Wadding Waddles

What happens when your panties get in too tight of a wad? You have a tendency to waddle and not get anything done correctly. But I managed to buck up, concentrate, ah the source of my migraine perhaps, and figure out the best way to address some bites made by our perennial pest, Satan.

So day before yesterday I posted a title, three times in a row. Without the snarky quips that went with it. And I have such dedicated and sweet Dear Readers that two of them went above the call of duty and came up with comments for my nonsensical title. So to honor their diligence as Dear Readers, even though I deleted my three posts of utter ridiculous proportions (no words from Lanny!) I retained their comments and am republishing them here.

The title? What No Blogging?


The diligent commenters and their awesome and meaningful comments:

LindaSueBuhl just sometimes - not blogging means doing life so que sera sera

KathyB. You're NOT blogging? If the rest of your blog is any example of what is goin' on at Vicktory Farm I am amazed you're blogging at all! You are getting a LOT done outside in the mud there.

Thanks ladies, for reaching deep and coming up with great comments to my nonsense, you are second to no one, not even Blue Tarp Camper.

Kai's Birthday Bash

Today is Kai's eighth birthday, that means Eric and Steph are about to celebrate their ninth anniversary! Wow how time does fly. Isn't this the absolute best winter birthday cake you ever did see? I would want one even in August! Patty Mor Mor, Kai's other grandmother, makes the absolute best cakes ever! Not only are they a work of art but they are simply the best tasting cakes, hands down, bar none!


All of these pictures are taken by my oldest daughter, Stephanie, Kai's mom, Aksel's mom too, but it is Kai's birthday. I had left my camera at home but oddly enough my computer was only four doors down from Steph's house, at Mike and Rebecca's all weekend, so I downloaded from her card before we headed back out to the farm.

The afternoon festivities began with a little bowling for everyone! We were running a little late but that was okay because we ended up with more folks than two lanes can handle. But sweetly Pattikins and Pop feigned soreness so that Earl Dirt Anthony and I could bowl the second round.

Does this man look like he can only bowl one game? I didn't think so. He probably could have gone all day if given half a chance. Concentrate, Rick, concentrate. The Pattikins, Rick's darling bride and cake baker extraordinaire, was the high score-er of the day. Way to go Pat!

Bettispaghetti wasn't too bad, she sure as heck wasn't last.

And Earl Dirt Anthony, after a twenty-eight year hiatus, comes back with vigor, even though he tried his best to first feign sore shoulder before arriving at the lanes, then his shoes were sticky and his wrist wouldn't do what it used to, oh brother just fling the ball already.

Here is Rick and Dirt's little protegee, what a stance eh? Watch out guys he is hot on your heels, he only threw it into the other lane once.

And if you're wondering, yes, Twinkle Toes Lanny bowled, not well, (she held the worst score of all even the children in the other lane) but I look at the bright side, the floor at the alley is still intact, no light fixtures are missing, no ones teeth had to be replaced nor was any one knocked unconscious by a ball that left my hand. A red letter day for sure.

Hey Missy, we know where that ball is headed, yes we do. Auntra Beccah played up her gutter balls but she scored pretty stinking well in spite of them.

Why is it that two year olds get to do the things we all wish we were brave enough to do? Dontcha just wish you could get up close and personal to the Brunswick and see how it does that ball spitting back thing it does?

The ball is coming, yes it is!

It wouldn't be normal to do a post about the Manley family and not have more pictures of Aksel than anyone, say for instance even the birthday boy. Remember, these are the pictures his mommy took and there were still more of him than anyone else.

Thanks for joining us at fashion central today Dear Reader.

.

Now that we have had our fun (until we go to get out of bed in the morning and realize parts don't move anymore) and all insist that we are going to do it again, beware, the lane monster has been unleashed in the Lanny. I will not remain on the bottom for long! I will not be the asbestos tile beneath your feet forever!

.

God has blessed us with life again today Dear Reader, He is good. He has gotten me peacefully through another winter day with a smile on my face.

