Beewatching’s Blog

This is eighteen and a half inches of snow.

One of my sons said the snowfall made the table on the deck look “like a gumdrop”.

Grumble, grumble — it’s still weeks until I can start pruning stuff in the garden, but I am getting impatient. I have been looking at garden websites showing how to make trellises, fences and other garden goodies from trimmed away branches. A wattle fence might be just the right thing to mask the compost pile. The right small branches in a big pot will support vining plants. The past couple of years, I have raided the brush discard pile of some neighbors who have a small stand of bamboo at the edge of their property. I felt faintly foolish one day as I trash (treasure) picked some sturdy stems from the roadside while they returned from walking the dog, but I shouldn’t have worried. They even invited me to lop some bamboo whenever I wanted to finish the raspberry support I was building. I didn’t take them up on their offer because they had trimmed enough for my needs already, but what nice neighbors I have!

Instead, I have perused websites full of simple structures that will inspire me to bring a little support and organization into my backyard when things get growing again. Here are a few links I’ve come across so far. Just so you’re warned, I haven’t tried building any of these things yet, and will not hazard a guess about whether they are as easy to make as suggested.

Here is the one that made me think of concealing my all too visible compost pile:

http://www.motherearthnews.com/Organic-Gardening/2007-04-01/Make-Simple-Garden-Fences.aspx

Here is a link to directions for a branch and twig arbor:

http://www.ehow.com/how_4778377_build-arbor-out-branches-limbs.html

This was built by artist Patrick Dougherty at the Morris Arboretum (I love this exhibit!). Unfortunately, I don’t have 75 volunteers to build anything like this in my yard. I don’t even have two volunteers (they know who they are):

http://www.business-services.upenn.edu/arboretum/gardens_summerpalace.shtml

I’ll end with that one. It’s too hard an act to follow.

Thanksgiving weekend, after a turkey meal at home, saw 3/4 of my immediate family driving westward from the flatlands of south Jersey into the farmlands and wooded hills of central Pennsylvania. One third of our party was a sullen teen, who would rather do homework than come along. Guess what kid — you get the trip and the homework, no extra charge! So he wore his longest face as he stared bored out the back window of the car. How do you improve that? Travel means you get to order dessert at EVERY meal if you like! So after lunch at the Quakertown Family Restaurant, his outlook had improved slightly. This place had a tasty Grecian panini (what I ordered, even though I don’t really like lamb).

Around dinner time we reached our hotel in Lewisburg. In our efforts to extract the teenager from the electronics, we cruelly deprived him of controlling the remote. Okay, you want to hear how mean we REALLY are? When the kids were little we cancelled cable, so they would not have access to trash like MTV. We still don’t have cable, and don’t miss it much; but at hotels, we often allow the kids to catch up on their favorites, the Sci-Fi channel offerings (I know they’ve changed their spelling, but I won’t — it’s stupid to spell it with Ys), Mythbusters and Sponge Bob Squarepants. We are going to be going out and about, we informed him, and you’re going to take the time to practice music and do your math. Some Thanksgiving break!

Dinner at the Country Cupboard (because it was nearby): The all-you-can-eat buffet is usually wasted on us, because we can’t eat our money’s worth without getting sick. My husband ordered it anyway, because it had an appealing selection of dishes. I had a fairly good salmon croquette instead. Don’t order the shrimp there — they don’t shell or clean it. The other menu items were fine, especially the desserts. The sulky teen switched his shrimp for macaroni and cheese, then took back a slice of cake which took until the next evening to finish. Did I have dessert? Of course: pecan pie. Did it take me until the following evening to finish? No. I am not including the link to this place because the food is not all that great. It’s edible. The complex is mostly a tourist trap full of kitschy souvenirs and Pennsylvania Dutch type foods. The Country Inn was quite comfortable though and the staff pleasant. It’s a nice place to stay.

Saturday was the best day of the weekend. We met an old friend who walked us around the business district, starting with a small independent bookstore, Page After Page http://www.pageafterpagebookshop.com/, now possibly threatened by the proximity of a new Barnes and Noble intended to serve the Bucknell University community. I like an old fashioned bookstore, with aisles so narrow you have to engage in conversation with your fellow shoppers and browsers. Lewisburg has a comfortable downtown with some interesting places to shop. After lunch at the Cherry Alley Café http://www.cherryalleycafe.com/ (vegetable panini and an Italian soda for me, although they have a nice selection of coffees and pastries as well as other lunchworthy offerings) we strolled a few blocks to a large indoor flea market, which holds almost anything you might shop for in used goods, including musical instruments and large pieces of furniture. Our last stop in town was a drive through the Bucknell University campus, which, like most colleges in Pennsylvania, boasts scenic views from any direction.

