Hot
I dreamed last night that bacon is a seasonal vegetable. I am cracking up.
It’s the flipping HEAT. It got to OVER EIGHTY today. Um, Fahrenheit. Obviously. Also I admit I’m going by my little kitchen window weather station, but its sensor thingy hangs on a wall in the garden in the shade. The big wall thermometer that I can see from the kitchen window–but not for much longer; Ghislaine de Feligonde is taking over–was something over ninety, but thanks to Ghislaine’s exuberance you can only read the top, temperate range above the happy leafy stems, and as soon as the arrow dips into cold or hot you have to guess by sweat per square inch or oscillation speed of shivering.* But that thermometer gets a lot of sun. You don’t want to look at it in hot weather, you’ll only scare yourself.
And I am already tired of watering the garden and it’s only the beginning of May. I’m tired of watering two gardens. Last year there wasn’t yet much up at Third House except what has been there since before me, which is mostly its own lookout: things that should have established themselves better have done, and they shouldn’t need watering–and if they haven’t established themselves then they’d better get some remedial roots down now.* Global warming is generally a big pain in the butt–I like English summers: I like needing to have a woolly jumper in my knapsack all year long. I even like needing a reserve umbrella in my knapsack all year long, and I like complaining about having to use it–as well as being bad and scary and probably our fault** and all that. But it performs one or two services to sloth, and the one I’m looking at here is that you shouldn’t water established plants. They shouldn’t need it, and you shouldn’t waste the water. Don’t plant something that is going to need watering forever in your area.*** Yaay. Watering is boring. I don’t want to do any more of it than I have to.† Meanwhile I’m busy planting things at Third House, which means I have to water them. And I’ve already told you I have a plant-pot fetish which admittedly isn’t awfully, uh, green of me. . . .
Old Blush is already out–roses by the second week of May in Hampshire, get real–Mme Gregoire Staechelin’s first are just opening, as are Mme Alfred Carriere’s and Agnes’. Which is interesting to an old rose watcher. I only put Agnes in last year, and while she’s a rugosa, she’s an old rugosa, and behaves more like a species, which means she’s taking her time settling in. She didn’t produce any flowers last year and she’s not going to do much this year, but she’s got a few coming and she’s getting big.†† And she should be first out, and Mme Gregoire hard on her heels. (Mme Gregoire is especially popular with me as an early rose because she’s pink. Most of the significantly early roses seem to be yellow.) Old Blush and Mme Alfred should be later–proper midsummer roses–although Old Blush, once she gets started, goes on and on and on. I don’t know–you never really know–whether this kind of thing is due to this year’s weather, your particular bush, your particular garden, or what. Whatever: we want roses. Although we would have been happy to wait another month and pass on the eighty-plus weather in early May.
And speaking of the effects of hot weather, by–perhaps–the undesirable expedient of waiting till nine o’clock to feed hellhounds, Chaos ate dinner. Having barely touched lunch. Or dinner last night. Darkness, bless him, is eating just fine. I wish I thought this was what worked, feeding them late, but I know better, with Chaos. Chaos is his own universal law, and about as reliable as the rest of ‘em: you know the way they keep making up new ones because the old ones don’t quite work.††† However he ate supper tonight and this weather is only supposed to last . . . about another fortnight. Aaaaaaugh.
. . . I’m trying to decide whether or not to say that I’ll try to post rose photos tomorrow. I still haven’t been back to contend with the robin, and I’m afraid to look for email from Blogmom.
* * *
* Yes, all right, roses lose their leaves during the winter. Mostly. But massed stems are still pretty opaque. There are two answers: move the thermometer. But Ghislaine will keep growing, and I’m hoping in another year that the piece of wall farther over will be covered with Hagley Hybrid^ and flammula^^ and–okay, I’m dreaming here–Mermaid^^^. Or there’s the green twine option. D’you suppose Tie Me Up! Tie Me Down! had something to do with roses?
^ pale lilac clematis
^^ tiny-fuzzy-white-flower clematis, and it smells good. Not too many clematis have bothered acquiring scent.
^^^ Who is not dead. Yet. This time.
**Also they will have detention for the rest of term, and will be required to produce an additional paper on a topic to be announced.
*** And while I tend to think the jury’s not absolutely in on whether global warming is all human misbehaviour or whether some aeonian planetary cycle is involved, the pollution is certainly our fault.
† Ahem. And yes, that does include those millionaires’ playgrounds in southwestern America that have wiped out the aquifers of several states so they can have emerald green golf courses.
