Widows growing hope.
Today is a day for reflecting. In light of the funeral of Prince Phillip, the recent shootings, and the trial of George Floyd, I need to pause and work in the garden.
If you have a need to read, take time and enjoy my past blogs.
I will return tomorrow. Do something a random act of kindness today. The world needs it.
Joy
Water at Winterpast equals life. And life is blooming right now. Or trying to, anyway. Fifty foot hoses are at the ready to deliver water to any struggling bushes or trees. Two, not one, automatic sprinkler stations watch the time for me, delivering much needed drinks to my yard. At least, one half of my yard.
Automatic sprinkler systems can lull you into a false sense of security that everything is getting a drink. You see the lawn getting water and smile. How lucky you are not to find it necessary to water each tree to the minute. Because, of course, the SYSTEM will do it for you.
Well, my SYSTEM has failed me on a few points. Today is the day of reckoning, as my new friend is on the scene to provide another person to find the source of the problem. Diagnosing problems is something he does very well. Me, not so much. Heck. There is only one problem right now. No water along the perimeter of my property with resident plants drooping as the hours of sunshine lengthen.
Peonies, with their front row seats next to my living room view are quite happy, although maybe a little too wet. Their alien sprouts are moving heavenward. These plants are the most odd I’ve ever grown. If you haven’t had the experience of growing them from a bulb, do so. From the emerging sprouts, to the tennis-ball-shaped buds, to the tissue-paper-flower like blooms with their beautiful fragrance, they are a flower not to be missed. Mine are right on time as they say “Hello” to 2021.
Yesterday was a day of reviewing the layout of the sprinkler system with an analytical person next to me. The main shut off, drains, solenoids, wires, and mother-ship-brains of the operation, the control panels all faced inspection. Winterpast has two very nice panels that control everything. One of them is a Bird-In-The-Rain brand. Very beautifully marked and easy to use. Right in the garage in plain sight. Easy to adjust and maintain.
The other, is NOT a Bird-In-The-Rain, but rather a Charging Bull Station. In the RV barn, it’s easy to forget, which I did last year with my perimeter plants taking a hit last year. Not being sure when the problem started, a problem there is and we we’ll be on the hunt for answers and fixes today.
My friend pointed out that one must look backwards sometime to find the source of a problem. Elimination of each possible cause must be examined and ruled out, until the problem can be solved. I really just want water and will be along for the ride. I’m a wonderful “Go-For” girl.
The quest involved opening up boxes in the earth holding numbered pipes, wires, and lots and lots of spiders. In one box, there is something large that used to be moldy. Neither my friend or I really want to investigate that, but, today, it must be removed. EWWWWWW.
To say that his presence is an overwhelming JOY is putting it mildly. So many days, I go to bed, immediately falling into deep sleep from sheer exhaustion. The cause? The constant demands of Winterpast, an unrelenting master. One half acre is equivalent to 21,780 square feet according to Google. Yes, I WAS a teacher. No, math WAS NOT my best subject. Hence, I write a daily blog and am not a up and coming scientist.
21,780 square feet is equivalent to taking care of 10 of my houses, in addition to the house I do take care of. Every inch can be covered with leaves, or weeds, or broken sprinklers, or any number of things. One space could have an invasion of toads, while another is gasping for water, while another is suffering under a pile of mustang poop. The jobs are endless around here, and multiplying every day.
As K pointed out while we were soaking in the spa, “There is so much to do. But, there is so much to do.”
Understanding that, one needs to understand that without the necessary care of Winterpast, by now, I would either have written my 20 novel, or be a very, very bored person. Gardening is second only to writing in my world. Gardening and writing represent life for me. Water is necessary for the life of my garden in the high desert.
Best-est Friend taking the lead, today will be a fun one. Budding fruit trees give the yard a fancy feel. The new bird house and watering can I found yesterday at the hardware store will find their Place in the yard. I have more plants to pot and more pots to plant. My garden is a happy place, ripe with possibilities for beauty.
Find a problem today and follow it to the source. Analytical thinking uses an important part of our brains, redirecting worry and sorrow into something productive. Enjoy spring!! Go water something!!!
