I am a country girl at heart. I grew up in a town of less than 4,000 people. We moved there when I was eight, prior to that, we lived in a community with about 200 people–and that’s where I consider home.
Moving from the country to suburbia, where I now live, has brought some advantages–it’s nice to be able to go grocery shopping without worrying about the stores closing at 9, for instance. However, while I love not having to worry about yard maintainance, I am keenly aware that the area surrounding my condo is far more black top than grass and flowers.
But, at the end of my parking lot lies a dirt road that’s been sealed off from vehicular traffic. Crossing over that chain is like stepping into a different world. Rather than the oceans of asphalt, you have this:
I like to take the dogs back here, but I’d kinda forgotten about it. See, it’s only good for dog walking during the spring–in the winter, it’s too wet and slick, and during the summer and fall all that pretty green grass dries up and distributes foxtails in little dogs coats, paws and in one terrifying instance, eyes.
But for now, it’s green enough that it’s a pleasure to walk through. I’m slightly amazed at how much it’s changed since the last time I had been back there. For instance, apparently, a civilization of tiny plastic people rose and fell, leaving behind only ruins to prove of their exsistance:
This year, in an effort to avoid walking a whole-gasp-tenth-wheeze-of a mile-gasp to find nature, I decided to see if I could bring nature to me. A cheap hummingbird feeder later…
This is Herbert, and he is king. There is at least one more hummingbird that visits me on a regular basis, but only if Herbert isn’t around. I’ve seen Bogey a couple of times today, but he’s too skittish to hang around when he sees me pulling out my camera. I can understand that, he might be nervous about pictures of him feeding here getting back to Herbert.
Herbert and Bogey are both male black-chinned hummingbirds, by the way. Herbert is back-lit in that picture, and most of the times that I’ve seen him, so it’s taken me a ridiculously long amount of time to figure that out.
It’s true that being out in nature–even just being outside is good for the psyche, good for the soul. It’s easy to forget that–at least it is for me. So, get out and explore. Even if you go to a park or field or wooded area you think you know, you might be surprised what you find.
And why do I have a package from Spain?
When I checked the mail yesterday (in other news, I checked the mail yesterday) I found a pick-up slip for a package. I’m expecting a book, so I thought that’s what it was for, and was a little miffed that the mail carrier didn’t just put it in one of the bigger boxes and leave me a key. The date on it was July 1st, which seemed a little soon to receive the book–it was only a day or two after I ordered it, but, perhaps the Amazon 3rd party seller was on the ball.
When I got to the post office, and after hearing boxes fall at least three times in the back room, the clerk came out with this:
While he was processing the package, I noticed it was from Spain.
I don’t know anybody in Spain.
Well, anybody who’d send me a package. (Lopes, I’d be open to a package from Spain if you’d be willing to send it to me)
That’s neither the name or the city of the one guy I know in Spain.
I signed for it, thinking it might be for my roommate. It’s not her name on the label, but what I call her isn’t her name. She’s from Taiwan, and I refer to her by her American name. Perhaps she has a Spanish name, too.
But then I realized that it was postmarked before she moved in.
I’ll ask the roommate if she knows anything about it, and, I guess
if when she doesn’t I get to take it back to the post office and explain why I signed for it when it clearly doesn’t belong at my house, despite having my address on it. That’ll be fun.
So, this mysterious box, that’s passed through customs is sitting in the middle of my living room, and will likely go back to the post office unopened.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to it from there. I mean it’s been from Malaga, to Madrid, to New York, to Orem, and from there, who knows…
The poor little guy just needs a home. Just not my home. The home of the people on the address label who don’t live at my house.
Edit: oh, this is globe mallow: This particular one is growing in the Leamington cemetery, not the Orem Post Office lawn. It’s my favorite local wildflower, and I’ve seen it sold as a xeriscaping plant, but never growing as a weed before.
I probably don’t have enough sunlight to keep it alive, anyway.
The Mystery of the Spanish Package will officially remain unsolved. The roommate, as predicted, didn’t know anything about it, so I took it back to the post office. It’s on it’s way back to Spain.
I’m too much like my dad. Mom or Sis would have had it open before they left the Post Office parking lot.
I know it’s a long shot, but if the D. Antonio from Malaga, Spain who sent a package to someone with the same last name in Orem, Utah, The United States, reads this, can you please let me know what was in it? Thanks.