Back in the car, we briefly stopped at our friend’s home, where our son finally started to enjoy himself, playing with the three huskies in the backyard. Then a tour of the area took us west on back roads and Route 45, a major conduit to Penn State. Along a road that meandered alongside Penn’s Creek, we stopped at a house with the scariest driveway I’ve had to navigate. The owner is not only a musician friend of our friend, but apparently an artist and accomplished chef as well. We found ourselves invited to his Snowflake Party in January. Guests can spend time cutting out paper snowflakes, which he photographs and assembles into a slide show. These artworks ranged from simple ones a child could do, to intricately detailed museum quality designs. Backing out of his steep rutted driveway toward the highway below, I felt at times as if I would roll the car, and near the top, looking out my rear window, could not see the driveway’s surface at all. Much as we appreciate our Subaru Forester, a vehicle somewhat lower to the ground would have made this exercise less daunting. I don’t see us going to this nice man’s Snowflake Party unless he gets a new driveway.

Speaking of driving, as friend Flora tells us, a great many young Amish men set out in the afternoon to go courting miles away along the mountain roads. Lest anyone doubt what substance these Amish are made of, imagine driving your carriage along a highway on steep roads with cars careening around the bend on their way up or downhill, and returning home in the wee hours in all kinds of cold or heat. I admire their pluck. We saw several buggies before dark, but none on way back to Lewisburg after dinner.

We reached Milheim a little early for dinner, but we were hungry anyway. This is where we ate: http://www.elkcreekcafe.net/ This place has a selection of microbrew beers, good food, and like other places in which we ordered tea, a variety of those as well. I recommend the carrot cake if you order dessert, although the other choices look delicious too. We couldn’t stay late enough to hear the live band that was scheduled for that evening. It was time for Flora to feed the dogs, and for us to torture our offspring with music practice, math and English homework back at the hotel. And time for husband and me to get acquainted with the hotel fitness center to do penance for our dessert. We were relieved to find that none of the other guests complained about hearing violin music from our room.

Our last day of this holiday weekend took us north on Route 15 from Lewisburg to Allenwood, just north of I-80, for a visit to Clyde Peeling’s Reptiland Zoo. http://www.reptiland.com/allenwood.html Apparently the founder of this animal habitat is well known for appearances with both Jay Leno and Conan O’Brien — photos on display attest to his celebrity. The animals were indoors, as you might expect in November. Unfortunately, the room smells really bad. Since all the animals are in glass tanks except the large tortoises, I am guessing they are the source of the smell. There was no unpleasant smell in the small theater with the narrated slideshow, where the presenter brought out a baby alligator and a python for the audience to touch. I am happy to report that all the tots who witnessed the show emerged unharmed. This held enough interest to engage our brooding adolescent, who extracted further compensation when we adjourned to the gift shop. The shop sells unhatched snake eggs, with a caution not to let them get warm enough to hatch. (Pass.) You don’t need to be told that the emu you’ll pass by is neither a reptile or an amphibian, but in keeping with the acknowledgement of the paleontological link between birds and dinosaurs, is an appropriate specimen for this place.

From there, we drove north to Williamsport, to have brunch at the Bullfrog Brewery, http://www.bullfrogbrewery.com/ where we met up with Flora again, who obligingly brought her flute to join the jazz group who jams there on Sundays with any of a number of musicians and vocalists from the area. Bored teen ordered a “Fajizza”, which is a flatbread pizza, followed by peanut butter pie. I had a salad with their tasty red pepper vinaigrette, Bruschetta (an appetizer, but I wanted room for dessert), and Black Forest cake. My husband had a tasty looking salad. Afterward it was time for us to head home to the land of leftover turkey, and to see what mess our older teen had made of the house.

Usually, when I learn of the frequent lengthy traffic jams of the Philadelphia area, I am hearing it on the radio, and can reflect on how grateful I am that none of us commutes there regularly. This time, we learned of our impending traffic jam too late to avoid sitting almost still for about a half hour, which is time enough to remember why we don’t usually go away for Thanksgiving, unless we can wait until Monday to drive home. I won’t try to imagine how flying was for those of you who did this to yourselves this past weekend. We were finally able to get off the PA Turnpike, and learn by trial and error that the map we had just bought did not accurately label the roads we went on after leaving the turnpike and passing through Doylestown. Head east, we figured and sooner or later we’d reach the Delaware River and figure it out from there. It worked if you consider making a three hour drive in five hours a success.

The house wasn’t too horribly messy on our return. So, would I do it again next year? Probably. Some of us never learn.