The Bedroom Story, Part One

Well, here's the hole that started it all. It all began with the bed actually, but right now it is just a big brown uninteresting box. So the hole will get top billing for now. The hole and the termites that ate the hole, nice square job they did eh? (That was really Dirt's handi-work.)

This is the type of stuff that freaks out my silly over-reactive nodes, they're so much like me, over-reactive that is.

Boards just hanging out, being bored, waiting to be reused and used. Not everything got hauled out as planned but the girls appreciated the stereo being left in the room.

It kept them entertained while they pulled the wall paper off the wall to expose more paper. I'm a corner cutter, and would have just plastered over the wall paper but when I heard it peeled easily I figured they should peel it and I'll plaster on the paper I used to decrease the paneling lines on the upper part of the wall over twenty years ago.

.

I know, everyone is going to say that I should strip things and do this and do that, butcha know, I was told that the wallpaper and even the paint wouldn't adhere to the paneling twenty years ago. I would have had a different color scheme years ago if it would have only peeled or flaked or something. So for a person who loves change, I like to live dangerously.

Here's the original window with the window taken out. A nice typical bedroom sized window.

Anna helped her dad measure and draw the cutting lines for the new window. A new window could be extravagant, but I found it on Craig's list for a relative song, it is a really nice Penguin window, and will afford quite a view of the yard and gardens from the bed. No need to pull up a chair, the head of the bed is a mere eleven feet from the window. The foot of the bed, just inches.

Dirt will be installing a baseboard heater just under the window. I like baseboard heat. I don't care for the blowy noisy-ness of most force air heaters or furnaces. And with my asthma issues (and now obviously my lymph seems to want to complain a little too) one of the worst triggers is house dust and mites (uck) and forced air heat is a contributor to the problem.

.

Besides that, our furnace never worked well into other parts of the house and Dirt had to crawl under the house and redo the soft duct work. Our cats were often blamed, but I'm thinking that the possums that Martin has pulled out from under the house also liked to rip into the ducting and enjoy the heat, not to mention the mice and other rodentia that crawl under my house with abandon ( I hear them all the time, skritch, skritch, skritch).

Ah, here is the new window! And even better, here is the help to put in the window! Our friends from up north have impeccable timing to show up for work and for that Dirt and I are incredibly thankful.

It took the three Coulter men, Dirt and a bit of help from Bet on the inside to put the window in the hole. I have no idea how Dirt, sicky me, Anna and Bet would have gotten that hurkin' thing in.

It pays to have tall friends, and friends willing to play huggy to rose bushes (I told them they could cut it down), you can't really see Trevor in behind the rose arbor or Mark being eaten by the climbing clinging rose, that's Justin on the ladder getting tapped on the arm by the rose, and looky there, Dirt, and no rose thorns in his side!

And here are the spectators. Becky and I sittin' on the Lilac Bench watching the window installment. (I'm the one in the mask.) I appreciate good company sittin' on my favorite bench with me on a bright sunny day. We are both happy to have the chance to soak up some pre-winter sun.

.

This all went down on Sunday and now it is Tuesday evening, I still wear the mask most of the time, even when I am not in that end of the house. It helps with the asthma, I forget how much more comfortable I am with them on than without them wheezing most of the time.

After lunch break and a little football, we took our precious company out back to Dale's pond to see how the mountain was getting along. It looked pretty in soft pink and all snowy. Anna was ready to head to the mountain and play in the snow. Daddy better have his big truck ready for some Saturday afternoons in the snow.

I should have packed the tripod with me as the light level was low enough that it was hard to hold still for nice crisp shots. But I enjoyed being out shooting pictures again.

One of my favorite things about autumn is the evening, with the fog that forms on the ponds and the way the sunset catches it. After taking in all the pretty sky we could, we all headed back to the house for Anna's Green Tomato Spice cake from the last of this year's green tomatoes. We topped off the cake with our homemade caramel sauce and some delightful home made hazel nut whipped cream, had a little bit of coffee, watched some of the Philly's and NY game and then reluctantly said good bye to our northern friends, those positively amazing Coulters.

