” A vegetable garden in the beginning looks so promising and then after all little by little it grows nothing but vegetables, nothing, nothing but vegetables.”

It rained during the night but not nearly enough. Most of it on the road has already dried. The day is damp but warm and quite still. I opened the windows upstairs and could smell freshly mowed grass. Dampness seems to accentuate smells, and my nose was filled with the sweet smell of that grass, the flowers in the front garden and an earthy smell of dirt.

I filled the feeders, including a suet feeder. When I was getting another cup of coffee, I looked out the kitchen window and saw a spawn eating the suet. I ran out yelling and scared the spawn away but only for a few minutes. It was back at the suet in no time and when I looked later, the suet had been finished off. That’s what I wish I could do to the spawn.

My backyard has what a real estate brochure might call rustic charm. All that means is I have done little to it except take down some dead pine trees. The yard is filled with leaves and pine needles and more pine trees. All around the perimeter is a path Gracie has made by running the yard. She runs next to the fence. Sometimes she runs around the yard, up one side of the deck and down the other. I think of the back as her yard. Near the deck are some lights, a bottle tree and decorations I put out every summer. I love looking down and seeing the lights in the yard and the fun decorations. New this year are two huge individual star lights and a large handmade bird my friends gave for Christmas. It is white with long orange legs and an orange peak. It will join the hula dancing bird, the wooden flowers, the white pot and the bowling pin.

My deck is still in winter mode. I have to make a list yet of what I need at the garden center. I know some pots broke during the winter, and I need herbs for the window boxes which fit over the deck rail. I also need flowers for about six different pots and a hanging pot of flowers, but all of that is just the start. The front garden needs a few more flowers, the herb garden looks empty and forlorn and my vegetable garden needs fence mending and plantings. It was such fun last summer to eat cucumbers and tomatoes I grew myself. This summer I’ll add a third vegetable yet to be determined. It will not be zucchini. That vegetable seems to reproduce itself and take over the world. The Attack of the Killer Tomatoes is a movie that makes me laugh, but it would be more realistic (okay, maybe it will never be realistic, but I’m using poetic license here) if the vegetable was changed to zucchini. Anyone who grows it always seems to be giving it away, begging people to take some. I can easily imagine vines of zucchini wrapping around cars and houses and the feet of barking dogs.

It is definitely beginning to feel like spring around here.

“You dirty rat…”

The weather hasn’t changed. It is a grey, dark unseasonably warm day. The paper says a high of 48˚. I guess this is the January thaw except nothing needed thawing except the tiniest blots of ice still left on corners from the plows during that ersatz snow storm.

The mouse count is higher: 6 have been relocated. The latest one got caught last night, but I left him in the trap all night. That’s the last time I’ll do that. It was a small one which was shaking when I let him go. He was so unsteady on his feet he had to stay a while in one spot. I watched until he finally moved across the street with a bit more confidence. I don’t want mice in my house, but I also do not want to be responsible for their demise. If the cats get them, that’s fine with me, but I won’t use a deadly trap.

While I was waiting for my coffee to finish brewing, I went to the window to watch the birds. What did I see? A spawn of Satan was dangling on my new suet feeder gnawing on the wooden top trying to get at the suet. I ran outside to scare the beast and was amazed at how wood he’d already eaten away. I got my cayenne pepper and smeared it all over the gnawed sides and the top. The big birds love that feeder because it has a long bottom which allows them to rest their tails on it while they eat. A flicker was there just now when I got another cup of coffee. The rain hasn’t washed away the pepper-I can still see it. I hope that keeps the spawns away.

The rodents have a vendetta against me. Somewhere, in rodent headquarters, my picture or a reasonable facsimile, is on the wall. The beasts meet periodically to figure ways to drive me crazy. The huge, fat spawn which can barely jump from limb to limb is probably the leader. He riles the troops. The mice find the smallest holes and get inside. The spawns mock me by eating not only the seeds but also the feeders.

I’m beginning to think I’m losing it here. It is Gaslight reinvented. The mice and spawns are out to drive me crazy. I’m just so glad the 6 ft fence keeps out the raccoons and the skunks. That would be too great a coalition even for me.

“Now listen, we need to be quiet as mice. No, quieter than that. As quiet as…as…” “Dead mice?” Reynie suggested. “Perfect,” said Kate with an approving nod. “As quiet as dead mice.”

This morning I had breakfast with friends, people with whom I worked with at the high school who have also retired, then did a couple of errands; hence, the lateness of Coffee today.

