Night noises - part 2 - June 29, 2020

Last night about 9 o'clock, I heard the pterodactyl again.  It sounded close.  I recorded this call on my cell phone, thinking I'd text it to my sister-in-law to see if she could identify the call.  She is a bird-watcher and has bird-watcher friends and family.  I figured surely one of them would surely know what it is (unless it was not coming from a bird).  I was going to post it here, too, so you could hear it, but the system isn't having it, so you'll just have to imagine your own pterodactyl noise.

The thing kept screeching.  It got to the point that it was almost annoying.  Determined to identify this critter, I went inside to get the spotlight.  The Husband followed me out to the porch.  I pressed the spotlight against the screen and moved the beam around the back yard.  As I was scanning the trees, I wondered what the neighbors across the road (an elderly aunt and uncle) would think if they happened to see the beam moving around.  

We had a similar experience, once upon a time.

I had strung a set of dragonfly lights from a low-hanging tree limb in our side yard.  They were tiny little lights - mini-Christmas tree lights - and there were only 10 of them.  I had grouped them close together, imagining a concentrated hazy glow, rather than stretching the string out to its full length.  

Several weeks (or maybe months) later, on a night when it was pouring down rain, the telephone rang.  We were all in the living room, watching TV.  My younger son answered the phone.

"Yes, ma'am."
"No, ma'am."
"Well, hold on a minute, and I'll go look."

He laid the phone down and said, "Aunt B says there's a UFO in our yard."  He bolted out the back door into the rain, and came back in, wet and laughing.

You guessed it; Aunt B had noticed the lights for the first time.  I guess the rain amplified the glow.

Anyway . . . . 

I kept moving the beam around the yard, and after a minute, I spotted something on a low limb at the edge of the yard.  We couldn't tell if it was an animal or a loop in a giant grapevine that grows out there.  I opened the screen door and went a few feet into the yard.  As I got closer with the spotlight, the thing I was spotlighting moved!  It turned its face away from the beam and started side-stepping across the limb.  We could see its big old claws raising and lowering.

It was an owl!    

Mystery solved.

Garden check-up - June 27, 2020

Yesterday was Nanny's birthday.  We didn't have a party or a family get-together.  Nanny is scheduled for some surgery in a few days and is trying to stay virus-free so that the surgery doesn't get put off.  When we go down to check on her, we visit on the back porch, keeping our distance. 

The Husband decided that we should get her a re-blooming hydrangea for her birthday.  She planted one on the left-hand side of her front porch steps, and mentioned wanting a second one for the right-hand side.  We found one at the greenhouse and The Husband planted it for her.  It was a bit of trouble, for there was a gnarly old boxwood growing on the right-hand side of the steps, and she wanted it gone.  The Husband went to the garden shed and came back with a shovel and an ax.  Digging up the boxwood looked like a lot of work to me, so I went to the garden.  ;)

The day after my sister told me she'd found Japanese beetles on her rose bushes, I found Japanese beetles on mine.  And my hibiscus.  Because those beetles attacked my vegetable garden one year (they seemed fixated on the green beans), I have been monitoring the garden every day.  So far, I haven't seen any in the garden.  Now that I've said that, they'll probably attack with a vengeance. 

The garden continues to do well.  We've picked squash twice this week and will need to pick again in a day or two.  The green beans are about to start producing.  The cucumbers are blooming their heads off and should be producing soon.  The biggest, oldest tomatoes look like they might be thinking about ripening.  I would love some fried green tomatoes, but we never cook any until we've eaten the first ripe one.  A few of the tomato seeds that I planted about a week ago have sprouted. 

I spent about an hour pulling grass and examining the plants for bugs.  When I saw Nanny and Thus Husband chilling on the back porch, I made my way across the garden to join them.  About 10 days ago, when I planted the new tomatoes, I stuck one lonesome zucchini plant in a skip in the okra row, and I looked for it as I was leaving the garden.  It was about 6" tall when I planted it.  I couldn't find it!  The Husband had weeded the okra row last weekend, and I was about to accuse him of chopping down the zucchini when I finally located the zucchini.  It had grown at least a foot, had filled in the gap, and was about the same height as the okra. 

When we came back home, we spent the afternoon practicing our instruments.  The Husband has turned into a pretty good ukulele player.  I am struggling to learn to play the mandolin.  We rarely practice together because our skill levels are so far apart.

However, we must begin practicing together, for we have a specific mission to accomplish; we must learn to play "I'll Fly Away" well enough to play at my boss's funeral. 

No, she hasn't died, isn't even sick.  But she has made a request.

