As far as Fiorella's concerned, spring is here. She's put away her jeans in favor of shorts, and Husband visited the nursery yesterday, where he sank a small fortune into yucca and rosemary, both of them deer- and drought-resistant.
Fio loves the new view. The grass is bright green, and wildflowers are beginning to bloom on the verges of I-35--baby bluebonnets in the midst of millions of little yellow dots. The pink primroses should show soon. And the red paintbrushes.
Fio and Husband don't have any bluebonnets on their property, but they do have purple verbena, wild and tame. Those weird butterfly bushes the landscaper planted are in full bloom, but Fio is preparing to replace them with rosemaries because she doesn't want to ruin her other hip nursing the butterflies through the drought this summer like she did last year.
Yes, summer will come, the rain will dry up, and the drought will be in full swing again, but this time Fio and Husband will be better prepared.
Yucca and rosemary, that's the way to go.
Showing posts with label Hill Country. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hill Country. Show all posts
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Spot On
Fio doesn't like waste, which translates into trying to find uses for those ubiquitous plastic milk bottles that take up so much room in the trash can. Lately, she's been using them to store urine, which she and Husband sprinkle around the planting beds to repel foraging by deer and other wildlife, but now she's also using them to store bath water for spot watering of the landscape.
Yes, with the drought in full swing, watering restrictions are more stringent than ever. But Fio paid too much for those plants to let them die so out she trots every morning and evening, milk bottles of water in hand.
The verbenas lift their heads to greet her, and the mountain laurels sigh in relief.
Yes, with the drought in full swing, watering restrictions are more stringent than ever. But Fio paid too much for those plants to let them die so out she trots every morning and evening, milk bottles of water in hand.
The verbenas lift their heads to greet her, and the mountain laurels sigh in relief.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Manna from Heaven
Yesterday morning Fiorella rushed to the front room to find out why Wendy was barking so furiously at the window, and, before her very eyes, two young deer ambled down the driveway and grazed on acorns as a squirrel, also eying the acorns, peeked at them from behind a tree.
How dare they! Those are Wendy Dog's acorns!
How dare they! Those are Wendy Dog's acorns!
Sunday, May 16, 2010
The Drought Is Over
I never imagined I'd see wildflowers in my own backyard, but that's part of the joy of living in the hill country. A month ago, Husband carefully mowed around the mass of pale pink evening primroses outside our door, and they're still blooming away.
And when I walk down the driveway, I see verbenas, Mexican hats, and purple thistles. Down the road a ways are hillsides so enflowered that they look like gold paint has been splashed on them. Earlier in the month, it was blue paint.
God bless rain.
And when I walk down the driveway, I see verbenas, Mexican hats, and purple thistles. Down the road a ways are hillsides so enflowered that they look like gold paint has been splashed on them. Earlier in the month, it was blue paint.
God bless rain.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Fawns
On Saturday, Fio and Husband saw the first fawns of the year--in a neighbor's yard, then in theirs.
Fio has a thing about babies of any kind; and fawns, spindly-legged and shy, are especially charming. One can almost forgive them for eating the red-tipped fotinias into oblivion.
Fio has a thing about babies of any kind; and fawns, spindly-legged and shy, are especially charming. One can almost forgive them for eating the red-tipped fotinias into oblivion.
Friday, January 23, 2009
To Build a Fire
Fire is surprisingly fragile, which is what I learned one recent morning when I spent half an hour, a long match, two short matches, the stove burner, a candle, and the morning newspaper starting one in the fireplace.
It was below freezing outside and not much warmer inside and, entranced by the idea of pioneer living, I decided to make a fire. Husband, the former Scoutmaster, has it down to a fine art and has shown me how to do it several times so I thought it would be a cinch.
The minute you read those words, you know there's going to be trouble.
I emptied the kindling box and set up a little stack of twigs, then braved the cold outdoors to grab three smaller and one larger log from one of our wood racks. Inside, I placed them appropriately around the firehole, stuck a piece of crumpled newspaper in the middle, and extracted a long match from the box.
The match wouldn't strike so I took it over to the kitchen and lit it from a stove burner, but it went out on my return journey to the fireplace. After due consideration, I took a candle down from the cupboard and, after spilling several drops of wax on the stove top and kitchen floor and nearly burning my thumbs off, got enough drip from the candle to secure it into the holder. Then I lit it from the stove burner and, moving slowly, my eye constantly on the wavering flame, I made it across the room with fire intact.
Why didn't I carry the candle over to the fireplace and light it there with a short match? I don't know. It didn't dawn on me till hours later.