Writin’ my life to save my soul on a desert’s Nevada road,
A friendly stranger came around to share apple pie ala mode.
If you’re goin’ to stick around for awhile and keep me satisfied,
You can sit and listen while I write all about my sad old life.
He asked me if I had been alone long, in my house on dust and sand
And I replied I ‘d lots of friends, “I’m read everywhere across this land.”
I’m read everywhere, man.
I’m read everywhere, man.
Wrote in the desert’s bare, man.
Of troubles I’ve had my share, man.
I’ve cried in the mountain air, man,
Of troubles I’ve had my share man.
I’m read everywhere.
I’m read in
Belgium, Australia, Brazil, Czech Republic,Bangladesh, Canada, China, Indonesia, Bosnia, Egypt, Germany, Lithuania, Denmark, India, Ireland, Saudi Arabia, Finland, Hungary , Malaysia, Netherlands, United Kingdom, Virgin Islands, and France.
Fans, they’re readin’.
This new friend now listened, quiet, while country names raced off my lips.
Bushy eyebrows raised a tiny bit, while on me he quite transfixed.
With grief this gard’ner told my tale, death’s horror never rang truer.
He listened awhile, at him I gazed; his eyes, bluer and bluer.
I’m read everywhere, man,
I’m read everywhere, man,
I’ve cried in the mountain air, man.
Of troubles I’ve had my share, man.
I’m read everywhere.
I’m read in
France, Greece, Japan, Jordan, Hong Kong, Korea, Mauritius, Moldova, Morocco, North Macedonia, Pakistan, Peru, Philippines, Poland, Portugal, Russia, Romania,Serbia, Singapore, South Africa, Sri Lanka, Sweden, Taiwan, Turkey, Ukraine, United States, Uruguay, Vietnam. Everywhere, and there, the fan’s, they’re readin’.
I’m read everywhere, man. I’m read everywhere.
He started reading, he now hooked. I, on display, an open book.
Two months pass, friendship grows each day, two hearts liking each other’s ways,
The stories real with Winter past, new tales to write are coming fast.
For all my friends around the world, You mean so much to this old girl.
Thank you from the bottom of my heart to the 6900 readers that have taken time to support me in my writing. Your sweet comments have made me realize I AM a writer. This has made my life long dream come alive!!! If I have missed your country, please send me a comment and let me know.
I send my love to you and all your beautiful countries. Joy
A special tip of my gardener’s hat to Johnny Cash who inspired this piece.
Quiet moments of the night are sometimes deafening, especially when living alone. During the day, our visual, tactile, and olfactory senses rule our kingdom. Sounds are often drummed out by the stroke of the softest fur of our beloved pet, or the smell of a peony bloom. There are so many things bombarding us that very simple sounds lose their importance. At night, everything changes. In my world, with the advance of the hour hand, the night sounds rule my queen-dom.
Each place I have ever loved has sounds all its own. From the crashing waves of the Central Coast of California, to the silence during my very first snow storm in the foothills outside Yosemite. Late night sounds of RV’ers finding their spot for the night; big rigs rumbling and growling to a stop. Soft voices setting up camp. Loud voices still fighting from the trip. Some sounds are so strange, they bring me right up from the deepest sleep.
Night in the vineyard we farmed for 17 years was full of sound. Coyote pups yelping for their mom. Her distant reply resonating from the San Joaquin River. Sirens in the night, screaming their need to get somewhere to help. And fast. Cat’s scrapping and yowling during an act of unrequited love. Cattle and sheep talking when everyone else was asleep. VST, with his bass snore sleeping soundly next to me, in our little patch of heaven on earth.
Virginia City had sounds that were comforting as they came up the hill to the Dunmovin house, through the deck doors, and landing in our ears. St. Mary’s Cathedral bells chimed on the hour. The 12:00 noon siren atop City hall alerted us all that the day was half done. Visitors would often wonder about the purpose of the siren. But, VC has her own ways. The siren was one.
