(WW) “Canada Day? Good. I’m going back to bed.”

Hey, Virginia — Or Is That “Ave”?

The weekend found me playing with three wildlings that have “Virginia” in their Latin names. What does it all mean?

I. Virginia Blue.

First, a moth. A couple of weeks ago I had found its fuzzy yellow cocoon stuck to a weed, and placed it in a sauerkraut jar on the kitchen counter. The creature emerged Friday morning. I had expected butterfly serenity, pendulous from a fading leaf, but this beast was pacing the jar like a tethered dog watching skateboarders.

When I took the jar outside, however, the lepidopterus settled on the glass wall to sun itself. “What an interesting butterfly,” I thought.

Wrong.

See? Horizontal wings, feathery antennae: it’s a moth. Please give a warm welcome to Virginia Ctenucha (Ctenucha virginica).

II. Virginia Pink.

Yesterday morning, as I did my Sunday Seven A.M. Survey of weekly plant growth and landscaping accomplishments on our property, some rose bushes beckoned from the City wasteland over the fence.

Since I was wearing deer-tick-resistant rubber boots, I decided to investigate.

Pretty, no? This, I do believe, is Rosa virginiana, a wild rose found throughout most of eastern North America. She’s about six feet tall, lean and lanky with an honest, open face. Her cousin, diminutive and shy, was in the field too; she whispered to me to fetch the collander.

III. Virginia Red.

I fetched. I crouched. I picked. An hour later, transferred from collander to sieve, lay just over a cupful of wild strawberries — Fragaria virginiana. This is the mother of 90% of all cultivated strawberries.

None of which are as tasty as their ma.

An entire morning spent picking might yield enough for a jar of jam…

…but served with a little milk, wild strawberries are too scrummy to last until the canner comes to a boil.

Ahh.

Postscript.

Both on the property and over the fence, the berries are starting to plump on the Prunus virginiana — more commonly known as chokecherries. These I will make into jam once they’re fully ripe; I’ve already asked my mum for her recipe.

Hey, Virginia, a lot of lovely things are named for you.

How Flat Tony Came to Saint John

When Tony announced that Flat Tony would do a 2010 World Tour, I volunteered to billet him. After all, it’s not every day that I can have guests, even paper ones, from Tasmania. And despite a slight weakness for alcohol and a tendency to be accident prone, in all other respects Flat Tony is an excellent guest, always affable and ready for any adventure.

My greatest worry was my computer: it sometimes “loses” my e-mail, and it hasn’t been able to connect to the printer properly in years. Would Flat Tony arrive safely?

On Saturday morning, still wondering when – or even if — Flat Tony would arrive, E.g. and I went out early to take some photos of a brewing storm. On the way to the parking pad, I noticed a poppy bud shaking ominously in the wind. We’d better hurry before the clouds open.

Open they did, but not until we were half an hour from the house. We decided to avoid the worst of the torrent by stopping for a leisurely breakfast before hitting the supermarket.

When we finally got back, Cuca was waiting for us on the stairs. “Mother? Baby Tracy would like to speak with you.”

“What is it, Baby Tracy?”

“Front porch! Front porch! Oh, I hope it not too late!”

We had parked in the drive and come in the back door with the groceries. Now, E.g. and I rushed to the front door and flung it open.

There was Flat Tony in the petunia planter, soaked and shivering, a poppy bud cover still plastered to his forehead. Because of my faulty computer, his electronic trajectory from Launceston to Saint John had defaulted into the front flowerbed, and the wind-tossed bud I’d noticed earlier was actually Flat Tony trying to free himself from its still-folded petals.

Having once broken out, he had crossed the lawn in the downpour, mounted the porch steps, and climbed into the planter, hoping he might reach the doorbell before his index finger turned to papier mache.

“I take care Flat Tony!” Baby Tracy squealed.

“Are you sure you can handle it?” asked E.g.

“Sure! I baby nurse!” Baby Tracy explained.

And I’ve gotta admit, the ministrations were both comforting and effective.

With a warm towel, a soothing spot of sherry, an interesting picture book, and a new friend, Flat Tony recovered in no time.

