We interrupt this blogpost to bring you "Eggs on the Ceiling"

So I spent about 30 minutes a bit earlier writing (what I thought were) all sorts of clever stories about our crazy Sand Mountain weather ("Autmer" or "Sumtumn"), the new "neigh"bor (pictured at right), and the seasonal visitor of yesterday (a migratory Least Sandpiper, pictured at left) when I was rudely interrupted by sounds coming from the kitchen that had me convinced the house had exploded.  Well, not quite.  But almost as bad.

I am known to be a bit ditzy, and forgetful, especially when I get focused on something other than what I should be focused on.  So I left a couple of eggs boiling on the stove while I ran to the computer just to check e-mail.  E-mail, then Facebook, then my favorite decorating and landscape blogs called.  Then inspiration hit for my above-mentioned blog entry, and the next thing I knew - BLAM!  Eggs on the ceiling!  And on the kitchen counters, the dining table, all three sections of the bay window blinds, not to mention the island cooktop and adjoining cabinetry.   (Who knew a couple of eggs could be so explosive?!  The pot lid actually bounced off the light fixture!  No joke!)

Thankfully HH is downstairs in the garage, happily oblivious to the stench that has filled the main house and the nice Revere Ware boiler I just destroyed.  And I won't worry, for now, that those were the last two eggs in the refrigerator 'til pay day and I'd promised tuna salad for lunch (yes, strangely, this family loves tuna salad - just plain water-packed tuna, with salt, pepper, mayonnaise and boiled EGGS.)  For now I'll worry about (quickly!) scraping egg off the ceiling and covering my moronic act with some other wonderful lunchtime treat for Handsome Hubby.

Do you think he'll go for cabbage?  That's the only thing I know that can out-stink burnt eggs!  Wish me luck . . .

Colorfesting 2010

Anticipation was high . . . weather was perfect . . . it was Colorfest time in Mentone, and I was on my way there!  Handsome Hubby and I set out early Saturday morning for our second Colorfest in as many years, and we were not disappointed.

Arriving, we were greeted by the Boy Scouts in khaki shorts and plaid kerchiefs who took their car-parking responsibilities very seriously.  As usual, Handsome Hubby wanted to tell the boys where and how we should park, but the stern-faced 12-year-old waved his arms most adamantly, pointing to a spot that he intended for us to occupy - no questions asked!  :-)  So we did.

The sky was cloudless and the sun bright, with temps around 50 when we arrived.  As we made our way from the parking 'lot' to the festival site on Cool Street, I stopped to take a photo (perhaps my 50th!) of the beautiful bottle tree that always catches my attention at the cute house just down from the corner.  Every time I snap a picture of it, HH teases me about how many dozen of the same I must already have.  But still I snap, declaring that "the sun is hitting the cobalt blue bottles in an especially pretty way today . . .differenct than ever before!"  Truth is, I keep hoping that HH will realize how much I covet that bottle tree, and will gift me with one sometime soon!


Ahead we catch a glimpse of the vendor tents lining the street - more than usual, we comment with delight.  The air is heavy with the smell of funnel cake, and HH is instantly interested.  Moving past the first several tents of arts, crafts, and fun stuff, we come to the first food vendor, and I immediately hone in on those wonderful ribbon fries that I drool over.  We agree, however, to check out the goods all the way down the street before returning to one for food and drink.  The music of the morning was good ole' gospel, sung enthusiastically by an older gentleman who stopped between songs to work at saving souls and promoting his church.  The two dozen plastic lawn chairs ringing the pavillion were about half filled - partly by toe-tapping, hand-clapping sing-alongers, and partly by people balancing hot dogs, chili-fries and cold sodas on their laps.

We note that many of the vendors are those we've seen here before, or at the Rhodendron Festival, or at Boom Days.  They all have most impressive fare, and we especially enjoy the new vendor who makes the most wonderful creatures from common patio pavers.  Cute, but not too cute - just clever enough that you'd actually consider putting one on your porch or giving one as a gift.  We walk along, noting that some of our favorites are not there this year, including . . . THE DEEP-FRIED OREO vendor.  He's NOT THERE!  How can this be?  Doesn't he know that I have waited an entire year for his decadent sweet treat?  Don't the festival organizers realize that without him there is no Colorfest?????  I'm grief-stricken.  I can barely breathe!  This is a disaster!

