The last full moon was on July 2, and tonight it will be full again. The second full moon in any single month is called the Blue Moon. It doesn't happen very often. The last Blue Moon was August 2012 and the next will be January 2018.
Seeing the full moon won't be a problem. We're in the middle of another record-setting heat wave with cloudless skies. Seattle has now had 10 days of 90 degrees or higher this year, shattering the old record. After this weekend it will be 13 days, with 2 months left to go in summer. Yikes.
It's also Seafair weekend in Seattle, with the Blue Angels screaming around overhead, hydroplane boat races and the general insanity that turns Lake Washington into a big old sloshing bathtub of fun. If you're into that sort of thing.
My friend Candi gave me fresh vegetables from her garden last week and I made all this good food: Zucchini bread, pork chops braised with tomatoes and tomatillos, cucumber salad with basil.
"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow, they neither toil nor spin."
Well, our lilies are as glorious as Solomon, but in these new hot times maybe I should be dumping water on more useful plants instead. Like vegetables that toil and spin.
Have you ever heard the old saying, Needs must?
Meaning
Necessity compels. The phrase
is used to express something that is done unwillingly, but with
an acceptance that it can't be avoided.
Origin
The phrase is old. In early writings it is usually given in full form - Needs must when the devil drives. That is, if the devil is driving you, you have no choice. Pretty simple. This dates back to the Middle English text, The Assembly of Gods, circa 1500: "He must nedys go that the deuell dryes."
This saying was pared down to needs must during the 20th century. Everyone knew what it meant. Unfortunately the saying is fading from popular use and you seldom hear it unless you're a watcher of Masterpiece Theater. Or read blogs written by walking antiques.
Pairing down your life can be liberating. For example, I'm trying to visualize some open space in the yard once the bamboo is gone. Space that doesn't need to be planted, watered, weeded, mulched, staked, etc. etc.
We'll see. Nature abhors a vacuum, and so do most people. I guess that's why we fill
our lives with useless things we don't need, and enough useful things to last several
lifetimes. Dishes, teapots and knives come to mind. Have you ever been to one of those antique malls? Stuffed to the rafters with the contents of houses just like ours. Fun to look around, but rather oppressive and overwhelming poking through dead people's things.
Empty closets are easy on the eye, and so is empty real estate on this crowded planet. With the new proposed zoning in Seattle, 3 or 4 tall skinny houses could be built on our single family lot. Or even a small apartment-condo complex. No hedge, no grass, no weeds, no flowers, no bees, no trees. A postage stamp lawn, a couple of ornamental shrubs and crows-- always crows.
We have so much family history and work invested in this house, and it would be hard to leave the yard where Amanda played when she was Maya's age. On the other hand, maybe someday a kitchen bigger than a sailboat galley? A view other than power lines and other people's houses? Well, a person can always dream. In the meantime, life goes on and garden chores pile up. We're headed into another scorching dry week.
There are plums on the tree this summer, but they're high up. Good thing we have that handy dandy fruit-picker-on-a pole-contraption. There aren't nearly as many as last year and they're smaller, but it looks like enough to make a few batches of plum chutney.
Maybe the tree is just plum-tuckered out like me this summer. More likely, it bloomed a few weeks too early (warm winter) then the weather turned cold and damp and the bees went back to bed. No pollinators, no fruit.
2014
The low-hanging bounty over the sidewalk caused a neighborhood feeding frenzy last August. Branches were broken off and the fence damaged. Oh well, I won't miss that.
But I will miss those once-in-a-lifetime plums. We picked tub after tub, literally hundreds of pounds. We gave many away, and ate as many as humanly possible. I canned several dozen pints and made plum chutney from a new recipe, which aged beautifully and turned out to be a real hit at Christmas.
Here's a favorite poem by Marge Piercy. I first read her work when I was in college in the 1970's and it made a big impact on me at the time. I still revisit her poems when I'm looking for some familiar comfort or a just reminder of what's important.
