Palms don't grow here

Not true. They thrive in Zone 6 providing you pick the right variety and plant them in the right spot. In fact, they grow so well you have to pay attention to where you put them.

This is a Windmill Palm I planted-- oh, fifteen years ago from a tiny gallon pot, and now it's barely clearing the house eaves. (As John reminds me each time he walks by it.) It's supposedly a slow-growing tree that can eventually reach 40 feet. The trunk is covered with fiber that looks and feels like burlap. The fronds are beautiful and now that it's mature it grows a strange yellow flower cluster that dries up without fruiting. Who knows? Maybe it needs tropical bats for pollination. But the best thing about the Windmill is it's hardy to 10 degrees or lower, and each time it snows I can't resist taking another picture of the bizarre sight.

This year I bought it some special palm food for the first time. I probably paid less than $10 for this tree when it was tiny, but the large specimens are valuable. I was shocked to see the on-line Palm Tree Store sells 9-foot Windmills for a whopping $769.00! Plus shipping and handling.

A moment worth waiting for

Peonies. The first fluffy pink flowers in the chipped blue vase I use every year. By now you've tired of hearing about late flowers in cold Seattle gardens. But it really wants to be summer here-- working outside yesterday I went from sweatshirt to long sleeves to t-shirt to sunscreen.

A friend is someone who sends you a perfect poem at just the right time. Thanks, Candi. Here's another beautiful Mary Oliver poem for you:

Peonies

This morning the green fists of the peonies
are getting ready
to break my heart
as the sun rises,
as the sun strokes them with his old, buttery fingers
and they open —
pools of lace,
white and pink —
and all day the black ants climb over them,
boring their deep and mysterious holes
into the curls,
craving the sweet sap,
taking it away
to their dark, underground cities —
and all day
under the shifty wind,
as in a dance to the great wedding,
the flowers bend their bright bodies,
and tip their fragrance to the air,
and rise,
their red stems holding
all that dampness and recklessness
gladly and lightly,
and there it is again —
beauty the brave, the exemplary,
blazing open.

Do you love this world?
Do you cherish your humble and silky life?
Do you adore the green grass, with its terror beneath?

Do you also hurry, half-dressed and barefoot, into the garden,
and softly,
and exclaiming of their dearness,
fill your arms with the white and pink flowers,

with their honeyed heaviness, their lush trembling,
their eagerness
to be wild and perfect for a moment, before they are
nothing, forever?

Mary Oliver

Cool shades

Everything old is new again.

Eyeglass frame styles come and go, but John and I tend to recycle what works. It's easier and cheaper than being burned on cute, non-functional frames for "progressive" lenses. Which is just a nicer word for "tri-focal." What good is stylish if you can't see?

But big is back. So the last time I had an eye exam, the hip staff at our local optometrist shop were excited when I grabbed a pair of aviator sunglasses off the rack. "I wore these back in the 70's!" I exclaimed. "Yes," the young man said, "aviators are a legendary and iconic style." Which immediately made me feel like his great-grandmother. "OK, sonny-- I'll take them."

They must have thought a senior citizen was being so daring. Ha. If they had only known me way back when...

I should have saved these frames. But at age 19, becoming an "icon" was the last thing on my mind.

Hearts A Flutter

'RSA Hearts A Flutter'
(Her friends just call her "Flo")

This is a picture of the 12 year old mare I've been taking lessons on. Like most Arabian horses, she's a beauty to look at and fun to ride. My heart is "a-flutter" because her owner and I have just worked out an agreement so I can start riding Flo two days a week this summer.

I'm grateful to her for trusting me with Flo, and my other good friends who helped me back in the saddle after a long, sad winter without horses. I'm looking forward to some quiet trail rides again-- if it ever stops raining!

Flo and Bonnie

Posing in the arena

Playing in a blur

Weekend whirlwind

The weekend went by in a blur. Could it have something to do with having a 2-year old in the house? The sad thing about not being able to see Nova more often is, well...it's sad. The fun thing about it is we can see her development change in leaps and bounds from visit to visit. Not that long ago, a baby was crawling across our rug. Now, a little girl is insisting on putting on her own socks and shoes.
Nova loves exploring out in Nana and Grandpa's garden, looking for strange and wonderful things.
It's fun seeing everything in a fresh way through her eyes. Like the magical, miniature world of bonsai.

Hiding in the peony forest. Still not blooming!

All too soon, time to say bye-bye. They made it safely back home to the Methow Valley yesterday, and now we're counting the days until the next visit in early July.

Congratulations, Dave and Irene

We had a good time at your 50th anniversary dinner last night. And it looks like a certain little person enjoyed the meatballs.

Going...

Going...

Gone!