I got a call that the refurbished Zebra was almost ready. I let the experts choose the stain color. When Ruth said the name of the stain over the phone, I knew Daddy must have been involved.
Our Precious Daddy
My sister and I used to get so silly that we rattled our usually calm father. When this happened, he would get tongue twisted and use the wrong words. This would make us squeal with delight, because we thought it was so cute. Our laughing would get him even more flustered and his face would turn red.
We have favorite stories about poor Daddy mis-speaking followed by our shrieking. One of these involved Daddy using the term mocha instead of macho. He would just grin when we repeated ” He thinks he’s so MOCHA.”
All pieces of our clean Zebra ready for Restoration House.
When Ruth said the stain they chose was named MOCHA, I laughed outloud and said that sounded perfect. I immediately called my sister to report that our Zebra was going to be MACHO.
Now, I can share the before photos of our famous Zebra foyer table. This is a big deal to me. Our Zebra will finally be restored and put in our family home.
Four dirty legs with little dusty wooden wheels.Missing piece of Zebra veneer off the top.One leg and the lower shelf.The lower shelf’s Zebra veneer not as damaged.Filthy dirty Zebra bottom of top.Top, middle and four legs.
Yesterday was the day of the potted plant migration into my workshop. I am pleased that there is a lot more room in there this fall due to the purging and adoptions. I can easily get to my art supplies. I am able to walk all the way around the workbench to water and preen my green treasures.
Once I had every plant in an optimum spot, I took an assessment of the condition of each. These are the survivors. I have given many away, but many also died during my absence. I do not push my plants with strong boluses of fertilizer. I am a coaxer. This type of care gets them ready for the long game. Slow and steady gets them ready.
After I prepped all plants, I asked myself if each was thriving or just surviving. I made mental notes of which ones did not bloom this year. There were quite a few.
The hoyas did not bloom. These long arms should not be shortened, because the blooms form on the ends. This one is going to a new home today.
Hoya
The two surviving woody hibiscus plants from the Hibiscus Circus did not bloom. There was one bud on each now. I wemt ahead and chopped it back mercilessly.
Hibiscus
My precious Night Blooming Cereus plants did not bloom. I am glad I could enjoy the many blooms on my friend Palmer’s miraculous plant that he adopted from me years ago.
Night Blooming Cereus
The Bird of Paradise has never bloomed. It requires a greenhouse or a conservatory to thrive in. It needs a new home. A big, warm, new home. Its blooms are supposed to be white. Any takers?
White Bird of Paradise
My precious Clivias did not bloom. Neither my yellow ‘Good Hope’ nor my orange ‘Fire Lily’ put up a stalk this year. These will be spending the winter with me. I count on those glorious blooms in early spring.
Clivias
To bloom well, plants must have optimum conditions for thriving. But do not take surviving for granted. It takes grit. Picky, needy plants are greedy plants.
I think this country is going to learn some lessons about grit like it did during the dust bowl and the depression. The lessons will be difficult. Some may not survive. Maybe we need to read Steinbeck instead of Epstein.
I have just done a potted plant and garden inspection with a walking stick. Not my usual shovel. I did not need the temptation!
I ate my first and last tiny tomato from the garden today.
Tommy toe snack
There is still a good crop of jalapeno peppers to be harvested. We make crazy hot poppers that make folks cry.
Jalapenos
I am proud that I have found new homes for so many of my potted, green babies. The migration of pots going inside today will be so much easier. Mr. Flower and my son will be in charge. They know the drill.
Ric rac/ fish bone cactus
The Schlumbergera survived and benefited from a nip of cold. Some are even budding up. My collection used to be 3x this size.
Schlumbergeras
Some of my pickiest plants died in my absence. I have mixed feelings about these losses. I regret their demise, but not a tear was shed. No guilt was felt. My attachment to them was not strong. There was more relief than grief.
Epipyphyllum and black elephants
Some tiny treasures disappeared. I do not know if they died or were eaten. Many hypertufa troughs are totally empty. My fences were breached in several locations. We have deer, rabbits, raccoons, foxes, possums and ground hogs at the lake house. It has been a thirty-year battle to garden here. I am not up to it anymore. My efforts are best spent elsewhere. Boundaries is my new mantra!
Fence corner pushed apart.
I was happy to see the little Chinese Dunce Caps blooming. These are treasured and tucked in a safe spot in the rock wall, but still need some attention.
Chinese Dunce Cap
I will accept the fate of my plants. No matter relief or grief. I have been shoveling sand against the tide for too long here.
I try not to keep my house and garden too clean. It makes visitors uncomfortable and intimidated. No white gloves inside and only dirty garden gloves outside. I want all to feel welcome.
I used a leaf blower today to clean off the porches, patio and door jambs and door slabs outside. The wind was blowing, so I was in a leaf tornado when I spotted a fuzzy black ball rolling away from the doorway.
Giant Wooly Bear
The blowing had dislodged one of my little friends from its hiding place. I took the opportunity to take some photos before recreating the mess I had just moved.
This caterpillar is hairy but NOT poisonous or stinging like many that have bristles/setae. Its best not to pick the bristly ones up. Some of the cutest ones give painful stings.
Its name is Giant Wooly Bear. It does NOT predict the winter length and harshness. Neither does the Banded Wooly Bear which has black ends and a brown middle..but that’s another story.
