Lilacs

Now you are a very decent flower,
A reticent flower,
A curiously clear-cut, candid flower,
Standing beside clean doorways,
Friendly to a house-cat and a pair of spectacles,
Making poetry out of a bit of moonlight
And a hundred or two sharp blossoms.

—Amy Lowell

Dinner last night: baked potatoes with various toppings

Exactly one year ago:

Daisy Among the Daisies

Exactly three years ago:

So Much to Talk About, So Little to Say

Exactly four years ago:

Summer Solstice

Bits and Pieces of Spring

We still have some snow, but we can see grass. It may be soggy and brown, but hey, IT'S GRASS.

We've raked up all the detritus that's collected in the front yard over the winter,

and we're burning it in small batches.

Kathy G asked the other day about daffodils. Well, they're finally poking through!

If you look closely, 

you can see buds on the lilac in front of my kitchen window.

A sense of warmth is tapping at the door;
And hope, a feeling out from distant lore
—Or so it seems—clears the deep refrain!

—Mark R. Slaughter

Dinner last night: spaghetti and meatballs

Exactly one year ago:

Please, Sir, I want Some More . . . 

Exactly four years ago:

Mud Puddle Fun

No More Arguing . . . Until Next Spring

When I was a kid, maybe 9 years old or so, I received a copy of Verna Pratt's Field Guide to Alaskan Wildflowers. I'd tramp through the woods in Haines, Alaska, collecting specimens of ferns and blossoms and grasses to take home, where I would carefully place them on paper toweling. I'd flip through the pages of my field guide until I found a matching picture of the forget-me-not or dogwood or chocolate lily, and copy its name onto the bottom edge of the paper towel. I'd cover each sample with another sheet of paper toweling, then gently lay the encased flowers between the pages of a heavy book to press them. I'm sure my mother's come across countless dried sprigs in her dictionary over the years.

The downside of my process is that I misidentified pushki. To my young eye, it matched the picture of Queen Ann's Lace, and to this day I automatically refer to cow parsnip as Queen Ann's Lace. On our evening strolls, I will argue with my husband until I'm blue in the face that no, that is not pushki, that is Queen Ann's Lace. He's right, of course, it is pushki, but I won't admit it. I kind of enjoy seeing him getting all worked up, as he provides example after example of how he knows without a doubt that IT'S PUSHKI. He tells me about the childhood battles he and his little buddies fought in the fields around Homer, Alaska, using stalks of pushki as swords. He reminds me that he received a degree in biology, which ought to count for something. He'll admit a similarity may exist between the two, but then point out the differences between pushki and Queen Ann's lace. Whatever.

I'd take this Queen Ann's Lace home to press, 

but I don't think I have a book that is big enough.

Also, it's kind of dead.

(And it's not Queen Ann's Lace, but you didn't hear it from me.)

Dinner last night: veggie pizza

Exactly one year ago:

Mr. Magoo Traverses the Nursery

Exactly two years ago:

In the Mullygrubs

Exactly three years ago:

Who Needs TV Anyway?

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I Don't Know, Hamlin. I Think It's Kind of Pretty

Devil's Club

It is a sprawling, hateful thing,

thorny and twisted like a snake,

writhing to work a mischief, in the brake

it stands at menace, in its cling

is danger and a venomed sting.

It grows on green and slimy slopes,

it is a thing of shades and slums,

for passing feet it wildly gropes,

and loops to catch all feet that run

seeking a path to sky and sun.

                                                                               —Hamlin Garland

Dinner last night: barbecue salmon fillets, risotto

Exactly one year ago:

The Coldest Winter I Ever Spent Was a Summer in Homer, Alaska

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Thinking of Grandma

After my grandmother passed, my mom and her siblings tearfully went through her home, cleaning and packing and selecting small keepsakes with personal meaning. My mother thoughtfully gave to my sisters and me clippings from Grandma's hoya plant. I was amazed at how quickly my little sprig took root, and the hoya continues to grow large and leafy all these years later on a sunny windowsill in my house. It will sit there for months with its plain green leaves, and then surprise me with fragrant blossoms that seemingly form overnight. They are so lovely. Just like my grandmother.

Dinner last night: barbecue short ribs, mac and cheese

Scent of Lilac

I love the purple lilac that grows outside my kitchen window. It's just starting to bloom, and should be glorious in another week or so.

I once read somewhere that lilac is the best scent for the kitchen . . . you know, hand soap and candles and such. I can't remember why lilacs are supposed to be superior in cutting odors, but I believe it. Actually, now that I've thought about it, I don't think it was lilac. It might have been lavender. Oh, well, no matter . . .

a sprig of fresh lilac in the kitchen is still a wonderful thing.

Dinner last night: cheeseburgers on the barbie

Exactly one year ago:

Kids are Kids

Exactly two years ago:

Backyardigans

My Weekend Can Beat Up Your Weekend

Glorious weather. We're talking in the 70s, people! GLORIOUS. The three-day weekend was a perfect balance of work around the house and yard with fun and relaxation.