Today (yesterday, I suppose, it’ll be after midnight by the time I get this post finished) was a rough day. I can’t even really say why. It was warm enough that I’ve still got a window open and the furnace turned off, the dogs have been behaving, and frankly, I’ve done everything right. Today should have been a good day, it just didn’t turn out that way.
I discovered something today (er, yesterday) that should have put me over the moon.
A while back, I made the mistake of wandering through the garden section at Wal-Mart, and was dreaming over the seeds and bulbs and gardening tools. I found some lily of the valley rhizomes; five in a pack for white, two in a pack for pink, and, despite my bad luck with growing bulbs from Wallyworld in the past, I bought some. Pink–because I’ve never seen pink lily of the valley, and the pot that I put them in isn’t big enough for five rhizomes.
This was about the time that I sowed the clover for the first time, and I’ve been sure to keep the lilies in a place where they won’t be affected by frost. I haven’t really thought much about them, but I have watered them when I’ve watered my clover and the blueberry bush. Today (er, yesterday), I noticed a couple of teeny tiny sprouts pushing their way out of the dirt. Right now, if I didn’t know they were lily of the valley, I’d just be able to identify them as a bulb plant, but not the species. Again, I’m putting a lot of faith in myself that I’ll be able to keep these baby plants alive until adulthood, and on through next year.
I was thinking about my little patio garden, and how incongruous gardening is in this modern world. My lilies, for example. They’ve probably been growing since the day I planted them, but I couldn’t see it happening, so I assumed it wasn’t.
I thought about how things happen below the surface. We live in a world of progress bars and instant gratification. It would be nice if plants came with such things, but, unfortunately, we have to take it on faith that, for instance, the Wal-Mart plants will grow and thrive.
Because I do stuff like this I compared it to my own life. Just because I can’t see progress in the things I have no control over, doesn’t mean that progress hasn’t been made. Roots need to get established before a plant pokes its head out of the ground. They need strength before they face the world of heat and cold and dog pee.
It’s hard for me to remember that life very rarely (okay, practically never) runs on the timeline that I would like. Patience has never been one of my strong suites, and has been one of the constant lessons in my life.
Of course, I realize this analogy completely falls apart if I don’t manage to grow my lilies into adulthood…
Blame it on my father.
I recently freaked out quite a few of my Facebook friends by admitting that I find certain spiders cute–mostly jumping spiders.
I understand the aversion that most people have to spiders–they look alien, there eating habits are not to be observed by the squeamish, and, some of them bite, with painful and possibly deadly results.
Growing up in the middle of nowhere, nature was an effective classroom for Sis and me. My dad would find spiders and snakes and lizards and show them to us, and teach us about them. I’ve never seen Dad willingly kill a spider, he’ll catch them–bare handed, mind you, and gently take them outside.
Frankly, I’d rather have spiders in my home than insects.
Overcoming fear is always a good thing, right? I’d suggest to any readers I might not have yet scared off to learn what the venomous spiders in your area look like, then start exploring the world of miniature.
And remember, spiders, in general, aren’t interested in attacking humans. We are much too big to eat, so any bites or attacks come because the spider feels threatened.
Okay, the preview function has shown that I have rambled enough that any pictures now posted won’t show up when people open up “The Storyteller Chronicles”, so here are some of my favorite local spiders.
I was disappointed that I couldn’t find images of my two very favorite spiders, a yellow orb weaver that is not only beautiful, but weaves a beautiful web, and the cute little black and white jumping spider that I’ve only ever seen around my parent’s house. Anyway, on to the pictures:
This picture, I think, single-handedly proves that spiders can be beautiful. It’s a goldenrod crab spider, waiting inside a flower (Sis, that’s your cue to tell me what that flower is) for a tasty insect.
Goldenrod crab spiders are amazing, because they can change color. Here’s the same type of spider in its yellow form:
Okay, on to the jumpers.
Who doesn’t love these? Besides having an adorable face, they are amazing to watch, and, if you are lucky enough, quite fun to play with.
There eyes fascinate me. I think the eyes are what draw me to spiders. The way they see the world is so different from the way we do–but very effectively, too. If you’ve ever seen a jumping spider skitter and jump in reaction to stimuli from any direction, you understand what I mean.
Orb weaver spiders are another showcase for mother nature’s beautiful colors. This particular beauty was found in Riverton, Utah. Orb weavers are responsible for the classic circular spiderwebs. Next time you see one, I suggest trying to find the architect. Chances are, you won’t be disappointedOkay, so the cat-faced spider isn’t one that I would consider especially beautiful, but take a look at the markings on her abdomen. There’s a smiley face! How can you not love a creature that walks around with a smiley face?
