Tag: gardening

clouds

RCE_2702Last light catches rain.

Perhaps when I get old (er), I said to Lisa, I’ll keep the camera nestled in my lap while sitting on the porch and take pictures of clouds.

Lisa said, sure, reassuring like I’d just slipped off.

RCE_2683.jpgLettuce, self seeded, beside the compost.

The garden is still behind but showing promise. The beans came up like gangbusters. Not like other years. The cabbage is doing the best out of what was planted. The weeds are kicking ass, until tomorrow. That’s when I’m heading out there like a pimp with my angry hoe.

RCE_2685A few early black cherry tomatoes. 

Just words. My friend, said, he wanted a shirt that said, free speech is more important than your feelings. I agree. The problem is, if you want the shirt, you have to be on the internet and buy it from the white supremacists.

RCE_2711A pterodactyl or blue heron, one or the other, flies into the storm.

Fathers Day. I was lucky. Phone calls and even a few Instagram tributes. It was pretty nice. Better than being like most of the dads on Instagram . . . already dead.

Tomorrow, I’m heading out there like I said. That’s the trick, and probably what makes a good father.

Very fine day.

late may

CRW_0012smA wild turkey. Too late for Easter and too early for Thanksgiving! 

Got the garden in. Better late then never, yet I’ve been later. It all seems to work out, despite my foolish  worry and woe.

CRW_0017.smWild flower. Venus’s Lady’s Slipper Orchid.

Garden

CRW_0009A robin who was singing into the sun turns his back for the camera and scratches it’s ass.

It was good to get out and catch up with the garden. Despite good intentions I am once again behind. Spring always seems to sneak up.

The garden needed digging. The garlic, planted in the fall is not yet up, it could be because it was trampled by the deer before the ground froze. It is hard to say if it will come up. The weeds got shaken and tossed to the side. Tomorrow I plan on running a rototiller through the garden and maybe get a few spuds in the ground. I’ve started a few plants inside, but they are not ready to be put out.

I think we should prepare for another dry one.

***

During the week Lisa and I headed behind the mountain along the creek. There is more yahoos in the bush then ever. We saw some people shooting down the road. We weren’t in their line, but somebody could have easily been. Before I could think, I was out of my truck and asking them what the hell they thought they were doing. They apologized, which I didn’t give a damn about.

Lisa calmly asked, once I got back in the truck, if my new thing is giving people carrying high powered rifles shit?

***

The sun felt good today. My head has been clogged with a cold. The first one I can remember in years. My arms are sunburnt and scratched from pulling out the old raspberry canes. Very fine day.

local

 

_LME2481-Pano.smJupiter peaks around. The Teapot’s down there above the ice.

I keep telling myself I can write whatever I feel like, but usually I don’t. It’s got me into trouble in the past.

I’m employable only because I can lift more than fifty pound. They keep me around because I can lift a lot more. Not that I’ve written anything but the truth. As I told our current MLA when he came after me, ‘what the fuck do people care what I think anyway’. I was trying to satiate him, but he saw a fight and an opportunity to crush a perceived enemy, not even really an enemy, but someone not sharing his message.

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These men are a dime a dozen. Everything, especially politics, has become religion where if you can’t agree you go to war.

I should have been a roofer. Putting roofs over people’s heads is an honourable trade. I would only espouse the virtues of small town politicians who championed the most roofs, overlooking the money they received in kickbacks, much more than a roofers wage. Just guys saying yes.

It is interesting to note the small time politicians who have had the biggest impact on local communities don’t live there anymore. They were happy until they were voted out or retired. After that. . . they move. The towns; each campaign they devoted their love to, and changed in there image, in the rearview mirror once they stopped collecting. Meanwhile we stay and clean up their mess.

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Hey man, I’ve seen it over and over. That’s the burden with being in any one place for a long time, I guess.

warriors

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It’s an imaginary world. Sometimes we’re deep in the bush other times dreaming at night.

Willow slept most of the day after the cold night. The cold can take it out of you. It’s like exercising without moving. It strips the body, leaving only what’s needed.

Being older, it takes on greater meaning. Sometimes wisdom is just concurrence letting things be. Then again, I’ve never been more prepared for a fight.  That’s the old man talking.

Cold water. Ice. Temperatures dipping. Snow. Knee deep. Frost bite. Dim light.

We’re all warriors until we slip on a patch of ice.

early February

RCE_1852The garden gate.

Here it is the start of February and the temperature is 8°c., in a month it can go as low as -40!

A warm wind rolled in yesterday. The snow has mostly melted in the valley bottom, leaving puddles on the frozen ground.

RCE_1854Willow with a full coat of hair, looking worried, while winter seems to be coming to a premature end. “Did I grow this hair for nothing?” she was heard to say.

