone had taken an implement and carved a rugged one-inch deep by two- to three-inch channel from top to bottom of this 75-foot tree. There were large "splinters" lying to the northwest of the tree in an explosive pattern on the path and the hillside across the path, but no scorched earth or smoky tree parts were found. Hmmm.

The good news is that this did not appear as deadly as I had envisioned. I remembered a plants prof telling me that as long as the bark of a tree is not girdled 360 degrees, most can repair their protective covering and live on. I felt OK about this particular lightning strike.

As I stood and took in this magnificent sight, it reminded me of one of the literary conflicts...this one a twist of Nature v. nature. Over the past 100 years, I would bet these trees on the floodplain of Squaw Creek have lived through a lot of weather. And they are still standing.

I hope this story has a good ending. I can only imagine what the scar tissue will look like after this wound heals. Twenty years from now someone will touch this peculiar lesion shooting up the trunk of the reptilian-skinned tree and marvel at its strength to withstand such a splendid strike.

Miss River

2011-07-14T20:44:00.005-05:00

I found this oil painting in a junque shop several weeks ago. It reminds me of Riverview Park in Hannibal, Missouri designed by O. C. Simonds (1855 - 1931). He was one of the second generation of landscape designers here in the Midwest and a founding member in the late 1890s in both the professional organization for landscape architects and the Parks and Outdoor Art Association. Simonds' name is most closely associated with Graceland Cemetery in Chicago. He was superintendent/designer of this Midwestern rural cemetery from 1881 until 1898.

Ossian Cole Simonds followed in the footsteps of my man H. W. S. Cleveland (1814 - 1900). Both men built flourishing practices in Chicago. After Cleveland's death, Simonds picked up several commissions that updated, or expanded, some of Cleveland's original park and cemetery designs. In Cedar Rapids, IA both men pinned their names on Oak Hill Cemetery...Cleveland in 1869 and 1872; Simonds in 1911. In Illinois, both men were commissioned by the Quincy Park and Boulevard Association - Cleveland during the late 1890s, then Simonds in the early 20th century. These designer laid out a park system that was expanded over time by way of stately boulevards connecting these public spaces.

Simonds ventured a little further down river when he was asked to lay out Riverview Park in Hannibal, MO. His hand is still evident in this park that was recently placed on the National Register of Historical Places. During the final leg of my 2010 Sacred Vacation/Mother of All Road Trips, I was able to take in this magnificent view of the Mississippi River from a lookout point in the park.

When I first spotted the painting, I stood transfixed. Deja vu. This spot was where I stood last summer. This is what I saw from that bluff overlooking the Mighty Mississippi. I googled the painter, but nothing revealed itself to connect this painting with the river or this park. I know what is in my mind's eye and my gut tells me this is O.C. Simonds' Riverview Park.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

2011-07-14T17:38:00.001-05:00

Summer Fruit Crostata for the 4th of July

2011-07-04T21:20:00.002-05:00

2011-07-02T13:03:00.006-05:00

Finally! I just finished setting the last of 88 pavers in the south half of the front garden bed expansion project. The rain and hot temps have kept me from finishing this part of the process. Last Saturday morning, I laid the first 28 pavers; then it rained. Yesterday morning I set another 32, but the heat and mosquitoes drove me back into the house after a couple of hours. This morning I tapped the last one....#88...into place. Time to celebrate.

2011-06-27T15:26:00.005-05:00

A prof friend and I were checking out an old lake bed, now tiled and farmed, located up northwest of Ames. It was on the way to our destination - the confluence of the Boone and the Des Moines River. She wanted to show me the lake bed and the remnant oaks that once encircled the bowl that held this ancient body of water.

Heading back to the highway, she spotted this snapper from the gravel road; it was sliding across the top of an embankment of a channelized stream. We had to have a closer look and get some fotos, so we pulled on our muck boots and crossed the ditch.

We finally decided that she was probably laying her eggs. The muddy smear and disturbed soil across the ridge was a strong clue. When I got home, I googled the turtle, and sure enough, it was a snapper...and the females lay their eggs in June.

The New Porch

2011-06-25T13:26:00.005-05:00

Nope.

Nope.

Bingo!

Singing Grass Clippers

2011-06-24T08:14:00.005-05:00

I went looking for these old grass clippers; they were a present from my mother way back when I first moved to Friley Road and became the "garden mother". I finally found them at the bottom of my tool bucket in the shed. Yikes! They were rusty and dull and did not sing so beautifully. I spent a good hour cleaning, oiling, and sharpening this pair of Drummer Boy clippers from Burgon +Ball LTD, Sheffield, England. There is music once again when the grass needs a trim!

Summertime...

2011-06-21T06:54:00.002-05:00

Allee of Eastern White Pine

2011-06-20T14:17:00.005-05:00

2011-06-17T18:51:00.003-05:00

Five tool boxes full of tools....sorted by type.

Done!

2011-06-13T13:15:00.003-05:00

The New Newly-Used Barrow

2011-06-13T05:29:00.013-05:00

In an earlier post, I had written about this new used wheelbarrow that my daughter brought home last fall from the neighbors up the street. It had been set out on the curb and she knew I would love this funky green, so she wheeled it home. She was right, I loved it. It had a flat tire, but with a little air it would be good as new.

