Derelict in the Dale

With COVID still a prominent part of life, and especially with the rising case numbers, I have been keeping a low profile. All my usual weekend activities have been curbed and with no events planned or meetups arranged I've been running solo. A few bike rides, a few hikes, gardening, plus plenty of reading thrown in have kept me occupied. I've turned down a few requests to go exploring with friends but have still been keeping an eye out while traveling country roads, hoping to see an interesting building to investigate.
One old house that I kept passing by intrigued me, walls of bare wooden boards and a weathered tin roof kept beckoning me from below in a valley as I drove by, and finally I relented. I hid the car on  side road then trudged down a steep hill through tall grass to see it close up.

A locked shed, and a porch with a broken toilet half falling through busted floor boards offered little photo opportunities at the front, so I plodded through the long grass towards the back, praying I wouldn't be taking home a colony of tick hitch hikers. Grasshoppers jumped from one grass stem to another in front of me and to the right I spotted a dank dark pond shrouded with hanging foliage and the obligatory half sunk car tire in the middle. As I turned around the corner I had to watch where I was placing my feet, hidden broken bricks and rocks beneath the grass tripped me, so it wasn't until I neared the door that I finally looked up, because I was suddenly aware that many birds were angry with me.

I clambered up to the doorway and peered in. Swallows chattered and screamed on the stair landing and I spotted a couple of nests clinging to the wall. As I stood watching, the birds swept in and out of the door, swooping past me, and I was reminded of my little resident tree swallow who had successfully raised two babies in my back yard. I felt immensely guilty that I'd invaded their space and determined that my visit would be short and swift, feeling a little mournful at the same time because I'd be unable to stay and concentrate on getting some good photos in the first abandoned property I'd been in for months. But I was now acutely aware that there were eggs or babies that needed their mothers' attention and so I hurried forwards into the hallway.

The lighting was great inside, casting sunlight and shadows throughout the broken interior. I was aware of interesting bottles and decaying material, shattered furniture and much paperwork scattered around, but those birds behind me were not letting up, constantly and furiously berating me for having the audacity to enter their abode. Without investigating these pieces of interest further I instead snapped a couple of photos of a parlor, and the side porch through old distorted glass, and then walked carefully to the stairs.

And no, I wasn't going to be permitted entry to that floor; the swallows shrilled and increased their swooping activity. I swear if they had got bombs they would have dropped them on me. I quickly shot a photo through a half closed door of an old jacket and hangers, and then backed out of the house, the screaming birds' voices rising to, it seemed to me, a crescendo.
I was actually immensely relieved to be back outside and made my way around the side of the house as quickly as possible, avoiding bricks and potholes, but managing to spot the worst termite damage I've ever seen on a home. The birds were still swooping above in the sky, but they were quietening down a little, a couple entering the door before I'd even turned the corner. I felt glad to leave them to their motherly duties and hoped they wouldn't have any other disturbances for a while.

One last photo from the front of the house by the shed and then I ambled, a lot more leisurely now, towards an old barn where I'd spotted some beat up vehicles. I couldn't hear the swallows at all, instead a low insect hum filled the air. No damp dust or debris stank out here, just the sweetness of hay and wild flowers. I stood, breathing deeply, and relishing the coolness of the shade thrown down by the bent and warped wooden planks of the barn walls. It was glorious to just be still, enjoying the warm country air against my face, the perfume of summer, the freedom of not wearing a mask, which I have to for much of my day at work. I walked through the grass, exploring the rusted pieces of forgotten farm machinery, dark ivy slowly pulling up a blanket of leaves to hide them from the world. A couple of bleached trucks stood in the sun, their paint revealing little of the original color, wheels sunk deep in the meadow as the grasses and flowers decorated their sides more prettily than spray on paint ever could.
I looked over to the old farmhouse, wondering if those swallows had finally calmed down and were once again back on their nests in that dismal, dark, but at least cool and dry, hallway. I'd likely not even be a distant memory by dusk. Anyway, I hoped not. It was time for them to settle down for the approaching evening and time for me to don the mask, perpetually hanging around my neck, as I drove to the store to shop for dinner.

The Splendor of Strickler Knob

Very early on Saturday morning I drove to the mountains. A heavy fog hung in the valley, clinging to the mountain sides, the tips of the trees disappearing up into the mist as though an eraser had rubbed out the topmost branches.