This last one is a neoscona, a spotted orb weaver. Look at the patterns on her back! Carol Davis, who took this picture, thought it looked like a Persian rug. If a four-legged creature had such markings, fashionable ladies throughout the centuries would be wearing the skin.
So have I convinced you not to run away screaming the next time you see a spider? Or smash it, or flush it down the toilet?
Well, that’s okay too. Just take another look, and be aware that there is beauty to be found even in the creepy-crawly things of life.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to go read Charlotte’s Web again.
I had every intention of getting up early this morning and going to the temple–Lulu had different ideas. She woke me up at a quarter to four letting me know that she needed to go outside. If it was even an hour later…
Anyway, I managed to get back to sleep, but woke up at 9:30, and the temple closes at 10am on Mondays. I wasn’t going to make it. BUT–the sun was shining and it was such a pretty day that I decided to load the dogs into the car and went out in search of some nature.
I ended up at Nunn’s Park, in Provo Canyon–I wanted to go to Bridal Veil Falls, but the trail was closed.
I suppose my search for nature was either too early in the year, or too late in the day, but I had a nice walk, Max and Lulu got worn out, and I got a few interesting pictures. I’m going to have to try this again some time.
As the photographers in my blog feed are so joyfully telling me, today is the first day of spring for us in the northern hemisphere. (I’ve only had one reader from south of the equator, so…neener.)
So, the days are now longer than the nights, my baby clover are doing well–and have invited friends! The starlings are starting to imitate not only cats and car alarms, but red-winged blackbirds and meadowlarks (or I’m actually hearing those heralds of spring), the days are bright and sunny and my nose won’t stop dripping. Yep, I think it’s spring.
I feel like a new woman. I actually managed to get to bed at a decent(ish) time last night, and didn’t take too long to fall asleep, then woke up at a decent(ish) time this morning.
I had a cousin mention on Facebook after last night’s post that she thought I’d do well at writing satire–which is kind of timely, because the catalyst for the post yesterday was a story idea I came up with that could be called satirical–but I still don’t know what the climax or ending of the story would be, and even satire needs drama to move the plot along.
Writing satire on the whole makes me a little nervous. I don’t like poking fun at people. (Except myself. And good friends and family members that I know will let me get away with it.) And, while I like to think I have a good sense of humor, it falls flat when I sit down to write something funny. But, if this story I’m thinking of actually gets beyond the planning stages, I might have to reconsider.
So, moving on…
When I was at my sister’s house retrieving my computer earlier this week, she got a text message from E’s birth mother. His birth father wants to meet him, so they are going to meet in a park today. This has caused more than a little bit of stress for the family–Mom is so freaked out by this prospect that she’s on her way to SLC so she can be a part of it too. I was offered the opportunity to go up, but decided that it really isn’t my place.
Under Utah state law, if a pregnant woman wants to place her child for adoption, the birth father has up to 24 hours after the birth to sign a paper saying that he wants custody of the child (plus the duration of the pregnancy). E’s birth father neglected to do that. He is legally Sis and the Bro-in-Law’s, even though the adoption won’t be official until May.
Because I’m a worrier, and tend to imagine the worst-case scenario, I’m imagining this guy running off with E. Mom (who is also a worrier, if a more pragmatic of one, although she denies it) is thinking about G–his birth mother wanted a closed adoption, and…how to put this delicately…if anyone ever came forward as his birth father, he would be arrested immediately. (Okay, so I suck at delicate.) Mom has always been a bit concerned that E’s adoption is open–Sis has contact with his birth mother almost daily, and she’s worried about what will happen to G if E has both a birth mother and a birth father in his life.
I’m trying to step back from the situation, but I’m not really comfortable with it. I understand the birth father wanting to see E, Sis thinks that he thought that E’s birth mother wouldn’t really go through with the adoption, and he hasn’t gotten over it. There’s also the practical side–it gives Sis and the Bro-in-Law a chance to get a medical history.
I’m just glad that it’s not my decision to make.
So, er, anyway, happy spring! I’m off to try to do some writing…
I decided to take a good long look at my patio garden this year, and really think about what plants would do best with the little bit of sunlight that I have each day. Also, new this year, is the yard-and-a-half, a box that I asked my sister and brother-in-law for for Christmas, where the dogs can go and potty when I’m not home during the day. The picket fence was a bonus.
