Late Bloomers

60 and raining this morning, after a very dry week with temps around 80 and nights around 60.

The roses are outdoing themselves now, at the very end of the season. All summer long some of them had only one or two blooms. The red climber has been pretty nearly all summer, but not so the others. But look at them now.

This one is by the front porch, and looks so pretty with the monkshood. A friend gave me the monkshood plant last spring and it's been interesting to watch its development. I believe I need to move it to a less shady location, but I do like having this bloom in September/October.

A better photo of the rose; no idea what its name is.

And I am so delighted to at last have a fall-blooming iris. I ordered these online last year, then could not remember where I'd planted them.  They are thriving, and I can't wait to plant more like them.

Little miniature roses do well here, for some reason. I have a red one that is about 10 years old now, and still booms every year. These pink ones are in the path of some work Larry is doing, but he's been careful not to harm them.

Another miniature, happily co-existing with rosemary.

And a third, also in the same flowerbed. These are all new this year.

This one is from a bouquet Larry picked for me. It's from the only knockout rosebush I have left out of 9 we planted a long while back.

And these are the drift roses I planted last year, which are also doing well in their place beside the stone wall.

A random zinnia. The zinnias and cosmos are still blooming like mad in the veggie garden.

Speaking of late bloomers, some books I've been reading lately are by some late-blooming authors.

Effie Leland Wilder was a southern author who had her first book published when she was 85 and went on to write several more before passing away at age 98. Her books are set in a retirement home and are funny and touching. Then there's Not That Kind of Girl, by Mary Wesley, who first published at age 71. It's interesting so far; neither of these authors write what might be called great literature, but both write well and are good reads.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Covid Journal, Day 211: Golden Days

55 this morning with light showers. We've had a week of good weather, some days quite warm, and here and there some light rain. It's been the prettiest fall I can remember in years. No killing frost here yet, although there have been patches here and there that did no damage.

We are creeping through fall, although it seems like the days literally zoom by. Each day I think of things I want to post, but by evening I am too tired to think of words to write. We have been busy as usual, the past week with furniture projects rather than food preservation, and also with a couple buying trips for new stock. Which, of course, has added to furniture projects. As if we didn't already have enough! Gluttons for punishment is all I can say.

But the trees and the land have been glorious sights for the eyes. 

I've done a little Halloween decorating; these two pieces are new to me. The mercury glass egg is a yard sale find, the bird skeleton is from the Dollar Tree.

A bit more on the porch, all thrift and yard sale finds, except Great Aunt Eva's teapot. One day I have to write more about my ex-husband's Great Aunt Eva, if I haven't done so already. She was quite a character.

This is one of my projects last week. I had such fun making this one pretty again.

This note was attached to the underside of the table. It says that the table was made in the West High School, Akron Ohio, Industrial Arts Dept, by student Donald Jones on January 22, 1950. That's a year before I was born. 

Another project, and this one took some time, as you can imagine. 

And here it is, finished and in the booth. We took several things to our booth, and good thing we did because a lady was there buying two tables and a chair when we came in the door. She told me she's bought several things from my booth, and loves my work. She just made my day.

Larry has picked the rest of the peppers, and also brought in the last roses. And a geranium bloom, which he thought was a rose. It's certainly just as pretty.

Yet another project that is underway. This table is solid oak, but has been outside in the weather for quite a while. We decided to flip the top boards--not thinking that they'd have screw holes on the underside. Geesh. What idiots. So I have come up with a plan to put little nail studs in the holes, which I think will add to its primitive look. I hope. The top side had some places just beginning to show rot on the surface, which is why we opted to flip it. The underside is lovely--except for those holes. I don't want to paint the top, but the base will be painted.

Another project we picked up this week. This one's finish is not in good shape. It's scratched and stained and faded in places. So, sanding was in order.

And look what I found under the stain. This one will have a new stain applied, lighter than the old stain, on the top and drawers, which also sanded beautifully. The cabinet will be painted. I will probably use the blue paint and dark wax I used on two other pieces that sold very quickly.

And here's the oak table in process. This one is going to take some work, but I hope it will be beautiful in the end.

I have taken time out to read--I started and finished How to Get Lost by Amanda Eyre Ward. It was a great, easy read, in that same style so many books seem to be written in lately--switching between characters and sometimes time periods, but not difficult to follow. I gave up on The Overstory, about 3/4 of the way through. I could see that the ending wasn't going to be good, and just wasn't in the mood for that. It's beautifully written, however, great character development and fascinating background information about trees. 

And watching. In the evenings I make myself stop work about 8pm, take a shower and either read or watch a movie. 