(Wordless Wednesday) Downpour

The Future Drawer

Aunt Theodora's cross-stitched Christmas carol. Photo by E.g.

Aunt Theodora is a crafter. She can knit bulky woolen work socks for her farming and fishing grandsons, and embroider cross-stitch samplers on the finest thread-count linen. With her lap shared by her work and her West Highland Terrier, Sunrise, she settles into her armchair by the picture window. There, during breaks, she and Sunrise can watch the hummingbirds at the nectar feeders.

Look, there’s one now!

A sip under an ancient lilac

On a recent visit to Aunt Theodora, she asked me a question. “Turtle, would you like to see my Future Drawer?” Of course, I said.

We went into her bedroom. Aunt Theodora lowered herself to the floor beside her dresser, pulled out the bottom drawer, and one by one showed me her treasures. Folded sheets of tissue paper held tiny knitted sweaters and dresses, baby booties and crib dollies. In a wave of deja-vu, I recognized the infant tops as similar to those that had dressed my doll Woody Alice once I’d outgrown them.

I’m sorry I didn’t take photos. It was such a privilege to see these things that picture-taking would have felt tacky. It was a glimpse into fifty years past, into my own personal history, with the artifacts fresh and new.

“There will always be babies,” said Aunt Theodora. “And I must keep busy, you understand.” Yes to both statements. There were many children at Aunt Theodora’s birthday party in March, the youngest a wee girl of three weeks. Any young mother would be proud to see her newborn wearing home-made, vintage-pattern knits.

“These I like to use to trim the parcels,” Aunt Theodora smiled, pulling out half a dozen dollies in hooded sleepers of various colours. “Would you like one?”

I chose the one in the yellow sleeper. I haven’t decided whether it’s a girl or a boy, so I’ve named it Baby Tracy. When I was a child, people could still refer to a baby as “it”. Baby Tracy doesn’t mind.

Baby Tracy.

(Wordless Wednesday) I Love a Parade

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Rocket Art

As promised to Livingisdetail, here is my new “Uluru” rock garden, made using the larger lumps of reddish fill saved from the ugly-heap-to-lovely-parking-pad project. It’s about three metres long, and climbs a gentle slope to the foot of our mini patio. Unlike Uluru, this garden sits below both a giant poplar tree and a spruce that scraggles up against its trunk, so shade-loving plants are the order of the day here.

My new camera’s favourite colour appears to be grey. I hope you will all use your imagination to heighten the tones and “see” what I see when I look at it. ‘Cause, like, I think it’s swell, eh?

(Speaking of grey, did you see a cat?)

I didn’t necessarily mean for it to resemble a rocket ship. Buffalo-born Stephanie may want to know, though, that I nearly entitled this post “Rocketship 7″* because I purchased seven plants to fill it. Those seven plants, all good for partial or full shade, are:

1. ‘Visions’ Astilbe (Astilbe chinensis ‘Visions’);
2. ‘Raspberry Splash’ Lungwort (Pulmonaria longifolia ‘Raspberry Splash’);
3. Sweet Woodruff (Galium odoratum);
4. ‘Black Dragon’ Coleus;
5. Creeping Jenny (Lysimachia nummularia);
6. ‘Key West’ False Goat’s Beard (Astilbe simplificolia ‘Key West’); and
7. ‘Strawberry Super Parfait’ Dianthus.

The coleus and dianthus were 4-pack annuals. The woodruff was a terrific bargain, not only because it’s a great spreader, but because after picking out all the chickweed, I found three seedlings that look suspiciously like Astilbes. That would represent a $27 savings — not bad for a three-dollar item.

Besides the boughten plants, I transferred a few things found around the property:

1. two purple pansy plants (if you can pronounce this, you can have the car keys);
2. three dwarf Lady’s Mantle (Alchemilla) plants;
3. some solid green hosta; and
4. some white-edged green hosta.

I’ve been learning a bit about colour and texture from Barefootheart. Below is a slideshow of close-ups showing the conversations among my rock garden’s settlers. I hope they’re all getting along.

*Rocketship 7 was the before-school children’s programming on Buffalo’s Channel 7. I’m old enough to remember the original Promo the Robot, who was made (so I thought) of powdered-milk boxes.

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