I am going to change the name of this blog to something alliterative like Critter Corner or Animal Antics or maybe, after last night, Rodent Roaming. It seems I need the Pied Piper of Hamlin and I will the price he asks. When I went to feed the cats last night, I noticed familiar droppings in the eaves where I keep the cat dishes. Yup, mice are in the eaves in my bedroom. I had heard them but not seen any real evidence until yesterday. I keep the cat food in the eaves to protect it from Gracie, but with the mice around, I took the two dishes out, emptied them, took them downstairs and scrubbed them. I went back upstairs, filled the dishes and left them outside the eaves on the rug. Gracie, Fern and I were in bed. I was finishing my book when I noticed movement. A small mouse had come out of the eaves looking for the food dish. He was obviously a baby so I figure generations live in my eaves. This happened one other time years ago when the cats I had were old so I caught the mice myself in a Have-a-heart trap, all 17 of them. Fern, lying on the bed with me, saw the mouse, sat up and just watched for the longest time. I figured she was confused and thought she was at the movies watching Ben or Willard. I watched too and the mouse kept trying to get at the dried cat food dish. I finally took the dish up to a spot where the mouse couldn’t at it but neither could the cats. They’d be okay as they had wet food.

This morning I refilled the wet food, came downstairs and went outside to get the papers. Gracie went right upstairs and ate the cat food. She was still up there when I came back in so I yelled and she ran downstairs with guilt written all over her face. I put a gate across the door frame to keep Gracie out.

Today I bought two Have-a-Heart traps and will bait and place them upstairs. I also bought mouse repellant for when I finally get rid of the rodents. I was told to be careful if I take the mice to let them loose as it is illegal to transport animals in traps. That’s all I need: a blue light behind me and the evidence in a cage on the floor of the front seat.

Well, life goes on here in strange ways. I swear rodents have my number. They are a cabal meeting to design ways to drive me crazy. The spawns of Satan send representatives as do the upstairs and downstairs mice. I have two cats, one of whom would catch the mice if she were upstairs while the other one finds them entertaining. Gracie corners them, but she was sleeping,  snoring loudly, and missed the fun. I finally finished my book, turned off the light and went to sleep.

I will, after I post, go upstairs and set the traps. I’ll keep a running count of mice who get caught. I really hope I don’t beat my count of 17.

 

“The cold cut like a many bladed knife”

The rain is gone and so too is my sloth day. Today I have to do all those errands I’ve been putting off including the dump. I couldn’t go there in the rain, but now I have to weather the Siberian steppes for that’s what the dump feels like when the day is cold and the wind is blowing, a day like today. I have no choice though. My trunk is filled with cardboard, papers, bottles and trash. Gracie will be thrilled. I will freeze.

The birds are especially active today. All sorts are flying in and out of the feeders. I saw a flicker at the new suet feeder which is meant for larger birds with long tails, and the flicker looked comfortable. The small birds seem to enjoy the suet feeder where they eat upside down. I saw a wren or at least a relative of the wren this morning at the sunflower seeds. By the looks of the crowds, I’ll have to refill a couple of the feeders later today. I’ll also have to look for my bird bath heater in the cellar.

My friends gave me a new feeder and peanuts for that feeder. I have been hesitant to use it, though, as I fear it will attract every spawn of Satan for miles around, but I’ve come up with a solution. I’ll put the new feeder with the peanuts on the feeder pole below the deck. The pole has a spawn baffle so they can’t climb up, and it is nowhere near a branch from which they can drop down. Spawns of Satan 0-me 1.

The sunlight is winter sharp and the wind is blowing. The creaky top branches of the scrub pine and oak are bending. One pine tree looks so unsteady all the way down its trunk that the whole tree seems to sway. Already the backyard has fallen branches from pines, victims of the wind from the other night. The brown leaves still clinging to the oak seem impervious to the wind. They sway but never fall.

When my mother was dressing me to go out and play and before I was old enough to remember to hold the cuffs of my shirts, my mother used to have to reach up my sleeves and pull down the cuffs so the sleeves would unscrunch, all because she was a believer in layering. First came the long sleeve shirt then the sweater then the winter coat. On my feet were two pairs of socks then my shoes then my mother straining to get the boots over the shoes. I remember thinking it was fun to walk with the boots half on. I don’t think my mother was too amused.

I think today is a day for bundling, for wearing layers to keep the cold at bay. No boots though.

“Christmas is the keeping-place for memories of our innocence.”

Rainy and chilly this morning, but that will be changing in the next couple of days to warm and sunny. I almost can’t wait. The sun has been missing for so many days the world almost seems post-apocalyptic. Exaggeration you’re thinking? Not so says I who has seen so many science fiction movies. I know post-apocalyptic!!

