ODE TO A LITTLE JACKET

Perennials begin to wake up in the drought-tolerant garden

When Costco first opened in our community – 25 years ago now – I bought a little fleecy jacket off one of their clothing tables. I had no idea at the time that it would become my all-time go-to jacket. It proved to be “just right” for casual wear in the cold months. It was short and boxy, just like me, and the sleeves were wide enough to slip over my long-sleeved tops. It zipped up the front and had a hood, which occasionally came in handy. And it had serviceable pockets. It endured frequent washings.

Nellie and Bess

I wore that jacket everywhere. It just worked. I could slip it on for a brief outdoor errand, for hikes and dog walks, or for casual shopping. But – it was getting old. In fact, in 2013 I sought to replace it, but the one I bought just didn’t take its place. My little jacket was as comfortable as the proverbial old slipper or robe. (I have those, too.) Ultimately, I continued to use the fuzzy (getting fuzzier) little jacket for another five years, digging it out of the closet on those first cold days of autumn and using it through the spring thaw. Why, just two weeks ago I took it to Seattle – and was glad to have it!

Good-bye, old friend

But the other day it met its demise. Apparently while we were out on Friday, Nellie was in some sort of desperation. The jacket was on the back of a chair in our eating area, and she must have grasp at it with her sharp toenails. When I went to put it on yesterday morning, my arm shot right through the sleeve. Upon examination, I found it in shreds.

Sleeve damage to MW's windbreaker

And I’ll tell you something else. Mike's old windbreaker of the same vintage – another garment with a story – was hanging over his chair on the same day and met a similar fate. The damage to the sleeve being extensive, I couldn’t imagine that anything but battery acid would cause those devastating effects. I didn’t connect it to Nellie until the damage to my own jacket came to light.

Naturally, I feel badly about it. I finally have to part with my useful old friend, which really should have been gone years ago, but I have proven to myself that replacing that little jacket is not a simple issue.

And I feel badly for our old dog, who needed us when we weren’t here. She’s spending more time in the kennel these days. In her day, she was a sweet, intuitive, hardworking dog. The issues of old age have caught up with her, but she still has some spunk. The other day, while we were out walking, she lost sight of us and concluded that we must have gone home without her. There she went – hurrying down the road toward home as fast as she could trot. Worried for her safety, I hurried after her, but she was home well ahead of me. KW

A RESIDENT PHEASANT

While we were at the farm on Saturday (March 31), a rooster pheasant slowly strolled along the north edge of the lawn. Mike got fairly close to him -- that's Mike's shadow in the lower corner of the photo (left) . . .

Hunkered down by bush. ..

... as Nellie moves in (sort of)

. . . and the pheasant seemed unconcerned until he sensed the presence of the dogs. Then he was agitated and moved more quickly. 

Running up the bank to the field

He ducked behind the woodshed, crossed the yard to the grove, moved under the trees, and hopped up to the edge of the field. 

Standing at the edge of the field

At that point, Bess scented him and set chase, but he flew, heading south and then east, soaring over the pond. 

We don’t know if he’s the same pheasant that resided with us last summer, but he has a characteristic in common with that pheasant in that he's lacking his long tail feather. Mike opines that it might have been possible for him to have survived the winter. 

We don't see many pheasants on the farm. The most common game birds are dove and Hungarian Partridge. The Huns aren't prolific, but in past years Mike has hunted them judiciously. However, we didn't see any Huns in 2016, and we figured the rape crop was responsible for that.

As a result of his trip to the farm yesterday, Mike reported that he caught seven rodents in traps -- two in the house, three in the shed, and two outside the shed (six mice and one meadow vole). We figure the meadow vole are responsible for the holes in the yard. Well, it's war, you know. And it's ongoing. KW 

DE-WINTERIZING THE FARMHOUSE

Every year about this time we muster our courage and head to the farmhouse to turn on the water, and Saturday (March 31), was the day. It’s not always a pleasant experience. Things went well the first five years or so, and then one year we had 15 leaks calling for a major overhaul of the plumbing. Last year a fitting broke loose above the ceiling in the kitchen and we caught water through the light fixture for five minutes. We needed a drywaller as well as a plumber to repair the damage. I could hear my grandparents laughing.

Having experienced one or two catastrophes, now we’re paranoid. The sound of running water fills us with anxiety. “Do you hear that? Where is it coming from?” Once the toilets had filled and shut off and everything was quiet, Mike re-installed the shower faucets, but they wouldn’t work. 

“Maybe we need to turn on the hot water tank,” I opined. 

“What difference would that make,” queried Mike impatiently, and I had to admit I didn't know. But after trying and re-trying, he finally said, “I don’t know what’s wrong; I’m just going to turn on the hot water tank anyway.”

“Good,” I said to myself, “because that’s what needs to happen.” And sure enough, water flowed from the shower heads.

Mike worked hard. Once the water was on, he set up the refrigerator, vacuumed bugs off the floor, and sprayed weeds in the lane. Outdoor rodent activity is prolific this year, and the mice have invaded his little shed, so he cleaned it and set ten traps. By comparison, I just puttered. I boxed Halloween (yes, Halloween) decorations, put away Christmas dishes and ornaments, changed the string lights in the kitchen window, and disinfected the kitchen counters.

And I toured the yard. The early daffodils are just beginning to bloom. The Crown Imperials look healthy. The cherry tree weathered the winter, but we can now speak of the raspberry patch in the past tense and label my dream as “Kathy’s Folly.” This year’s project is to deal with the bank behind the house. It won’t be an easy fix.

The pond is full to overflowing, but unfortunately no water fowl reside there at this time.

And now it’s cold again. All danger of frost is not past. Mike is off to the farm today to finish the weed spraying and check on the rodent situation. I have an obligation that keeps me from going with him, but checking the weather report, he thinks this could be the last good day for the foreseeable future. KW