We took lots of walks and picked handfuls of dandelions.

We rode our bikes.

Memorial Day is the first weekend many Alaskans begin gardening in earnest. The plants have been hardened and finally can go in the ground, unless you're a scatter-brained brown thumb who forgets about her bean plants, leaves them out over night too soon, and kills them. Then you spend Memorial Day weekend at the greenhouse, purchasing your starters. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Who needs gardens any way? Hanging baskets are less work. Harumph.

Dinner last night: barbecue chicken, baked beans, potato salad, watermelon

Amaryllis in February

The sky is cloudy. Snow piles have crusted dirty-white. The trees are bare and scraggly and brown. Color is found in mere glimpses: a yellow scarf around someone's neck, the pink stripe on a boot, the flash of bright green as a child swings her backpack over her shoulder.

At Christmas, my mother-in-law gave me a flower bulb. I didn't think at the time much more than, "It's very nice. Thank you." But now? In the deepest, bleakest part of winter I realize how thoughtful her gift really was. I planted that bulb in a flower pot and set it on my kitchen sill. I waited. And watered. And waited some more.

That dirty, brown nothing of a bulb has grown 3' tall and is blooming gorgeous red . . .

just when I need it most.

Dinner last night: sauteed veggies over baked potato

Exactly two years ago:

Just in Time for Valentine's

The Three Rs

I enjoy sauteed mushrooms on a steak or burger. I love a tasty pizza with mushrooms nestled in warm, bubbly cheese. I prefer my salads sprinkled with slices of fresh, raw mushroom. But even I, a confirmed mushroom lover, have my limits. And this unusually cool and rainy summer is pushing them.

Mushrooms of every size, color, and texture are sprouting up in the soggy ground. And they are not pretty.

This tiny thing hiding in the grass isn't too bad.

It almost looks like a little button mushroom.

These toadstools are a bit scary with their poisonous red color.

This flat fungus is downright disgusting . . .

. . . and this slimy cluster is positively revolting.

Make that repulsive.

Also, repugnant.

Dinner last night: chicken pot pie, without mushrooms

The Fall Comes on Little Fireweed Feet

It's that time of year when fireweed starts showing up. You know what that means.

Six more weeks of summer, if we're lucky.

Dinner last night: beef stew, biscuits

Exactly two years ago:

Height and Weight, Please

There's No Place Like Home

My 12-year-old daughter and I are back from her soccer team's trip to Regionals. I'm not sure who was happier to greet us at the airport: my husband or the twins. (My middle child didn't even notice we were gone, but then she's 10 years old and lost in her own world of Barbies and tree forts and sidewalk chalk.) My husband gave me a big hug before running off to his mancave to recover; he didn't come out of hiding for 2 days. He confessed that he refused to comb the twins' hair the entire time I was gone, as the wailing and gnashing of teeth was more than he could bear. He admitted that he didn't realize until I went missing for a week just how much I do around the house, and thanked me. THANKED me!

The twins have not let me out of their sight . . . turns out they love me! And they don't want me to ever go away again! Every morning, they climb into bed with me and snuggle up close to make sure I'm still here. Well, whattya know?

The good news is that I discovered I am needed. The bad news is that I discovered this:

My poor lilac. Check out the photo I snapped of the same bush a week before I left. Nothing horrible happened, other than a fortnight passed. The window of opportunity for lilacs to bloom in Alaska is exceedingly small.

Our summers are short, so no second round for the lilacs.

They are done for the season.

However, the wildflowers are picking up the slack. Daisies. Dogwoods. Dandelions. My favorites are all blooming like mad. Wait. Dandelions are NOT my favorite.

It's time to get back to work. There's laundry to be washed and meals to be cooked. I have lots of e-mails to answer and blogs to visit. And tangles to comb out of my 4-year-olds' hair.


Dinner last night: chili

View from a Kitchen

Okay, I'll admit it. I'm in a bit of a funk. I try not to post when I feel like this, because my writing comes out all life flashes around me like lightning in a dark sky. What the huh?

Fortunately, summer is saving my poor self. Our lilac bush has come to the rescue, blooming in all its fragrant glory right outside my window, reminding me to stop and smell the . . . lilacs.

Washing dishes isn't so bad when I get to look at this!

Aroma Therapy

Dinner last night: turkey sandwiches, rhubarb crisp

Exactly one year ago: 

Alaska Zoo

Exactly two years ago:

The Kindness of Strangers

Do You See What I See?

* A big THANK YOU! to A Peek at Karen's World for selecting me as Blog of the Week. Thank you for the honor, Karen! *

The older I get, the longer winter seems. This morning, though, I noticed on my drive home from the kids' school that the willows are starting to blossom. There's no turning back now! Spring has officially arrived in Alaska. I took a quick run through my yard to find more proof . . .

Aha! The daffodils are coming up!

There's my rhubarb!

If you look closely, you can see new buds on the shrubs!