†† I do have a sprinkler. I try not to use it. I suppose the list of Things to Improve Upper Body Strength in Middle Aged Females should include carrying large full watering cans. Oh yes, and really large harrowing bags of all-purpose compost from the farm store. The farm store because it’s cheaper than the garden centre, but it could get a lot more expensive if I start faltering in the equestrian department, which you have to pass through to get to gardening. Having Hannah’s horse-mad daughter here for a week has really . . .
There are always nice helpful young men at the farm store who would be happy to help you with your large harrowing bags of compost–and since compost is usually on a three for two offer, you’re always wrangling several–but thus far I always decline. I’m not the kind of feminist who bites guys who open doors for her^ but a little tiny piece of the Honour of Middle Aged Females is at stake here: I wouldn’t want them to think I can’t get my own bags of compost in my own car (oof). If I were going to indulge in a helpful young man however I’d much rather have him back at the cottage, where I have to get everything, including sacks of compost, up a half flight of steep steps (bigger oof).
^ Peter has enough scars. And he gets so unhappy if he can’t open the door for you.
††† Oops. But like I didn’t know this already.
‡ Newton was the man till Einstein came along. Then Einstein was the man till black holes and the Big Bang came along.
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It was 64 F here today. I wore a light sweater. :P
Sorry. Sorry. We *did* have a rainstorm last night, which probably helped. And I’ll be complaining when it hits 80 again here. It has already, but the storms… Thank goodness for them.
I am hoping for rose photos! I really loved seeing the hellhounds and robins and Robin, so I’m crossing ferrets now. (And I did finally almost kinda get the photo of crossed ferrets you were asking about. Here’s crossed *tails*: http://www.flickr.com/photos/69585952@N00/2454397406/in/set-72157594148663162/ So this is what I’ll do when I’m hoping for something good. ;)
GO AWAY AND TAKE YOUR STUPID WEATHER WITH YOU.
Promise to complain when it gets in the mid-80s and **muggy** as it should do where you are.
If he ever sat on her it would be all over!!!!!!! You know when you wake up out of dream that the house is falling down on you and it’s because your husband has thrown a limb over you?! Peter’s THIN. But he has HEAVY BONES. If he ever sat on me. . . .
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If you want to complain of your garden and watering in Southern England, try Greece and a sixth-floor balcony as big as ours. The only reason I can claim as much credit as I do for the balcony, besides the snapdragons, the herb garden and the photographs, is because I keep the whole shebang going through the summer months when I am often the only resident of this house and you have to water every other day, and when it gets very hot every day and sometimes two times a day. We re-use ALL the water we can.
Also
“Chaos is his own universal law, and about as reliable as the rest of ‘em: you know the way they keep making up new ones because the old ones don’t quite work”
no, they don’t invent new ones because the old ones don’t work. It is just that they find an entirely different set of circumstances, beyond the ones for which the first rule works. It is about extending knowledge to cover previously undiscovered variables. Still applicable but in a more hopeful way!
Have a bunch of wildflowers from Greece to cheer you up – roses I can’t help you with:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/susan_from_athens/2481789210/
I find pots of things often need watering at least once a day even here–twice a day if it’s very hot or if they’re hanging baskets rather than against ground or tucked among stones and/or shrubbery.
no, they don’t invent new ones because the old ones don’t work. It is just that they find an entirely different set of circumstances, beyond the ones for which the first rule works. It is about extending knowledge to cover previously undiscovered variables. Still applicable but in a more hopeful way!
******** If they were proper universal laws, they would STRETCH. And my way makes a better joke. :)
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Oh, I will definitely complain when it gets hot and humid. Urgh. Last summer it was soooo gross. We don’t have central AC here — just a couple of window units — and those things are *noisy.* Bleh. And it’s stupid to have them on at night, you know?
So last summer the ACs went off when we were on night shift. And then it was hot inside. I opened the window, hoping that would help. It *should* when it’s ~70s, but the 80% humidity was *killer*. No winning. One should not sweat at night.
Have you seen the ferret pile photos? He *does* sit on her. Sometimes I peek in to find Leanne or Suzi underneath a couple boys. I have no idea how they survive it. Must be part of being boneless. Usually the girls manage to wiggle to the top.
But that’s a *huge* difference, isn’t it? Leanne is maybe half a pound. Stewie was over three when we last checked. He probably gets closer to four in the winter.
Yes, I do not want to THINK about AC in **England.** It’s almost OBSCENE. At the moment I have one of those gizmos that blows water-cooled air . . . but of course that’s ultimately contributing to the Mug Factor. but yes, one should not sweat at night. I can bear these hot days so long as it cools down at night–which so far it is doing. But I’m a little crazed about the hellhounds (surprise!), if they’re having this much trouble even when it’s only this hot, and only during the day. . . .