… if this wonderful walkway had existed 400 years ago, that is. On a nearly flawless fall afternoon, I strolled across the new Hudson River Walkway, which replaced a burned out railroad bridge between Poughkeepsie and Highland. (If you don’t know where Poughkeepsie is, or where the Hudson River flows, don’t admit it in public, but if you didn’t know how to spell P-o-u-g-h-k-e-e-p-s-i-e, you’re forgiven). High over the river’s opalescent expanse, dozens of visitors crossed over and back, stopping frequently to admire the view. This is a walkway so clean and new, you can’t leave your dog’s mess behind without critics, but no matter. In a golf cart that hums along beside the pedestrian traffic, is a congenial man who will let you drop that noxious plastic bag into a bucket he carries — much nicer than having to carry all the way back to the parking lot. This is an amenity I hope they keep offering. Stationed at the beginning of the Poughkeepsie side was a hot dog and beverage vendor, but don’t count on this being a year-round feature.

I’ve promised myself I’ll come back to photograph the river scene after a snowfall as soon as possible. Meanwhile, if you’re in the area, get out your walking shoes and check it out for yourself.

A SENSIBLE TWEET referred to Thalassa Cruso recently, reminding us that fall is not the end of the gardening season, but the beginning of the next one. It’s a smart way to look at it, and must mean that winter is the coffee break of the garden cycle, the deep breath and nap that we and the rest of nature need before the following year’s frenzy. As sorry as I am to see the flowers fade, there is something gratifying about a stack of stakes and a pile of pots ready to be put away until spring sends its supply list.

FLEE FLY FLU No way to run away from it. The TV trumpets it, the headlines herald it — the flu season is upon us. Just ask your child how many of his classmates are absent if you have any doubts. I am about as fond of getting stuck with needles as the next person, which is not at all, thank you; so, buoyed by a glimmer of alternative hope from my health coach, the internet, I am harvesting healthful herbs, such as horehound and oregano. Ah, wouldn’t it be nice to think you can dodge the flu by eating more pizza! According to some sources, horehound can be brewed into tea, or sweetened with a ridiculous amount of sugar (which right then and there cancels the immune boost of the herb, I’m sure) and made into cough drops. A tea recipe I saw recommends flavoring horehound with lemon and molasses. I have to surmise that horehound tastes really nasty drunk plain. Oil of oregano has anti-bacterial properties according to my reading (hmm, maybe they mean for us to wash our hands with it). I haven’t figured out how to extract much oil from my little oregano patch, but maybe I can just work a lot of the herb into the family menu. (“What are those little green flecks in the birthday cake, mom?”) They’ll ask this gratefully, while slurping gallons of white or green tea, which Dr. Internet tells me is also good for the immune system.

Then, our immune systems primed, we’ll probably either get the flu anyway, or the dratted flu shots. You first.

In case you are unfamiliar with horehound, here is some info: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marrubium_vulgare

late season holdouts

Grounds for Sculpture, where the sculptures look at you.

GROUNDS FOR SCULPTURE, in Hamilton, NJ, is a wonderland of nature and art. It was founded in 1992 by the sculptor J. Seward Johnson. Many of his own works are featured here, both in and outdoors. In addition, an impressive and eclectic array of other sculptors’ work are at home in this 35 acre park. Lucky us —  it’s a real treat.

Some of the nature is rather loud. Several ducks were triangulating by quack as we meandered from sculpture to sculpture along a lakeside wooded path. Tucked into surprise groves and nooks are the most delightful works. A good deal of thought has been lavished on the ideal location for each of the many works, enabling the surroundings to serve as not only a backdrop but an extension of the work. We were there on a quiet weekday, with a small number of other visitors, who dispersed beyond the visitor center, wandering as they pleased, not crowding us anywhere. Whether we ducked into a bamboo grove containing an amusing surprise, took in the view from a bridge or gazebo, or crossed a sunny open lawn, new views delighted us constantly. We strolled by lifesize Renoiresque figures by J. Seward Johnson, animals that couldn’t possibly exist in nature, geometric constructions and much more, in a landscape that might make a gardener giddy with inspiration.

There are places to dine, including a very good restaurant called Rat’s. Admission to the park is $10 for adults. Many kids would enjoy this park too.

I could rhapsodize some more, but I’d rather recommend you go see it for yourself. You can get there by following the signs from either exit 63B or 65B from I-295. If you use exit 65, you get treated to a preview, as the road to the park is flanked by a number of other large sculptures. I recommend mosquito repellent in warm weather.