I pulled it out from under the pine tree this spring and set about getting the tire repaired. First I had to remove the flat tire. Then a quick trip to the farm store where I purchased the services of the mechanic on duty. He installed a new tube, re-aligned the rim which had pinched the old tube, and sent me on my way. Expense for tire R&R = $7.99.
My labor = 1 hour
This was a perfect barrow for the upcoming project of hauling pavers to reset around the yard. The only trouble was that the old handles were just that....old. One bounce down the steps and the handle broke from the weight in the tub. Once again, I had a funky green barrow that was out of service.

O.K. Do I continue down this road and repair it, or forget it and just enjoy the green from afar? I thought I could replace the handles. But those wedge/shims presented more of a problem. I would price the handles and then make a decision. I also looked at comparably-sized barrows. Cost Range $39-$49.

By the time I bought the hardware, the handles, and had the wedges cut, I was looking in the price range of a new barrow. Plus, I had to do the repair myself. However....the new barrows have absolutely no character...black plastic tub, generic barrow. This was an easy decision....buy the handles ($14.99 each); size the hardware and purchase ($3); and purchase 2x4s, then find someone to cut the wedges ($2.42). Total Expense for parts = $35.42. My Labor = 2.5 hours.
This above foto doesn't really capture the adventure in getting this thing disassembled. I knew I had a hacksaw somewhere (garbage sales are great for picking up old tools). I finally found it in the bottom of an old tool box (garbage sales are great for picking up old tool boxes to store those old tools). After about one hour of sawing rusted bolts in 95 degree weather, I was rethinking my decision to redo the barrow. Never one to back down from a challenge, I took a break, then went back in for the final tussle. Praise the Lord! I finally cut thru the last of 6 rusty bolts.
My Labor = 1.75 hours...#@!%&*(@!

So this is how I spent yesterday afternoon when the rain set in. I opened up the garage for a nice breeze and good light, then set to work on the funky green barrow.
Dewey was providing encouragement and support along the way.
Done. Ready for a test run.
It works!! but I can see from this angle that I might need to move the wheel back a few inches and then shorten the handle ends. Maybe another day.
Ready for action.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

2011-06-07T21:58:00.002-05:00

Worth It!

2011-06-07T15:39:00.019-05:00

This is a foto of the new shade garden, a hosta bed, that I finished over the weekend. Twenty years ago when I planted this front garden, it received full sun. Now the trees and shrubs have grown and they shade several beds. It was time to clean things up and make it fresh again.

I forgot how hard this physical labor can be on a body. Four years of school has zapped my strength and endurance for this kind of work and after a couple of days of intense gardening, I soon realized I may be past my prime for this down-and-dirty gardening. It nearly killed my body. My knees are sore and creaking, both of my arms go numb when I sleep, and I am so tired....But I got 'er done and it was worth it!

Early Saturday morning, somewhere between sleep and wake, I remembered that I had a garden tiller in the back of my shed. It had not been used in years, but I was anxious to get it out and give it a try. The thought of hand-digging the entire new bed - close to 100 ft in length and 2-5 ft in width - left me a little less enthusiastic about this project. Once I wrestled the tiller out of the shed, I checked the oil, added some gas and Sea Foam (a miracle engine elixir!), and pulled the cord. It actually sputtered to life, then died. Directions on the engine indicated that I needed to not only give it choke, but also move the toggle over to the jackrabbit, away from the tortoise. Once I did that, the engine roared to life.

Oh joy of joys. This machine was going to make all the difference in my attitude about this project. I tilled along one side, then turned and tilled along the backside, then up through the middle. And then I did all that again. Tiny pieces of sod lay on top of the black soil, so I got out the rake to clean and level out the bed. If I had done all that by hand, I would still be turning forkfuls.

Once the lawn was gone, I cleaned up the edge with my dandy Smith and Hawkens edger. Then I got busy resetting the pavers back in along the new edge. It was beautiful...even without any plantings. I had about 40-50 hostas potted up, so I started in the back with the taller ones, then planted the shorter ones with the shortest down in front. I laid out drifts of color and leaf shape and textures. Once the plants acclimate and start to fill in, it should be beautiful.

This was a 2-day project and by Sunday afternoon, I was exhausted. It had been a long day....I think I started in about 6:30 A.M. I put things away about 5 P.M. and gave every one of the transplanted hostas a thorough watering. When I finished, I climbed into the bathtub for a renewing, hot soak.

I still needed to mulch, but tomorrow would be another day. Rather than using cedar or cypress chips, I decided to try some prairie grass, or meadow hay. I had bought some last week to use in the veggie garden and was immediately impressed when I broke open the bale. It is beautiful stuff...reddish-purples, greens, and blues...with such a lovely fragrance. Reminds me of summer days on the farm, climbing up into a haymow filled with freshly-baled hay.

Neighbors were watching...and strolling by to check my progress. They think it is beautiful, but they also suggest that it is too much work. They obviously are not gardeners. I did not tell them that this is just the first half of the project. I still have the south portion of my lawn to lay out, till, edge, then plant. But first, I have to recover...and I am working on my plan. I have all summer to finish it, but already I am itching to get that tiller out and work magic in the garden.

Africa Bound

2011-06-04T08:01:00.006-05:00

In this foto, Tess is moments away from walking into a new life adventure....a trip to Uganda for a high school service project of building a small school in a little village on the other side of the world.