After some research, I decided that dutch white clover would be a better choice than grass–it’s more resistant to dogs, and wouldn’t require “mowing”. However, I did want something the dogs could munch on if their stomachs were upset, so I planted some wheat grass in an old bulb pot I had. (I noticed that if I went to a pet store and bought “pet grass” it would cost $4.50. If I went to the grocery store and bought wheat grass for human consumption it would cost $1.50)
I ordered some clover seed online, (paying twice as much for shipping as for the actual seeds. I’m a little bitter about that.) and sowed my yard and a half.
I fully acknowledge that while I love gardening, I struggle with growing plants from seeds (except weeds, for some reason). So, I’ve sown the seeds, then, the first thing I would do each morning would be to check the yard-and-a-half to see if they had germinated. After a few weeks without seeing any green, I resowed. This happened twice. I was beginning to despair a bit–and wonder how a girl who technically lived on a farm until she was eight (we didn’t have any crops, just a feed lot in the back yard) and came from a long line of farmers on both sides could fail to grow anything from seeds, until, upon checking the yard-and-a-half this morning, I saw this:
I had a horrible night last night–the migraine made sleeping hard, as did the changed acoustics of having my bed on the other side of the room. (Seriously, the trains and traffic are much louder than they were three days ago.) Seeing these seedlings this morning cheered me up incredibly.
Now comes the part that I really struggle with–keeping these little baby plants alive until they reach maturity.
Somehow, I got talked into going to my parent’s house for a couple of days. It’s like they read this blog, and saw that I was going crazy(er) sitting around my house just talking to the dogs.
My parents bought the house they are living in now from my grandparents–it’s been in the family since it was built. Because of this, I know a ridiculous amount about the history of the house–I know that the bedroom that I say in when I visit was built for my mom’s two youngest brothers to share, I know which of my uncles was stupidly playing with a shotgun inside, and put holes in the rec room ceiling–and that those holes didn’t get patched to serve as a warning/reminder long after that uncle moved out, had children, then his children had time to grow up.
Over the years, the tree with the bolt in it fascinated me. It has not only survived the last thirty years, it’s thrived. The tree has “eaten” the bolt, to the point now you can tell there was something there, but not what it is.
I was thinking about this tree last night, and a scripture from the Book of Mormon came to mind, specifically, Ether 12:26-27
And when I had said this, the Lord spake unto me, saying: Fools mock, but they shall mourn; and my grace is sufficient for the meek, that they shall take no advantage of your weakness;And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.
I always wondered how weak things could become strong. I never doubted, because I know that with God, all things are possible.
The split in the tree was possibly fatal to it, but after it was bolted together, it grew fast and strong and tall, and is now one of the healthiest trees in my parent’s yard. What once was a weakness is now a strength.
I feel like there are so many weaknesses in my life, and so few strengths. I have so far to go–but I guess that I’ve come a long way too.
Okay, I can do this. I can.
After I had gone to bed last night, but before I fell asleep, I was thinking about what I wanted to blog about today. I had two or three good ideas–but I was too tired to jump out of bed to write something. Of course, this morning, I couldn’t remember any of them.
The head cold is still kicking my butt, and despite what weather.com says, I think it’s starting to be taken over by spring allergies. All I know is that it is way too early in the year for my nose to be this chapped.
Spring seems to have decided that it wants to stay, I’ve been hearing meadowlarks and red winged blackbirds in the morning, and have been watching a sparrow build its nest in one of my neighbors dryer vents.
I’ve been turning the heat off during the day, and opening the windows to air things out. My downstairs neighbors already have their air conditioning running. (I wonder if I should be concerned about what they are doing, they get even less sunlight than I do, and I’m freezing to death, and they’re running their air conditioner. I’m just glad I don’t have to pay their electric bill)
So what have I been doing this fine spring day? Have I been out enjoying nature? Have I been getting my patio garden ready? Have I been following the instinct that women have had since we decided that we had enough of sleeping outside and moved into caves, and been deep cleaning in preparation for the warmer months? Yeah, not so much.
I’ve pretty much been laying alternately in bed or on the couch, chained to a box of kleenex, and trying to convince one dog or the other to lay on my lap in such a way as to act as the perfect heating pad, and trying to overcome the fact that Oprah and I have very different tastes in literature.
This is usually my favorite time of year, when the first signs of spring appear, and the days start to get longer, but before allergies come. This year–well, granted, it’s only been a few days, and I am sick, but not so much.
I did finally get my Christmas lights down, though.