The sun was rising and as I drove up to the trailhead I had to stop suddenly when the trees on the roadside opened up, a beautiful view of the valley below was visible, clouds rolling towards me tinged with sunrise colors. A wonderful start to the day. I was still a little sleepy as I grabbed my backpack and locked up the car, beginning my hike at 6:45am. Leaving the parking lot a bubbling creek was my first obstacle, requiring concentration as I hopped from one wobbly rock to the next, determined not to soak my feet before my hike started.

Because of the heavy rain from the night before, the trail was a small creek in itself, rainwater running down in rivulets as I negotiated my way uphill. Everything was drenched, leaves and branches dripped, while birds chirruped and cheeped their morning salutations.Along the top of the trail I was accompanied by lots of butterflies, blue swallowtails that floated and bobbed in front of me, while tiny cream and light brown butterflies landed on the path in front of me and then took off as I approached.

Tulip trees flowers carpeted the ground, knocked down by the rain, but the mountain laurel looked resplendent after its shower, bright white and pink flowers in full bloom. The air was fragrant with the morning freshness, the aftermath of rain and honeysuckle, with a damp woody aroma. As I climbed to the top of the ridge, tall black tree trunks stood bare against the skyline, the damage from a forest fire in 2007. But new growth was visible on the charred bark.
I spotted a wooden sign to the right, signaling the way to Strickler Knob, declaring that the next mile was rocky terrain. Strickler Knob is named for Abraham Strickler who around 1730 built a settlement and plantation on the eastern base of the mountain.

From here I would be following bright pink splashes of paint, marked in 2006 by anonymous trailblazers.I cannot award enough kudos to these heroes. It must have taken many arduous hours of back and forth on the rocks trying to find the best route. As I hiked I thought of having to carry a pot of paint and a paint brush while I was rock hopping and determined that I couldn't have done it. I needed my arms and hands for balance, and for hauling me up onto boulders. But every time I looked ahead for that vivid pink stripe I saw it, a beacon guiding me forward. In places I had to push through a narrow trail between bushes of mountain laurel, the wet foliage and flowers soaking my legs as I passed, but I didn't mind, my eyes constantly searching ahead for those pink markings on the ground. As I came to the summit, I walked and hopped along a ridge line, sometimes on narrow rocks, other times padding along a soft path of pine needles, my feet making hollow sounding footfalls on the thick carpet.

The views were outstanding and I was so grateful that I'd made the effort to get up early. It would have been rough, with the current social distancing, to stand back and wait for other hikers to enjoy the vistas before I could step forward, but this morning it was all mine. And an additional joy which I was ever conscious of was the total lack of mosquitoes, not one buzzy blighter to be seen. I sat for a few minutes at each of the viewpoints to appreciate these exquisite vistas and every single time I was aware that I was enjoying them without any form of interruption from those nipping nibbly critters.

I had initially thought that this huge 'head like' rock was the 'knob' and was bitterly disappointed that I couldn't climb up it. My nerves left me here, I wasn't brave enough for that ascent, and so stood looking up at it forlornly, trying to placate myself, until I looked down a steep gorge and spotted a pink blaze. So it wasn't the summit after all!

With renewed energy, I clambered down the gorge, around a corner, and then across more boulders until I saw the end of the trail ahead of me. I slowly climbed up and then sat, taking in the 360 degree views. It wasn't even 9:30am and I was on top of the world. I actually couldn't see all the way around because the morning misty clouds were still hanging in the valley, but as they swirled up and around me they felt wonderful, a natural mister that cooled me off with a gentle breeze. I sat and gazed at the mountains, drinking water, and just enjoyed nature at its best. There was even birdsong up here. I couldn't see the birds but their cheery songs carried up from the trees below me, an enchanting morning chorus. No bugs, no blazing hot sun, no humidity, this was heaven. The granite rocks sparkled in the sunlight, the quartz twinkling like glitter. I wished I could have sat there all day but then I got extremely nervous as I considered the climb back down. I've always preferred climbing up rocks rather than descending, and I worried that I had to do this, and on my own. I knew that if I broke an ankle or leg, my only rescue would be from a helicopter that would cost thousands of dollars. This thought made me extremely cautious as I climbed down, slowly and steadily.
Incredibly, the climb back down was a lot easier, and quicker. I met a few folks as I neared the end of the rocks and we chatted for a while. Plodding back down the steep trail was the worst part, my poor toes scrunching up painfully in my boots and I was feeling every small rock under my sore soles. But it had been worth it, and I know this is a trail that I'll revisit, especially in the fall, and with new boots.