For 24 hours, I watched the website that showed a cartoon plane as it flew across the Atlantic Ocean toward Brussels, then across the Mediterranean Sea toward North Africa, then finally southeast across this big continent called Africa heading for Entebbe Airport.

Once the plane landed, I was relieved, but no word from her in 24 hours left me feeling a bit anxious. Finally...last night around 11 pm she called. What a relief to hear her voice. She had just gotten up (they are 8 hours ahead) and wanted to check in. She sounded happy and rested and was looking forward to heading out to the building site. When we answered the phone, we both asked where she was. It sounded like she was calling from next door. Hard to believe someone could be so far away and yet so close in communication. Had a very nice sleep being able to tell her "I love you" before I snuggled down.

June Garden

2011-06-02T12:19:00.012-05:00

laying out the pavers to expand the front bed

the new old wheelbarrow

first day of bloom for these old roses
staging area for a ga-jillion hosta to go in the front bed
the hops plant climbing up to the trellis
the veggie garden...everything is up

and finally, Mom's old yellow rose bush....this is the very first bloom since she passed away.

Listen!

2011-06-01T08:53:00.008-05:00

Yale student Kevin Olusola pushing the limits of a cello, and taking the music it makes up a totally new path. He bows, plucks and strums his cello, while accompanying it with beatbox, a hip-top derived use of voice as percussive/musical instrument. The music is so integral, it seems like the two sounds are really one. Then you realize that Olusola is the instrument.

tap on this artist's name, then the youtube button and give a listen....

Gardenmother

2011-05-31T19:40:00.006-05:00

I have become obsessed. Now that the coursework for my bachelor/masters degrees in landscape architecture is finished, I have become a maniac in the garden. It has been four very long years since I have really worked in this space I call my garden. Spring is always the most welcome of the seasons for the work that needs to be done. I have a new set of eyes, so I am tweaking here and there...continually envisioning how it could and will be. The veggie garden is in, the peonies are moved from an all-too-shady spot in the wayback to a new bed dug especially for them. Last year I figured out that I have way too much lawn, as does everyone, so I brought out the brick edging about 4-5 feet and now have more square footage to plant. The shady beds are filling up with hosta, and the sunny areas are taking on daylilies, peonies, lambs ear, and iris. This is just in the back garden!

The other day I read an article in our local paper about one of my profs who convinced an entire neighborhood to install rain gardens to catch and convey roof and pavement run-off so the stormwater infiltrates into the ground rather than dumping into the storm sewer and College Creek. I have a downspout that empties my roof runoff onto the neighbor's drive, so I decided to change that. Today I talked to Mr. Berg, our postal carrier. He cuts through our property along a path that intersects where I want this rain garden located. I laid out the curve of the new bed that has moved his path to the south approximately 20 feet. He says "no sweat"; he looks forward to seeing the new rain garden. He just wanted assurance that he would know when he could no longer walk his usual path. I told him when there are plants in the middle of his path, he should take the new route.

So now I am pulling up brick edging that was laid 20 years ago. Can it really be that long since I planned this entry bed in front of our new home on Friley Road? As I was toiling away this past Memorial Day weekend, it dawned on me that this was the same garden bed that I was digging in the day my son hurled the name "gardenmother" at me. He was all of 3 1/2 years old and he was hungry. After the second attempt to get my attention to come into the house to make his PB&J sandwich, he cried out, "you, you, gardenmother!"

So for the last 21 days I have been working on my return to being gardenmother. The world can go to hell in a handbasket when I am in the garden. Early mornings are my favorite time in the garden... with a cup of coffee, my slippers, nightgown, and sweater. I am happy to report that despite four years of training in the field of landscape architecture, I am still the gardenmother.

PICK 'EM UP TRUCK

2011-05-30T14:40:00.001-05:00

GardenFriends

2011-05-27T16:36:00.003-05:00

2011-05-24T11:24:00.000-05:00

From the House Out

2011-05-21T08:20:00.005-05:00

This passage is taken from Richardson Wright's Another Gardener's Bed-Book @1933.

Gardens should be made from the house out. Assume the attitude of Sister Anne and gaze out windows, sit on terraces and porches, linger in doorways and from these vantage-points visualize the garden that is to be. Follow this practice and the garden will be a more satisfactory revelation of your tastes than if you make it from the property line in. Gardens made from the house out offer the same penetrating confidence as people who look you straight in the eye.

I have been doing a lot of this type of gardening lately with all the rain these past few days. I stand at the rain-streaked window and dream. I walk out to the garage and survey the garden from the doorway thru the raindrops. Then I walk upstairs to the window at my drafting table and take in the bird's eye view to "visualize the garden that is to be." It is a surefire way to save a lot of time, money, and at my age, backbreaking work!

2011-05-04T14:27:00.000-05:00

DONE!

2011-05-01T09:47:00.013-05:00

It is official. I am done! I just now submitted my last required assignment online for the coursework portion for my BLA/MLA (bachelor and masters in landscape architecture). No doubt, I still have a mountain to climb with finishing up my thesis, but that will come along. My major prof gave me permission to lay off for a while and go garden. I need a break to get my head back in the game if I am going to do this in a way that is fulfilling for me.