.

I hope you had a good weekend and are in the middle of a terrific week, Dear Reader. Things are just looking plain old terrific here at Victory Farm and Gardens because as a very dear friend shared with us this week:

.

The Lord your God is in your midst,

a mighty one who will save;

he will rejoice over you with gladness;

he will quiet you by his love;

he will exult over you with loud singing.

.

Zephaniah 3:17:

.

It matters not who you are or what you situation is God is in your midst.

Okay, I Give In

I have often said since November that I think Facebook is ridiculous. I've said if it is not completely ridiculous, it is at least a major waste of people's time or it is a blatant display of how much time people waste. Something like those type of complaints have ushered from my lips or at least rolled around in my grey matter.

But I give in. I have to declare Facebook as being a nifty tool. Someone got a facebook account just so she could find me. Me. Little ol' grumpy-pants,-yell-at-the-world,-sack-cloth-and-ashes,-we-are-screwed-up" me. And because I have a Facebook account and I am actually attempting to use it, even though it requires that I say no more than a sentence or two (that is torturous quite frankly), she did indeed find me.

So for about a month and a half now, an old friend (clear back to seventh grade folks!) and I have had a couple of conversations, visited in person and on Facebook. And today she is coming for another visit to Vicktory Farm and Gardens so I won't tarry here long so that I can run the girls into little town this morning, return a movie to BB and books to the library and be back to greet her with a fire in the woodstove, a cup of something warm and some little toasty things to nibble on.

And I suppose I would have to say that some of last weekend's basking in an old friendship with a family we don't see but once a year, accidentally at the Fair, would also have to be attributed to stupid Facebook. It is just too easy to say, "hi, come on over for dinner" when you "see" a person on Facebook often.

And not to mention Facebook is going to be instrumental in the girls and I getting to know the sister of a good friend just a little better than seeing her occasionally at said friend's house for events that we would both be there, like wedding and house warming and moving days. Because she is going to come and make applesauce donuts with us next week! Just because of some silly little banter on Facebook, and because another Facebookian who knows both of us in real life, a reluctant and grumpy sort (kinda like me only far more pessimistic) who doubted the accuracy of our being able to say we are friends said, "oh, yeah and you guys are going to be real friends and actually talk?" or something to that effect. Well Bucky, this is Facebook Throwdown with Lanny.

So there it is, I cave, I cave to Facebook. But I admit I am not sure how some people can have 450 "friends". I just have 45 and I run to keep up with them. Yes, only 45 Facebook friends, isn't that like way sad?

Hey, is sad the only word these days that is still used in it's original manner or did I just say that it is actually cool that I have only 45 Facebook friend or something equally weird?

Have an awesome day Sweet Listener and Brave Converser. I'd have included a picture here but you can just see Facebook for yourself on your own computer. Maybe, just maybe, I will have some illustrations for you tomorrow. Oh wait, I will be without computer tomorrow, so you will not be hearing from me 'til at the very least Sunday. Because, yes, I am trying to get back to posting nearly every day. We'll see how that goal works.

Tute ta lue

Where Is My Camera?!

I cannot seem to unzip my camera case, get the poor little thing out and use it.

Two amazing weekends have gone by,now almost three and nothin', well picture wize anywho.

Weekend before last we were over east of the mountains in some of my favorite spots on the earth (I don't get around much so favorite spots come from a small radius in relation to the whole world but the spots I find as favorites have huge childhood connections so they most likely wouldn't change even if I could go to Peru and canoe on Lake Titicaca) and I even put my silly little camera bag over my shoulder, it certainly helped make me look like a tourist but it didn't help me get out my camera and use it.

The bummer is that because I had the camera that meant that my girls who stayed at home taking care of the farm had none. And if my time east of the mountains couldn't be caught on film, uh, card, at least theirs could have been. Not saying that my weekend wasn't exciting but theirs was exciting and photographable.