The V & T Railroad with her tracks leading into town sent a forlorn whistle up Mt. Davidson as she rolled in and out of town. The steam engine, the only one VST found worthy of riding, had a voice all its own. Rich and full of the blackest smoke, she reminded us of her comings and goings.
Booms of the fireworks on the 4th of July jolted our hearts. The fiercest winds rolled through the canyons, sounding like a brand new kind of freight train, as they sometimes reached 50 mph before striking the side of the house. Through all the night sounds, there’s always been comfort to be found.
After VST left, the sounds changed in my world. Sounds in the dark became more urgent. Some sounds needed the cloak of night to emerge. Sad, wailing sounds somewhat like a wolf’s wail, calling for her lost mate. The sleeping sounds of one lonely widow, breathing quietly and dreaming of days gone and love lost.
Winterpast has provided me with a new soundtrack in which to find new dreams. The California Zephyr Train whizzes through my town making clackety-clack-zoosh-zoosh-zoosh-ding-ding-ding sounds along the way. In the night, the sounds make the train seem like I could lie in wait and stow away. The rumbling of the freight trains seems to go on for hours, usually causing me to fall asleep far before the sounds stop.
Big rigs rumble along I-80, as I dream about the days that I, too, used the corridor to the East on which to journey. Wyoming is just a short 3 days by big rig. Wide open plains that stretch your mind and heart to the limit. A place so magical, my heart yearns to return there for a proper Goodbye.
Dogs talk during the night. If you really listen, you can almost understand the conversation. Some barks come with question marks, while others are an obvious reply. Once in a blue moon, the clip-clop of a lone mustang comes down my road. With a whinny, they look for their herd, usually just around the corner. The occasional owl is asking “Who” . In the earliest morning hours, before sunrise, the doves rise and clatter over the fireplace vent on the roof while singing, first two soft coo-oo’s, followed by three louder ones.
Roosters crow and garbage trucks rumble.
The nights that keep me awake are the ones in which my own heartbeat is the only sound heard. Just the rthymic thump of a woman alone. A woman aware. A woman awake. A woman at peace.
Night sounds are different for every place I’ve ever lived. A comfort I find in my new days of womanhood.
Some days, I just need to enjoy new scenery. After working on the yard for hours, I decided a dinner out was just what I needed. The obvious choice of a dinner partner was Miss Firecracker, and after a quick text, we agreed I’d pick her up at 4 PM and we would head East to a bigger town down the road. Without really having a plan of where we would eat, we both decided a large-ish casino restaurant would have something to offer.
Spending time with Miss Firecracker is one of the things I enjoy most. As time has gone on, our friendship is one of my dearest. Her ideas and outlook on life are down-to-earth, and yet new and fresh. She has lived the fullest life, experiencing the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I can always count on her for a true evaluation of any situation. As she is the only person that has known me longer than a year in this new town, her opinions on matters hold weight. She is trustworthy. Coming from me, that means a lot.
The days here haven’t been typical spring days. At least in my limited experience. The skies have a haze to them that reminds me of days in the Central Valley of California. Distressing, to say the least. The lack of rain and abundance of pollen have taken the brilliant blue hue of the sky and paled it. I wish we would have some great winter rains. “Gully Washers” as VST would have called them. The kind that wake you up and make you look out the window, leaving the sky a brilliant blue in the morning. Right now, we are all out of rain.
Shopping at WalMart, yesterday, I noticed that many items are gone from the shelf. There are other changes in our store. There is now an entire section on survival gear of all kinds. An interesting change in these days of uncertainty. Bags of survivalist food took up an entire shelf. Straws that purify water, and other crazy items now hang, ready for the next onslaught of customers wiping the shelves clean. People are very worried that soon, everything will be “All Out” as we have experienced already. Vendors are playing on our fears, big time.
When living in Virginia City, elevation 6200 ft., I learned early on that preparation for the unknown was essential. In the winter, it could mean your life. In the winter of 2017, snow-mageddon, left us with over 12 feet of snow behind our house. People living in the mountains above us were stranded for 10 days, with no help from the outside world. The National Guard came with bulldozers and dump trucks to remove the excess snow, pushing it over the cliffs. We were nestled in, with plenty in the cupboards to tide us over.
