My lovely house, so tall and proud.  Pity she came to us with weedy and slumping planting beds.  The water coming down the dirt had carved a six inch deep rivulet--beginnings of a truly impressive little grand canyon if let go.  I did not weed that particular bed, believing the grasses there to be the only thing between ourselves and a mudslide. The skies were overly generous in the early summer, and the sump pumps in the neighborhood were all working full time--including ours. 

"We need to keep the water away from the house," my husband diagnosed.

Um, yeah.

We got some bids and had the downspouts buried.  They now pop up in the middle of the yard and let the water out when it rains.  No more Grand Canyon.  Good. 

The next issue was that bed.  All that it had in it was a spindly crabapple with spotted leaves. Oh, but I had a vision--quite lofty at first invloving facing the entire lower story in stone before my sweet and practical husband vetoed it.  Sigh. I'd have given up on it myself eventually...

We did want a raised bed, though.  We got some bids and the folks at Moore's Landscaping came with a bobcat and many, many wheelbarrows full of soil and stone.  They deftly built us a two-tiered stone wall.  It looks like it has been there forever--perfect!

  

Earth Day

Husband (wearing sweatpants and a fleece jacket, reading in bed late this morning):  What did you have in mind to do with the children today?

What did I have in mind...hmmm....well, not letting them continue their screen orgy, for one...

So, armed with some grocery sacks, a bucket and garden gloves, we bullied the kids out of the house.  The eldest disappeared quickly, but before we could get to clearing the woods behind the house of trash, Miles and Sophia needed to reaquaint themselves with one of the Eastern Red Cedars. Bruce and I busied ourselves fetching scraps of plastic and styrofoam cups as they climbed.

They became much more interested when we drifted in the direction of the creek.  They scrambled down the tree and crept along the bank and pounced upon the litter there. At one point, Sophia needed a bit of a boost to her backside (more due to panic than any actual danger), but other than that, we got a depressingly hefty load just from the closest spots.  Bruce and kinder circled back to the house, but I kept on, pushing my way through the dried weeds and tree branches for each sliver of detritus as if it were some treasure.

Odd, though.  I moved through thorny locusts branches and wild gooseberry with nary a scratch.  Normally, I am not a cautious outdoorswoman.  I do not fear mud.  And generally I would return from such an outing proudly bearing my war wounds.  Today I threaded my way at my leisure. I took the time to step around the new plants--even the common wild tobacco and cow parsnip. How much healthier would I be if I did this every day?  How much better would the world be? I know myself well enough to tell you that this experiment is unlikely to come to a conclusion. 

And yet, without prayer or spiritual thought, planning, worry or intent, I brought more from the woods today than trash. I brought calm.  Or a message to slow down a bit and see the dried leaves crusted against a stone. Nature, in its many forms, is not always what I consider beautiful.  But it is interesting.  I am somehow compelled to witness it, to be with it, and perhaps, to love all of it.

Kate 

Evil Easter Bunny

...okay, so maybe not THE Easter bunny, just bunnies in general.  (more on that later)

We did get some retaining walls built last fall.  And, though it looks rather pathetic at the moment, I planted a Weeping Norweigan Spruce.  It does have a bit of that Charlie Brown pathos to it. You stake them until they are the height you want, then let them trail down. I had pictured the generous form as if will be...much later.

We also put in blueberries.  Now, Nebraska is not known for having a good pH for blueberries--too alkaline.  We had the soil mixed with peat moss, and I shall have to keep a good eye on the acidity, but it will be worth it, IF the bushes survive.

Was it the harsh winter that causes my concern for the tender shrubs?  A late frost?  Drought?  No, Dear Reader--it's the rabbits.  The beasts have gnawed the blueberries to the ground (plus they stole all of my crocus bulbs!).  I shall have to fence them in the winter, I guess.

The lovely oakleaf hydrangeas I put in?  Nibbled to the nubbins.

I have informed the husband of hunting persuasion that he may, in fact, quietly rid us of these sinister hares.  Sadly, thusfar Hasenpfeffer has not appeared on our menu.  Hrumph!