So, I am feeling pretty grand right now. It's a little bittersweet, tho. I've shed a few tears this past week when I started cleaning out my grad studio space. I even experienced an anxiety attack when I thought about the loss of this structure in my life for the last 4 years when I had to be somewhere AND with completed assignments!

Mostly, I have been sad thinking about the dispersal of all the kiddies with whom I have come to share close and wonderful friendships and who will be spinning off from the College of Design to conquer their worlds. They have accepted and included me in all their antics and foibles. I love them dearly. This past semester I have made a conscious effort to be present for their reviews. Yesterday was the last of the last. It ran from 10 A.M. to 3:30 P.M. I am not complaining. It was great to watch them spin their stories about the amazing places they and their team mates had created through models and renderings. These designs flowed from their fingertips through the keyboard and into the software which fed the printers that spewed out these incredible, large-format images of places that exist only in the mind's eye. Wow! Truly mind-boggling. Plus there was champagne and Peanut M&Ms, so the day was actually fun.

What happens next? As I stated earlier, my prof gave me permission to dig in the dirt for a couple of weeks. Then Tess will be off to Uganda. Her father and I will take her to the airport to see her off on the trip of a lifetime....one month in Africa as part of a high school adventure. Her brother was also a junior on the 2005 team that kicked-off this project of building schools, so this is a nice conclusion for Tess' junior year. A close family friend will be the doc traveling with this group, so we will breathe easier knowing Dr. Brown is watching over our collective brood.

Tomorrow I am hosting the semi-annual SSLA BBQ (that is the ISU student chapter of our professional organization) and we will party. These 5th year students are my people; I have spent most of my classes and studios with this group throughout my 4-year journey. The weatherman has promised balmy temps and a clear sky, so I am looking forward to this last bash in the garden.

Then I will dig. I have a veggie garden that needs attending to now that we are into May. This year I am planting beets and potatoes. And garlic. I used to grow garlic, but somehow things got away from me the Fall of 2007. I will see if I can get some cloves going; maybe get some springtime scapes yet this season. I also want to plant carrots and greens.

I vow also to attack the lawn. Literally. Last year I pulled all the brick edging out 4 feet to extend perennials beds and reduce the amount of lawn to mow. I need to do that in the front garden as well and also add to some areas in the way-back garden. That will involve hauling brick, which is labor intensive, so it will give my mind some much needed exercise in those other lobes.

I also found an index card in my pile the other night when I was looking for some sketches to hand in with my construction assignment. It listed some designed landscapes to see B4ID (B4 I die), so perhaps another road trip while Tess is gone to Uganda.

I have dreamed of this day for a very, very long time. Looking back, I can now see that it has driven some major decisions over the last 30 years of my life. Who know where the road will take me. I'm not worried. Things always work out for a reason and I believe in my heart that all things will work out for me.

Honey

2011-04-20T20:08:00.005-05:00

...the Bendix and the back door... see the design in my wallpaper? You can see also just what time it was, Honey. Even the second hand is straight up...see that little thing hanging on the wall. That is for dimes. When it gets full, I buy Defense Stamps. Does it look natural, Honey?

(sentiments written on the back of an old photograph)

When You Find It...

2011-04-20T17:48:00.012-05:00

Among the photos that I pulled from the sleeves of the albums in that East Village antique shop is the one that appears above in my blog header. When I turned over its page the breath caught in my throat. This photograph carries an essence of deja vu that I have been here before. The eeriness of this snapshot is not so much its familiarity, but that I will return to this place again. That old woman rounding the corner is me.

I study this photo and I feel such contentment. This is my home...my life. I have finally found my place. My old friends are scattered along the streets of this little town and down long gravel lanes out in the countryside. I am surrounded by my gardens where I hill my potatoes and harvest greens for my evening meal. When the flowers are in bloom, I fill my home with colorful bouquets that scent the air and remind me every day of the beauty in my world. I relish the work that pulls me into the gardens daily and leaves my body spent when I crawl into bed every night.

Another look at this old photo tells me that I have been here for a very long time. The gardens testify to that. I seem to remember a tall fence once, but now it is gone...and this very spot was once shaded by a tree. Phlox, dahlias, and peonies thrive in this now-sunny corner of the garden. I also remember the entire property covered with lawn, but only remnant strips of grass remain. Like the one in the photo, these narrow paths run along the garden beds that now blanket this earth.

I hold my future in my hands in this old B&W photograph. I have to wonder when my present life will intersect with this future one and I find myself rounding that corner.

The Farmer Takes a Wife

2011-04-20T14:26:00.016-05:00

I was recently in Des Moines' East Village doing research at the State Historical Library. When I finished for the day, I tromped over to my favorite antique shop Found Things and happened upon a cupboard of photograph albums full of old B&W snapshots. I pulled out several marked 'rural' and carried them over to a quiet corner where I could leisurely flip through them. I love images of old couples and I found a gold mine. Many of these photos are staged in front of the barn which relates to the importance of these old buildings on the family farm back in the day.

My favorite is the one I chose for this post....check out his pants and braces...and her shoes. I always wonder about the story behind the photograph. There is corn growing at his feet; he is leaning on some sort of implement to go after the weeds. Is this their garden, or are they standing on the edge of a larger field? Who was snapping the picture? What was happening on this day that prompted someone with a camera to take a photo of this couple? They look happy, even contented....at least at this moment in time. They are both wearing rings on the third finger of the left hand, so I am assuming they are a couple together. They are leaning in a bit...is it for the photo, or because that is what a couple does after years of living together?

