May-toe-toes & A Gourd-let

I went out to fill the feeders this morning and took a look to see if there's any progress in the garden.  There is!  The cherry tomatoes (may-toe-toes, according to LC; Baba eats may-toe-toes, which are not to be confused with pay-toe-toes) are ripening a few at a time, and I spied the first nascent gourd.  It's about as big as my thumbnail but it's a gourd-let and it'll grow.  I think the plant's label said to let a few grow and remove the others so that you get decent sized ones for birdhouses.  I'll have to reread the directions.  It'll be hard to snip off baby gourds so I get bigger ones, though.

The daisies and bee balm are finally winding up their season.  Pretty soon I'll be out there with my spade dividing the daisies and plonking them in spots around the house and lot line beds to spread their cheer to other parts of the yard.  I think I want to find some Black-eyed Susan plants and some more Purple Coneflowers to plant around too.  I want to find some more milkweed for the butterflies and have perennials that bloom on their own.  Having an "effortless" garden takes work.







Like I said I filled the birdfeeders early this morning and by the time I was nearing the end of the task I could hear the bluejays calling the news that there were peanuts again.  I don't know how they know, I don't have a birdfeeder filling outfit they could recognize and I can't imagine that they can smell them, but somehow the word gets out that there's fresh food and they all come a-winging in for treats.  The chickadees are usually the bravest, landing on the platform feeder to snatch up a safflower seed while scolding me for letting the feeder get too empty.  I make sure that there's a fresh orange half and a couple spoons of Welch's Grape jam for the young orioles too.   I'll ask Durwood to cook up a fresh batch of birdie juice for the hummingbird feeders.  I took down the oriole nectar feeder because the young orioles ignore it and contort themselves around the hummingbird feeder for a sip.  I've tried explaining that their own feeder is bigger and more suited to their size but they just fly off in a flap when I try to go out to tell them.  Nothing flies off in a flap better than the mourning doves; I actually get a charge out of seeing them get fluttery.  They remind me of little old church ladies.

August 6--Reynolds' Stock, Vizsla DS-5.  Kaye had never seen a dog like the one sitting on the cabin porch.  She checked the printed reservation sheet on the seat beside her.  "Quaint cabin in a hollow of Logan's Mountain, access to fifteen miles of hiking trails, stream running behind cabin, indoor plumbing, solar power for electric. Sleeps 2."  The ad didn't say anything about a red-brown dog with long legs and inquisitive ears being part of the package.  The faded, round-fendered navy blue pickup truck parked beside the cabin wasn't in the brochure either.

I confess I envision a "meet cute" straight from a paperback romance novel coming in the next paragraph.  Maybe I'll write this one someday when I don't have too many things on my plate.  Off to get dressed for work.  One of these days I'll retire and get to stay home and play with my toys, my yarn and fabric, maybe even build some birdhouses and stuff with wood, really, I will.  Soon-ish. (yeah, right)
--Barbara