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Last summer we hit forty two centigrade in mid June and the temperature didn’t fall below 35 centigrade in the daytime for two whole months! It was a minimum of 30 or 28 most nights. I can take the daytime heat, but have AC at night to see me through the nights. The apartment bakes as we have the sun on us from 7:30 in the morning till 9:00 at night and even with the awnings and plants you just melt.
I was amused a couple of years ago to be in England during a “heat wave” and they were telling people on the news not to sleep with their duvets on. Hello! Does anyone actually need to be told this?
LOL! *Two* years ago? I’m surprised. Because we started having visiting Mediterranean weather before that.
I “lost” a bull terrier once. 70lbs of dog. Where was it? After panics and careering round calling for half an hour or more, the drated beast woke up. She had been lovely and comfy under 3 or 4 other bullies. I should have noticed that the bullie pile was suspiciously high…
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LOL!!!!!!!!!
Eighty degrees, HA! It was supposed to be in the upper 90s here today, but only got up to 84 after all. Perfect for a wildlife refuge walk. :)
Well it does depend on the Mug Level too! England tends to be muggy! Aren’t you in Oz? Where it tends to be unmuggy!
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Nope, Louisiana, where all is warped, decaying, and/or moldy. Average humidity here yesterday was 79%, but temps in the low 80s are tolerable at least. When it gets into the 90s with humidity that high, you just glide from your abode to your car to work and back again. I’ve only been here since late June of last year, and I didn’t have a dog until the end of August; walking her throughout the summer will be interesting. We already have an alternative walking place where we can at least stay completely in shade when it’s upper 80s or above.
You are a brave woman. Also crazy, but then most of us here are. :)
It was very pleasant here today. I walked to the bookstore and back and was quite comfortable the whole way.
Eighty degrees is not bad. When it gets into the nineties I start getting tetchy, but eighty is good. Unless you are in Celsius, and then I would have to wonder what planet you’re on. I’m sorry you’re hot and miserable. It could be worse. :)
Well, we in So Cal are getting rollercoaster weather – three days of cool (a word which here means below 70), three days of 80s-90s and Santa Ana winds and brushfires, lather rinse repeat…
The cats absolutely hate the dry Santa Ana weather – I call them “Sparky”, and the big fluffy calico takes dirt baths and comes in absolutely filthy. There’s a very good reason Raymond Chandler called it “red wind” – and there’s a lovely bit of description, oh yeah. One of the finest opening paragraphs ever written, in my humble opinion.
Don’t even get me started on the weather with lows in the 40s and highs in the 80s-90s. I know we’re supposed to be a desert, but really!
I’m glad Chaos has deigned to dine, even if you can’t figure out why. Whatever works. He’s still on the good-vibes list, as are you, and I hope you get your cool-down sooner rather than later.
Daughter waiting to use the PC, I must away.
After years of drought in southern Australia, we’re on permanent stage 4 water restrictions (hand held hose, between 6-8am, two mornings a week), but it is, of course, a point of honour to not do this if at all possible. I have a complicated system of hoses from the washing machine to capture grey water, and we’ll put a tank in this winter.
There is a certain school of thought that disapproves of roses in Aust gardens (exotics, not water-hardy natives, etc.), and while I would probably never plant any myself, I’ve left half a dozen existing rose bushes in the garden. I have to say that they have been absolute trojans, soldiering on through the drought with just the odd bucket of water collected from the shower thrown over them, with a profusion of flowers right through the summer, and still budding now in autumn. They sit nicely beside my big native garden.
Susan in Melbourne
If you can get them established, they ARE tough. But their first year–well, you do have to water. We aren’t on serious water restriction here (yet) so I’m willing to say, first year watering. It’s quite alarming when they drop all their leaves–which is either a sensible drought-resistant response or a sign of imminent death–but I don’t think I’ve ever lost a rose from it. The weedy ones do die, but then the weedy ones die anyway.
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But bacon is a vegetable! (http://www.dieselsweeties.com/shirts/baconisavegetable/)
I knew it! I knew it! It must be true, I read it on a t shirt! :)
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Hm. I think maybe there was some sort of mix-up in the weather delivery sorting facility, since we appear to be getting your chilly and soggy British weather over here in Utah, when we should be starting to see warmer temperatures like you’ve got there. I’d offer to switch, but I’m pretty sure you’d decline once I mentioned that, besides being stuck in my car in the parking lot outside the store for 20 minutes while I waited for the hail to stop and the rain to downgrade from monsoon to merely torrential downpour, we also keep getting minor snow flurries… I guess it’s okay that our air conditioner chose to break down now rather than in July, then, but still.