This Giant Wooly Bear is the caterpillar stage of the Giant Leopard Moth. The species name is Hypercompe scribonia. I had to use the internet to look this up. I found all kinds of misinformation and even how to keep them as pets. All this gave me a headache.
Let’s focus on what I know.
The shiny black setae/hairs are arranged in star-like tufts that do NOT sting. The tufts deter predators which usually do not like fuzz in their mouths and throats.
Non-stinging setae/tufts
The red-orange bands only show when it rolls up to protect itself. Red is a warning color to would-be predators.
Giant Wooly Bears roll up really tightly holding the tail and mouth together. Do not try to pry them open. You will cause harm.
Enjoy carefully looking at any caterpillar and then put it back where you found it. You would not like being taken out of ypur home and moved to a foreign location would you?
This tree is important to me. It is an unusual oak. It may be a cross of Scarlet and Red. Its acorns are plentiful and beautiful.
Its mast is food for our deer, turkey and chipmunks. Maybe crows? I do not know. One must be fast to gather acorns or there will only be caps on the ground.
Too late.
This tree reaches over our two porches. When I am on them I feel like I am in this tree. My younger self climbed trees, so I love this sensation.
I am socked in by a thick fog this morning. This tree is the only thing I can see. I spent time on each porch listening to the rain and sounds from unseen sources.
Dead limb in the fog.
I was surprised to see a squirrel looking at me and my camera. It is the first one I have noticed here. It moved too fast for a photograph. The squirrel seemed to be deliberately headed onto my roof. We have meant to have those reaching limbs trimmed. They touch the roof during storms. Now, we have another reason to cut them back.
A chipmunk also scurried up the trunk while I was watching. It is one of many around here. The little ones must climb for their acorns.
This big oak is the guardian of the yard. A huge poplar was killed by lightning, so this tree is even more important. We too have lost our caretaker parents. We will be the guardians here, now. Any home should be a haven.
It is early October. This place is recovering from the shock of Hurricane Helene. I do not expect a normal fall season. There is healing going on around me. I plan to watch and learn from nature.
Fall 2025 many leaves are browning and falling
My time in the old oak in the rain and the fog with a squirrel and a chipmunk will be a treasured memory. I am part of this. I belong here. It is my haven. I do not take these things for granted.
When my Daddy was a young boy there was not a Boy Scout troop in his town, so he started his own. He and some buddies formed their own troop, did their own paperwork, earned badges and even went to Camp Philmont.
He had stories about riding a horse down steep terrain by letting it have the reins. His guide told him to point the horse toward the ravine and drop the reins. I envisioned my Daddy as a young boy leaning back on his horse as it charged over the cliff like Jim Craig in The Man from Snowy River. I guess liability was not a concern back in those days.
Decades later he started another troop with his friend Jack, this time as a leader. Daddy kept his training records. If you look at that date, you will see March 1961. Just three months before I was born. This is more proof that he wanted a boy. Sorry Daddy!
Training certificate from 3 months before my birth.
Daddy and Jack took their troop, which included lucky Jack’s son Jay, on many trips. They even took their scouts back to Camp Philmont. I am glad for Daddy that he got to return there again with the boys from our church.
I was envious of those boys going on all those adventures with my Daddy. He took my sister and me on adventures too, but we did not get to earn any colorful badges.
Flag pole toppers and badges
I am proud of my Daddy for going ahead with male bonding and high adventures with the boys of the community. He was a very patient mentor. His scouts have shared how much that troop and those trips meant to them.
I saved these badges incase some of those boys never picked theirs up. If any of you guys have a troop of your own, let me know. I have the brass flagpole toppers for your flags.
As the air gets brisk here on the mountain, I feel the need to get home. My family sends me photos of leggy plants and late blooms.
There are deadlines to be kept. One is for fall and the other for frost. I have kept garden journals for decades. The entries are by months. All I have to do is flip to the Octobers of the past to see what needs to be done.
Blue Ginger
Both fall and frost must be taken care next week. My family will help me. I appreciate their support. I have given away dozens of plants. I will continue to down-size my collection, until it is a size that I can manage and move by myself.
There will be a flurry of cleaning and preening all plants the must go into my workshop. It will take on the look of a crowded jungle until spring. Plants will cover every surface and hang from the rafters.
I do not clean my gardens outside until March. The mess is a haven for insects and wildlife over the cold months. I may add extra mulch around some tender favorites. I will need help for this, too.
I am still wobbly and in pain. Hopefully that will end. My left hip will be replaced on October 24. This hip was damaged by a fall on August 4, 2024. My whole left side was jarred and jammed just two weeks before my unsuccessful surgery on my right hip on August 24, 2024.
I have been in constant pain for 18 months. I have thought about this quite a bit. Mostly I think of my precious Daddy who had rheumatoid arthritis for decades and kept moving. I also catch myself hobbling like his mom who had arthritis and wore shoes that were too small and too pointy.
I also think of the miles I ran on roads and sidewalks before there were properly cushioned running shoes. I still have a habit of carrying heavy loads, because I do not like asking for help. I remember all the times I waved off men in parking lots who offered to help me load 60 and 90 pound bags of portland cement and masonry mix into my vehicle. I worked like a man with the joints and muscles of a woman.
Now, I need help doing many mundane tasks. I do not like this helplessness. My hope is that I will be strong again in the spring. I will be more cautious with my repaired and healing body from now on.
Next week, I will need help with these fall and frost chores. Seasons do not wait for us to be ready. They come when they come.
floweralley 