Canning
We pour a mild drink each, turn on the record player, Beethoven perhaps or Vivaldi, opera sometimes, and then together in the steamy kitchen we put up tomatoes, peaches, grapes, pears. Each fruit has a different ritual: popping the grapes out of the skins like little eyeballs, slipping the fuzz from the peaches and seeing the blush painted on the flesh beneath. It is part game: What shall we magic wand this into? Peach conserve, chutney, jam, brandied peaches. Tomatoes turn juice, sauce hot or mild or spicy, canned, ketchup. Vinegars, brandies, treats for the winter: pleasure deferred. Canning is thrift itself in sensual form, surplus made beautiful, light and heat caught in a jar. I find my mother sometimes issuing from the steam, aproned, red faced, her hair up in a net. Since her death we meet usually in garden or kitchen. Ghosts come reliably to savors, I learn. In the garden your ashes, in the kitchen your knowledge. Little enough we can save from the furnace of the sun while the bones grow brittle as paper and the hair itself turns ashen. But what we can put by, we do with gaiety and invention while the music laps round us like dancing light, but Mother, this pleasure is only deferred. We eat it all before it spoils.
It's not easy photographing fast moving targets. But aren't they cute? We had a busy weekend with the girls. Amanda was in Seattle for her 20th! high school reunion. Talk about fast moving, how did that happen?
The other big news this weekend was clouds and rain, which we haven't really seen since May. I put on a sweater and sat on the front porch on Sunday afternoon, taking in the chilly ocean air and listening to the fresh sound. It wasn't nearly enough for a decent garden watering, but we'll take it. Oh, it smelled good. Now they're saying it will be 30 degrees warmer by the end of the week.
The Chickadee family is long gone from this nest on the side of the shed. Nova and I opened the box to see what kind of home they made for their babies.
We found a bed of soft green moss, perfectly fitted in the bottom of the nest box. They left the room clean and tidy after the kids left. Bird babies are nurtured so carefully, then set free to make their way in the world, for better or worse. Birds know what they're doing. Birds originated 60 million years ago after the dinosaurs died off. Modern humans have only been on earth for about 200,000 years. As a species, we're still learning how to raise kids.
Those fine white strands of hair are some of my expensive highlights from the Gene Juarez salon. I know it's a trashy habit, but when I clean my brush I throw the hair out the bathroom window and the birds sometimes put it to use.
Today is the birthday of John Newton (1725-1807). His father was a ship's captain, and he went to sea with him at age seven after his mother died. He was pressed into the Royal Navy and deserted, was caught and punished, then traded as cargo to a slave trader. Eventually he ended up as a slaver captain himself and carried human cargo between Africa and the West Indies.
In 1748, he had a spiritual conversion during a violent storm off the coast of Ireland. As the ship was breaking up, he prayed to God, and the
ship did not sink. He wrote the first lines of "Amazing Grace" while the boat was being repaired. He stopped gambling and drinking and eventually gave up the slave trade. Newton became an minister and outspoken abolitionist.
The message of the song is forgiveness and redemption are possible regardless of the sins committed, and the soul can be delivered from despair through the mercy of God.
"Amazing Grace" is one of the most recognizable songs in the English language. The tune crossed over from a gospel standard to secular audiences.
It was one of the first songs I tried to learn on the ukulele. I'm not ready for YouTube yet, but in the meantime, here's a very pretty ukulele solo version.
1. The Washington DOT announced this week that damage to Big Bertha is "worse than expected" and drilling won't resume until the end of the year at the earliest. We've had so many of these "worse than expected" announcements people are losing interest in the whole thing. Hard to believe November 2015 was once the projected date for the grand opening of our fancy new tunnel. But Bertha has only traveled about 1,000 feet, with a slog of 9,000 feet ahead. The projected opening date is now Spring 2018.
2. The City of Seattle is being sued by homeowners claiming that trash can searches to enforce the composting/recycling laws are an invasion of privacy. The city attorney's office said they will "respond to the allegations at a later, appropriate time." (In court.) In the meantime, the city backed down and said garbage collectors would not open bags to inspect trash, but would instead "roughly estimate" how many food
scraps were mixed with regular garbage. The homeowner lawsuit claims Washington courts previously ruled that government officials can't search trash without a warrant. This one has "Supreme Court" written all over it.
