After I sent out the Journal last Sunday, we spent that afternoon visiting cemeteries – Miriam, Hannah, Hazel, June, Florence, Rachel and I. Rachel has an account with the Billion Graves project and she wanted us to help her take photos of gravestones. We went to the Mills, Whites Corners, and North Bingham cemeteries. We photographed every stone in the first two, but our phones, which we were using to photograph, ran out of batteries before we could finish North Bingham. It was fun stopping at each stone. Hazel, being young and spry, could go fast as she filmed. The rest of us moved a little slower. I was especially slow because I usually stopped to ponder on the person whose marker I was looking at. The stones sometimes hint at mysteries, tragedies, and lives long forgotten. So many stones are in bad shape, many of them illegible. A lot of the stones belonged to our kin and I had to point them out to everyone. It was a great adventure and a fun and fruitful way to spend a sunny Sabbath afternoon.
 |
| In the cemetery at Whites Corners last Sunday afternoon. |
I woke up at 2:00 a.m. on Monday morning and checked the thermometer. I don't know what woke me, perhaps a premonition strong enough to shake me from my sleep. Before I went to bed that night, I'd looked at the weather forecast and it said the low would be 38°. We were already there. That was it. I went to bed thinking we'd be okay. I should have known better. At 2:00 a.m. we were at 33°. That was bad. Stacey woke up (I didn't wake her, she always seems to just know) and we put on bathrobes and went out to cover the lilies. She went back inside and I stayed out and watered everything I could with the garden hose. I took a long look before I went back in. I had a feeling. I prayed myself to sleep.
At 5:30 Monday morning, at my usual rising time, it was 31°. I looked out the window and didn't see any signs of frost. I showered and dressed and prepared to go out and have a look. By then the temperature had dropped to 30° and patches of frost had formed on the lawn. Just like that. But the sun was up, the sky was clear, and it was quickly warming up. But it was too late for some things. The lilies were fine. The kiwis, which I didn't cover, took a hard hit and will have a big setback. It looks like there will be no kiwi fruit again this year. I walked the orchard and looked at the apple trees. They looked good, but it's too soon to tell. What a way to start the week.
 |
| The apples look like they survived another frost. |
The house was quiet until 7:30 when the next wave of risers emerged. This was Tabor and his friend Jordan headed out to go fishing. At 9:00 our friends the Manns arrived with the next batch of chicks they've been raising for us. These were from eggs that I gave to them that they hatched in their incubator. There are eleven of them. Maybe half of them are roosters. By then the grandchildren were up and Stacey was making breakfast. Florence came down to the barn and helped me put the chicks in their new pen.
 |
| Florence helped me put them in their new pen. |
 |
| Florence, Mabel, and Russell with the new chicks. |
We were going to go to the livestock auction that day, but decided not to. It was an hour and a half away and it didn't start until noon and going would have required pushing our cookout to too late in the afternoon. We weren't guaranteed there would even be piglets. So we scrapped that plan. Instead we went into Ulysses to the Memorial Day Parade. The parade in Ulysses is a modest affair. It consists of some veterans, the local children's ball teams, an ambulance, some fire trucks, and a tractor or two. The most exciting thing about it is that the parade participants throw candy. The parade makes its way down Main Street for a few blocks and then out to the cemetery. We watched from the curb in front of my cousin Robin's house. The children got lots of candy.
 |
| Waiting for the parade. |
 |
| The parade begins. |
 |
| A float and some candy tossers. |
 |
| Russell watching the fire trucks. |
 |
| The end of the parade. |
Our cookout began at 1:30. It was a perfect day for it, sunny and breezy. The food, as always, was exceptional. We had the traditional fare – burgers, bratwurst, hot dogs, salads, chips, lemonade. Sarah made berry cobblers with vanilla ice cream for dessert. We enjoyed eating, playing, sitting and talking. It occurred to me as we sat together talking, that, although I have family that fought in wars – French and Indian War, Revolutionary War, War of 1812, Civil War, World War I, and Korean War – I have no direct ancestor that was killed in battle. Some were injured, none were killed. The afternoon went on. After we ate, we set up the Shillig's trampoline, an official Beginning of Summer Ritual. Kurt gave the children rides in the bucket of his tractor. Then later, after one final game of Skull King, the Thayns left for home at 5:30 and the house collapsed into quiet. We tidied things up and spent the evening feeling the anticlimax that comes after a long weekend with family.
 |
| Russell, Florence, and Mabel. |
 |
| Lunch on the Shillig's back porch. |
 |
| Tractor rides. |
I was nervous about the weather during the night between Monday and Tuesday. I kept waking up to check the thermometer. There was no frost warning, but the sky was clear, and the night was calm, and I felt uneasy. Each time I got up, the temperature was a little lower, 40°, 38°, 36°. Just before dawn it dropped to 34° and went no lower. We escaped frost one more time. Maybe the last frost? I knew Tuesday was predicted to be the last dry day of the week, so as soon as it warmed enough and the dew was gone, I went out to work. By 8:00 a.m. it was 58°. We're at that happy point in the year when, if the sky is clear, the sun has the power to warm things up quickly.