In the 25+ years that I have worked with Martha, we have been through many joys and sorrows.  Our children were in elementary school in 1994 when she hired me.  We've been through graduations, empty nests, weddings, births of grandchildren.  She lost her husband 10 years ago, a blow that about brought her to her knees.  Since then, we've both lost both of our parents.  These things take a toll on a person.  Our office chit-chat can get pretty morbid at times.

A couple of months ago, as we were sitting around, shooting the breeze, we somehow turned to the subject of funeral music.  She said that she did not want a traditional funeral with sad, piped-in music.  I flippantly said, "[The Husband] and I will play "I'll Fly Away" for you."  Her eyes lit up, and she said, "DO IT!"  I started back-pedaling immediately, but she pressed forward with the idea.  I reminded her that, considering the life-spans of her parents (her father lived to 100, her mother to 93), she will probably out-live me.

As badly as I play, she'd better live for a long, long time if she doesn't want to be embarrassed by me at her funeral.  ;)

Garden Report - Green Beans - June 26, 2020

My sister called me yesterday and mentioned in passing that the Japanese beetles are alive and well on her rose bushes.  I remembered that the last time I tried to grow a garden, the beetles attacked my green beans, so The Husband and I took an evening walk to the garden to check for them.

We didn't find any beetles (or any other bug problem), but we did find a few baby green beans! 

My favorite way to fix green beans is to saute' them in garlic butter with mushrooms and onions.  As soon as I can find a double-handful of green beans, I'll fix us some.

I am keeping a watchful eye on the tomatoes, waiting on that first ripe one.  I hope to get it before some animal gets it.  The animal I'm most worried about right now is a turtle.  I haven't seen one in the garden yet, but I suspect they're out there, just waiting.  They will eat the bottoms off of the low-hanging tomatoes.  I go to pick what looks (from above) like a beautiful ripe tomato, but when I reach under it to pick it, it's a wet, sloppy mess on the bottom, with V-shaped bite marks where the turtle has been feasting.  I have been pondering a way to barricade the tomatoes so that the turtle can't get to them, but haven't come up with a good idea yet.  They can climb a little bit, so whatever I do needs to be slippery and fairly tall.

If the turtle gets to the tomato before I do, he will be a soup ingredient, if I can catch him and figure out how to get him out of his shell.

In my yard, the phlox are beginning to bloom.  There are so many that I can actually smell them when I walk out the front door.  There are other plants in the mix - bee balm, day lilies, obedient plant, sedum - but the phlox just elbow them out of the way. 

That stuff you see growing under the seat on the arch is chameleon vine (it my yard, it never turns colors, just stays green). 

NEVER, EVER plant this stuff in your yard unless you want it everywhere.  See that pathway?  That is almost 100% mown-down chameleon vine.  I don't even know how it got started on this side of my house.  I planted it in a front flower bed that is surrounded by concrete, and somehow this stuff still managed to escape.  Last year, I yanked two wheelbarrow loads out of the front bed.  It came right back with a vengeance.  I dug it up and chopped it down all summer long, thinking I'd eventually kill it.  Didn't work.  One day, after we'd made ice cream and were ready to dump the ice, The Husband dumped it in that front bed to see if it would kill the vine, and that DID work.  We don't know if it was the ice or the salt that killed the spot where he dumped it, but it turned brown and shriveled up, and nothing else grew there all summer.  That tactic might have worked, but there are day lilies and rose bushes in the mix, and I don't want to kill them.  So the chameleon is back this year, and I'm going to just leave it alone. 


Changing the subject from gardening, last night on PBS, I happened to catch the first episode of The Musketeers.  It is a short mini-series that showed a few months ago and is being re-run on our local PBS station.  We caught a bits and pieces of the original broadcasts, but we didn't see the first episode, and I never saw enough of any episode to catch on to the story.  A week or two ago, I finished reading The Three Musketeers, and after watching the first episode last night, I give a thumbs up to the series.  While the first episode doesn't precisely follow the story line of the book, the characters' personalities and weaknesses do seem right.  I love the expansive music that accompanies the scenes in which the Musketeers are riding out on a mission.  Reminds me of old western movies, when the hero rides out.

This week, I began reading John Bolton's book.  I'm about halfway through it.  So far, he's being a little nicer than I expected.

First Squash - June 24, 2020

We picked our first "mess" of squash this afternoon!

That's only half of what we picked.  We gave the rest to Nanny.  When she saw them, she exclaimed, "Oh, I'm fixing to heat up a skillet and make some cornbread right now!"

I came home and did the same thing.  Sauteed the squash in olive oil, with an onion and a small pimento pepper, heated a can of white beans, and fried up two thick slices of bologna.  Man, it was a supper fit for a king.