Just look at our lush green lawn! Oh. Um.

Check back in 3 weeks, please.

Dinner last night: cheeseburgers on the barbie, french fries

Exactly one year ago:

Fool on a Sewing Machine

End of Summer

Somebody forgot to tell Alaska that the first day of autumn doesn't arrive until Tuesday.

Guess who'll be sweeping her deck this weekend?

I love when the leaves turn gold.

And the reds! Aren't fall colors gorgeous?!

Time to haul out the harvest decorations. I've got a scarecrow with a WELCOME sign to hang on my front door and a mat in the shape of a pumpkin to lay down for guests with muddy shoes. It's fall, ya'll.

Dinner last night: pizza

That's A Lot of Cole Slaw

When I think of "state fair," I visualize shiny, plump vegetables and groomed livestock and jars of prize-winning jam. I have to admit that I'm a sucker for the exhibits, but for the past two years—because of certain small children who were too pooped after all the rides—we haven't been able to spend any time strolling through the various buildings that house the many fair entries.

This year I vowed that we would go check out the exhibits, and we did. It meant we didn't leave the fair until late in the evening and I was exhausted from all the walking, but here you go . . .

People picture Alaska encased in snow and ice year-round, but we do have a summer season. It's short, but sweet, and our midnight sun allows for some pretty amazing gardens. One of the most popular categories at our State Fair centers around the biggest vegetables grown each particular year, and 2009 produced some doozies. This 90-pound cabbage is nothing, considering that the grand champion weighed over 125 pounds!! In fact, this year's winning cabbage made it into the book of Guinness World Records. That's right, Texas. We grow 'em big in Alaska, too.

This zucchini tipped the scale at just over 25 pounds.

There's nothing cuter than little piglets . . .

. . . and nothing uglier than a big ol' fat lazy mama pig.

Present company excluded, of course.

Hey! I resemble that remark!

My absolute favorite exhibit? The quilts! Oh, they're wonderful. This is just one small area. The rest of the quilts hang from the ceiling, and line the walls, and are stacked in piles on tables. They are so beautiful and represent such creativity and hard work, I could spend all day just looking at the quilts.

I had to take a picture of this winner in the sewing category. I sewed a couple of dresses this past winter but they sure didn't look like this beauty. Thanks, Captain Obvious, for your hand at the edge of the picture, making sure we notice the spectacular train on this gown.

This is one of the peaks on a range that encircles Palmer, where the fairgrounds are located. If you put on a pair of magnifying glasses, you just might be able to make out my daughter's red balloon floating away to the left of that mountain. Good-bye, balloon. And good-bye, State Fair. We'll meet again next year: same place, same time.

Dinner last night: barbecue chicken, roasted potatoes, green salad

Mushrooms and Fairies

I've been noticing mushrooms on the forest floor this year. I don't know if the unusually hot weather this summer had something to do with their size or appearance, but the wild mushrooms growing in the woods behind our house seem larger and more colorful than usual.

I can't decide if I like the looks of this mushroom or not . . . Is it pretty? Or scary? A sign of healthy soil? Or of creepy, poisonous spores?

There. Much better. Now the mushroom looks charming and even useful. Those little fairies can take shelter under the mushroom when it rains, or sit in its shade when the sun's too hot for their delicate wings.

Dinner last night: sour cream enchiladas

Report from the Rock Garden

I love a good rock garden. You can ask my mother and she'll tell you I loved my grandmother's so much that I fell several feet off a high wooden staircase into her rock garden. I was knocked unconscious and ended up with horrible black eyes. My mom received judgmental stares at the grocery store for weeks, as my bruised and cut face caused strangers to gasp in horror. To this day, I sport a dent in my forehead that reminds me every time I look in the mirror the lengths to which I'll go to spend time in a rock garden.

Nowadays, I'm a little safer about how I enter the yard and I'm slowly but surely putting in perennials throughout our property. I'm developing a rock garden proper at the front corner of the house and trying to border the back yard with Alaskan foliage. A couple weeks ago I showed you the arctic poppies, forget-me-nots, and mystery tree that have blossomed. This week, I've got a new batch of lovelies that are showing up.

These Sitka roses greet me each morning when I look out the window. I can see them from my computer chair, and they remind me to limit my time on the Internet. 

They're not nearly as fragrant as "real" roses,

but I think they're just as pretty in their own sweet way.

When my neighbor, Peg, handed me a bunch of pots of green leaves, she called them day lilies. But this sure looks like an iris to me. Maybe an iris is a day lily. Or maybe this purple sweetie was just hiding out in the mix, since she was smaller than the rest yet the first to bloom. Or maybe I'm wrong and this isn't an iris at all. I guess I'll just have to wait and see what the others look like.

I always assumed pansies were annuals, but

evidently some types of pansies are perennial. Yay!

Then there's the love–hate relationship I've got going with my strawberry patch . . . they look so full of promise at this stage, don't they? We shall see if they deliver on those promises.

Dinner last night: grilled chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, chocolate cake