Prepping has been something I’ve always done, having lived in remote areas since 1990. Going to the store from the ranch involved a 30 minute drive. In the mountainside below Yosemite, the drive was 25 minutes. You learn it’s best not to forget things on your list, because they’ll need to wait until the next time. Winterpast is stocked for a two week quarantine for any reason. That’s the way I roll.
Getting back to last night, I was looking forward to a small salad. Dieting is in full swing and going well. The thought of going backwards and consuming carbohydrates is distressing. So, a plain salad was what I would order. A successful weight watcher plans these things in advance. So, I had it all in my mind. Salad and a cup of coffee. That would do nicely.
The first disappointment was that “Moo-ve It On Over Steakhouse” was closed. Many people were coming to the casino for Sunday night dinner. We we’d all be disappointed. The second choice, after our 30 minute drive East, was the casino coffee shop. Clean, it looked in disarray with chairs sitting atop tables that were out of use due to Covid. Our state isn’t 100% open yet. Every table that could have guests did.
With ice tea and coffee on our table, the waitress asked what we would like for dinner. Excited to enjoy a tasty salad, I ordered the BLT Salad. It fit Keto requirements perfectly and sounded yummy. It was then she burst my bubble.
“Sorry, We’re All Out.”
This is the same as saying we’ve no water, or condiments, or silverware.
No salad.
The shipment hadn’t come in. It might be there tomorrow. Maybe Tuesday. No tellin’ when the shipment would arrive. This led me to think of the condition of the greens when they DID arrive. Dismal.
After a 30 minute drive, I ordered two eggs and two strips of bacon, ala carte. A long way to drive for a very simple meal.
The was worth its weight in gold. Miss Firecracker and I stayed long after our food was gone. Chatting about life and the fact that she is moving away to be closer to family. We talked about Bailey’s and Creme, (her late husband),and VST. We talked about dating when we were young, and dating now that we aren’t. We talked and talked, the conversation delicious and something she and I will keep to ourselves because that’s what Bestie’s do.
So, if you see a head of lettuce today, you might pick it up and take it home. Ice berg lettuce, although having very little nutritional value, will at least give you the base for a salad if you desire one. It lasts in the fridge longer than some other kinds.
In fact, make a list and stock up. You just never know when you’ll hear those dreaded words, “Sorry, We’re All Out.”
The garden of Winterpast are waking to spring. Yesterday was the first full day I found time to wander the gardens while pondering what new plants will thrive there. With the cherry tomatoes in place, and the three new 1/2 wine barrels looking sharp, it’s time now to address the drip system.
The amazing thing about gardening is that seeds and bulbs lie dormant for the winter. They are at the very least plain, and often, ugly. If you didn’t know what you were looking at, you would insist the bulbs might be a rotting piece of bark. And yet, they produce the most glorious blooms. Dahilias the size of dinner plates. Peonys, as you already know, come in the most beautiful shades of pink, from the most pale to bright pink. Even rose bushes look quite dismal in the winter. Just sticks with thorns.
I feel just like the peony tubers, ready to burst forth with new life. The possibilities for this year are endless, and I plan to explore all my opportunities while growing into my own skin more each day. I hadn’t realized how much I was dreading the one year anniversary of VST’s death. But at the same time, it became a milestone and marker of the growth I have made as a person. I am blooming in my life, with roots that have grown deep in the last year. I am thriving as a woman, which is the best feeling ever.
The springtime weather has brought sweet little leaves out of the thorny sticks. I spent part of the day grooming them by removing the dead wood. Wearing my heavy leather garden gloves, it felt nice to sit on the path and carefully trim off death. Giving them the proper nourishment of rose food, I can’t wait to enjoy their blooms.
Two doves reside in Winterpast’s massive apricot tree. The pruning over the years has left this tree resembling an island banyan tree. Last year, the crop was light. I would assume that will be the case this year, as the late snow covered the tree with its tender pink blossoms. The tree, itself, is lovely, even if barren. Last year, it surprised me with two dozen apricots, so tasty. I’m hoping for a late bloom, and a bigger crop this year.