Two spawns of Satan were at the feeders this morning as were two birds I haven’t seen dining on the deck before. I looked them up, and they were white-throated sparrows. Nuthatches and woodpeckers have been by every day, but I haven’t seen my chickadees, the usual stalwarts. The new suet feeder has been seeing quite a bit of action as has the older one I rehung. The birds seem to like where it is now.

The errand on tap today is fun. I need wreaths as the outside lights go up tomorrow. I’ll be happy, even in the rain, to wander through the garden center filled with the scent of Christmas.

When I was young, I don’t ever remember caring what the tree looked like before it was decorated. It was always a wonder. My father would bring it in and set it up in the corner where the TV console usually sat. He’d get on his stomach and slide under the lowest branches to tighten the screws on the tree stand into the trunk. My mother usually held the tree as straight as she could while my father tightened. I remember the fully decorated tree falling down a few times. Once my brother and I were home alone when it fell. I held it up while he tried to fix it firmly into the stand. My father took to using wire or string attached to the tree trunk then to the wooden part of the windows so the tree would have extra support.

It was always agony waiting for a couple of days for the tree branches to fall in a good way, to spread out after being enclosed for travel. Once they did, we could decorate. We all had traditional jobs. My father was in charge of the lights, the old kind of lights where one bulb knocked out the whole set. He has his system for testing to find the culprit. Once the lights were on, my mother strung the tinsel in loops around the tree. She has a vision as to how it should look. Then it was our turn. We got to put the ornaments on, except for the really big beautiful ones my mother always hung on the top branches away from us. My sisters were young and shorter so they did the lower branches. We always oohed and ahhed over the ornaments as if we’d never seen them before. Last were the icicles (though for some they’re called tinsel). We’d hang them one at a time off branches then we’d throw them in piles on the tree out of boredom.  My mother usually finished the tree. She’d remove those gobs of icicles we’d thrown and individually hang each one. She took her time, and the tree was always beautiful.

“Nothing compares to the simple pleasure of a bike ride.”

Today is warm, not your lie on the deck and read sort of warmth, but it is 45°, a long way from yesterday’s 30°. I call this sort of day sweatshirt weather.

One of the fattest gray spawns of Satan I have ever seen drops by each day. I watch him try to manuever around the squirrel protected cage to get at the seeds inside. He holds on to the outside wires and pulls himself around the cage then hangs on from underneath. His last desperate attempt is to try to pry off the top, but he never gets at the seeds. He generally ends up on the deck rail then waddles away. I give a yell of triumph and thrust my arm into the air.

The only time I didn’t wish for snow at Christmas was the year I asked for a bike. The last thing I wanted was not being able to ride it so bare streets were essential. I remember everything about that Christmas. When I came downstairs, the first thing I saw was my bike in all its glory off to the side of the tree leaning on its kickstand. It was blue and had a bell attached to the handle bars and a metal basket in the front. The first thing I did was ring the bell. The next thing I did was try on my bike. I sat on the seat and put one foot on the pedal and balanced the bike with my other foot to the rug. The bike was the perfect height. Right then and there, in my pajamas on a cold Christmas morning, I wanted to take my bike outside and give it a test run. All of the other presents were forgotten. All I could see was that bike and me on the open road riding all over town. My parents said no, maybe later, and reminded me of my other presents so I got to unwrapping, but I kept glancing at that bike hoping later would come sooner.

“Read in order to live.”

The day is again lovely and warm, though not as warm as yesterday. From my window here I’ve been watching the birds at the feeders, and I just watched a red spawn fit through the mesh of the small feeder, the one the nuthatches like, and he’s having quite the picnic. I’m thinking a weapon of some sort, even a slingshot, would be useful right about now.

The two cats and the dog are asleep. I guess they had a tough morning moving from the bed to the couch though Gracie might be tired as she did have a play date earlier with her friend Cody from down the street. Cody is let out, he comes here and barks at the door to come in, and he and Gracie romp in the yard. When they’re done, Cody barks to come in, gets a biscuit from me then I let him out and he walks home. It’s a perfect arrangement.

Today I have no plans except to loll and read. I have just started the new Stephen King novel, and I’m unhappy about it. When I hold that giant book, over 800 pages, in my hands, I bemoan its length. The problem is that the novel grabbed my attention right away, but given the number of pages, it will be a long while until the end unless I do nothing else but read, not really unheard of for me. I realize I have to partake in a bit of life here and there, but I suspect I’ll resent it as time taken away from the book.

I have sometimes read until three or four in the morning totally unaware of the passage of time as I turn the pages of an engrossing novel. When I realize the time, I tell myself one more chapter then one more then one more again. Soon enough another hour or so has passed. When I was a kid, my mother swore I was totally ignoring her. “Didn’t you hear me screaming for you?” I hadn’t. I was so into my book nothing could intrude. I always suspected she never believed my no.