His shirt pocket reveals what appears to be a writing instrument. Does he make "to do" lists as he works around the farm? When he is chasing those weeds, does he compose love poems in his head and then stop to lean on that hoe while he writes them down? Will he place these written words around their home where he knows his wife will discover them?

Maybe these love sonnets are not written for his wife, but for a long-lost love....someone who captured his heart years ago. He dreams of someday when he scribbles his thoughts, but he knows deep in his heart that the choice he made for this life was based on a woman who was right for him. This woman by his side in the photograph was the one who made him a better man. She was the one who made him believe in himself...in honesty and commitment and marriage. This woman by his side was his better choice. For better or for worse.

Bloodroot

2011-04-17T07:22:00.002-05:00

2011-04-15T07:53:00.008-05:00

Last week as I was scurrying through the DFW airport to catch my plane back to Iowa, I noticed an older, dapper gentleman standing by a doorway leading outside to the drop-off lanes. He was dressed to the nines...gray dress trousers, a blue blazer, and a blue pinpoint cotton shirt with tie. I also noticed his nicely-shined loafers. He carried no luggage; the lanyard around his neck displayed an official-looking logo. He waved as I passed by, and since I had forgotten to don my wristwatch, I stopped to ask the time. He grabbed my hand when I was within range and kissed my palm. He whispered the time in my ear as he pulled me close. How very strange.

OK...I had an uneasy feeling that I should get far away from this man, but his demeanor was not that of a leach, but of a tender heart who was reaching out for human contact. I would guess his age to be about 70-75. He spoke with an accent that seemed Middle Eastern. He asked where my journeys had taken me, where my home was, why the hurry....all in a gentle way that invited further conversation. He shared that he was from Israel and would be joining his son there in two months. He had been staying with a daughter, but missed his homeland and was joyous that he would be returning soon. He loved being with his family here, but his grandchildren, were "wearing out this old man!"

We had a pleasant chat, but as I turned to leave, he reached again for my hand. This time he pulled me closer and kissed my cheek. He said he wanted to send me off into the future with a full heart and loving thoughts. I thanked him and wished him well in his travels. With that, I turned and headed off to my gate wondering why he was standing in that spot on this day...was he a greeter for the airport? Was he lost? Where did he belong? Regardless of his story, I was uncomfortable that I had been suspicious of such good will.

Upon my return home, I jumped into some work that had been ignored while at the conference, but I could not stop thinking about the airport gentleman. I recounted the experience several times; I could not put it to rest. Before closing down the computer Sunday night, I tapped on Rob Brezsny's horoscope for this week and here is what I found.

Cancer Horoscope for week of April 14, 2011

Over the years I have on several occasions stood at a highway exit ramp with a handmade cardboard sign that reads, "I love to help; I need to give; please take some money." I flash a wad of bills, and offer a few dollars to drivers whose curiosity impels them to stop and engage me. I've always been surprised at how many people hesitate to accept my gift. Some assume I have a hidden agenda; others think I'm crazy. Some are even angry, and shout things like "Go home, you freak!" If a comparable experience comes your way anytime soon, Cancerian, I urge you to lower your suspicions. Consider the possibility that a blessing is being offered to you with no strings attached.

Now I better understood that it was OK to just accept this man and my encounter with him for what he was offering....a full heart and loving thoughts.

the Slash Pine

2011-04-14T16:44:00.007-05:00

I found a pine that caught my eye while touring the Japanese Garden at the Fort Worth Botanic Garden last week. A gardener (has to be the best job in the universe!) was coming up the path, so I inquired as to what it might be. He grinned from ear to ear and thanked me for noticing such a magnificent tree, the Slash Pine, Pinus elliotti.

This is a tall coastal tree that never should be growing this far west in Texas, but here was a stand of twelve. These mature pines formed a lovely arc in the deep shade along the rim of a bowl whose sides dropped down to the koi pond twenty feet below. What caught my eye initially was their bark. I was unable to take my eyes off the large, purplish, red-brown plates, as well as the incredibly long, glossy dark green needles, as I stumbled along the path. I was so mesmerized by their textural beauty that I forgot to snap a photograph. No way could I have captured their essence with my Canon, so you can just Google and I will treasure this memorable discovery in my mind's eye.

My Big Girl Panties

2011-04-10T19:32:00.004-05:00

I just returned home from the 33rd Annual conference of the Alliance for Historic Landscape Preservation held in Fort Worth, TX. In early February, I submitted an abstract for my research on Oak Hill Cemetery in Cedar Rapids, IA and I was selected by the education committee for a student scholarship presentation at their April conference. This was my first such venture into the real world of academics. I was to deliver a 15-minute presentation to professors and practitioners from several disciplines, all working in the area of advocacy for the preservation of historic landscapes.

Surprisingly, I wasn't nervous; at least not in that nauseated, gut-wrenching way I sometimes feel when I am in over my head. I admit, I was a little intimidated by the names and qualifications of those listed in the membership directory. Some were scholars whose papers, journal articles, and books I have cited in my research. However, I had worked relentlessly on refining my presentation, and with the wonderful support and guidance of my major prof, I was able to deliver a polished PowerPoint. In addition, upon meeting these wonderfully generous and talented people, I realized that they were truly interested in my research and welcomed me with open arms into this very specialized world of advocacy for historic landscapes.