I had three people mention gardening to me today. It seems too early to consider. Still I looked at seeds online. Willow and I even strolled out to the garden. The deer have really trampled my garlic rows. Hopefully the plants won’t be effected. There is deer shit from asshole to tea kettle (asshole to tea kettle, was a saying my father regularly used. It means a lot and afar).

The forecast is calling for cold temps.

It was a good day to hang out in the wood pile.

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Cooper’s and Papa’s axes.

finally fall

_LME8510Cooper burying the potatoes I just dug.

Frost behind the mountain, along the creek, as soon as sight is lost of the valley bottom. The leaves are changing. The potatoes are in. Most of the tomatoes ripened on the vine. The onions are pulled and dried.

Lisa and I were deep in the bush Monday morning with our grandkids. It was chilly when we walked the cut block and the road in and out. They took turns calling Willow.

_LME8457Dog tries to steal babies tomato. Scarlett, says, ‘fuck you Willow’. . . not really.

Cooper threw rocks over the bank, liking the way it sounds hitting the snags and boulders on the way down. Scarlett walked the whole way in her moccasins.

_LME8505Hiding out in the carrot patch.

Lisa and I get to show them something they don’t see everyday. Their hands get cold and sometimes hurt grabbing the wrong prickled branch pulling themselves up. They get to see trees living and some old stumps. They already know roots make the best walking sticks, berries with crowns are good and everything light green smells fresh when you crush it between your finger tips.

I just want them to love being here.

Scarlett

Nothing like a garden tomato._LME8487

clearing

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Lisa and Scarlett. Two peas in a pod, believe me, those smiles mean trouble.

A wonderful few days with our grandkids, Cooper and Scarlett, while their parents slipped away for a mini holiday to the Okanagan.

Lisa and I decided the best plan of action, since they haven’t been away from Mom and Dad overnight, was to keep them busy. Each morning found us up the creek behind the mountain. Cooper and Scarlett did plenty of walking. Cooper worked hard on his rock and hill climbing. Scarlett learned to call Willow to keep her close. We walked through trees and bush, noting the colour in the leaves, the rabbits ducking into the undergrowth and the wild chickens (grouse) that seem plentiful this year.

By lunch and supper Cooper and Scarlett were hungry. By bedtime they were tired and didn’t put up a fuss for Mom and Dad or wanting to stay up late. They slept through the night. In the morning we were off to it again.

IMG_0185
Cooper with supper and his pretend smile.

Cooper did seem to get a little tired of my boiled carrots and spuds at every meal – hey you eat what is ready in the garden. On their last night here I made a big spaghetti dinner. Mom and Dad were back and everyone enjoyed it. Of course the sauce had plenty of carrots.

Lisa and I are lucky. . . and I’m not talking about being able to grow carrots.

***

Light rain tonight. It feels good, cool and fresh. Today the clouds were as high as they’ve been for awhile. The mountains showed up and lo and behold had a coat of snow.

Very fine extended weekend.

summer garden

RCE_0812Willow watches over the bounty. She got a carrot for posing nice.

It is hard to believe summer is on the downslide. I gave the garden a serious look today. Lots of vegetables ready. I picked Hunter and Bree a basketful to take home. The garden is doing good considering neglect on my part. The weeds need some serious plucking.

Cooper is coming out next weekend and I better get it under control by then. I don’t want him having trouble finding his carrots.

The peas are about done. The garlic is as big as the palm of my hand and needs digging before the thin papers start to deteriorate. The onions need thinning. The cabbage looks pissed off being behind the sunflowers. The cosmo flowers, that self seeded and foolishly left, have taken over the kale. They don’t know it yet but I’m going to be showing some tough love. The chard, also self seeded, has been wonderful, but know it’s starting to bolt. Damn, I hate pulling plants out.

RCE_0816Not a blood moon from an eclipse. The moon coming up through smoke on the horizon.

The heat has been extreme. The moon came up red tonight. The mountains are hazy from fires. The government has issued a campfire ban. I hate it but it’s necessary. I’ll miss my small fires by the creek, smudges to keep the bugs at bay.

Tourists build large fires on dry bluffs without a drop of water within a mile. They run off road vehicles through dry brush. Set off fireworks. It’s a recipe for disaster. They don’t know better. Not that they are the biggest man made forest fire culprit. That goes to the logging companies. If they aren’t mowing down the forest with massive clearcuts they are littering it with discarded fuel containers and setting it on fire.

In the valley, we were taught long ago to never say a cross word about industry or tourism, in case we forgot where our bread was buttered. I’ve always fucking hated teachers with that message.

Often, during this kind of heat, storms are accompanied by lightening striking dry spikes. By the time the blaze is spotted it can be out of control.

The garden needs water. Everyone but the District of Invermere, the School District and new and old real estate developments, depending on who’s palms are being greased, are under strict water restrictions.

Taking the weeds out will dry it out more. Do you see the way I’m justifying not weeding?