Visit here in advance: http://www.groundsforsculpture.org

That’s what I tell my next door neighbor when I venture into the untamed southeast corner of my yard. This is the part of my overall plan I haven’t gotten to yet. The truth is, though, that I like having a little bit of jungle in my tiny corner of the world. (OK, I don’t really have a plan — I just look at what’s there and decide on the spot what should come next.)

Everyone should have a personal safari to explore. My jungle wasn’t always so unkempt. The previous owners even mowed grass there. At the back is an abandoned (to the animals) play fort, and the undergrowth almost hides the stepping stone path I began a few years ago. Ultimately, though, I will be hacking through with a scheme to build a shade-lovers civilization, making it a place where others dare to tread. There are already signs of progress: several small winterberry trees, daylilies, pachysandra procumbens, monarda (in the only patch of reliable sun along the south fence) and a lovely viburnum. This is where the fireflies live, so I have another reason to proceed slowly with my landscaping plans.

I HOSTA DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS — A couple years back, I moved a few struggling little hosta plants into this southeast neighborhood, hoping that they wouldn’t be engulfed by the well-established lilies and Virginia creeper. Plant and forget — one of my mottos, so off I went to attend to my active corners. A season or two later, I took a look. A couple scoops of compost, a rainy season or two, and these transplants have grown to a size that reminds me of that alien plant in Little Shop of Horrors. I confronted these thugs and demanded, “Who are you, what have you done with the rest of my plants?” I exaggerate a little, but the monarda now grow parallel to the ground looking for a place to emerge beyond those umbrellas of leaves and finally turn their scarlet faces upward, desperate for sunlight. Walking on the path is next to impossible.

I could move those hulks again, but if they take this well to transplanting, who knows how many other species they’ll displace? So, I have decided to leave them as is. Maybe I’ll make a summer home under them, setting up a little table and serving lemonade to lost travelers, under skylights thoughtfully provided by leaf-snacking slugs.

In reality, the biggest hosta plants I’ve ever seen are in front of a nursing home in Haddon Heights. Those are several feet high and at least five feet wide, a Seiboldiana variety, I guess. You could hide bodies in there. But don’t. (I just watched Little Shop of Horrors again recently.)

This photo shows part of the front yard, in case you’re wondering. You can’t see it here, but just the other side of the juniper, another expanding hosta awaits its opportunity. Like The Blob, but much prettier. Don’t turn your back.

Might just as well have sent them dinner invitations The other evening (yes, evening, as if we didn’t know better) my husband and I were strolling a minutely small segment of the Appalachian Trail before heading home from an errand. Wisely — I used to be a Girl Scout, and they always taught us BE  PREPARED — we were armed with insect repellent. Not too many yards from the car, it became obvious that, although we smelled like cedar closets, the mosquitos were not impressed. They scoffed at our defenses. It was a short walk. At least we repelled any moths that might have been stalking us, and warned the bears and deer that there were aromatic trees approaching.

I know it could have been worse, but we opted to walk in the opposite direction from the path labeled “Rattlesnake Swamp Trail”. Doesn’t that name make you just want to dash in there? Maybe that stinky repellent would have worked on the snakes. You try it and let me know.

Safely back at home the Early Bird tomatoes are proving unworthy of the name. I’ve had one ripe specimen so far. Now, if they want to rename them “Tasty Bird”, I wouldn’t argue. I console myself with the raspberries, which are now ripening quickly.

I’m going to whisper this so as not to jinx things, so listen closely. There has been no security breach of the bird feeders lately, which is not to say the squirrels have left town. They have to be content with what the birds drop, so must be spending the bulk of their time elsewhere, otherwise they’d be much skinnier by now.

In praise of a weed — little black and white wasps are feasting on Eupatorium perfoliatum, or boneset, a perennial herb that appeared in my garden last year. With no care needed, it stays robust in this summer heat, earning it a dedicated spot and an open invitation to return next year. Boneset has been used by native Americans, and others as a remedy for several illnesses, but to me, it’s just bee food. Next to the boneset, a black swallowtail caterpillar munches methodically on a fennel plant. I watched this eating machine for a minute yesterday — it is the insect world’s version of a teenager.

And you call yourself “Early Bird”? Today, I finally harvested a tomato. Looking at the rest of the crop, it’s clearly going to be a while before I get to do that again.

Looks better than it sounds — Plumbago flowers are pretty, aren’t they? They deserve a more pleasing name, one that doesn’t remind one of an ailment. (I’d like to go for a hike, but my plumbago is back!) In my garden, plumbago’s next door neighbors are the poetic sounding cerinthe and alchemilla, which might be enough to give her a complex, but she’s too gracious to whine.