“Children learn to smile from their parents.”

Lots of news today. First, my daily weather report: it’s an absolutely gorgeous day, a perfect 74°. My morning on the deck was idyllic with the birds flying in and out, the fountain burbling, and the tenants from hell gone somewhere else. They were shouting to each other early this morning, their usual conversational voice level, but I suspect they went to the beach because, with high hopes and my fingers crossed, I’m thinking today is their last day and tomorrow they depart. Second news: the paint eating spawn of Satan is back. I haven’t been spending as much time on the deck as usual because of the noise and Wednesday I was busy all day so it was yesterday when I noticed the new gnaw marks. A couple of marks are over the old ones and a couple are new marks on the arm of a chair. It’s back to turning the chairs against the table every night. I had hoped that the spawn’s peculiar diet had done him him. This is, after all, the third summer, of gnawing, but I think he has developed an immunity or turned into a B-scifi monster like The Incredible Shrinking Woman or The Colossus. I best be armed if we meet. Third news: I have begun the countdown. Two weeks from tomorrow I leave. When I booked my flight in April, I was counting in months. Hard to believe my trip is so close.

I know that I often subject you to my memories of Ghana, but it plays a huge role in my life and talking about it keeps the experience vivid. Today is something new: the story of how I got there. I never told my parents when I applied in October of my senior year. My dad had made comments when he saw Peace Corps commercials on TV. He couldn’t understand paying all that money for college then getting no money to work somewhere foreign, alien, for two years. In January I received my acceptance, and I called my mother and asked her to tell my father. I knew he’d be angry, and I didn’t want to hear it. She hedged but finally agreed. I called a couple of days later, and my father said I couldn’t go. I just laughed. I was 21 in my last semester of college and I couldn’t imagine he believed that would work. Next he said no more money; the well is dry. I said fine as he’d already paid my tuition, and I could get a part time job for the rest. Then he yelled and yelled and yelled. I hung up on him. The worst thing was I had agreed to go home for the next weekend to mind my sisters while my parents stayed overnight for a family function off cape. I asked my friend Lenny to go with me. He asked if I was using him. I most certainly was. We went down on the bus, my dad picked us up and didn’t speak to me. He talked to Lenny the whole time then they left the next morning, and we still hadn’t spoken.

It took a few months before my dad accepted my decision. He didn’t wholeheartedly support me until much later, but he started talking to me and hoped I knew what I was getting into. I had no idea.

My parents drove me to Logan on the Sunday in June I was to report to staging. Peace Corps had sent a bus ticket to Philadelphia, but my dad bought me a plane ticket instead. The ride to the airport was difficult because we were all so caught up in our feelings. They were afraid for me and hated having me go so far away. I was nervous and scared both of leaving and arriving. They parked the car and we walked to the gate together, my dad carrying my 80 pounds of luggage. Before I finally boarded, we hugged so long my back hurt.

They told me later neither one of them spoke as they watched my plane disappear from sight.

“We call this a fine mess of squirrels.”

The day is lovely, sunny and warm. I sat outside for a long while talking to my neighbor as her dog, Cody, romped in the backyard with Gracie. They are the best of friends and have been since Gracie was a puppy. Cody tires first, but Gracie is relentless.

Tonight my friends are coming for dinner. It has been a long while since I cooked a real meal. Most evenings I am content with eggs or a sandwich or even cereal. We’re having Mediterranean chicken which translates into a Moroccan rub, couscous with raisins and pine nuts and baby carrots which I’ll probably steam. I needed them for color. When I choose a menu, I imagine how all the dishes will mesh, and I visualize the meal to make sure it has a bit of color. I used to cook all the time, but I’ve gotten lazy; however, with summer coming, I’ll be making dinner more often for deck dining. Saturday is always movie night, and I like to serve dinner first while we wait until it gets dark enough to see the movie. My sister and brother-in-law are coming this summer. Rod said he wants to see a movie on the deck  and wants to take an outside shower. I’ll be happy to accommodate him as Rod is the best of hosts when I visit Colorado.

Yesterday a small red spawn of Satan was in one of the feeders. I ran at him waving my arms and screaming like a crazy woman, and he jumped out of the feeder onto a tree limb then up the tree where he sat and scolded me. Later he was again in the feeder, but this time I waited until I got closer to scare him. He fell out of the feeder to the ground then scampered up a tree where he sat reprimanding me for the longest time. Gracie was circling the tree. I was not at all sympathetic. From my desk, I can see that feeder, and crazy woman is sitting and watching and waiting.