This week I've been watching The Irish R.M. and it's fantastic. It's hilarious, full of Irish wit, great scenery, some good music, and just plain fun. I worried after the first couple episodes about how the Irish reacted to this TV series from the 1970's. Would they find the story, set in 1897 to about 1905 or so, of an English resident magistrate in the deep Irish countryside amusing, or see it as a put-down of the Irish people? I asked my friend Carmel who lives in Sligo, and she assured me the Irish loved the humor. And as I watched the series unfold, I saw what she meant. That poor R.M. had quite a run for his money. I highly recommend it. 

Well, back to work. Those peppers are still waiting on me, so today is their day.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Covid Journal, Day 90: Roses and Memories of Mom on Her Birthday

56 this morning, absolutely lovely day ahead.

On the corner at the top of our drive,

a patch of wildflowers has taken hold,

and along the road, wild roses, tiny little pink blooms, spreading along the edge of the road for many feet, surprising with their color and beauty in the shade of the overhanging trees.

Which put me in mind of this poem by Wendell Berry.

The Wild Rose

Sometimes hidden from me

in daily custom and in trust,

so that I live by you unaware

as by the beating of my heart,



Suddenly you flare in my sight,

a wild rose looming at the edge

of thicket, grace and light

where yesterday was only shade,



and once again I am blessed, choosing

again what I chose before.


Roses always remind me of my mother. Yesterday was Larry's mother's birthday, today is my Mom's birthday, would have been her 93rd. She too was a lover of roses, especially those with a good sweet scent. I remember she had one that she called her "old English rose". I am not sure what it's true name was, but it was a many petaled flower with the best scent. Not a fancy tea rose, this one, but an old-time, ragged-bloom pink that only bloomed in June.

Mom's childhood home, Ashlyn

Mom was a true English gardener, with borders, as she called them almost all around the yard of our home in Manassas. Many of those plants made the move with her to Warrenton, where she developed new flowerbeds and herb gardens around their smaller new home. I don't think she could have lived anywhere that she was not surrounded by flowers. She had them on her clothes, her teacups, her handkerchiefs.

She passed her love of flowers and gardens on to her daughters, and even to some of her sons. Many of us have large flower and vegetable gardens, and her name often comes up in conversations about our plants because she gave them to us.

We all wonder, I think, what legacy we will leave, what we will be remembered for, what of our traditions will pass down to future generations. Mom would not have been surprised to know that she left us this gift.  I am not sure we have been as successful passing it on, although it hasn't been for lack of trying. I will hope that her love of green living things continues in our family, as we pass around plants, advice, and the produce of what we grow.

So here's another birthday greeting, this time to my mother, who resides with great joy, I am sure, in the greatest garden of all.


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

June

I always look forward to June. The threat of frost is behind us, honeysuckle and roses are in bloom, and if all that weren’t enough, my mother was named for this month of her birth. And it is my birth month too. My mother always joked that I came on the longest day of the year and for her it certainly was a long day.
June brings us a bounty of food, both from the garden and the wild. Raspberries and wild greens are there for the picking and some fresh vegetables are coming in. 

Some herbs are ready for harvest. I hang my herbs in my kitchen and let them dry naturally. I prefer this method to a dehydrator both because it costs nothing and I like the look of the herbs swaying gently in the breeze from the ceiling fan. I just bundle them up, wrap the stems with a rubber band, and use a straightened paper clip or piece of wire as a hook for hanging. When we were building our house  I found a drying rack made of oak at the demolition site of an old house. The man who owned the house said I could have it. It is a wall-mounted unit with four arms that swing out. We put it over a shaded window and it is perfect for herb-drying. 

Superstitions and folklore about this queen of months abound. For example, “a calm June puts the farmer in tune,” meaning that a good June will produce good crops later on. A June that is “damp and warm, does the farmer no harm” either, since those are good growing conditions, even if it might make haying difficult.

Some people believe that summer doesn't start until the elder is in flower. My neighbor told me once that when the elderberries are in flower, the cow’s milk production will drop significantly. I watched and found that this was true, at least of my cows. I have wondered why ever since. Was it just a coincidence? Farmers also know that “a swarm of bees in May is worth a load of hay, but a swarm in June is worth a silver spoon.” A swarm in July, however, isn’t worth a fly, because it is too late for them to build up their colony and make enough honey to survive the coming winter.

