Deadheads

I've come up with another definition for "deadhead", the faithful followers of the Grateful Dead. However, I am NOT grateful, nor pleased about the "deadheads" strewn about my yard. In front of our worn, well-used home are planter boxes, filled with flowers. I have everything from petunias and roses to honeysuckle, morning glories and marigolds. There are pots with herbs; basil, oregano and dill as well as the perennial chrysanthemum. I enjoy this little garden of mine and spend time early every morning, giving them fresh, cool water to see them through the day.

The problem is that we are plagued with rodents; jackrabbits, cottontails and ground squirrels - all enjoying the fruits of our labor. The marigold seeds came from last year's flowers and I planted tons of them. What I have now are marigold "deadheads" strewn about the yard. The rodents, attracted to the bright color, don't find these flowers appetizing but proceed to decapitate the flowers anyway, leaving the flower head to wilt and dry in the summer heat. Bill and I wrapped chicken wire around some of the pots but the critters still managed to find their way in to feast on flowers.

Our vegetable garden scene isn't too much different. Just this morning, Bill saw a rabbit, must have been Beatrix Potter's little friend, in the vegetable garden, feasting on tasty morsels. The problem is that the garden is fenced in with a double layer of wire and this is supposed to keep them OUT of the garden. Bill planted lettuce three times before giving up because the rodents nibbled the leaves as they poked through the soil. They have eaten entire squash plants, leveling them to the ground. If only they realized that we would gladly share if they would only let the plants grow to the point that they yielded a harvest. So far, that hasn't happened.

So the battle continues. Maybe I should put on a Grateful Dead CD, turn up the volume, open the front door and see if the rodents want to dance.This is the picture taken the morning after the post. The rabbits are dancing in my flower barrels for sure and I haven't even turned up the volume

Finishing Days

I've been accused of being ADD, something I've always denied. Now I'm giving it second consideration and there actually may be some truth to the accusation. It seems that I am always overwhelmed by projects that need just a tad more energy or work to be completed. "Are you finished?" asks my quilting buddy, Randi. "Well, I'm almost finished. I just have a button a label to make." I reply. "Well that isn't finished and until it is done, it's NOT finished" she quips back. I lose focus before projects are completely finished in all aspects of my life. Frustrating to be sure! So we decided to develop some adaptive behaviors and have quilt/sewing days to finish projects.

Our first finishing day was Wednesday, July 22, and I managed to put the straps and button on my Dad's apron and put the binding and labels on the quilt for the Watkins family. I accomplished this with a good measure of whining, I'll admit. After arriving at 11:00 am and setting up my machine, my first question was when are we going to eat? Randi insisted that, until I finished a project, I was not going to eat. I got right on my Dad's apron and had it finished in no time. Then on to the quilt. I tried shifting gears and work on Betty's apron but Randi held my nose to the grindstone (imagine that feat!) and I finished project number 2. Now that I'm on a roll, so to speak, I am also finishing sewing the binding on the quilt for baby Katherine Dawson.

We have a second finishing day on Friday, July 31. I plan to complete my stepmom's apron and sew the blocks for a baby quilt I started years ago to gift to my niece's baby, born in late May. So the days are helping me focus on getting things COMPLETELY done. Thank you Randi for being such a task master and bringing me backto focus. I really do appreciate her efforts despite my whining and complaining and the best part about it is that I am finishing projects.

Rosie the Rooster

Rosie entered the Levy home as a chick, hopefully and preferably a hen. (S)he was packed about the yard, tucked under arm, as my grandchildren discovered the joys of raising chickens. As it turned out, chicken droppings, collected on the soles of tennis shoes and traipsed through the house, ended the chicken romance and the birds were packed up and sent to live with us in Silver Springs. By that time Rosie declared himself a rooster and was delighted to meet the harem of hens residing in our coop.

We noticed the personality disorder immediately. This docile "hen" turned out to be a fierce rooster and ruled the roost with iron spurs. We were all afraid of Rosie, the hens and people alike. He stalked all of us and jumped up, ready to cock fight with barely a moments notice. We learned quickly, never to turn your back on this bird for he was poised to attack. "What the hell is wrong with him?" I lamented to my friend and resident chicken expert. She explained that Rosie had "berserk rooster syndrome," a malady that sometimes affects birds raised by hand. They have no fear of humans and don't hesitate to challenge them. I knew then that Rosie had to go....

Bill went outside on a Saturday morning and came back in to tell me that Rosie was loose. They acknowledged each other, Bill turned westward out the front door and Rosie headed east. All of a sudden Bill heard a whirring sound behind him as Rosie careened through the air, ready to attack Bill. Leaping out of the way, Bill grabbed the garden hose and the battle was on. He swung the hose over his head, aiming for Rosie. The first toss fell short, but the second was a hit. Rosie was stunned. Meanwhile Bill, convinced that Rosie was to meet his maker that day, went to sharpen his axe.

Rosie hobbled to the backyard as Bill was preparing to "do him in" and he sought cover under the vegetation. When Bill was ready, Rosie was gone. We looked and looked, but never saw him again. I'll admit that I felt a tad fearful, going outside with the berserk rooster unaccounted for, but in time I relaxed for I knew that he was gone. He was a beautiful rooster, gone bad. RIP