Some fella decided to drive up to the farm except he missed the driveway by a bit, took out a telephone pole and wiped out a huge chunk of our frontage pasture fence! When his insurance folks called him about our fence he claimed that he never saw a fence, knew that he wiped out a telephone pole and had it on top of his truck sure 'nough but he did not encounter a fence.

That would be because his truck was on top of the fence!

His insurance company was decent and expedient about taking care of the fence and so soon we'll get to rebuild our front fence.

Yipee, 'cause I was getting a little bored with nothin' to do around here!

We got a lot done last weekend because of friends and we got a lot done back in September because of family (and friends that look a lot like family and kinda sorta are in a way, which will lead to a post soon on family relations and such, cause I gotta beef with our lack of naming things). I would love to show you pictures of all the work we did and the fun we had doing it, but the camera trigger finger seems to be stuck and very few pictures are being taken right now.

I will do my best to do better. I don't even have pictures of Leif Erikkson Day. Which was great by the way. The food was great but being with family and framily was even better. Dirt ended up putting the Lutefisk on his barbeque (which in not the same as a grill) and ate it later in the evening. Because it was not done in the "traditional" method I felt I had an out this year and passed it up. I might not be so lucky come Christmas Eve however.


That is it for now Patient Visitor, I'll be doin' a follow up on my last post, because it isn't that we think no one has the gift of pastoring, shepherding, but that it just doesn't look like the current common practice. And pretty soon, Mr. Vick, uh I mean Dirt, will sit down with me while I write out his analogy of school, college, and goin' to a church building for church done the way most Christians just accept that it ought to be done. Oh that and I will take pictures today of Anna skinning a raccoon that Martin treed, well arbored really, and tell you all about it.

God is good, all the time. Even when you gotta wipe the fan blades and the walls, there is always something good, amazingly good going on that makes the stuff on the fan blades seem like nothin'.

How the Heck!?! or Quick, Before a Week Goes By!

Warning: Pictures on this blog often have nothing to do with what I am talking about and sometimes they illustrate my words nicely, today they do both.

.

One of my favorite posts of recent, (A Flag On the Ceiling and a Promise Kept ) I found had been turned from a post (it actually had two comments) into a draft. How the heck did that happen?

.

Bucha know, I think that I will say that that will be my last promise kept. No, I mean that I won't be taking in any more awards or tags for quizzes into my dark secret life.

Mr. Howell would like some of that Otter Pop please.

I don't really deserve any awards and I have no dark secret life. What you see is what you get. But mostly because they, awards and such, take me a century to attend to and I go to bed with that same "you have a paper due in a couple of days" gut ache I used to have when I was a student. Sometimes assignments are not helpful.

Aksel says, "No one goes in unless they come out with an Otter Pop,

and not a banana flavored one either."

But iffen' you really want to know something, ask, I'll tell, eventually. But it will be with a huge long verbose explaination. That I am good at. I can't get through anything without a lot of words. Must be why I'm not all that into Facebook. I don't have bumperstickers on my car and I don't do Faceboook very well at all.

Steph and the boys enjoying Otter Pops

in the Bedouin style tenting I have up around the house to keep it cool.

I will say, that in a day or two I will have a Facebook prompted scathing review of nonsensical and poor use of words. And folks, its not just a word choice nit pick. You say something to kids, young men and women (known by some people as teenagers) and nine times outta ten the crap sticks and it fosters a mess. We need to be mindful of what we set up in young people. Luke 17:1-2, (oh and the warning is also in Matthew and Mark just in case you think it is a fluke)

Mind you I am not talking about being bold with the fledgling adults and saying harsh stuff to them, they often need, especially in this current its-all-about-the-kids culture, to hear that the universe does not revolve around them and they are not Queen or King Bee or a little Prince or Princess. I am talking about words that.... Oh what the heck I said a future post. This one is about catching up (again with the ketchup), the heat wave and garden stuff and other loose ends not starting another one.