The rose is the flower of June, and we are fortunate in West Virginia to have many wild roses blooming along our roadsides. Did you know that there is a Greek myth about how the rose came to be? According to the story, the rose was created by Chloris, the Greek goddess of flowers. Chloris found the lifeless body of a nymph in the forest and asked the gods and goddesses for help. Aphrodite, the goddess of love, gave her beauty; Dionysus added nectar to give her a sweet scent, and the three Graces gave her charm, brightness and joy. Zephyr, the West Wind, blew the clouds away for Apollo to shine on her and make her bloom. Cupid, however, was shooting his arrows at some bees that had stung him and missed his mark. His arrows became the thorns. This, say the Greeks, is how the rose came to be.

Stories, folklore and superstitions aside, this is a blessed month of the year, one that truly abounds in gifts from heaven. Get out and enjoy this beautiful creation we call earth—smell the flowers, taste the berries, and rejoice that it is summer at last.

Adapted from my Two Lane Livin' article in June 2011 issue.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Flowers in May, Part 2

These in the garden

Become these in the house.
Ah, roses! The scent is summer caught in soft petals.

This last rose is an old variety I dug up before an old farm was covered by a watershed dam. It's incredibly strongly scented, slightly spicy. The deep, deep color of the petals is almost purple. I don't know what kind it is, and the bush struggles to survive each year, but it is my favorite. It only blooms in June, so I look forward to it each year. Anyone know what it is?

When Your Roses Fade...

and look like this...

















it's time to pull off the petals and place them in a paper bag or a shallow pan, like this...













and cover like this...





Stir them every day so they dry evenly, and in a week or so you will have lovely rose petals to strew in your bath, add to potpourri, make sachets, etc.


Of course, you could just use the petals to make Rose Petal Jam. This recipe, I think, came from an old Sure-Jell package insert--back in my younger days (I've been waiting for a chance to say that!) Sure-Jell had lots of different recipes in the package, like mint jelly, pepper jelly, etc.

A blog friend reminded me (see comments below) that only your own homegrown chemical-free roses should be used to make jam or any other consumable rose product. Store-bought roses are often imported and are not intended for human consumption; they could contain harmful levels of chemicals.

Here's the recipe as I wrote it down:


1 quart of rose petals (the more fragrant the better)
3 cups water
1 package Sure-Jell pectin
2 tablespoons lemon juice
Red food coloring (optional, and I'd skip it, although you won't have as pretty a color. Consider adding a dollop of beet juice or cranberry juice to give the desired color without too much additional flavor)
4 cups sugar

Clean your rose petals (you can rinse them and use a salad spinner to do this) and chop fine. Mix the petals and water and heat to boiling. Steep for 20 minutes, pushing petals into the liquid occasionally.

Strain, reserving liquid, and save the petals (unless you want to make jelly instead of jam).

Measure the resulting liquid, and add water to make 3 cups.

Mix liquid with Sure-Jell, lemon juice, and coloring. In a large kettle, bring the mixture to a boil over high heat. Add sugar all at once and bring to a hard, rolling boil; boil for exactly one minute.

Immediately remove the kettle from the heat and stir in the reserved rose petals. Stir for five minutes to prevent the petals from floating. Pour into sterilized jars and seal. Process at today's recommended time and temperature.

Sometimes You Do Something Just for You

...like buy roses. Even though there are a few straggling (I should say struggling) blossoms in the garden, these lush blooms drew my hard-earned money the other night (okay, they were on sale, only $6, but still...)

Since I stayed home with an achy knee for the past two days, I figured I saved six bucks on coffee and etceteras anyway.

Singly or in a bunch, they make me smile. Worth every penny. And I can dry the petals to use in potpourri when they're over the hill.

Spring Wildflowers: Fire Pink and Pale Rose

A blush of rosy red along the roadside caught my eye last week. The fire pinks were in bloom! The fire pink is one of my favorite wildflowers with its bright color and tendency to prosper in bad, clay-ey soil where little else will grow. This patch was no exception--it was high on the road bank in the poorest of red clay soil, and it was beautiful.



I remember trying to transplant fire pinks once, and of course the effort failed. Wildflowers are best left in the wild, I learned, and I am fortunate to live in a place where they thrive quite well with little intervention by humans.

On the ridge road, the wild roses are in bloom. This little patch is very near my driveway. Again, these seem to like poor soil, particularly dry, rocky soil like that along the wooded portion of the ridge road.

Such a lovely, simple little flower, the five petaled blooms are also quite fragrant. Some will bear hips in late summer; I harvest these (if I can get them before the birds do) for use in herbal tea mixtures as a good source of vitamin C. I think they add a nice zing to the tea, too. This is a Pasture (or Carolina) Rose; it is very similar to the Virginia Rose, but there a few slight differences, most notably in the thorns.