My throat is dry from despair, and HH insists that we stop for a drink.  While my usual would be the quart of iced tea, I prefer not to visit the port-a-potty that many times today, and decide to go for the strawberry lemonade.  The chalkboard leaning against the tree tells me that this selection will cost me $5, and I think "what a racket!" but order it anyway.  The smiling young girl who cheerfully squeezes the lemons and mixes the concoction like a seasoned bartender assures me, "you'll love it", and "my mom came up with this recipe", and I think, "yea, and you'll enjoy the $4.95 profit you've just taken me for".  She hands it over, complete with chunks of fresh strawberries and two straws, in a plastic cup hunky enough to require two hands to hold, and I take my first sip of HEAVEN!  Forget the deep-fried what were they?  This stuff is unbelievable . . . indescribable . . . amazing . . . knock your socks off and slap yo' mama DELICIOUS!!!!!  So you won't be too surprised that we dropped a cool $10 on those things that morning, making the deep-fried whatever-they-were a distant memory.  I'd found my new Colorfest love!

At the end of Cool Street we found our ever-present and all-time favorite vendor, Smith Nursery.  The selection of colors and textures they'd brought for the festival was outstanding, including the trellised magnolia, the likes of which I'd never seen.  People always buzz around their booth like hungry bees, and we decided not to purchase anything, lamenting the plants we already have at home, still waiting for the elusive (non-existant!) rainfall to soften the ground enough that we can actually bore a hole large enough to accommodate their root balls!  (We've actually used a drill to try to break the ground, and broken a very large drill bit in the attempt!)

Satisfied that we'd perused all the Cool Street vendors, we headed down to the main town intersection to browse through vintage jewelry, farmer's market produce, and funky painted signage before taking the self-guided tour of Mentone Springs Hotel.  Built in 1884, the facility is about to be re-opened by a fellow from Birmingham who told us excitedly of the plans, and clued us in that Ben and Moon, the duo responsible for the top-notch Wildflower Cafe in Mentone, will run the hotel's restaurant when it opens in a few weeks.  We enjoyed touring the guest rooms, since we've never stayed there, and I found the 'flower basket' headboard to be the most novel and photo-worthy.

As always, Colorfest gave us the best fun and most relaxation two folks can have in a two-hour time span, only minutes from home, with a $20 spending limit and comfortable walking shoes!  We'll be back next year - you can count on us!

Revenge of the bushy-tailed 'frienemy'!

Frienemy #1

Wow!  How hard to believe so many days have passed since my last post.  'Would love to say it's because I've been really busy, but . . . well, actually I have been really busy!  (Very enjoyable weekend with my daughters, celebrating beautiful Megan's 13th birthday, then having step-son as houseguest this week)

I finally allowed myself to come to terms with ripping the still-trying summer annuals from their dirt-y beds and replacing them with the seasonal offerings of the local garden center.  Tight budget meant that I was on the lookout for bargains - like the 50¢ garden mums at Walmart.  Although they were quite small, I convinced myself that buying lots of them and grouping them would be more penny-wise than paying the $4.64 they wanted for the larger ones.  After taking them home and doing the math, I realized that I'd not only bought myself more work than necessary, I spent more than necessary as well. 

And pansies.  I've been brainwashed by the garden center ads and the guy from Huntsville Botanical Garden who does a weekly segment on our ABC affiliate that pansies are the must-have plant for Northeast Alabama winters.  So I invested all I could scrounge - even robbing my change bucket - to buy pansies.  Beautiful pansies! 

I happily spent hours and hours on my knees talking encouragingly to them as I nestled their little dirt-covered roots into the ground, along with those bargain-priced mums and a smattering of small ornamental cabbage and kale.  As I dug, I was keenly aware of a squawking and barking high above my head.  It was my garden's resident squirrel.  My bushy-tailed frienemy.  The same one who ate my petunias all summer.  I should have known I was in for trouble!  As my garden spade parted the dirt, preparing to receive my beautiful new pansies, mums and cabbage/kale, I (too often) displaced a big fat hickory nut - much to the displeasure of my noisy buddy up in the tree.  He was none too happy that I was undoing all his nut-burying work, and was telling me about it in no uncertain terms.

Each time my spade unearthed a nut, I'd look up into the tree, apologize quite sincerely to the unhappy rodent, and would promise to place the nut back in its hiding place and position my plant elsewhere.  And I kept my promise - each time.  I completed my planting tasks, gave everything a good soaking (no rain here - at all - almost all summer - 13" below normal rainfall already this year) and stood back to admire the new Autumn dressing I'd given my garden.  I thought all was well. . .  until the next morning . . . when I returned excitedly to visit my new plant friends. . . only to find half of them out of the dirt and carelessly tossed aside! 

After calming myself and determining that I wouldn't let my bushy-tailed frienemy get the better of me, I cheerily placed the abused little plants back into their dirt-y holes and assured them things would be okay.  Until the next morning.  And so it has been every morning for the past week . . . I plant, and the squirrel digs.  Repeatedly.  And the pansies he's not digging up, he's eating.  Eating the blooms, leaving the stalks sticking up in the air like a garden of bamboo kabob skewers!

