Life, ah…

…finds a way.

One of the reasons I love moss is how it provides a bed for other plants upon inhospitable surfaces. Moss quietly goes about its work, an advance guard enduring terrible conditions which would either rot or parch lesser warriors, terraforming bit by bit. Moss is very patient, and after it often comes the weeds–also ignored and maligned, surviving despite it all.

The work goes on, ever and always. Life creeps in just like hope; while I often dislike the latter for its habit of kicking me in the teeth once I allow it purchase, the former is beyond my small feelings. It will continue no matter what I think.

Sometimes I find comfort in that.

Anyway, it’s the Ides of March, or as we refer to it around the house, Happy Stab-a-Dictator Day. The Republic was a bloodbath, the Empire somewhat worse, and both were afflicted by murderous power-greedy bastards. Wonder if there are a few lessons to be learned there–oh, I’m sure humanity will ignore them, I just wonder if they exist, hmm?

On that cheerful note, I shall be sailing into the weekend. This week has been…odd, indeed. I’m hoping for a chance to take a breath.

Almost Daffodils


Walkies have grown a little stressful since Boxnoggin is in the phase of recovery wherein he would really like to Do Something Foolish to Reinjure Himself, For He Is Feeling Ever So Much Better. Keeping him tightly-yet-gently reined is a constant endeavour. Plus, it’s been uncharacteristically warm so several plants are attempting to get a head start on spring; this is both heartening and deeply disturbing. I keep telling them perhaps a little caution is called for in these times of climate change and general trashfire everywhere.

The cherry trees are not yet causing me woe, for once, so maybe they understand. I don’t worry too much about the snowdrops, since it’s right there in their name. But the magnolias, the roses, the hyacinths, and the daffodils are driving me to distraction–like these fellows, not quite bloomed but certainly past the point of no return. I am heartened by their cheerfulness but also full of nail-biting tension, hoping against hope we won’t have a plunge in temperatures to blight early risers.

They are hopeful creatures, daffodils. Let us devoutly pray ’tis warranted.

Also, it’s a first of the month, and that means the Monthly Sales page is updated–including a sale on an entire series later in March. (Remember to check the dates!)

See you Monday, my dears.

Ivy and Horizons

Even in winter, life is everywhere.

It’s too warm for February. (Thanks, climate change!) At least we’ve had some icepocalypse to cut down on summer’s insect population, and the cherries aren’t blooming yet. Even the one down the street which usually wakes up first–giving me no end of worry, I might add, the poor thing’s going to gamble wrong one of these years–is still blissfully asleep. But that doesn’t mean nothing’s happening.

For example, the ivy-banks are full of berries. The blooms were active far later in fall than anything else, and on sunny days late bees clustered them with zest. They’ve swollen through the worst winter has to offer, and I’m not sure what precisely eats them but something must be overjoyed at the snack.

Ivy’s a terrible plant in this part of the world, and can choke entire hillsides if allowed. Yet for obvious reasons I feel a sort of kinship with something thriving despite every effort to kill it. I also saw a dandelion in the backyard t’other day, while waiting for Boxnoggin to decide which part of the turf to christen. A tiny yellow sun saying hello, good afternoon, fuck you to the world; many are the yards in this neighborhood where such a thing would call for a sudden vengeful application of weed-n-feed. But the older I get, the more I want to just… let things live, if they’re not hurting anyone.

Still going to prune any ivy so it doesn’t kill the Venerable Fir, though. There’s letting things live, and then there’s being foolish with a vine which can kill a tree that will in turn absolutely take out two whole houses if it comes down during a hard wind. I’m broadening my horizons, not being stupid. (Granted the line is a little blurry some days…)

See you next week, my dears.

Blackberry Lesson

Clinging to life, even after ice.

Blackberry brambles (and raspberry canes, to a lesser degree) love the climate here. In spring they don’t grow quite so quickly as kudzu, but sometimes it seems that way. In summer they’re banks of green hiding small animals–maybe larger ones, too–and full of wicked claws just aching for a bit of flesh. As the season turns to autumn the berries are ripe, birds gorging and people with buckets heading for the closest bush uncontaminated by pesticides, dreams of cobbler dancing through their heads.

But I like blackberry bushes best in winter, simply because some absolutely cling to green life through the worst weather imaginable. There’s a beauty to the dormant vines, while their roots sleep safe below frozen ground. Sure, they’ll still take a blood sacrifice, and a lot of gardeners around here hate them almost as much as ivy. (Do not get me started on ivy…)

There’s just something about a plant that shelters so many, feeds so many, and refuses to die even after icepocalypses, that pleases me. If I can be even a fraction as resilient, I will consider it effort well spent.

See you next week, my friends.

Love, Anonymous

I needed to hear that, thanks.

Chalk art is one of my favorite things. The beauty, the impermanence, the care taken with each scribble…I love it. And I see a lot of it at certain points in the neighborhood when weather permits. The rain has no doubt already washed this away; I’m glad I got the snap.

It’s odd to have been living in one place for so long, and to feel almost as if one belongs. I wandered a great deal and never felt at “home” even during childhood. How could I? Home is where one feels safe, after all, and I knew very well from an early age that I was not. Finding a tiny corner of the world to call my own has been a revelation. Ah, so this is what people talk about when they say home…how odd!

How odd indeed. How wonderful.

Anyway, this felt like a tiny, anonymous hug, and happened right when I needed it. So I pass the gift along, with thanks to the anonymous artist.

Have a lovely weekend, my dears.

Catkin, Half-Drowned

Half-drowned, still protecting.

As the Icepocalypse faded we had a few days of soaking rain–really, Pacific Northwesterners need a thousand names for the different types of liquid precipitation we get–at relatively balmy temperatures. 50F is not usual for January, and several trees are putting out catkins or outright flowerbuds.

I’m not so worried about the camellias and that one cherry tree down the hill always goes earlier than anyone else. But I do whisper to the others–please, be reasonable. We could still get more ice, or worse. Try not to get too excited.

They’re not listening. I got this snap of a half-drowned little fellow, tousle-ragged, protecting tender new growth underneath. I hope they make it.

I hope we all do.

See you Monday.

Ice Dragon

Very happy to be frozen, actually.

Another picture from the recent Icepocalypse. This fellow is a concrete dragon, and he lives at the base of the birch tree. You can see how he–and the vegetation around him–was coated with absolutely clear ice. (Which he was thrilled by, being a creature of all weather.) I got this snap while taking Boxnoggin cautiously around the yard since the street was a solid sheet of “oh hell no”. If I slip and almost go down thrice before getting to the end of the driveway, I’m not setting even a toe upon the street; fortunately, I was able to break through the crust where there was vegetation. Box, of course, was busy smashing his nose against the freeze and huffing it like an addictive substance, his eyes rolling back with ecstasy.

I don’t even know.

The melt is long past and we’ve had storms more appropriate to April than January. There was even some weak rotation in a few squalls, or so the meteorologists said. (No wonder my sinuses have been throbbing like a brass band.) I’m seeing insect life that normally doesn’t appear until March-April as well, and that disturbs me. We’re going to have a lot more crazy weather as corporations continue to cook the planet. I hold out no particular hope of them being forced to stop.

Anyway, we’re back on normal walkies schedule, I can eat a few bland foods again with 95% success, and if I’m going to avoid the incipient stress ulcer I need to continue doing what I’m doing. So these changes have a good chance of becoming permanent. Thank the gods my stomach concurs with the rest of me that caffeine is an absolute necessity for continued survival. I don’t know what I’d’ve done otherwise.

Have a lovely weekend, my friends. May we all be as serene as a dragon amid the foliage.