The Madonna lily

Remember that the most beautiful things in life are the most useless-- peacocks and lilies,
for example.

John Ruskin

We don't have peacocks outside the back door (unfortunately) but we do have dozens of tall lilies blooming right now. The white trumpet lilies were beautiful in the early sunlight. This is my favorite season in the garden-- and over too fast.

I don't know if my white lily is a true "Madonna" lily (l. candidum) but it looks close. The "Madonna" lily is one of those pin-up girls of the flower world, and you'll find hundreds of photographs on the Internet if you Google it.

They say "Madonna" might be the oldest domesticated flower, for the simple reason it is lovely. The ancient Minoans cultivated it, and it's been a symbol of purity for 3,000 years. That is a long time to be pure. In the church, the white lily is also the symbol for the Virgin Mary. It was venerated because the petals suggested a spotless body, and the gold anthers a soul shining with heaven.

Who doesn't love them? And of course lilies come in bright colors: orange, rich gold and a dark cantaloupe. I'm still deciding whether to order the new "Purple Prince" trumpet lily from the fall bulb catalog. Just the name makes me want it. Not to mention the racy thought of a dark purple "Prince" next to a pure white "Madonna."


The modest rose puts forth a thorn,
The humble sheep a threat'ing horn,
While lily white shall in love delight,
Nor a thorn, nor a threat, stain her beauty bright.

William Blake

Nova visits her Boeing Aunties

While Tom was hard at work painting last week, Amanda and I were running around town. We made a lunchtime stop at Boeing Field, so John's work friends could see Nova for a few minutes in the parking lot. Of course we weren't allowed beyond the big gate, but Nova's Boeing Aunties seemed happy to give up their lunch break for a quick hello:
Nova has grown since the last time Nina held her!


Tammy and Nova, with Roger keeping an eye on his baby...

And here's Elaine, Bonnie, Nova and Amanda getting acquainted again:

Thank you, Tom

When you live in a 100 year old house, having a professional painter for a son-in-law is a good thing :-) Martha Stewart, eat your heart out. Our little house still has original wood siding, and the south side, which is blasted year-round by rain and sun, was starting to look pretty shabby.
Tom generously offered to paint it for us last week. What a great surprise!
In 30 years, this wall has had many coats of paint slapped on, but it's never been prepped so well. He spend hours scraping and sanding off all the layers of peeling paint. UGH! Hard work...but at last a smooth surface.
Then the undercoat...


And finally a fresh new coat of blue paint...
And while poor Tom was slaving for 3 days-- Amanda, Nova and I were playing. You're the greatest!

Raccoon poetry

This young coon was on the next door neighbor's roof when John went to work at 5:20 am. I know this, because a crow was giving him a piece of his mind, and I looked out the bedroom window to see what the racket was about. When I went out to water the garden at 7:00, he was wandering around, and finally crawled up our plum tree. He stayed there long enough for me to snap a picture of his cheeky little face with my zoom lens. He hissed at me (I don't blame him) but no harm done. I went about my business, and he went about his.

They like our big hedge, so the yard is a playground for teenage raccoons--oh well, I like kids. Even lost kids. And the young raccoons seem a bit lost this time of year, cut lose from their families. The freedom to go out and make your own living isn't all its cranked up to be.

In the 70's, I liked to read was then called "feminist" or "women's lib" poetry. Now that sounds so quaint, but at the time it was important and new. I studied Marge Piercy, Sylvia Plath, Adrienne Rich. But Anne Sexton was my favorite. This week on the Internet, I ran across a poem of hers I remember reading long ago. It's called Raccoon, and like all good poems, a bit mysterious:

Coon, why did you come to this dance with a mask on?
Why not the tin man and his rainbow girl?
Why not Racine, his hair marcelled down to his chest?
Why not come as a stomach digesting its worms?
Why you little fellow with your ears at attention
And your nose poking up like a microphone?
You whig emblem, you woman chaser,
Who do you dance over the wide lawn tonight
Clanging the garbage pail like great silver bells?

Anne Sexton

Quick fry in July

Have you heard about our mini heatwave? Yesterday morning at 6 am it was a balmy 70 degrees in Seattle, which was already 10 degrees warmer than the highest temperature on the 4th of July weekend. We hit a record of 95 at SeaTac Thursday, and perhaps you could hear the whining all the way to your part of the country.

Yes, it is suddenly warm for a change (too suddenly, for some people) but the sky is crystal blue, there's a light breeze, no mosquitoes and low humidity. You could see the remaining snow on the Olympic mountains melting before your eyes. It just doesn't get any better than this in Seattle. With a little, lost raccoon for company, I was already working (watering!) in the garden at 7 am, and I don't think our flowers have ever been this beautiful-- I can't take all the credit, because it's been the perfect combination of horse manure, rain, and finally sun.

Speaking of horses, instead of her usual strenuous workout (ha ha) Sizzle got a cool shower and a lazy afternoon off in the pasture.
She looks pretty glossy and pleased with herself. Summertime, and the livin' is easy.

What is beautiful?

As I write the blog, I think about our subjective ideas of beauty. On many things, we're in agreement: sunsets, babies, foals, puppies, flowers, etc. Although even those miracles leave some sad folks cold. But when you stray into the world of Art, it's De Gustibus non disputatun est. (The one quote I retained from college Latin, meaning: there's no accounting for taste.)

I bought this piece of garden art at the Twisp Farmer's Market on Saturday. It's a good sized thing-a-ma-jig, and heavy too. John was not thrilled to haul it home in our little Honda. In case you can't tell from the picture, it's a moon and a bell, but also looks sort of like a giant's battle-ax. On the drive home, I was thinking about becoming a headline on The Onion: "Woman Decapitated by Garden Sculpture in Accident on Mountain Pass."

Amanda and I both liked it. Since it will outlast us all, I told her it would be hers "someday," although hopefully I'll be around to admire it for a while longer :-) When John unloaded, he just stuck it outside the office window, and I can see it now from my desk. A pretty good place for now, but I can lug it anywhere I want.

Anyway, Twisp is a small place, and on Saturday the locals didn't recognize the gentleman who was selling his cool metal art creations at their market. I head a rumor he was "from Alaska," and indeed he told me he "found" the ship's bell on the beach there. I don't know anything about ship bells, but I believed him because it makes a wonderful loud clang that would carry for miles over the water.