It was suggested by several friends upon hearing of my upcoming trip to Fort Worth that I tell a joke to break the ice before presenting. I am not very good with jokes, so I just figured I would forgo the funny stuff and plunge ahead into my lecture. But praise the lord, before I left, a professor friend of mine called to see when I was leaving and if I was excited about presenting. I was to leave early Wednesday morning, and yes, I was excited to present. She told me that the first time she presented her research, a friend had told her it was time to put on her "big girl" panties. This was my opener! It was perfect. Almost all of these Alliance people were close to my age, so I felt I could pull it off. I opened with this quick story; I told them right off that I had 'em on and I was ready to roll. Even the curmudgeon in the back row cracked a smile.

Although I am probably more closely aligned with the Depends crowd, I felt that it was time to put on my "big girl" panties. If I was going to do this, I wanted to make a respectable impression. I wanted to be taken seriously for the work I had done with regard to my research. I think I accomplished that these past few days. I made some great friends. I even had a prof offer an invitation for me to come present to his studio. He wanted his students to experience my passion for these everyday landscapes. I said I would have to take a rain-check, but I was humbled that he had asked.

Mostly I am thankful. I have such wonderfully supportive and caring friends who just happen to be my professors who continually push me toward these exceptional experiences. I am always amazed at the bountiful rewards that fall into my lap when I make that extra effort and reach for the stars....and those panties.

2011-04-05T08:56:00.004-05:00

What do ya think????

The Eaglet Has Landed |: (

2011-04-04T22:00:00.009-05:00

Yesterday, I was showing the EagleCam website to a friend and as we zoomed in close Daddy E got off the nest...it was very warm here for an early spring day. I think he was airing out his privates and giving the kids a chance to breath fresh air. Or...the older of the two eaglets was nipping him from below because of hunger. Anyway, as he leaned over the fresh kill in the nest, the little pip closed his beak on what appeared to be a feather under Daddy E's beak. When Daddy E jerked back his head to rip off a piece of entrails, he accidentally flung Junior #1 out of the bowl of the nest. Junior #1 is only 36 hours old, so there was no way he could climb up and over the brim of the nest.

I was just sick. For a moment in time, Scot and I both stopping breathing. We thought he was going over the edge. The nest is 80 feet above ground and out toward the edge there is nothing but twig structure that a little chick could easily drop through. He landed on solid material, but it was on the outside of the nest. Daddy E resettled on the nest and never tried to bring Junior #1 back across the hump. What if the temps had been in the 20s or 30s? The poor little guy was struggling, but to no avail. He was on his own and Daddy E was oblivious. I was yelling at the computer screen. Scoop him in! What kind of father are you? Where is Mommy E? There will be hell to pay when she gets back.

I had to turn off the laptop. It was like watching a suspenseful movie except this was real life and there was nothing anyone could do to save that little guy. I was sick. I could not work in studio anymore. I had to go home.

When I got home, I explained all of this to Tess and she assured me that everything was OK. She had just seen both of them in the nest. I did not believe it, so she showed me that Junior was no longer on the edge. That did not prove he had not fallen over!!!!! Maybe she had just seen the younger one and the egg thinking it was both chicks in the nest. How could the 'flung one' have make it back by himself? Tess again reassured me....she had watched as one of the birds just reached over the rim and gently scooped Junior up and over, back into the nest. Back-hoe style.

Mommy E was sitting on the nest when I logged back in to check. Just then, she got up and there they both were. Cheeping and floundering....inside the nest! All was well and both were safe. The third egg was even showing signs that Junior #3 was working away from inside his shell trying to break free. Life was good again. The Family E was intact. I also noticed that Mommy E had been busy while she was out. Lying next to the bowl was the dead rabbit from Friday, but now there was a crow and a very large fish. The pantry was stocked, everyone was safe, so I shut down the laptop and crawled into bed.

Junior #2 Has Arrived

2011-04-03T10:48:00.003-05:00

Sometime between 1:30 this morning and 9 a.m., #2 broke free. He makes #1 look all grown up!

A New Baby Has Arrived!

2011-04-02T12:44:00.005-05:00

The other morning on Iowa Public Radio, there was mention of the EagleCam that had been mounted to view the nest of a pair of eagles at the State Fish Hatchery near Decorah. My daughter came home from school and immediately rousted me out of an fitful sleep (I do not normally sleep in the afternoon, but I have been trounced by cold and flu these last several days). She was excited to share this EagleCam with me because there was one of three eggs predicted to hatch. EagleCam had been on all day at her high school and she, now a raptor convert working at the Iowa State University Wildlife Care Center, could not get enough. I rolled out of bed and watched her pull up the live-stream video and HOLY CROW! There was an eagle sitting on a nest, seemingly inches from the camera....beak, feathers, eyes, and cars passing by on the road off in the distance. I, too, was immediately hooked. I brought the laptop into the bedroom and set it next to the bed so I could watch it as I drifted in and out of the feverish haze I was dealing with.
I awoke early this morning sometime before dawn to catch a glimpse of a whitish-gray ball of fluff topped by a whitish-gray masked head that bobbled for a second before falling face first between the other two yet-to-hatch eggs. Daddy Eagle settled down over the new hatchling, then laid back his head and called out into the darkness with that high, piercing call. Within moments, another bird landed on the edge of the nest. Mom had arrived and immediately booted Dad off her nest and proceeded to tuck everyone in and under. The thermometer read 31 degrees. She got busy pulling grass and small twigs up to her chest to mound up the sides so Junior would stay warm. She continually re-positioned herself, turning 90 degrees, then pulling more nesting materials into a higher-sided bowl. When she finished, the nest was high and tight; she was ready for some sleep, so she rotated her head back and tucked her beak under her wing. It was touching to see her do what all mothers do when that new baby arrives. Nesting. Cuddling. Settling in. One of her babies had hatched and the other two eggs showed signs of impending emergence. Instinct was kicking in.