I lit the remaining stem of the original long match from the candle, but it went out the second I thrust it into the fireplace so I tried a blazing twist of newspaper, which stayed lit, but none of the wood caught from it. I tried again, stuffing more shredded newspaper into the breach. Then I wound individual sections of the paper into tight rolls for substance and tore another section into strips to keep the fire going until the wood caught.
Suddenly I realized the room was filling with smoke so the last section of the paper went into making a torch to thrust up the chimney to inspire a proper draft.
Half an hour later the fire was still burning, and I was so proud!
It was below freezing outside and not much warmer inside and, entranced by the idea of pioneer living, I decided to make a fire. Husband, the former Scoutmaster, has it down to a fine art and has shown me how to do it several times so I thought it would be a cinch.
The minute you read those words, you know there's going to be trouble.
I emptied the kindling box and set up a little stack of twigs, then braved the cold outdoors to grab three smaller and one larger log from one of our wood racks. Inside, I placed them appropriately around the firehole, stuck a piece of crumpled newspaper in the middle, and extracted a long match from the box.
The match wouldn't strike so I took it over to the kitchen and lit it from a stove burner, but it went out on my return journey to the fireplace. After due consideration, I took a candle down from the cupboard and, after spilling several drops of wax on the stove top and kitchen floor and nearly burning my thumbs off, got enough drip from the candle to secure it into the holder. Then I lit it from the stove burner and, moving slowly, my eye constantly on the wavering flame, I made it across the room with fire intact.
Why didn't I carry the candle over to the fireplace and light it there with a short match? I don't know. It didn't dawn on me till hours later.
I lit the remaining stem of the original long match from the candle, but it went out the second I thrust it into the fireplace so I tried a blazing twist of newspaper, which stayed lit, but none of the wood caught from it. I tried again, stuffing more shredded newspaper into the breach. Then I wound individual sections of the paper into tight rolls for substance and tore another section into strips to keep the fire going until the wood caught.
Suddenly I realized the room was filling with smoke so the last section of the paper went into making a torch to thrust up the chimney to inspire a proper draft.
Half an hour later the fire was still burning, and I was so proud!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Deer
Deer, deer, deer. Kill them or feed them?
Mostly, Husband and I just watch them.
Husband defends deer rights, saying the deer were here before we were. Indeed, our builder told us his crew had to shoo a small herd off the concrete foundation every morning before work could start. And the deer still hang around--to nibble at my red-tipped fotinia and anything else that doesn't have a fence around it.
I don't agree with Husband's argument; after all, he wants to clear off all the cedar even though it too was here first. The reason I vote thumbs up is that deer are a part of nature and, personally, I enjoy watching them and occasionally interacting with them--from from a distance, of course. I'd never touch them. They're not pets and haven't been checked out for lice, ticks, mites, or rabies. And the stags, one of which once tried to confront my car in the driveway, can be dangerous.
But I think deer, as sentient beings, deserve to live. I want to preserve their lives the same way I want to feed Wendy Dog, care for people who are down and out, and make everyone's life better.
Mostly, Husband and I just watch them.
Husband defends deer rights, saying the deer were here before we were. Indeed, our builder told us his crew had to shoo a small herd off the concrete foundation every morning before work could start. And the deer still hang around--to nibble at my red-tipped fotinia and anything else that doesn't have a fence around it.
I don't agree with Husband's argument; after all, he wants to clear off all the cedar even though it too was here first. The reason I vote thumbs up is that deer are a part of nature and, personally, I enjoy watching them and occasionally interacting with them--from from a distance, of course. I'd never touch them. They're not pets and haven't been checked out for lice, ticks, mites, or rabies. And the stags, one of which once tried to confront my car in the driveway, can be dangerous.
But I think deer, as sentient beings, deserve to live. I want to preserve their lives the same way I want to feed Wendy Dog, care for people who are down and out, and make everyone's life better.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Discovery!
Husband found a geode in the dry creekbed on the edge of the property and Fiorella is thrilled. Fio will add the geode to her rock collection, which, in fact, has grown so large that she is not quite sure what to do with it, but which she absolutely refuses to winnow.
Flint is Fio's specialty. It is so basic--fires are made with flint, and thus each piece of flint is a romance to Fio, a connection with bygone, mayhap ancient, peoples. The Tonkawas, or later, the Apaches or Comanches, might have lived along this creek for a while, manufacturing arrowheads and scrapers. Maybe someone older than they, along the line of the Clovis culture, lived here and touched these very same rocks and stones. Maybe some of their DNA still lingers and Fio can soak it up somehow and experience some of their lives--only the best parts of course. Fio does not want to soak up death, destruction, or disease.