While the supper cooked, we washed the cayenne peppers and made a jar of pepper sauce.  When that jar sealed with a popping noise, it was like music to my ears.

My euphoria over the season's first harvest was dampened a few minutes ago when a friend called to tell me of a death in the community.  The deceased - "Mr. Buddy" - was 95 years old.  He was one of my father's best friends.  They used to sit under the maple tree, chew tobacco, and swap stories for hours.  Otherwise, when they were together, they were out on the Mississippi River in a john boat, running "trot lines"in pursuit of catfish.  A trot line is a long cord from which are suspended multiple hooks.  One "runs" the line by grabbing it with a pole to lift it out of the water, then one pulls oneself along the line, hoping a fish is on one of the hooks.

My most vivid memory of their fishing expeditions happened when I was a teenager.  They came home with a good-sized catfish, but they were both sopping wet.  When we asked why they were both wet, they told this story:

Buddy was in the back end of the boat, and Daddy was up front, "running" the line.  There was a fish on one of the hooks, and as Daddy raised it out of the water, the fish came off the hook, the hook (still attached to the line) buried itself in the palm of Daddy's hand, and yanked him out of the boat.

We said, "Well, that explains why YOU are wet.  Why is Buddy wet?"

This part of the story was scary.

The trot line was taut, and with the hook in his hand, Daddy could not swim to the surface.  He had to yank out the hook, and it took him a minute to surface.  Meanwhile, Buddy panics and jumps in the river to save him.  In waders.  They both finally fought their way to the surface.  The boat was going down the river with the current.  Daddy told Buddy to try to swim to the bank, and he would try to catch the boat.

They both made it.  And came home with a big fish.  At the time, Daddy was probably pushing 60, as was Mr. Buddy.

Funny, I don't recall them going out on the river too much after that.  If it was their last fishing story, it was a good one.

Mask yourself - June 24, 2020

My nephew emailed me last week, wondering if I would make him a good mask, with a pocket for a filter and his company logo embroidered on the side.  I said I would.  I ended up making him four masks.  Hopefully, at least one of them will fit. 

The problem, then, was how to get them to him.  He lives 40 miles away.  Ordinarily, I could have sent them to work with The Husband, and my nephew could have picked them up during his lunch hour, but The Husband is working from home this week, so that idea was a no-go.  Fortunately, my nephew has a really sweet sister who lives less than 10 miles from me, and we devised a plan to hop-scotch the masks from here, to my niece's house, to my sister's house, to the nephew's house.

My niece came by to get them yesterday afternoon.  We sat on the back porch and visited for a long time.  Naturally, since masks were the reason for her visit, we talked about them.  She wears one when she goes out in public.  So do I.  She said that she had read that if everyone would wear a mask in public for two or three weeks, we could pretty much end this pandemic.

But too many of you will not comply.

I see you people whining about wearing masks on social media. 

Buncha self-centered pussies, all of you.  And you're the ones who won't observe the social distancing rules. 

I was in the Dollar General a couple of weekends ago (wearing my mask, of course).  There was only one person working in the store, and multiple customers.  Only I and one other customer were wearing masks.  I tried to stay away from folks, especially the un-masked ones.  When I went to the check-out line, there were several people ahead of me, all of whom were standing on the red Xs six feet apart on the floor.  The line wrapped from the counter all the way down the next aisle.  I planted myself on the first vacant X.  While I waited my turn, an un-masked man walked up behind me.  Big, hairy dude.  He stopped on his X, but as the minutes passed, he got closer and closer to me.  The line was moving slowly, and he kept sighing his frustration.  I imagined I could feel his breath on the backs of my arms.  I could not maneuver away from him without getting too close to the un-masked woman in front of me.  When the line advanced and I got to the corner, I stepped around my basket to put some distance between me and the man.  Of course, he stepped up, too. 

I didn't say anything to him about keeping his distance - as I said, he was a big, hairy dude - and now I regret it. 

Next time, I will.

How's this?  "Sir, if you are not going to stay six feet away from me, could you at least not breathe?"

The Whoop - June 23, 2020

The farmer came to spray the fields and plant the soybeans this weekend.  My heart just sank when I saw the tractor with its big rig.  Since we're more than halfway through June, I was kind of hoping that maybe the farmer had gotten some government subsidy to NOT plant this year, and maybe my vegetable garden would be safe.

I haven't been down to the garden to look.  It has rained every day since he sprayed.  Maybe if my garden did get some drift, the rain washed it off.  Will the damage have already been done?  We'll see.

The other thing I hate about the herbicide is this:  Aunt B across the road, who has battled cancer multiple times in her 80+ years, is convinced that the farmer is giving her cancer with the spraying.  Regardless of whether or not she's correct, Nanny agonizes about it every year.