As I lay in bed watching, I could not help but feel that maybe this was too much like Big Brother. It seems so invasive. The technology is phenomenal that it can capture this, but part of the beauty of nature is the mystery of it all. These cameras are rolling 24/7 allowing mom and dad no time alone with their newborn. Maybe I am anthropomorphizing. Tess says that it helps us better understand things like mating practices, nesting structure and sites, food choices during this reproductive phase (there is the visible dead rabbit lying along the edge of the nest!), and chick survival rates. Supposedly, it helps us to better protect these birds, but I think they would do just fine if we paid more attention to how we lived on this land and protected the environments of all living things.

It was 30 years ago today...

2011-03-11T13:12:00.006-06:00

I awoke this morning to an NPR "Morning Edition" segment interviewing the author of a book Rawhide Down written about an event that happened 30 years ago on March 11, 1981. I remember that day so vividly. I was driving solo through the mountains in New Mexico after leaving behind a home and a marriage in the Midwest and making my way to Phoenix. The news report cut into the music station I was listening to...President Ronald Regan had been shot. Just as the announcement came over the air waves, I rounded a bend on the side of the mountain and the radio signal was cut. For several miles, I was in a panic.

Those are words none of us ever want to hear, but this was the second time I had heard them. In November 1963, my fifth-grade teacher received a note from an urgent student who had walked into the classroom without knocking. Miss Munsen read the note, walked over to the television hanging from the wall, and turned it on. There on the black and white screen the frantic news reports were coming through about President John F. Kennedy.

This drive through the mountains was almost 20 years later, but that gut-wrenching feeling was the same. I was finally able to pull off the road when the radio reception returned. I remember sitting in my car, staring intently at a huge boulder outside my windshield, straining to hear those words that our president would be OK. I needed to hear this. I wanted assurance during these uncertain days of my personal life that everything would work out. I could not bring myself to drive any further, so I waited. And I cried. That news bulletin, and now this boulder, represented everything that was happening in my life. On that day it seemed the world was crashing down all around me.

I finished that good cry. It was exactly what I needed. It was cathartic. I was finally able to let out all the crap that had been building in my life for the last several years. It all vanished there on the side of that mountain.

When I finished my crying jag, I pulled back out onto the roadway. After a few miles, word came over the radio that President Regan would survive. I felt relief for him, but also for myself. I knew that I, too, would figure things out and be OK.

More News From Mount Auburn Cemetery

2011-03-04T18:33:00.007-06:00

Horticultural Highlight: Strobus

Wood is the stiff heart of the living tree,
the corpse left after its death.
We walk through our homes,
our external skeletons made of the bones of trees.
Some wood bends and some breaks....
-Marge Piercy

We write this with a touch of sadness due to the loss by storm breakage of numerous trees and shrubs from this winter's heavy snowstorms. It will be awhile until we record a final accounting of the total damage but we have lost several large Eastern white pines, Pinus strobus. Perhaps no other tree has played so great a role in the early life and history of the United States. The first European settlers marveled at four-hundred-year-old groves of Pinus strobus reaching 150 feet tall and up to five feet in diameter and its harvesting began almost immediately. Some were recorded with heights up to 220 feet but today few reach half that height and age.

Mount Auburn's visionary founder, Jacob Bigelow (1787-1879), gave a description in his classic text Florula Bostoniensis that is still instructive, "This noble and very useful tree rises with a straight trunk to uncommon height.... The branches are given off in whorls or circles. The leaves...grow in fascicles of five together, with hardly any sheath. The cones are very long, cylindrical, curved, and pendulous; composed of large, smooth loose scales." He continued, "No tree is more extensively employed in building or for the ordinary purposes of carpenters' and joiners' work. The large trees are particularly in request for the masts of ships, and vast quantities of the wood have been annually exported from the eastern coast in the form of timber and boards." An example of the latter is found in an account book of the Commissioners of Customs in America for the year 1771 reporting 2.5 million feet of pine exported from North American ports.

Any discussion of the Eastern white pine for its use as ships masts should include the legacy of it once being selected as the so-called "King's Pine". As early as 1691 the English monarchy acted to take control of this valuable domestic as well as export resource by including a clause in the revised Massachusetts Bay Charter that reserved them for its naval use. Colonial flouting of this and other succeeding laws restricting harvesting resulted in Parliament in 1729 passing a stronger, morespecific law stating "no white pine trees are to be cut without license." It further reserved for the Royal Navy "All the masts ... exceeding twenty-four inches in diameter, all trees that exceed fifty-four feet in length in the stem, all young pine trees that seem promising to grow to masts." This law remained in effect until 1775, the beginning of our American Revolution, and helped to stoke hostility between the northern colonies and the crown that later exacerbated over stamp duties, tea taxes and military presence in towns.