King Brug standing guard at Dirt's Arbor Entrance to the Croquet Lawns.

Several of you asked what a brug was. Brug is shorthand for Brugmansia. You know, like Mum for Chrysanthemum. In actuality it is a water guzzling, fertilizer slurping monster as bad if not worse than tomatoes in small pots.

A Brug is a big fat baby when it comes to winter so not only am I its food and beverage slave all summer, but then I have to give it indoor lodging half the year. Sheesh! And since I love to have a crowd around me at all times, tossing roasted somethings here and pouring a porter there, I don't just have one of these I have five.

King Brug's courtier, Peach, actually beginning to bloom

(where's your bloom KB?)

Their leaves are quite holey this year because the uninvited Leaf Hopper Gangs have moved in in record numbers, bikes, leathers and all, but at least this year they will actually bloom outside. Last year I brought them in but didn't tuck them in bed for a couple of months because they had just budded in late September.

Next year's goal, get these lazy party boys to bloom in June or at least July!

If you have been a good "Dear Reader" and read my side board, you will know that I do a lot of "next year..." this time of year. For me August is "evaluation month" and September is actual "sit down and map out next year month" making September the real "New Year," resolutions and all, in my book. (Yes, if it were not for the ridiculousness of current academia Lanny would still be a student. I could address this issue right after I crack the whip on silly numbheaded "we wanna be cool" parents.)

Fragrant Cloud Hybrid Tea Rose in the Lawn Border Garden

Ahhh what better time that one's birthday month to go around and beat the tar out of one's self for the stupid stunts they tried to get away with. Or let others talk them into.
But not all "next year..." s are because of failures, sometimes they are because a "hey, I can do this, I might even get away with doing more" sweeps over you, while attempting to stay honest and humble.

North Garden sweet peas. Taken Tuesday of Extreme Heat Week

The pictures of Stephanie and the boys were taken at the height of our heat wave. It had been building for quite sometime and then peaked mid-week last week. Well this is also a picture taken last week. My sweet peas appreciated the knock down blast and the "now stay off" spritz of Neem oil and Epsom salts I gave the aphids a while back and now they are continuing to bloom with the promise of going all the way into fall.

In my two gallon sprayer I put in a splash of hippy dish soap, two and a half-ish tablespoons of Neem oil and a couple of tsp. of Epsom salts. I had blasted the the aphids hard with this (turn the tip of your sprayer to stream like your kitchen spray bottle in a water fight) and then went back over the whole plant with a lovely stay-on-the-leaves-you-great-little-solution misting spritz.

Princess Elizabeth Sweet Pea perfuming the North Garden
.

I only did this because the sweet peas were heading south (no offense you southerners) before they really wanted to. And it was all the aphids' fault. My brugs may be holey and not blooming but the not blooming thing is from them not getting sun early enough in the year and not being fed steak and eggs for breakfast, two double deluxe cheese burgers and fries for lunch and a baron of beef for dinner every day.

And the holey thing isn't all that crucial. I'm not raising them for exhibition. So I would rather let the leaf hoppers think that they are safe and hopefully the lady bugs and lace wings will come in, knock their pompous rears off their bikes, and arrest the lot of them, while leaving a few to snack on later.

I do give them a spritz of Epsom salts. It helps their cell walls and bad bugs don't like crisp vegetation. Another reason to suspect them as evil greasers. Remember the bad guy in Ever After (1998)? The guy who hauled off Danielle (Drew Barrymore), when Baroness Rodmilla de Ghent (Anjelica Huston) couldn't pay her bills anymore?

Pierre le Pieu?
Yeah that guy. He is who I think of when I think of nasty plant chomping bugs. Or slugs. Or...

Last Friday's harvest from the North Garden

So the sweet peas keep a coming and I am reminded that even in a summer like this one (slightly unusual for us, doncha think) they are not all that hard to keep blooming. They are one of my favorite flowers and I was glad to hear that a fellow at the flower market in Portland told my sister (a non-professional wedding flower doer) that more brides should carry sweet peas. I could not agree with him more.