Handsome Hubby suggested littering the garden beds with moth balls.  But since the tea olive have just begun to bloom, and I've waited all summer for that fragrance, I said "thanks, but no thanks".  Then he suggested red pepper around the base of the plants.  He assured me the squirrel wouldn't like the red pepper.  Wrong.  The squirrel may not like the red pepper, but he doesn't seem to mind it, either.  He's so mad with me that I don't think steel mulch in the beds would deter him from exacting his revenge!

Tomorrow I'll shop for a yard of white fabric to make my "surrender" flag. 

House Dressing and Doing the Difficult

Oh, how I love 'stay home' days!  Today was one, and I determined to be productive from sun-up to sundown . . . and I almost succeeded!

First on my list was finishing the Autumn house dressing.  (That's what I call seasonal decorating!)  Finishing the front porch over the weekend, I'd stewed around for several hours yesterday over specific spots indoors.  Got the mantel done, and the sideboard.  But the entry hall and dining table stymied me.  (Of course, being the over-doer that I am, even the laundry rom is dressed for the season -  but it's the entry and dining table that were my challenges for today.)

Finally I got happy with both, and moved outdoors to freshen up deck planters and my garden.  I was so excited!  The temperature was perfect under one of the most beautiful blue skies ever! 

Success on the deck, and on to the garden!  I have to admit that the garden has been neglected for the past couple of weeks.  Until just the past few days, it's been so hot that working out there meant battling mosquitos the size of birds.  And we've had such a drought that I just couldn't keep things watered as I should.  But today was like a tonic to my soul!  With a wheelbarrow filled to the brim with purple and wine- colored pansies, burgundy and gold mums, and some great flowering cabbage and kale, I set out to revive both my spirit and my garden!

It will take days to bring it to glory, however.  The two weeks of neglect have left it littered with dry leaves, pine straw, limbs and cones.  But just starting to clean it up regenerated and renewed me . . . until.

Until I began to do the task I had dreaded for days.  You see, I'm new to this seasonal gardening thing, and I am not a person who takes any life form lightly.  So the thought of pulling up and basically 'killing' still-living plants goes against everything in my character.  But, as all gardeners know, plants - specifically, annuals - have their seasons.  And while I didn't wish ill on my still-blooming impatiens and ageratum, their leggy shapes and sporadic color left the garden looking a bit sad.  So I approached a planter full of ageratum and apologized profusely as I began to rip their once lush, but still bravely upright stems from the soil.  I actually was heartsick.  And when I discovered several tiny, green new plants sporting beautiful blue blooms previously hidden by the overgrown and leggy older ones, I actually found myself crying.  Pulling their tiny roots from their fertile home made me sick.  This summer's garden was my first EVER attempt at a project like this, and I was so insecure and uncertain of how to go about it, I viewed every plant as my baby and my responsibility.  And the fact that I was actually successful at growing a surprising variety of beautiful things was not only a shock but a source of affirmation and pride that I sorely needed.  No longer part of the working world, I find myself with no co-workers, in a new place with no friends, and no creative outlet or positive feedback for my talents and efforts.  So my plants became much more than my new hobby.  They were/are my friends, my confidants, my therapists, and my church.  Their healthy growth and abundant blooms were/are my 'atta-boys' and my personal applause.

Placing them in the ground over the past few months, I asked each of them to bear with my novice-ness, and to please try to do well even if I'd not chosen the right spot for their light requirements and ignorantly over- or under-watered them.  And they seemed to understand.  They forgave me for my blunders and rewarded my efforts with vigorous growth and bursts of color.  I love them.  When I visit them and tend to them, I speak to them with encouraging words in gentle and sometimes celebratory tones.  I touch them - each of them - individually, and I thank them for the joy they bring me.  So to cut their lives short purely for the intent of replacing them with something newer, more colorful, and more seasonal seems cruel and, at the very least, bad karma.  As I cried, removing them from their comfortable nests, I thanked each of them for bravely continuing, through drought and heat, to do the only thing I asked of them . . . grow and be beautiful.

I hope they understood as I explained that their lives were not ending . . . just changing form.  (That's my personal theology/philosophy about everything.  It never ends . . . it just changes form.  Life goes on, and on, and on.)  I explained that they would rest in the compost bin, take on a new form, and in the Spring they would give life to their bretheren.  I hope they understood.  I'm guessing they understood this long before I 'discovered' these truths about the life cycle.  And I think that, after their long hot summer they are probably ready for a long-awaited rest.  At least, I think they deserve one. 

of morning glories and glorious mornings!