Contentedly Coping with COVID

Spring started with a pandemic and suddenly everyone was staying at home, working from home, entertaining themselves at home and just keeping away from everyone else in general. Our boss sent an e-mail out over the weekend telling us all to stay home and work if possible. Regardless of what any of us were able to do, we were all paid. Meaning that we could all focus on remaining healthy without any financial stress, which many others in the world were experiencing. We were extremely fortunate.
For me, the first moment of pure joy was turning off the alarm clock, no more waking up at 4:30am for the foreseeable future, and from that moment on, I relished every moment of isolation. In all fairness, I had planned ahead and was ready. I'd been reading and listening to the news in China and had a hunch as COVID-19 began to spread around the globe, that it wouldn't be long before it hit the US of A. Having always been a little engrossed in the prepper scene, I began stockpiling. I bought stacks of canned and dried cat food, cat litter, tins of veggies, corned beef, fish and soups, flour, yeast and teabags, plus of course snacks. I filled the freezer with meat and veggies, ice cream and bread. I grabbed extra cheese, eggs and cold cuts and bought extra toilet roll, paper towels, detergents and medical supplies and even took some cash out of the bank. I got top soil so I could still garden, bought a pile of secondhand books and DVDs, a couple of pots of paint, and a veritable hoard of wine and beer. And then after walking around studying and checking my supplies, I sat back, content, and waited. Sure enough, 3 weeks later the isolation orders were issued and panic ensued in the stores as people raced to stockpile. But I sat smugly back, like a fairy tale king who sits on his pile of treasure and counts his gold coins.

Because I suspected that I might become lazier as the isolation progressed, I decided to paint my bathrooms first and get the big jobs out of the way. My guest bathroom had been a hideous biscuit brown color that constantly reminded me of vomit. It is now a cheerful apple green that makes me smile every time I go in there. My own bathroom had been boring with white walls. I didn't like the tiles on the walls but the craftsmanship is so good that I haven't had the heart to pull them off. So I picked a teal blue color that matched the tiles and now I love them. They just needed a strong color to compliment them rather than let them overpower such a small room.
After having painted two rooms in a week I became lazy for a while, binge watching TV and even subscribing briefly to some channels, just so I could watch series that I'd promised others I'd watch some day. Marvelous Mrs Maisel, Outlander, Picard, Poldark, The Blacklist, The Expanse, and The Grand Tour, to name most of them. I read the Wool trilogy by Hugh Howey, plus Sand, since I'm now an avid Howey fan. I read magazines that had been stacked in piles and previously ignored, left because I was so tired every night after work. I even managed a few hikes, walks and bike rides around the neighborhood.
I had long phone conversations with friends and family, and caught up on my sleep. For the first time in years I felt alive and alert, and as the weeks passed, I vowed I would never go back to those regular wake up calls at 4:30am. I began going to bed later, smiling as I caught myself a few times heading towards the bedroom and suddenly realizing that I could stay up later, feeling like a small kid whose been given a surprise bedtime extension.

I also began making bread. Once my fresh and frozen loaves were eaten I quickly whipped up a loaf, left it to rise overnight and flung it in the oven, amazed at how easy the process was. And even more amazed that just flour, water, yeast and salt could taste so wonderful. The first mouthful took me back over twenty years to when I would buy a fresh uncut loaf from an English bakery. This tasted exactly the same, with the same consistency and weight. With Irish butter spread on thickly I thought I'd gone to heaven. But I did curtail my demolition of this sumptuous loaf when I realized I was consuming too much of it too speedily. I did plenty of cooking since I had stacks of supplies. The cats and I ate well.

Another flashback to my life in England had me pulling out a ball of string and some beads from my boxes of craft supplies so I could make a macrame hanger. I used to make loads of these, giving them away to friends or hanging my plants in every room. It only took a couple of hours to knock one up, I hadn't forgotten how to weave the knots, and was astonished at how quickly I completed it. Yet it still hangs on a hook in my kitchen, awaiting a plant to be set inside. I will finish the project, I just need to find the right plant.

