Perseverance

 Many months ago Tom brought an amaryllis bulb here to see if we might get it to bloom. It was been a study in perseverance. First, here's the final success ...

04/11/18

 It almost wasn't meant to be. Back in March I walked onto our enclosed porch and saw that the bulb had unexpectedly - and even suddenly - shot up a bud.

03/08/18 

 In early April I was hurrying down the basement stairs to check the sump pump. The power was out and water was pouring through the basement walls. I must have brushed against the plant and broken the bloom stalk off. I was sick. I cut the stalk cleanly with a knife and brought the bloom in and placed it in a glass of water.

04/03/18 

 04/03/18

 The next day I noticed that the bottom of the stalk had divided into four "curls" - almost like ribbon candy - and the stalk was shortening.

04/04/18 

04/04/18

 Shorter and shorter the stalk "grew". I was told by a friend that I would need to cut the stalk diagonally instead of straight across. That worked. Instead of getting shorter every day, the bud began to develop.

 04/09/18

 And a month after the mishap the bud began to open ...

04/10/18 

 The lock has just about been sprung ...

04/11/18

 And now, almost fully open, the flower has the look of a candy cane ... pinks and red striations against an ivory background. That was one of Tom's goals, to see what color would surprise us.
 On April 15 there are three flowers open. One smaller bud seems not to be maturing and will probably dry up. But for all the damage I probably caused, this flower has made a noble effort to bloom. Perseverance is Mother Nature's middle name and I have her lesson sitting on my kitchen windowsill.

Clara Buhler

 Over the past few years, Tom and I have had the pleasure of visiting his step-mother, Clara Buhler at the Oak Grove Health Care Center in Deshler, Ohio. She had her 101st birthday this past November. Clara died on March 27 so Tom and I made the second trip in five days for her funeral (we visited on March 25).

 Here's two pictures I took on recent visits:

October 9, 2105 

November 19, 2016

I am thankful that I got to meet her. Likewise I'm happy that Tom was able to meet my own mother.

 Flowers sent by John and Tina Buhler

Woodlawn Cemetery - Deshler, Ohio

Just preceding Interment 

Clara's casket following the ceremony 

Bill (l) and Tom at the reception following the funeral

 I have to make mention of the excellent eulogy delivered by Rev. Ruth Carter-Crist. She researched Clara's life story with family members and made a presentation that was very personal, hardly the boiler-plate services we often endure.

Surprise!

 Late yesterday - April Fool's Day - snow began to move into the Miami Valley, Where we've had pleasant spring weather on many days in the past month, we're back to winter this morning.

 The average temperature for today is 46° and we'll be lucky to reach that for a high temperature. And yet snow in April isn't unusual. When the Xenia tornado ripped through the valley on April 4, 1974, it was followed by snow.

 Last night as I went to bed the clouds had already rolled in. All was quiet and eerily dark. The radar lit up with snow just off to our west. It came, it snowed but the morning began with clear, blue skies. The ground was covered by an inch of snow.

 As I fixed breakfast I looked through the back door and saw the moon setting through the snow-covered branches of a maple. This is just past the Blue Moon two days ago.

 A closer maple had its branches festooned with feathery snow. As we're supposed to climb into the  40's today, this will likely all be gone by early afternoon.

 Sunrise was at 7:19 am and it rose through retreating clouds. This row of trees is just west of Venus Road.

 I took a letter out to be mailed and had a pretty view of Pinehaven with the new snow. Schools are not closed (for a change). The roads, driveways, porches and other hard surfaces have no snow on them at all. The ground was too warm (yesterday's high was 49°).

 The maple at the southwest corner of the house held half an inch of snow on it's budding branches. I'm sure it is an unaccustomed and unpleasant weight.

 Our wisteria, too, was coated in a thick layer of snow. The snow came from the north. The south side of many trees and patches of ground beneath them was wholly clear. By the way, I'm counting on this wisteria to bloom this year. It was planted many years ago and has never bloomed once. I wish Mom had lived to see it but I will enjoy it for her.

 Looking northwest from the garage apron, winter is again the season of the day.

 Turning around and looking east along the driveway, the sunny, clear skies forecast that this snow will be soon cleaned up by Nature herself. It was only a cruel mistake.

 The bird feeders are again a popular spot. Even the red-bellied woodpecker is back for breakfast.

 Here's a final view out the window at the top of the stairs. As cold and wintry as it appears, there is no wind and it's almost a pleasant morning, I'll be mowing within a week, I'll wager.

Winter's Last Gasp

 I woke just after 5 am to the phone beeping and telling me the local schools were closed. Got up, looked out and saw a world that had turned white overnight. We had 3.5" of snow when I measured it at 7 am but we're probably now at 4" for a storm total.

 At 7 am the air was still full of light snow settling to the ground. The bulk of the storm was about over, though.

 The pine in our south yard looked ready to fall over with its heavy load. The snow was very wet and extremely dense. Good snowman material.

