Stephanie says

Acanthus mollis These babies grow in my grape vines and are very tall, thorny spikes with a most unusual flower. Click on the images to see them enlarged. The vase is 12 inches tall to give a sense of scale!

Wonderful fragrance! Click on image to enlarge.

I was outside this fine morning enjoying a cup of coffee when I heard the dogs rustling in the side yard, then a big yelp, and the Mooster came bounding past, frothing at the mouth, heading right inside the house. My first thought was, “damn, a skunk” and sure enough. I got the big boy outside in record time. He was still frothing. I figure he bit the rear end of that itty bitty skunk, his reward a hit of skunk musk directly in the mouth. Dogs can’t spit but he sure was trying. Rosie appeared unscathed apparently recalling her two encounters last year. But Moose is not as quick a learner. I gave him a quick douse with soapy water and a cold water hose rinse. Tough love. Then I headed off to work. He was lucky to get a biscuit before I left… I had one stinky dog upon my return this afternoon and one baby skunk carcass (in full rigor) to deal with. The dog got the magic peroxide/baking soda bath. The skunk, carefully double bagged with a very long handled pitchfork, tossed ...

First time ever bloom from this plant - which I've had for at least six years. Peonies don't like to be moved... The color came as a complete surprise to me! Their fragrance is ethereal. But I'm moving this baby into a sunnier location. Last time. I promise.

I'm thinking about painting (using the intense colors in the second shot) a couple wooden chairs on my front porch. Too much? Wonder if I can spray paint them? Gardening time constraints...

I got an email from a kid from grade school who’d happened across this blog. It so amazes me to make a connection through the invisible magic of the internet. I conjured up some memories from grade school then phoned my brother to see what he remembered about David’s family. Michael is two years older than me so presumably has more childhood details stored in his brain. Or not. I gave him a quick rundown, then say, “So you remember the grandparents, right? He was named Ivan. They lived in that lovely house with eyebrow dormers. I loved the interior.” “Sure I remember that house but I was never inside.” “Maybe you were at school because I’ve been in that house.” Then I say, “David’s uncle lived at the dairy farm next to us. What was his name?” “Oh, that’s Kenneth. He and Ivan were brothers.” I say, “Ivan was the father. Kenneth had children our ages.” “No, I think you’re wrong.” “Am not.” “Are too.” I say, “I think David was in my grade. Or was that Steven? They lived on a ...

We meet downtown at the park. I am so happy to see him, we are elated to see each other, we’re both grinning ear to ear and can’t stop touching. We talk excitedly, our words rushing into and over each others conversation. Our hands are clasped tightly. I’m never letting go. My eyes open and spy the bedside alarm clock; it reads 12:15 a.m. Dammit, I let go of his hand. But I’m still grinning. He died 12 years ago and I miss him dreadfully, but I’m happy when he comes to me in dreams now and again.