As I worked in the gardens, I started evaluating the sprinkler system. It’s like diagnosing the circulatory system on an aging patient. When I moved in last year, the water was already on. With only seventeen days of widowhood under my belt, I really didn’t watch which trees were getting water and which were not. Now, I realize that some damage was done last year with my neglect. I have promised the angels of Winterpast that I will do better this year.
Being alone, it is a tedious task to turn on a watering station and find out to where the water is flowing. So far, I have found where Oliver has been a busy beaver. Like little fountains, emitters are missing here and there. Ollie and I will chat about this when he returns, and he’ll need to understand it’s not a good thing to mess with Mom-Oh’s emitters. For now, I just need to open the repair kit and get busy.
Water makes everything in life better. Living in the high desert, the precious stuff isn’t cheap. But, the green oasis of Winterpast is my retreat and holiday all rolled up into one. With a daily shot of water, anything grows here, although the season is shorter.
Tending the garden, I’m so grateful to the previous owners who had the vision to create this beautiful place. Drip emitters placed just so, water hasn’t been wasted on paths or areas covered with gravel. The plants that need water are receiving it and thriving. It took patience and love to create Winterpast. To tend to her needs is an easy task that I can accomplish.
Slowly, my yard art is coming out of the barn to be set around. Lawn furniture, placed inside to avoid the affects of the harsh winter, are outside now. Even the garden gnome is watching over the back of the house. Winterpast is at her finest in the spring and summer, when blooms and leaves adorn her.
May through September will be a time for friends, BBQ-ing, and soaking in the hot tub. For cool crisp mornings and starry nights. Winterpast, again, will host laughter and friendship. I hope that your yard gives you as much pleasure as I get from mine. Have you named it yet? Every good friend needs a name. Winterpast is the best kind of friend. Just sayin’.
Forget fancy-schmancy department stores full of the newest spring fashions. No pinks and pale blues. Hold the fancy nail polish or just-so makeup. Give me the garden center every time. Jewelry? Not for this gal. Skirts and dresses? Not so much. Shorts, tees, a tan, and tall bottle of water. Spring is here.
Yesterday, I was out and about, enjoying Day 1. I had a blast. It had been so long since trotting over to the Garden Center to look at the 2021 blooms. Freshly delivered plants were waiting for me, with the most delicate little blooms already present. They leaped into my basket, filling it right away. Growing for this year, I bought new geraniums in pink and red, cherry tomato plants, and a variety of annual blooms. Six very large and heavy bags of soil came along for the ride. I am set to plant.
The sweetest young woman was my garden associate, scanning the little bar codes to give me my final total. She was different than most associates. Gently she picked up each plant, careful to protect the very tender leaves. Gingerly, she set them back down in the cart. I think she was a plant whisperer, reminding each young sprout to grow the most beautiful flowers for me. It was fascinating to watch her work, reminding me that flowers bring out the best in everyone. In fact, flowers are an essential part of life.
Crocus poke through the snow in the last days of winter, surprising us with color. Flowers are necessary at weddings and the union of two lives into one. They are necessary to celebrate the beginning of spring and long, lovely summer nights. With their healing qualities, they help those who are recovering. Fall flowers are surely necessary to say goodbye to summer fun. Flowers soothe a grieving heart when loss occurs. All in all, they are just plain magical.
With extra water being applied to the greening lawn, I feel at home in the safe back yard of Winterpast. It’s strange. A year ago, I was still living at the Dunmovin House in Virginia City in deep despair. This year, here I am. Happy, thriving, and focused on my garden. When I think of the journey so far, I smile. It’s taken a strong chick-a-dee to weather the storm. Strength that I didn’t know I had, but was glad that I found.
Hoisting the heavy bags of soil onto the dolly and rolling them into the back yard, life surrounded me. The breezes of the high desert whipped the American flag back and forth. T and K surprised me with a new flag pole the day of VST’s memorial. It is a lovely addition to my home, making me feel happy just to be an American.