3. Fake Willy, the mechanical sea lion repellent-scarer-offer. No news. Presumably still in the shop undergoing repairs and enhancements after capsizing and nearly drowning its "captain" back in May.
4. Amy Trotter. We haven't heard much since her big debut at the Seattle Kennel Club show in March. But John has been bringing home some tantalizing hints about the project she's been rehearsing for this summer. You can't hold back talent! And when the story finally breaks, look for it here.
I woke up this morning to a strange and wonderful sound: rain. Just a passing shower and hardly enough to wet down the dust, but it smelled so good falling on the straw grass.
Now our Internet service is being fussy-- maybe Centurylink forgot what rain feels like in the Northwest?
Yesterday I took the Bainbridge Island ferry over to the Peninsula to visit my good friend Candi, the most amazing inspirational gardener. This flower bed was bare dirt a year ago. I wish I had a "before" picture.
The monster daisies came from our yard-- she helped me divide plants last summer and took home some pitiful root scraps I would have thrown in the compost. My daisies are only about a foot high this year, with droopy flowers. Thirsty.
We had a fun poking around the antique malls and shops in Poulsbo, ate lunch at a German pub then drove to Point No Point Lighthouse for a short beach walk.
This lovely, peaceful beach feels a lifetime away from chaotic Seattle, the skyscrapers just visible on the horizon.
OK, I'm off the the gym to work off that Reuben sandwich and German potato salad.
I've made hundreds (maybe thousands!) of blueberry pancakes in my life. What took so long to think of strawberry pancakes?
Nothing easier than adding diced fresh strawberries to homemade batter or your favorite brand. Ours happens to be Hungry Jack Buttermilk Complete. A good brand that's been around forever.
"Be your Own Jack."
Pretty yummy on an sunny Sunday morning, especially with a small bacon ration.
It seemed like a busy weekend, for not getting much accomplished. Seattle was very hot, which makes people go slightly crazy. We went to a Gilbert and Sullivan show at the Seattle Center on Saturday afternoon with about a million other people. No, they weren't all at the Victorian operetta, they were at the "Bite of Seattle" eating goodness knows what and jumping in the International Fountain.
The "top rated" food was a Krispy Kreme glazed doughnut bacon cheeseburger, which tells you something. Ugh.
Yesterday afternoon we hit an unheard of 94 degrees at our house. Then last night the hot off-shore breeze suddenly clicked over to on-shore and the natural air conditioner came on. It's cool and cloudy this morning. The racoons woke me up before 4 am chattering, slurping and splashing in the bird bath outside the open window. Water made them happy, but a doughnut hamburger would have made them even happier.
The summer months are flying by, in a way the winter months never do. I checked the local weather blogs this morning and surprise, July will probably go down as warmer than normal -- the 17th month in a row to do so. We can remember cool, damp summers when it didn't hit 90 degrees once in Seattle.
I can't remember a summer this dry. Only 0.23 inches of rain fell during June, and 0.58 in May, making this the driest May 1-June 30 ever. Not a drop of rain in July so far. Should I water the trees and shrubs? It would be a shame to lose the big stuff.
Other than the bamboo, of course-- nothing in Nature can kill that. On the bright side, it's finally stopped sprouting up all over the place. My bamboo removal expert said that's just an illusion. In dry weather, the underground rhizomes branch out far and wide, looking for water. Not to sound morbid, but it's like having some sort of (self-inflicted) garden disease. Which I suppose it is. Oh well, the execution day is fast approaching.
Photo Mark T. Davis
In the meantime-- we have wonderful cool, quiet mornings and spectacular hazy sunsets. Afternoon breezes and sun-loving flowers. Hummingbirds, cherry tomatoes and basil. A summer of a lifetime. A perfect summer, really.
The Farmer's Wife was an American magazine published from 1893-1939. At the height of its popularity,
the magazine had a million subscribers.
Long before technology connected us all for better or worse,
The Farmer's Wife helped hard-working
rural women by giving advice on everything from
raising chickens to slaughtering hogs, keeping house and running the kitchen. The cover illustrations set a high bar for adorable children, not to mention, looking glamorous and fresh (instead of careworn and cranky) when the farmer comes in from the barn.