Morning Glories on a Glorious Morning!

AUTUMN HAS FINALLY ARRIVED here on Sand Mountain.  With temps hanging in the upper 90's until late September, we began to think it would never happen.  But the last couple of mornings have given us hope that our October will, indeed, be the blessing we looked forward to.

With the air crisp and the sun bright, Handsome Hubby and I enjoyed a 3-hour outing Saturday morning that was what I call a 'happy moment'.  A very happy moment.  With GPS in tow, we set out for Crow Mountain Apple Orchard, on the top of (what else?)  Crow Mountain.  The trip there was, in itself, a fabulous adventure!  Thinking we were traveling up the predictable 4-lane state highway out of Scottsboro, we were surprised when "American Jill" (the voice du jour on our trusty Garmin) instructed us to turn left at an unexpected and unmarked road only a mile out of town.  But, deciding we were meant to do so, we followed her instructions.  What we found along the way can only be described as 'mountain chic art' - which I promise I will blog about next week.  But for now, let me say that these words of warning from the Orchard's website are the God's honest truth:  Word to the Wise: Unless your vehicle is hinged in the middle, and you enjoy steep, narrow, hairpin curves, you don't want to come up to Crow Mountain on Route 39 out of Fackler.



Betty, the newer of our two Ford Explorers was the mode of transportation for the morning, and about halfway up Route 39 we were wishing for Flo, our ever-dependable 2000 model equipped with 4-wheel drive.  I've never, NEVER been on a mountain road like Route 39.  I swear it was about 10 feet wide, and the grade seemed like a 75 degree climb with turns so tight we felt that the front end of the car was leaving the roadway before the back end could complete the curve.  And steep drop-offs on both sides of the road - oh, and no guardrails, of course.  Our rear tires actually spun several times as we tried to navigate the steep, sharp trail to the top of the mountain.  Laughing all the way, we were at once delighted and relieved NOT to see another vehicle until we reached the top of the mountain and level, wider roadways.  Thankful, too, to arrive safely, as cell phone service was non-existant during the adventure.

Oh to the orchard.  Greeted by masses of morning glories growing wild along the fences at the entrance, I knew this was going to be good!  It got better when I spotted the three large dogs sleeping in the middle of the gravel parking lot - totally oblivious to the cars coming and going around them, and obviously not interested in their role as official orchard greeters.  They never moved . . . through cars, conversations, pictures being snapped . . . they never moved.  We went into the store . . . we came out an hour later . . . they never moved!  They knew how to spend a Saturday morning!  'Loved them!

Rich was the first to spot the large crates filled to the brim with apples waiting for attention outside the back of the store.  He pointed out a crate of his favorite Fuji apples and I could see that he wanted to literally dive in and swim in that crate of goodness!

Stepping into the 'store', I was enveloped in the sweet scent of fresh apples, and it felt like heaven!  To the far left I spotted  the "Buy Fresh Buy Local" sign, and wanted to take it home.  I thought it was beautiful. To the far right, what looked like thousands of apples were being prepared and bagged, while to the near right, three smiling ladies were happily answering questions and offering up samples of a multitude of varieties of apples to a waiting crowd.  (yes, 'crowd'.  Even though the orchard is quite remote,  it was a busy place that morning - even before a busload of senior citizens from an Albertville church found their way there!)  Bags of apples with ridiculously cheap prices (seriously - 4lbs for $2.50!) were colorfully displayed on crude wooden stands, and a card table held jugs of apple cider and tiny cups for sampling.  I was delighted!



When it was our turn to step up to the counter, we had already nabbed a medium bag of Fuji for Rich, a small bag of Jonathan for me, and a bag of Golden Delicious for decorating, along with two (one for now and one to freeze for later) jugs of cider (the best I've ever had, by the way!).  Next to the cash register were baskets of a strange fruit that I'd not seen, but which would soon become my new obsession.  'Shaped like an apple, with an outer covering more like a pear, it is an Asian Pear.  Cross between an apple and a pear, it's the most wonderful thing I've tasted in a while.  So a basket of those came home with us as well.

Handsome Hubby and our Orchard Bounty!  We'll be back!

Deciding not to attempt the return trip down Route 39, we took a right turn out of the orchard and headed for home a different way.   After a few miles and realizing we had no idea where we were, I expanded the map on the Garmin screen and discovered it was no help at all because everything was absolutely jumbled!  It showed Fort Payne west of Guntersville, Cullman north of Huntsville, and Huntsville east of Lookout Mountain!  So we embraced the opportunity to just follow and see where we ended up, and luckily, after about 20 miles of beautiful mountain scenery, Garmin righted itself and led us back to Scottsboro and on to Rainsville and home.  What a glorious morning!