 The wisteria looked a bit mysterious in the dark, like thin fingers reaching out to grab you.

 It was too early for the birds but I suppose a few of the houses are already occupied. I've watched nesting materials being carried inside.

 The garden (just this side of those buried bales of straw) is invisible beneath the white. I should have had it tilled by now. Had I wanted onions and potatoes (I don't) they would have already been in the ground.

 After the sun rose I looked towards the henhouse from the north second floor window. After temperatures near 60° just two days ago, this view will take some getting used to.

 Our back yard presented a cold, windy vista. It's hard to imagine that spring has already begun.

 The white pines that line the meadow are heavy with last night's snow.

 It's a wonder the branches can handle the weight. White Pines seem particularly delicate as it is.

 Peering into the meadow, it looks impassible. This is a favorite spot for a family of rabbits who lust after my garden in the summer.

 And looking back at Pinehaven, you'd think this was a January view, not one from almost-April. But soon my mowers will be back from the serviceman and the grass will green and I'll be wishing that things could again be winter-quiet.

A Rough Life

 Every summer Mom and I enjoyed watching a Carolina Wren build a nest and raise a brood. We came to calling her "Carol" (creative we were not). I've written about her a number of times here on the blog. Just use the search bar.

 Carolina Wrens are common in the Miami Valley year-round and Tom and I have viewed one a number of times near the feeder this winter.

 A week or so ago, I heard a sound in the garage when I was getting ready to leave. I could not discover what had made it but I surmised it was a bird. They love to fly in when the door is open, sit in the rafters and then find themselves trapped there when the door is closed. Even if I see one and try to guide it out, they generally get confused and stay in the rafter where it must feel safe.

Last Thursday (02/08/18) as I returned in the car and opened the garage door, I saw what looked like a small ball sitting in a puddle on the floor. As I drove nearer, I saw that it was a bird.

 I figured it would move as I drove in. But when I got out of the car I found that it had not budged, even though the tires must have passed within inches.

 The bird sat in this wet spot - melted snow - and had its eyes closed and did not move as I approached. Obviously the bird was in poor shape.

 I picked it up - saw that it was a Carolina Wren - and carried it out to the wooden bench we have near the back door. I sat the bird down gently in the sunlight. It was warmer there, though the temperature never rose above the upper 20's. As my fingers warmed the bird, it made feeble chirps - not so audible as ones I could feel.

 Within a minute the bird opened its eyes. I could tell it was coming around. Had it been trapped in the garage for some days, without food and water. Was it merely weak?

 The bird looked at me as if to offer thanks. I came inside but checked back a few minutes later. The bird was gone.

 I appreciate my close encounter with a creature that would never normally let me get close. I hope this summer to find a Carolina Wren nesting nearby. I trust their numbers will continue to increase. I can already count one.

It's looking a lot like ... winter

 Snow was predicted when I went to bed so it was no surprise to find the morning quiet and muffled as I lay in bed about 6 am. I listened for a car or a school bus to pass. Nothing. Eventually I got up and looked out the window. The ground was shrouded in white and in the sky white flakes still drifted lazily down.

 My phone lay beside me. A weather alarm was issued during the night for a "heavy precipitation event". I heard nothing. At 3 am I am as sound asleep as I get.

 I ate breakfast and counted cars passing on Clayton. One. Two. Three. That was all. School was cancelled and many people apparently had called in to work. Almost nothing was moving.

 We had just three inches of snow. No big amount. And it brings my winter total to a mere 7.5". And yet this is the most wintry we've looked all year.

 At 7 am I stepped outside ...

 The world is utterly without sound but for the whisper-soft tinkling of snow flakes as they hit the ground. It is almost imperceptible, an almost-silent background static that I me barely aware of. It is there only if I stop and listen. Like the ticking of a clock, take away your concentration for a moment and it is gone. It is merely background.

 This maple by the kitchen window is where we've hung most of our birdhouses and two feeders. It is too early for the birds. They are still asleep. This is a good morning to take it slow.

 Looking south from the back porch, the pines are covered in snow. Flakes stick to my eyelashes, dart about like summer insects.They bite in a new way.

 The driveway lies hidden beneath this new blanket. Rising up in the distance are trees more familiar when it is light. Now they are a bit sinister, even frightening. Unlike recent nights the snow is trackless. But it is also new. I usually note birds, rabbits and what I guess is a kitten, hereabouts for several nights. I have seen none of them making tracks.

 Last summer Mom and I bought a picnic table. It was something she was proud of, something she had always wanted. Only Tom and I have used it. Next summer we'll sit there again and share a whole watermelon.

 It is soon getting light and I have my weather to report. By noon I'll begin to see patches of blue in the north sky. A short while later the sun will break through. And, as I type these last lines, I hear a plow pull into my driveway and begin clearing the snow. It is a neighbor, surely, but I have no idea who. He does the work out of love and expects nothing in return.

This is a wonderful place to live. The sky buries us but a neighbor is at the ready to dig us out.