(Oh, and I got the book in the mail today. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!)
Hah, I was going to mention that. Everything I’ve ordered from online plant dealers arrived dead or has died because they sent stuff in /early March/. We got snow last week, we certainly weren’t ready to plant anything in early March! It’s nice that we’ll actually have some water this year and I certainly don’t want the 80+ degree weather at all, let alone this early in the year, but this winter was a killer.
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80 F in May, yuck. I sympathize with you because I don’t like hot weather–loved summer in Seattle, a place where you can wear wool all year round. And watering *is* incredibly boring. And if you do use sprinklers–my borders get hand-watered, but last year I had to break down and water grass–it’s a drag to set them and move them etc. etc. We are still having cool weather and even more rain. It is dropping below 40 at night, so I’m stuck keeping the impatiens inside. I’m hoping that we don’t repeat last year’s pattern, getting all our rain by June and then staying bone-dry for the hot months. Weather is so frequently perverse that this is a distinct possibility.
In spite of the cold and the rain, the ticks have managed to come out. I pulled two off the Alpha Bitch today, which means we are back doing serious tick checks every time she comes in. Add this to mud removal and you suddenly know where a couple of hours of your day disappear to.
But–I was cheered by the sight of hosta leaves finally poking up out of the mulch. And the vinca has started to flower, so things actually are coming along.
Ticks. Brrrrrrr. I’ll blog my First Hellhound Tick story some day.
My hostas are tucked in the shadows, so they’re booming happily along even in this weather.
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I’m learning *restraint*. I am. Oh, what the hell……
But thank you for the weather update. It made me giggle. My ideal temp is somewhere between 69 – 77F. I contemplate wearing *shorts* at 77F. I get a touch grumpy when it is about 95F.
But I’ll admit I found European summers *muggier* than here at home.
Watering the garden sucks. Think we are up to about 10 yrs of low rainfall. Plenty of practise taking out buckets of spare “warming up shower water”. Good thing roses are tough! *sigh*
I’ll go and stand in the corner now…. *g*
I wish bacon were a vegetable. I’m sure it would be healthier. But the seasonal part I wouldn’t be so fond of.
It’s the high sixties and low seventies in Portland (Oregon), but I’m trying to soak it all in as much as possible because I go down to Las Vegas for the summer and it really is hell there. Both people-wise and weather-wise. And I’ve never been able to keep plants alive.
Except cactus.
But cactus is a plant from hell, too.
WHY would any sane person go to LAS VEGAS for the SUMMER? (Okay, I used to go to Manhattan for the summer. From Maine.)
Oh, I like cactus. But I’ve only dealt with little ones.
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Unfortunately, I have family in Las Vegas. But you won’t catch me living there, no matter how much you’re willing to pay!
Did you know that they don’t have lawns there, let alone gardens? People just fill in the space with gray rocks. Ugly, cement-y gray rocks. Rocks don’t need watering.
Ewwww. Okay, I’m glad I don’t live there. :)
I don’t think any sane ones do. I’ve got a friend who travels between homes in Vegas and Salt Lake and is just now deciding that since she can’t seem to sell the Salt Lake home, she might as well stay there for the summer. I can’t believe it took her several years to decide that. Given the number of birds she has, though (and rare ones at that), most people probably wouldn’t say she qualifies as sane. ;)
Do the BIRDS commute too? Good lord. What does she DRIVE?
Actually, a lot of the times, they do. She has a small SUV that she folds down the back seat in and a ton of travel cages of the same dimensions that she stacks in the back. A lot of the time her husband stays in Vegas, so she only brings some of them, but it’s definitely kooky even among we kooky parrot people. :)
What do they think of travelling? When I had a budgie (sigh) he travelled with a rug over the cage. And who takes care of the birds left behind? Don’t they miss her?
All my roses have settled in, and all of them show signs of being very much alive. Rosa Mundi took a bit of convincing, but she’s putting out leaves as well.
I dreamed last night that bacon is a seasonal vegetable
Of course it is. Otherwise, why would it be served as part of vegetable fried rice?
… !
I’ve still got one in its plastic pot . . . it’s growing anyway. :)
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After lurking on your blog for weeks, I was expecting cool weather and rain for the three-week trip to England and Scotland that I’m currently on — and I’ve been roasting instead. But at least I’m just scurrying around the tourist sites, not hauling watering cans and being dragged around by hellhounds, so I can’t complain!
And I’ve missed reading your blog nightly — my internet addiction does have some bright spots, and this is one of them. I’m looking forward to catching up properly when I’m back in the States!