Another task was my bedroom door. Since it is glass paneled and see through, the previous owner had left an ugly, too short Venetian blind which clanked on the back of the door every time I opened or closed it. That blind has been removed and this vibrant privacy effect applied to the glass instead. So much prettier.

Along with millions of others I had been receiving packages from Amazon, and decided to put the cardboard boxes to some use. So I spent 3 hours one evening, with scissors and a tape gun, constructing a tank for Rosie Lee and Tricksie Treat, both of whom eyed me with distaste throughout the whole endeavor as though suspecting some mischief was afoot. I was ecstatic when it was completed and quite proud of my efforts. The next task was getting the cats inside of it and posing out of the turret top. I cut a hole out of the back and placed some treats on the inside. Once those were discovered and consumed I then placed a few more on the gun barrel, and voila! Both of the girls obliged and actually looked like they meant business, with bombs loaded and a target in their sight. Mission accomplished. The tank sat in the middle of the kitchen floor for about 3 weeks before it was taken to recycling, neither of the girls in the slightest bit interested in occupying the cozy space unless treats were involved. It made me remember a cream cat who would have absolutely adored this new space to explore...
My garden also got plenty of attention. Since I was not working, and some garden centers were open, I would be up early and waiting at the gates for them to be unlocked. I only did this about four times but was lucky to have the place to myself each time. The early bird definitely got the worm in this instance. I purchased plenty of plants for the front and back, along with top soil and potting soil, ensuring I had a few days work ahead of me.

 I'm slowly moving along the bank in the front garden, replacing the grass with native plants and pollinators. Last year's perennials have grown a lot so they will be split next spring, and this year's plants will hopefully fill up the bare earth through the summer. I still plan on adding a few more in the next couple of weeks before the really hot weather is here. The lavender I planted last year has really taken off and is about to bloom. I'll be able to split that next year too, so am hoping that the grassy banks will disappear a lot with 'free' plants. This is an expensive hobby! I was getting fed up that I wasn't replacing the grass on the bank fast enough so I put in a Ninebark, a witch hazel with various creeping phlox around the base, and a spice bush in separate spots to break up the grass. A hawthorn, a red bud and a fringe tree will also be added around the corner leading up to the cemetery gates.

I finally got rid of all the grasses in the raised beds down the back fence and have planted many veggies, which I'm hoping will be safe from Mr Chonk the Groundhog, who is currently being kept from my garden by rolls of barbed wire along the bottom of the fence. I have cabbage, celery, sorrel, spinach, snap peas, beans, lettuce, radishes plus herbs, tomatoes and peppers. I managed to fill every pot with flowers while my dear little tree swallow watched from her box. You can just see her head poking out from the pine box on the fence at the back of the photo. Both of my pond plants have revived so all I needed to add was some water hyacinths and water lettuces. The grasses by the pond are the only ones I've left in the back garden and along with the ivy, are trimmed back regularly.

Since staying at home was the norm, spring sprang without little human intervention, and I had a wonderful opportunity to watch the birds raising their young. A purple finch nested under my carport, crapping constantly on my car, until I moved it. Even placing cardboard on the hood was a waste of time, since she made every effort to avoid that and hit the paintwork, so I succumbed and parked further down the driveway. I was rewarded with a couple of babies who peered over the rim of their nest every time I walked underneath. They have now flown the coop and the nest is vacant.

At the beginning of spring I put up two nesting boxes on my back fence and was overjoyed to discover a tree swallow had moved into one and laid eggs. She's got used to me passing back and forth under her home and will pop her head out every time so I can have a chat with her. In the mornings and when I get home from work, I walk into the lounge, tap on the window, and a little blue and white head bobs out to greet me. And every time she hears the back door open, she looks out at me again as I call a greeting down the path towards her. We've got quite used to each other and I'll miss her when she leaves, and hope she'll return next year.