I have been keeping an eye out for ways to grow something that won't require poisons but would still make enough money to pay the land taxes.  Most of them are so labor-intensive as to be impossible for us right now.

This morning, I saw a Facebook post from the Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency about the animal habitat program.  I knew that this program existed; I've sat in on court hearings in which farms were in that program.  I also knew that in front of a house on my path to work, every year there grows a big patch of what looks like echinacea, black-eyed Susans, and daisies, and someone told me that this patch of wild flowers is the result of some governmental conservation program.   I've been meaning to find out about this program.

Why couldn't we have that on our farm?

I'm looking into it.

The real reason I started this post was not to tell you about the habitat program; the real reason was to tell you about Cousin Roger's whoop.

You've seen a story or two about Cousin Roger.  My favorite one is about the time he came over here with a can of beer in his hand, complaining about having heartburn, and I gave him a big glass of kefir to cure it.  He didn't want to drink it, but I called him a sissy and shamed him into it, and he knocked back the whole glass and chased it with a swig of beer.  He shat his pants on the way back across the road.  Now, that's funny, I don't care who you are.  ;)

Cousin Roger, like his older brother, does a whoop when he sees you.  He does it as a long-distance greeting, as well as to announce his presence.  I heard him let go with one just before I started this post.  He was over in his mother's yard.  His 90-year-old father was on the riding mower.

This whoop has always mystified me, to some extent.   I mean, who does this?  Is it a family thing?  A local thing?  Perhaps a relic of days gone by?

Both my family and my husband's family were early settlers in this county, and neither of us knows anyone else who does this.

But today I got to thinking . . . .

Cousin Roger's grandmother, or maybe his great-grandmother, was reportedly a "full-blood Cherokee Indian."   (They're not claiming she was a "Cherokee princess.")  ;)  I have been reading about the early settling of west Tennessee, Alabama, and Mississippi - first-hand accounts, when I can find them - and these books quite often mention the Native American whoop.  It seems to have been the pre-electronic-age equivalent of a walkie-talkie.   If Cousin Roger's purported genealogical background is true, it seems logical that this whoop could be something passed down through his family for generations.

Which would be kind of cool, if you ask me.

Twenty-four dollars - June 22, 2020

Twenty-four dollars.  That's all it took to fix my problem.

That's how much a wi-fi repeater cost me.

I could have avoided all that agony for $24.

As you may have guessed by all the "From the back porch" headers, I do most of my blogging and digitizing work at a table on my back porch.  I love working out here; only the coldest of days run me in the house (when it's hot, I just turn on a fan and truck on).  Out here, I get to see animals and hear birds, and see my flowers bloom, and keep an ear on the neighborhood comings and goings. 

But I need the internet for much of what I do, and out here the wi-fi signal is sporadic.  It's not horrible when I'm home alone, but when The Husband gets home and fires up his tablet and watches videos, I'm out here on the porch "sucking hind tit," as my friend says.  Since he has been working from home a good bit, he has been needing the internet in the day time, and if I get on, it sometimes knocks him off, so I try to do things that don't require internet.

Anyway . . . .

I've been thinking about getting a signal booster of some sort.  Problem is, I don't know anything about that stuff.  Also, I have old computers, and rinky-dink internet service.  I did a little reading about extending the wi-fi signal, but the thing I wanted was kind of expensive, and I wasn't even sure it would work with my equipment.

So I finally broke down and just ordered a cheap ($24, you might be guessing) wi-fi repeater.  Reviews said it was easy to install. 

It came in the mail today.  I opened it up while the supper simmered, and pulled out the instructions.  They were evidently written by someone from a different planet.  I stuffed them back in the box, tossed the box on the couch, and went back to my spaghetti sauce.  When The Husband came through the living room and saw it, he picked it up, and just as I had hoped, took it back to the office.  Thirty minutes later, I turned off all the burners and went back to the office and asked, "You get it figured out, yet?"

He said, "No!  These instructions are horrible!"

So it wasn't just me.

I picked up the instructions and read them again, and it seemed to be telling us to do things that made no sense.  Finally, I found a YouTube video that explained it, and followed along, doing everything just like he did it.  Then we got to a step where my computer would not do what his computer was doing.   I was about to get ill when The Husband picked up his tablet and was able to log on to the new extender thing and used it to surf.

Hallelujah!

I ran out to the porch and woke up my rickety old laptop, and IT COULD SEE THE WI-FI GADGET!  Not only that, but it jumped right online when I told it to, no lolly-gagging. 

I ran inside and told The Husband, "Pull up one of your ukulele videos so I can see how my laptop acts when we're both online!"  And he did, and the laptop didn't even notice.

I am back in business!  :)