The new tomatoes are snuggled in. There is nothing in this world as delicious as cherry tomatoes. I could eat a bowl of them for dinner every night. I hope the birds don’t find them as delicious as I do. I will be hovering over them until the first blooms produce my 2021 crop.
Have a wonderful day with whatever you decide to do. Choose happiness. Grab a little sunshine, increasing your natural levels of Vitamin D. Breathe some fresh air, and find something to smile about. Better yet, just laugh a little bit. It might become a habit!!!!
This is the first day of the rest of my life! What challenges and rewards await, I can only imagine. No one could have ever prepared me for the last 365 days. Now, I find myself on Day 1. The birds are singing in the trees of Winterpast. Temperatures are rising and will hover at the perfect 70 degrees for at least a week! This gardener is getting her game on and getting outside.
The first thing I’m tackling is the water system. Winterpast is draped with at least 25 miles of drip systems running off two controllers. That might be a small exaggeration, but there are drippers everywhere. Under normal circumstances would last for at least a year. But, in my situation, we have the small tornado named Oliver. He happens to find emitters as lovely as creamy caramel, and quietly removes a couple here and a couple there. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to turn the water back on. I promise you, I will breathe deeply when I find the damage created by this little dog.
Winterizing the water system last fall fell to the able muscles of the gardener, but this year, I wanted to tackle it myself. I started at the end of the line, closing drains, just as I had observed. Finding success, I made it all the way to the main valve. Drat. Again, it is something I’m not strong enough to accomplish. Sometimes you just need to admit defeat and wait for someone with more muscles. Thankfully T will handle that one for me.
For the next few days, Oliver is finding company at Puppy Camp with his friends. With T and K visiting for a few days, and the celebration of VST’s heaven-er-sary, I thought it best for him to take a little break and go have some fun. He’ll be back next week.
Last week, I started planting my Peonies while Oliver was present. Devious and observant, he hangs back in the shadows watching the very things Mom-Oh shows interest in. Iris plants, peonies, rose bushes, solar lights, drip emitters. He just lays on the cool cement and watches. As soon as I go in for a refreshing drink he hits them like a shark. He sniffs every single thing I’ve touched and makes notes. He plots his attacks carefully and I can be sure some things will be his target.
Wine barrels, cut in half, have made their way to the back yard. Today, I’m planting strawberries, asparagus, potatoes, and rhubarb around the yard. T, K, and I will hit the garden center to find new additions, and Winterpast will have new color. There’s just nothing better than tending a yard. It brings peace and comfort to my soul.
If gardening is new to you, start with a big pot and try a geranium plant. They are pretty hard to ruin, and they come in beautiful pinks and reds. Geraniums remind me of Barstow Elementary School, where I attended Kindergarten through Fifth grade. Barstow was built long before I was born, making it ancient. The caretaker of the school lived on the property, making sure the lawn was watered and the leaves raked. One of the flowers planted around the playground were geraniums. One brush across the leaves reminds me of days of school polio vaccines and nuclear bomb drills in which we would all duck under our desks and hold on. Makes me smile.
The mustangs are heading to higher country now. The snow is melting, leaving spring wildflowers and tender grass. The foals should be showing up about now, with their fluffy little tails and tiny hooves. For me, the garden is calling. The breezes are sweet with blooming sage under the bluest of spring skies. More tomorrow!!!!
I
Song by Demis Roussos
Hear the wind sing a sad, old song
It knows I’m leaving you today
Please don’t cry or my heart will break
When I go on my way
Goodbye, my love, goodbye
Goodbye and au revoir
As long as you remember me
I’ll never be too far.
Good bye, my love, goodbye,
I always will be true
So hold me in your dreams
‘Til I come back to you.
See the stars in the skies above,
They’ll shine wherever I might roam
I will pray every lonely night
That soon they’ll guide me home.
Good bye, my love, goodbye,
Goodbye and au revoir
As long as you remember me
I’ll never be too far.
Goodbye, my love, goodbye
I always will be true
So hold me in your dreams
‘Til I come back to you.
Today marks one year ago that we said our final Goodbye. I miss you and think of you every day. Enjoy heaven. Remember me, your Darlin’. Mrs. H