This is a slideshow video I made with photographs from our June trip to Sun River, Oregon. Unfortunately I can't upload high resolution to YouTube, so it doesn't quite do them justice. But you can get the idea of what a great time. It runs about 3 minutes-- enjoy!
If you have trouble viewing full screen, try clicking this link to my YouTube channel and open it there:
I went to the meeting of the Seattle Ukulele Players Association on Sunday afternoon. When they're not performing or having ukulele parties, they meet to play at Phinney Ridge Community Center.
Since we often go to concerts or the opera on Sunday afternoons, I haven't been to a meeting since October 2013, right after I bought my first ukulele. At the time I was in a nervous daze and overwhelmed by that many ukulele players in one place strumming and singing so loudly! But it was fun, and a nice lady shared her music with me while I pretended to play along.
At home when I'm dinking (John would say, plinking) around practicing, I like to finger-pick more than strum, so I figured attending another mass strumming gathering would be Good For Me.
Well, this time I was better prepared with my own nifty little folding music stand and two hefty binders (!) containing the club's sheet music that I purchased at a copy shop in the U District. When a gentleman walked in without any music (he was vacationing in Seattle with his ukulele) it was my turn to repay the favor and share. He was nice and we talked about our granddaughters.
Don't get me wrong, I like men of my generation and most are pretty sweet, but they seem to have this congenital need to go into "expert mode" around the ladies. They can't help themselves, I suppose. They were the same way back in high school. So he showed off his fancy electric ukulele with the built-in tuner (kind of slick, actually) told me about the many strumming circles he attends at senior centers back home in Florida, and also dropped hints about the original compositions he writes. You might wonder was there time to play, with all this chatting? Yes, and he even had time to give me some strumming tips :-)
But that's neither here nor there. How did it go? This time I could strum right along on any song (no matter how fast, slow or hokey) if it contained any combination of chords C-F-G-G7-A-A7, D-D7 (the easy ones.) Of course after the warm-up phase, the harder songs were requested and played. Like weird tempo Hawaiian music with diabolical, obscure chords such as the F# diminished minor.
Oh well. In a big group, the strong carry the weak.
Here's a YouTube video of SUPA playing one of my favorites at the Seattle Folklife Festival. Maybe someday I'll perform on the big stage?
Daylilies don't like me. And the feeling is mutual, except in March when they first pop out of the ground all beautiful and rarin' to go. I always think a plant that fresh and vigorousmust produce bunches of flowers. They become a big green mass in June; nothing happens. Then the big green mass turns into a big brown mess in August. I've never figured it out. Too much water? Too little?
OK, to give them credit, occasionally there's some raggedy "one day" flowers, but they really aren't worth the real estate they hog in this yard.
And how did I ever get so many? Back in the days of abundant summer monsoons, in a hopeful mood, I probably divided a few plants and stuck them here and there in random places.
This weekend I dug enough daylilies from this bed to fill the compost bin. It was easy. The ground is so dry it was like pulling them out of beach sand. This is another ridiculous hot space I've been trying (and failing) to keep watered all summer. It looked awful.
There's a lot of things you can fight in life, if you have the energy, gumption, finances and tolerance to pain. (Cosmetic surgery comes to mind.) But as I've said many times on this blog, Nature always has the last word. Or maybe, the last laugh.
It's nice to see open ground on this vegetation crammed lot. I'm thinking about how to put the bonus space to good use. Next month, when the bamboo grove comes down, we'll lose our private deck and backyard for the foreseeable future. I can't tell you how sad that makes me.
This little area is completely sheltered from the busy sidewalk and street by the laurel hedge, front porch and the apple tree. It gets great afternoon sun. It might be a good spot when I need a place to hide out. I'm thinking a couple of new Adirondack chairs would cheer me up, along with a cute table to hold a glass of wine.
"I have always been regretting that I was not as wise as the day I was born. The intellect is a cleaver; it discerns and rifts its way into the secret of things."
Henry David Thoreau