We do have a return tenant nesting again this year at The Blue House. The mocking bird who built a nest in the weeping cherry tree last year has built another right next to last year's model, no doubt with upgrades. and she's resumed her downright annoying habit of appearing at the dining room window, perched on the back of a chair, and squawking at me or the cats. Plus she's also remembered everywhere that I go within the house, appearing at the lounge or kitchen windows, yelling abuse at me every time. I've been throwing out dried meal worms to help feed her babies but there's no appreciation from this bird. But I love her!
And now I'm back at work full time, albeit shorter hours since we're not back at full steam, but I have already determined I won't be getting up as early as I did previously. This weekend the local museums and theaters open up but I won't be attending just yet. I firmly believe we're doing this all too soon and will have a second, and possibly worse, wave of the virus. My fingers are crossed that it won't happen, this year has been hellacious so far in so many ways. One day at a time, and in the meantime, I'll sit and watch my garden and the baby birds.

The Illustrious Iris

Facebook can be a wonderful thing. Although I often get annoyed by many political posts, false information and foolish comedy, these can be scrolled past, leaving me to get at least one belly laugh a day from clever humor, discover interesting information on stuff that I didn't even know existed, and then occasionally, an unexpected local wonder will appear. This happened late on Sunday as I was having my final scroll of the day before reaching for my book. A vibrant photo of an iris, in colors I'd never seen before, popped up on to my screen and upon clicking on it, I was informed that only an hour and a half away in West Virginia was an iris farm, with hundreds of varieties of these majestic blooms. I would visit the next day, anxious to have a trip out, but one that would not entail being among crowds of people. After a scenic drive through small towns and countryside I became aware that the front yards of homes were all exhibiting stands of brightly colored irises, evidently customers of Exline Iris Garden, and then I suddenly saw flashes of bright colors through the trees and excitedly entered a small parking lot, delighted to find that as the farm had just opened for the day, there was only a small handful of visitors.

The owners, Whrelda and Harry Pittman. were both very welcoming and explained everything fully before sending me off with a clipboard, on which a few pages of paper were attached, with small type listing all the irises, and a pen. I looked around in bewilderment for a few seconds not knowing how or where to begin and then decided that being methodical would be the best plan. So I started at the top of the field and walked back and forth along the rows until I reached the bottom.

At first I had to fight to restrain myself. The organized part of me was working out how to mark the irises I had to have versus the ones that were a probable buy, and also the ones that stood a good chance of purchase once I got to the end. But as I began studying each flower I started photographing each and every one, the delicate intricacy of the petals and beards, the horns, the texture, the scent, the gradients of the colors and even the tiny insects that were roaming inside and out of the flowers. My impulsive side had me scurrying from one to the next, then stopping as I realized I'd forgotten to mark my favorites. But really, there could be no favorites. I stood and looked around, relishing each and every bloom. This was an exquisite paradise.

Even the buds were gorgeous, crinkled edges about to unfurl their flag petals.

Before today's visit I had not really stopped to give irises much thought. They had always been my father's favorite flower and even though I have some already in my front garden, I had admired them but just taken them for granted. But today as my eyes took in these incredible blooms I knew I was going to love them from now on, and I also knew that I wanted a collection. I decided that one of my grass banks at the front of the house would become iris beds, with a variety of glorious hues upon noble heads greeting passers by as they drove or walked past to enter the cemetery. As I drove here today I had also decided that I would spend about $40, maybe $50, if I saw some delectable delights that I simply had to own. I ended up leaving with my bank account being $200 less but also with a huge grin of happiness, knowing that I'd found a new love in my life. 

Some of the irises above are beauties that I had put on my list, but with my lack of organization from being so overwhelmed, I neglected to record each picture. So some of them are varieties that I have bought and others are ones that had sold out this year but will hopefully be available next year. I have those names on my 'wanted' list. My rhizomes will be shipped to me in either July or August, giving me time to dig out some beds. I didn't want to pick them up, just in case I left with another huge hole in my wallet, but I am very much looking forward to them arriving, as though I were awaiting the arrival of a dear friend from overseas.  Two of my photos which I was able to identify as purchases are the Millenium Falcon above, purple and white, and Before The Storm, below, the blackest flower I'd ever seen.

And again, thanks to Facebook, Whrelda and Harry are experiencing their best year so far in 4 years. Due to horrendous weather the past 2 years they had lost 137 varieties, but this year the plants looked happy and healthy, and a lot of visitors were purchasing their favorites, many of whom had, like me, had only discovered Exline Iris Garden the day before on their Facebook feed. They have a wonderful website, full of information and photos here.