.

So my flower garden will always have sweet peas just in case there is a lovely bride who may need the perfect bouquet and not have the bucks to hire a zillion dollar florist. One of my secret dreams (that really isn't a secret) is to have Vicktory Farm and Gardens be used as a wedding place by people who understand what a wedding is. One of the other not-so-secret dreams is to own a tavern with a farm near by.

.

Back to the sweet peas, I have always attempted to grow them but often succumb to some foil or another. Usually it is defeatism at the hands of moles, yeah I know they are suppose to be omnivorous but funny how I lose my just planted pea seeds to fresh mole tunnels.

If they, moles, aren't eating the seeds and it is really herbevorous voles coming down the mole tunnels then all I've got to say is Grahame missed by not having a vole in his story and Lobel should have done Mole and Vole instead of Frog and Toad, 'cause my two fellas must be a knock out communicaten' team!

Hmmm

Did you see what Janie saw in the harvest shot?

Speaking of moles?

I'm beginning to think that Dirt now has pet moles or has formed a coalition with the enemy. I never see them in the lawn anymore. Only in my gardens. And I really have a hard time with the Ratters going after them in my gardens. They may go after them on the edge or in the lawn, I don't mind, but the Ratters are about as mindful of my plants as Dirt is. And trust me, that ain't much!

" You know, you could have called on me. I've gotten them before you know. You didn't need to waste your time setting this trap. I could have gotten it and shook the living daylights outta it!"

.

I think Dirt is sending them to my gardens so that I will let him keep his lawn and desist in edging farther and farther into his domain. Mmmm.

Well Dirt, you are stuck with me, my fat... and my flowers. Your mole coalition will not deter me. I heard you say that you like my flowers, yes, I had to eaves drop to hear the compliment, but it was there all the same. I know how you really feel. Not unlike sleeping under flowery, billowy white sheets and comforters, you like what I bring to the party.

"I think I will sink into depression"

I waited too long to harvest my garlic, (some of it is in the basket here), we got over thirty pounds but only one batch of softnecks were worth braiding, the others went into net sleeves like the hard necks.

Thirty pounds outta get Dirt at least to Christmas before I have to buy it from Cash n' Carry in large food service sized boxes. In the middle of winter there is a certain constant odor in my bedroom. (He smells like a hippy-girl-massage-therapist, minus the patuouli oil of course.) I'm glad I don't have an over zealous fear of burning a candle while I sleep. The off beat snoring is hard enough to sleep by, then you add nut job radio playing all night long and the smell of garlic drenched pores and I am driven to the couch, which really only last about a half-hour or so before I realize I can't sleep there either.

.

I am not married to my best friend. I like my best friends, every single one of them. But I would not take all that from them, trust me.

Unmarked Lily in the Lawn Border Garden

And no best friend of mine would be able to step on my twenty blossom Casa Blanca lily as it begins to emerge from its winter slumber and live to tell about it let alone continue to be my "best" friend. Dirt and I friendly and pals, no doubt. But best friends don't marry, men and women marry, and the bond is far far beyond that of best friendness.

.

If my best friend and I "break up" I am free to have another, quite frankly in my world I have scads of "best" friends, I am not monobestfriendous. But I do not have such a loose connection to my spouse. We are now one. We were the moment, the very split second we said, "I do." Neither one of us can sever that bond, no court of law can, no amount of miles can. It was a done deal twenty-eight years and ten months ago.

.

Saved and replanted "Easter Lilies"

.

It doesn't matter what he sounds like or smells like; it matters little what he says or doesn't say; it doesn't matter if he has grown too much in a direction I chose not to or too little in an area I did; it doesn't matter if he changed and is no longer the man I married; it doesn't matter if he still is the man I married and not the man I thought he would become; it doesn't matter if he makes a hundred little mistakes or one giant one that even the Pope might say was too much; it doesn't even matter if he made forty-sixty zillion kabillion of those giant mistakes.