 |
| Oriental poppies. |
Tuesday turned out to be a beautiful day. I spent the entire day working outdoors. I weed-whacked. I mowed. I weeded. I planted. It was glorious. I thought I was almost done for the day at 4:30 when Stacey and Hannah got home from work. I asked Hannah to help me haul away the piles of weeds I'd pulled up. She did and then we took a walk around the property. She noticed Tartarian honeysuckle bushes growing in several places in the woodland garden and the meadow. Tartarian honeysuckle (
Lonicera tartarica) is a non-native invasive species. It originated in Asia, but was introduced in North America in the 1700s as an ornamental plant. It escaped the gardens via its berries that birds eat and spread. It grows everywhere here, in fields, along the roadsides, anywhere it can. It crowds out native species. It's a pretty bush. The flowers are small and are supposed to be fragrant according to the book, but I don't find them particularly odiferous. I don't allow it to grow on my property, but because of the birds, it's hard to keep it out. Hannah insisted that we go on an eradication quest and find every bush and get rid of it. We spent an hour and found a dozen of them, but we didn't finish the job. There were more on the bank by the barn, but it was getting late and I was tired.
 |
| Tartarian honeysuckle. |
 |
| The freshly weeded asparagus patch. |
Wednesday was rainy. I welcomed the rain. With the lawn freshly cut and newly planted flowers and seeds, the rain was a blessing for the garden. It was a blessing for me too as I needed a day to relax and recuperate after Tuesday's exertions. I spent the morning watching an episode of Gardener's World. I read for a while. I listened to music. I was in a Patsy Cline mood. I get that way sometimes. Miriam was in school that morning, the next to the last day of school before summer break. She just had a half day and when she got home, we spent the gloomy and wet afternoon watching zombie movies. It seemed appropriate.
Thursday morning was dreary and gray. It rained, so I spent the morning milling about the house trying to find things to keep busy. I watered my houseplants. I cleaned the downstairs bathroom. I had music playing to brighten things up. I chose a mix of the Beach Boys and the Eagles. It worked. It sounded like sunshine. I got some relief from the gloom midmorning when I drove up to Genesee to get a haircut. I've been going to the lady who cuts my hair for nineteen years now. She has a little parlor in her home. She used to give Daniel and Josiah haircuts too, back in the day. I always enjoy getting my hair cut. She and I are both birdwatchers. We chat about birds, the weather, local news, and other things while she cuts my hair.
When I was typing the paragraph above, I first spelled "gray" as "grey" and then changed it. Somehow it seemed strange. So I looked it up. It seems the word origins for the color between black and white is a Germanic word. It traces its development from the Old English word græg, back to Old High German grau, to Proto-Germanic *grewa. And for once, all the Latin derived languages, Spanish, French, Italian, etc., borrowed their word for gray from the Germanic root. I guess greyness is a Teutonic concept. As for gray vs. grey, it seems it's a regional thing. The Brits prefer grey and the Americans prefer gray. The way to remember that is e=English and a=American. Gray or grey, the weather has been that way for too many days this month.
As the day went on, the weather couldn't decide what it wanted to do. One minute it was raining, the next, the sun was shining. That went on until 3:00 when the rain finally let up. It was still gray, just not wet. I went out right away and got to work in the garden. I have to stay ahead of those weeds!
We got a call Thursday morning that someone had piglets available, a farm near Coudersport. One of their orders canceled, so they had two eight week old piglets for sale. We took them. I drove out to our friend Rhoda's farm on Sweden Hill and bought four bales of straw for their bedding. The drive through Sweden Township was beautiful. So with bedding, feed, and water all ready, we waited for the piglets to be delivered.
 |
| A field of rape seed on Sweden Hill. |
Every year when we get pigs, a paragraph from E. B. White's essay
Death of a Pig comes to mind. It's a great essay by one of my favorite authors. I don't want to dwell on the fatal part of his story. The second paragraph is what I like to recall as we embark on yet another piggish adventure.
"The scheme of buying a spring pig in blossomtime, feeding it through summer and fall, and butchering it when the solid cold weather arrives, is a familiar scheme to me and follows an antique pattern. It is a tragedy enacted on most farms with perfect fidelity to the original script. The murder, being premeditated, is in the first degree but is quick and skillful, and the smoked bacon and ham provide a ceremonial ending whose fitness is seldom questioned."