I hope you’re enjoying the UK anyway! And Scotland hasn’t been as hot!
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Robin, what kind of rose is a lovely, bright, dark, clear red on the inside of its petals and a papery white on the outside of its petals? I was handed one as a guest in a restaurant about two weeks ago. I came home and clipped the end under water and put it in a vase. It’s still blooming beautifully. It’s one of the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen, and I’ve never seen anything like it before.
Judith
Florists’ roses are a *whole* different kettle of fish, or plantlife. There’s almost no overlap between florists’ roses and what people with gardens grow. Besides, why do you want to know? You have Mastiffs instead of a garden. But you’d have to ask the restaurant to ask its florist, and it still wouldn’t really do you any good. There are a lot of bicoloured roses out here in garden land however. The one that immediately leaps to my mind–and which I grow–is Double delight. Although it’s red tipped, with a creamy-white heart.
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*****Besides, why do you want to know?*****
So I know what to ask for should I want to find it again.
*****You have Mastiffs*****
I have a Mastiff. Singular. One.
I lost my boy on Wednesday.
Judith
Oh, gods. I’m so sorry. Do you want to say what happened? I hope he was just old.
I am so sorry.
There’s too much death around right now. This is not in fact the sort of thing I want to get into in the blog but I’ve had two (human) family members and the mother of a friend pop off lately and I’m staggering a bit.
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*****Do you want to say what happened? I hope he was just old.*****
No, he was only five years old, and it was sudden. A couple of weeks before it happened, he ate some of my husband’s underwear. He liked to do that, and I frantically tried to stop it because I feared that something like this would happen. He could make things like that disappear in seconds, and would usually vomit them up within a few days, or would pass them. This time apparently it sat there for a couple of weeks. The vet who operated said that the small intestine above where it had passed was swollen to twice its normal size and was extremely irritated to the point that it was purple. She and my regular vet (who came in from his day off to assist in the surgery) resected 30 inches of intestine, but feared that the remaining intestine wouldn’t stay sutured together to heal since the intestine was so damaged and fragile (friable) after the surgery. Then when they were starting to put the intestine back into the abdominal cavity, apparently the toxins built up from the damaged intestines went into his blood stream and overwhelmed him and he went into cardiac arrest. They opened his chest to do open heart massage but couldn’t get him back. He was in surgery for about six hours, and had tolerated the anaesthesia very well up until then. The underwear had gone almost all the way through the small intestine before it lodged.
I am, of course, devastated. We buried him tonight at the pet cemetery. I can’t believe he’s gone.
Judith
I am so, so, so, sorry. I look at my hellhounds and . . .
I am so very sorry to hear about the loss of your boy. Dogs never spend enough time with us, whatever their age… I will be thinking of you
Give them big hugs from me.
I keep thinking that in some parallel universe this didn’t happen. I want to be in that one.
Judith
I like your large bags of compost. Mine this year has been mulch. I inherited enough mulched beds with my house to need waay too much mulch to want to buy it in bags, but not enough to warrant ordering a truckload. I can just barely lift the bags of mulch if I’m willing to get whatever I’m wearing completely filthy and look extremely awkward. It’s less the weight that’s a problem and more the bulky floppiness and my apprehensions about what exact sort of stuff is on these bags that were a few feet away from the fertilizer bags….
Also, I don’t always remember to wear old clothes to the garden center.
Yes, well, I carry large bags of fertilizer too, and the only answer is Not to Think About It. (You must not have dogs or you would be BEYOND being preoccupied with what’s getting on your clothing. :)) But yes: it’s not the sheer weight of the thing, it’s the INTRACTABILITY.
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Drove back from computer-less Connecticut house today amidst radio reports of what was loose on the major roads. In separate and unrelated incidents: Canoes (plural), a pre-fab house, and (unspecified) debris. It’s lovely to get back to a blog wherein people seems to have been debating the possibility that bacon is a vegetable. (Not sure, but perhaps pasta? It grows. Sort of.)
We’re FREEZING here and it pours every weekend. Only the weeds are pleased.
You write so much of running with hounds and ringing with bells–I forget at times that you are also in a period of fighting ME. All the candles I light and soup I cook are at least partly for you–
Thank you! :)
Maybe we should start a list of Things That Are Vegetables Really or Things that OUGHT to Be Vegetables or . . .
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My mother still talks about the classic Panorama episode that aired one April Fool’s Day where they convinced the British TV public that spaghetti grows on trees. They apparently went to a Swiss village and filmed villagers taking spaghetti off trees to “harvest” it. It worked because almost nobody in England at the time had seen spaghetti in anything but a Heinz can with tomato sauce!