She has quite enough of that in her current world, thank-you.
Flint is Fio's specialty. It is so basic--fires are made with flint, and thus each piece of flint is a romance to Fio, a connection with bygone, mayhap ancient, peoples. The Tonkawas, or later, the Apaches or Comanches, might have lived along this creek for a while, manufacturing arrowheads and scrapers. Maybe someone older than they, along the line of the Clovis culture, lived here and touched these very same rocks and stones. Maybe some of their DNA still lingers and Fio can soak it up somehow and experience some of their lives--only the best parts of course. Fio does not want to soak up death, destruction, or disease.
She has quite enough of that in her current world, thank-you.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Intimations of Winter
It's coming winter in the hill country. Within the past week, the leaves have been falling like golden rain, baring the bones of our forest.
We've spotted two bucks in our area, one with a magnificent six-prong rack, the other a tender spikeling. They tend to pose on the side of the road, looking, for all the world, like paid advertisements for Hartford.
There are so many brush piles along our driveway that it looks like we're preparing for an auto-da-fe. Now you know what we do for winter entertainment.
And Husband has been getting his money's worth out of the new chain saw. I like the idea that our fallen trees are burned in our fireplace rather than chipped and trashed. I think the trees like that too-it means they didn't die in vain. (But then, I tend to personify.)
Meanwhile, I dream of snow.
We've spotted two bucks in our area, one with a magnificent six-prong rack, the other a tender spikeling. They tend to pose on the side of the road, looking, for all the world, like paid advertisements for Hartford.
There are so many brush piles along our driveway that it looks like we're preparing for an auto-da-fe. Now you know what we do for winter entertainment.
And Husband has been getting his money's worth out of the new chain saw. I like the idea that our fallen trees are burned in our fireplace rather than chipped and trashed. I think the trees like that too-it means they didn't die in vain. (But then, I tend to personify.)
Meanwhile, I dream of snow.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Living off the Land
True bliss is sitting in front of a fire made from wood which we've cut ourselves. Husband and I now have more than half a cord stored on circular iron racks in front of our house, and I often go to the door to look at the fruits of our labor in wonder and awe. It's a big deal to this city girl who thought firewood grew out of plastic wrappers stacked in front of HEB.
Right now we're working on a downed oak that was probably struck by lightning a couple of years ago. It's huge, so we'll have our racks completely full after another couple days'labor. Maybe we'll even have to buy a third rack.
And just think of all the money we'll save--next year. This year we still have to justify the cost of two (or three) $25 racks, a $65 electric chain saw, and extra blades at $5 apiece.
Right now we're working on a downed oak that was probably struck by lightning a couple of years ago. It's huge, so we'll have our racks completely full after another couple days'labor. Maybe we'll even have to buy a third rack.
And just think of all the money we'll save--next year. This year we still have to justify the cost of two (or three) $25 racks, a $65 electric chain saw, and extra blades at $5 apiece.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
You Live in the Texas Hill Country If . . .
1) You've seen a roadrunner streak down the top rail of your chainlink fence.
2) Your local grocery store carries deer and rabbit repellent.
3) You can't make it to work if the dry creek at the bottom of your property floods.
4) You know darn well a platform in a tree isn't a kid's playhouse.
5) Jehovah's Witnesses do not walk, but drive, to your house.
6) All five vehicles in front of you on the road are pick-ups.
7) Whitetails shelter in your carport when it rains.
8) You can't dig down further than five inches without hitting limestone.
9) Within ten miles, you can shop at Wolf Ranch, buy a car at Auto Ranch, browse bestsellers at Lazy Rocking W Books and Gifts, or attend Sunday services at the Cowboy Church.
10) You are fortunate enough to have the inspiration to write lists like this.
2) Your local grocery store carries deer and rabbit repellent.
3) You can't make it to work if the dry creek at the bottom of your property floods.
4) You know darn well a platform in a tree isn't a kid's playhouse.
5) Jehovah's Witnesses do not walk, but drive, to your house.
6) All five vehicles in front of you on the road are pick-ups.
7) Whitetails shelter in your carport when it rains.
8) You can't dig down further than five inches without hitting limestone.
9) Within ten miles, you can shop at Wolf Ranch, buy a car at Auto Ranch, browse bestsellers at Lazy Rocking W Books and Gifts, or attend Sunday services at the Cowboy Church.
10) You are fortunate enough to have the inspiration to write lists like this.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