The piglets arrived at 5:00 and they are cute. The thought of their inevitable death and consumption at this stage in their lives seems barbaric. But by the end of summer, their cuteness will be gone. They will be big and usually ornery and endlessly hungry and I will be glad when they finally are transformed from eaters to eaten. But for now, they are pretty cute. They are both males. They are a Yorkshire mixed breed. I've named them Buta and Niku. Butaniku 豚肉 is Japanese for pork.
 |
| The piglets arrive! |
 |
| Exploring their new pen. |
Sunset on Thursday was very pretty. Stacey, Hannah, and I took a walk in the twilight, enjoying the mild evening. We checked on the piglets. They were still happily rooting in the dirt. We walked through the woodland garden so we could visit the fragrant azalea in full bloom there. It was a lovely way to end the day.
 |
| Thursday evening. |
 |
| The woodland azalea. |
The sunrise on Friday was beautiful. I had to hurry out before I showered so I wouldn't miss it. Now that the sun rises so early, I'll either have to get up earlier to see it, or take my walk first and shower afterward. I hate to miss sunrises. So I walked out through the orchard, checked on piglets – they were sound asleep in their straw bed – and then went down to the beaver pond. There was a beaver swimming in the water right in front of me. I took a video of it. They're fun to watch. Then I came back in the house, showered, dressed, and was ready to face the day. These spring mornings, when it isn't raining, are like balm to my soul.
 |
| Friday morning walk on the edge of the orchard. |
 |
| Friday morning walk, at the beaver pond. |
Friday was a beautiful day, warm and sunny. I spent the morning and early afternoon planting things. I had flats of flowers that I grew from seed – China asters, basket flowers, snapdragons, Shasta daisies that were happy to finally get put in the ground. As I planted, I weeded. The two go hand in hand. Pull out weeds, put flowers in their place. The big event of the day was the delivery of a load of mushroom soil. That probably doesn't sound very exciting to most people, but it was for me. Two weeks ago we built eight new raised beds and they've been sitting empty since then. I needed them filled so I could plant things – tomatoes, peppers, cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, cucumbers, green beans, and salad greens. To prepare for the delivery, we laid a tarp at the end of the garden by the edge of the road where the driver could dump the soil. When the truck got here, I showed him where to dump the load and went in the house to get the check to pay him. I guess I wasn't specific enough in my instructions. I thought he would back up from the road, but by the time I came back outside, he'd driven across the lawn. Because we've had so much rain, the ground was soft and the truck left deep ruts that I'll have to repair. But at least we have the soil. I'll be moving it into raised beds starting tomorrow.
 |
| Dumping ten cubic yards of mushroom soil. |
 |
| Lawn damage. |
We had originally planned to go down to the Thayn's house this weekend. We were going to go to the Pittsburgh Zoo, attend some soccer games, and help Rachel with yard work, but the weather looked bad so we decided not to go. Miriam and Hannah and the Fosters went down. Stacey and I stayed home. And Maverick. We're watching him until Wednesday when the Fosters return. Maverick loves Stacey. She dotes on him. He always follows her around and wants to play. When we watch TV, he has to sit next to her. She feeds him and takes him on walks. With me, he mostly naps, and that's okay.
 |
| Stacey and Maverick watching TV. |
Yesterday was another gray and rainy day. It was the last day of wettest May I can remember. Our average rainfall for May is usually around 4". This May, according to my measurements, we had twice that amount. I'm hoping June will be a little dryer. It was a day fit for frustration and distraction. I had work to do that couldn't be done because of the rain, so I tried to distract myself. I found the perfect solution for a dreary Saturday – watching
The Repair Shop. If I couldn't do anything useful, it was nice to watch them doing useful things. I did that until chore time. Finally, late in the afternoon, the rain let up long enough for me to go out and plant something. I planted cannas and calibrachoa in one of my big pots that sits in the garden. So the day wasn't an entire waste. The rain resumed shortly after I finished and went on into the night.
This Sabbath morning, the first day of June, it was chilly, 37° at dawn, but the sky was clear and the sun was bright. I took Maverick out once it had warmed up a little. It was a very pretty morning. Attendance at church was light today. The Shilligs are out of town until tomorrow. The Fosters are out of town. Miriam and Hannah are at the Thayn's until tonight. There were other regular attenders who were not there. It was fast and testimony meeting and with only fifteen people there, I wondered if we would end the meeting early. This is my month to conduct the meetings and I don't like it when there are long pauses during testimony bearing time. My policy is that if the silence goes on for five minutes, I close the meeting. We had no problem filling the time today. Our Sunday School lesson was good. Now we are home and waiting to break our fast. Egg and sausage burritos are on the menu. It's a nice day, if a bit on the cool side. I'd go take a nap in the sunshine if it wasn't so windy. I'll take my nap in here where it's warm instead.
It's going to be cold again tonight, down near freezing. They haven't issued a frost advisory, but I'll take what precautions I can anyway. And I'll be praying. I'll especially be praying that this is the last time I need to worry about frost until October. Starting tomorrow it looks like the weather will change. No rain forecast until Thursday. Temperatures in the 70s and even 80s by midweek. It's June and I want it to feel like it. This is the most beautiful month of the year here. The trees are fully leafed out and casting summer shade. There are irises and peonies and poppies in bud and about to bloom. The little green apples in the orchard are plumping. I plan to enjoy every second of it.