.

We are one.

.

We will always be one. Until one of us departs and goes to heaven. And then when we are both there we won't care that the other is there because all we will "care" for is the face to face presence of Christ our Lord.

.

Oh wait, this post is about the heat wave and gardening.

Jackie O's Lipstick Abutilon

Container planting takes lots o' water. And when something takes lots o' water it takes lots o' feeding. Fortunately not everything in containers at Vicktory Farm and Gardens is a out of control thirsty hunger tyrant like the brugs. Jackie is very pleasant and very thankful for her daily portion of water and weekly feeding.

Petunias in flower pockets growing slowly for the end of September at the fair.

This flower pouch thing though, I'm not so stinking sure about. The verdict is out on this one for now. Jackie gets to stick around 'cause she is easy going, King Brug and his buddies are still on because they are eventually handsome and exotic. But these flower pouch things are a lot of nusince. I will do them again next year with some modifications in water and fert. delivery but if they are not performing better, read that, easier, then replaced they will be!

What is this?

I really enjoy participating in Fishing_Guy's weekly "What's It?" game. Well, that is when I remember to get over there pronto on Tuesday's. And while I am no master at macro lens (my camera matches my ability - limited and small) I thought I could toss this one out there and perhaps stump a few of you.

.

Hints? Come on, do you really need one Dear Reader? Okay after that rambling yappy post I suppose you are a little tired.

.

Remember this was taken durring the hottest days we have seen in the PNW in a lifetime (Jim Foremanesque hyperbole there). My dad loved watching Marcus Welby M.D. and he, Dr. Welby, was always seen eating a type of this at the end of each show. And now with all those hints and the full picture I really must insist that you hit it square on the nose, flavor and all.

Dear Reader, I pray that you can unmistakeably see the working of God, His mercy, His grace and His miracles in your life and through your life this week. I have seen great things these last few days. I've become free-er in Him every moment. And more a bonded servant to Him each second of my journey on the race. I feel I can race no faster than I am right now. Yet I feel I can not not race faster than I am at this moment. My joy could not be greater than it is today. Until I tell you tomorrow.

Spring Has Nearly Ended

The end of spring is upon us and today Summer Camp at Vicktory Farm and Gardens begins with Flag Day.

But Today's_Flower selection is the Blue Flag's cousin, Iris Germanica, Bearded Iris.

Iris Germanica is one of my all time favorite flowers. And particularly the incredibly fragrant common purple ones.

I cannot imagine living in a place where irises don't grow. Like the seasonal treat of asparagus, the year would not be complete without iris. Every spring I crave its fascinating appearance and it's memory propelling fragrance and when it's season comes to a close and the last one is just a funny mooky browned mass on the stem, my heart sinks a bit, lifted only because I know he and I will meet back here again next year.

Driveway view of the North Garden and the two beds of iris.

.

From this view of the North Garden I am reminded that I've been here quite a while and my oldest daughter has been married quite a while. For all these lovely mustard colored (or diaper colored if you want to know my true feelings) are from the house she lived in when she was first married, I believe she inherited them from Rebecca who in turn got them from Grandma Grace.

.

The have certainly multiplied and much quicker than my preferred old purple ones or purchased white ones, which are not by the way who they were purported to be. And while the color of this "gold" one is not exactly one of my favorites it most certainly has a perfume that I have come to look forward to, vanilla honey with a hint of citrus.

A place for old friends to set a spell within sniffing range.

Fortunately a couple of friends have stopped by to pull my head out of the weeds and soil and caused me to rest a moment as we talked of our favorite irises and other fragrant delights in the garden. Prior to them stopping by I was just enjoying the fragrance as I unhooked and went through the pasture gate to the pumpkin patch or while I was here weeding the North Garden.

.

One friend came by when I was at the other end of my gardens and by the time I got down to where she was she was stepping into her vehicle with her arms loaded with my gold irises, waving to me and telling me she just came for my flowers that day. I am glad she knows she can come and get whatever she needs that I have, because it is not really mine anyway but His.