It is hard today to imagine our Eastern white pines as objects of national security necessitating external national laws controlling their fate. The famed nineteenth-century landscape designer Andrew Jackson Downing (1815-1852) in his 1841 The Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening gave a less political and more inspired view along with high praise: "From its pleasing growth and color, we consider it by far the most desirable kind of planting in proximity of buildings...". Today we more frequently see Pinus strobus as an evergreen backdrop in our landscapes, a lovely shade tree, a perch for the interesting bird we are focusing on through our binoculars or perhaps the muse of poetic couplets such as these by Donald Everett Axin:

Graceful pines perform pirouettes with hemlocks
And look like green pipers parading down the trail.

While we regret this winter's loss of a few of our mature Eastern white pines there remain several hundred more throughout our landscape. On your next visit to Mount Auburn we encourage you to seek one out and reflect a bit on this specie's momentous history as well as natural beauty.

The Timberdoodle

2011-03-04T11:47:00.006-06:00

This e-mail came across my desk this morning. Always something interesting from these folks out Boston-way. A little spotlight on Wildlife at Mount Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge, MA:

The American Woodcock By Robert H. Stymeist

It's hard to believe the American Woodcock is a member of the shorebird family, this plump shorebird is rarely found near the shore instead it prefers the forest and open fields. Although Mount Auburn seems like a very unlikely spot to find one - every year in March and early April the visiting birder or the occasional visitor out walking in the Cemetery may encounter this unique bird. The American Woodcock is an extremely distinctive bird both in its appearance and in its behavior. It has a long straight bill which almost looks like a pencil jutting out of its head. Woodcocks have large eyes located high in the head so they can see all around including what may be behind them and very short pink legs. Its plumage is a complex pattern of cinnamon brown which helps in making this bird blend in to its natural surroundings; both males and females look alike. The Woodcock arrives sometimes as early as late February and way before the first official day of spring risking snowstorms and frigid weather that is not unusual here in the northeast. It is the mating behavior that many birders can't wait to experience each late winter evening. The sky dance of the woodcock is one of the best avian displays we can witness from the cold evenings of early March right up to the end of May. Mount Auburn is not the place to watch the show though I have seen the aerial flight show from the Catholic Cemetery adjacent to Mount Auburn which provides an open display area. Some of the areas nearby Mount Auburn to see this free show include Rock Meadow in Belmont, Great Meadows in Arlington, and Nahanton Park in Newton. As the sun sets listen for a nasal sounding "peent," the bird will repeat this sound several times and then the real show begins. The woodcock rockets upward, the wings produce a twittering sound, the bird makes loops and arcs going so high you will lose sight of it until you hear the descent: a series of almost flute-like calls as the bird literally plummets to the ground and begins another series of " peents" before the next flight; this will go on for several minutes. Though you may never experience the sky dance of the "Timberdoodle" at Mount Auburn you have a chance to find him anywhere on the grounds before the first crocus appears.
...

A workday in Oak Hill Cemetery

2011-02-28T20:42:00.000-06:00

2011-02-22T22:41:00.001-06:00

2011-02-22T12:55:00.002-06:00

Word has it that the pelicans are making their way north.

2011-02-18T21:07:00.001-06:00

2011-02-18T17:34:00.004-06:00

The Cedar Waxwings were here today. It was a joyous morning when I looked out the upstairs window and spotted the Cedar Waxwings. I always look for them this time of the year as they are passing thru and stop by for a bite from the Prairie Fire Crabapple trees in the front garden.

When Tess was just a squirt, she started her pre-school years at the ISU Lab School three mornings a week. Her teacher Angie would post large cards around the room to remind the 3-4 year-olds of things to watch for throughout the seasons. Tess loved the puzzles, so she always headed over to that table after I dropped her off in the morning. Angie hung the Cedar Waxwings poster there.

We were home one morning in February of that first year at the Lab. Ev had just left for school, so Tess was leaning on the windowsill watching him walk with the older kids down the street. She casually remarked to me, "Oh, look the Cedar Waxwings are here." I asked her what she was talking about. She pointed to the trees outside our living room window. Sure enough, the Cedar Waxwings were here, gobbling down the shriveled fruit. An hour later, our trees were bare and the flock had moved over to the neighbor's crabapple tree. Tess had taken Angie's lesson to heart and watched for them. : }

Happy Valentines Day

2011-02-14T15:41:00.005-06:00

A Valentine Horoscope

2011-02-12T07:03:00.005-06:00

CANCER (June 21 - July 22)
Your love story has elements of a farce mixed with a soap opera, fairy tale, and ghost story. For a normal human being, it might be too intense and convoluted to deal with; it requires so much willing suspension of disbelief and involves so much letting go of certainty that no one in their right mind would agree to its demands. Luckily, you're not a normal human being these days, and you're not particularly in your right mind. That's why I say unto you: Ride this snaky tale for all it's worth. Enjoy every plot twist and riddle as if you've been given an epic myth you can ponder and learn from for the next ten years. Happy Valentine Daze, Cancerian!