Gold standards and falls, with yellow beards and bronze veins,

it has a strong fragrance that perfumes the air with vanilla honey and citrus.

.

When a friend comes back a few days after sitting in your iris garden while talking over childhood memories, heartbreaks, endearing times and prayers for the day and the future, and takes an arm load of your least favorite colored iris, it makes you stop and take a second look.

.

Perhaps I do have a good thing here. Perhaps I should change my perspective on the good gifts God sees fit to give me even though I have a disgruntled attitude. Perhaps it is time to have a new attitude.

"Stephie and Kai's Gold" is what I've dubbed this one.

.

They came to me through her, appropriate then, it should be named for her, and because, she can always see the upside and the "gold" lining to any cloud life hands her. I've added her son, Kai, to the name because of the fragrance of honey, he is becoming a beekeeper like his grandfather Rick, Pop.

.

I've been lucky that all my additions to my iris garden have been fragrant. Not perhaps as strong as the common purple one that causes me to see my mother's kitchen with the light pressing into through the bamboo shades on the outside and the closed venetian blinds inside, still managing to give a summer glow to the wall and the counter where the pitcher of Kool-Aid, darkly purple, sits dripping with condensation and smelling like the iris I love, no, not as strong as that, but strong enough. And like Stephie and Kai's Gold, each new addition has brought it's own twist to the sweet flavor of late spring, and the fanfare of summer's commencement.

.

White with yellow beard and shoulders gives off a lovely sweet fragrance,

like cookies out of the oven.

.

My purchased irises have not grown out to be what they were labeled to be. This white one is supposed to be "Immortality" but a proper "Immortality" does not have yellow shoulders and isn't purported to be fragrant. Hmmm, perhaps the bin at the local garden store is not a reliable place to pick up named varieties.

.

I've looked and looked for what this white one is supposed to be along with the blue one below and the pink one I failed to get a picture of this year (it must have been deleted). I even spent time looking for Stephie's gold one. Just when I think I have one pegged, on closer evaluation and comparison of the official description and the flower I have, I am left without a name. So I'll just name them myself.

.

This white one..... "Farmhouse Bride". In honor of my second oldest Michelle, a bearded iris lover like myself, who was the first girl to be married right here at the farm. She looked as lovely as this blossom. She and the fragrances of her wedding that swirled around all of us for weeks is brought to mind by the sweet fragrance of this flower.

Supposedly "Best Bet" but not, so now it is "Better Bet".

.

This blue one was supposed to be a "Best Bet". I picked it up for it's name, Bet, for that is what we call Elisabet, my third daughter. I know that the privilege of naming a variety usually rest with the person who hybridizes or discovers them. But since I cannot find what their rightful name is I figure I need to name these poor little orphans that have come to live here with me at Vicktory Farm and Gardens.

.

Oh, I know most flowers and bushes don't need fancy proper names, their beauty in the yard is just as grand and compelling without a name as it is with a proper name. But lately I have been picking up this or that flower and paying attention to its proper name and Bet and I have been having fun discussing them as if they were a real person. So my plants need names now.

.

And how much fun to rename my irises after my girls and their families, even if it is terribly improper! So the last one, the one I don't have a picture of, I've pegged for my youngest, how appropriate that I don't have a picture of it! Next year I'll show her to you. Her name on the bin when I took her home was "Pink Parasol", I cannot for the life of me find a Pink Parasol iris, lots of other flowers have a Pink Parasol variety but not the bearded iris as far as I can tell.

.

This girl begins as a purple bud, changes to a muddy mauve when it first unfolds and then becomes a delightful rich dusty corallish pink, with a nearly day-glow orange beard. Mmmm perhaps a nice long name like "What Will You Wear Today Anna".

.

Have a great day and take a spin around the world and see some other flowers for the day by clicking on Today's Flowers up at the top of this, another Lengthy Lanny Post!

.

And Dear Reader, if you're an American, have a great flag day!