It's Looking Up in the GroanHouse

I have to admit I'm grasping at straws. Digging every unfurling leaf, every tiny bud, every promise of a blossom.

On a warm 65 degree rainy day I took pity on the ENORMOUS rosemary topiary I've been growing for I don't know...five years? and dragged it into my little selective Paradise.

I'd been planning, for the second autumn in a row, to sacrifice it to Cruel Winter.

Now, having seen it live through the 18 degree freeze that killed the Groanhouse, and outside, no less, I couldn't let it die.

I know I will be glad when I make Hodge's rosemary spiced pecans, rosemary pork roast, rosemary chicken, spaghetti sauce. I love fresh rosemary. I love running my hands up its oily flanks and filling the Groanhouse (yes, until everything is back full size, I've reverted to its original name) with its spicy aroma.

On December 13, I noticed that Rosemary is setting flower buds! Lots of them! They're the downy white masses at the growth tips.  It's not that common for rosemary to flower, but it has lovely curly blue two-lipped mintlike flowers.

Very happy to see Jasminum nitidum (Royal Jasmine) starting some teeny tiny flower buds. Now, just hold onto 'em, girl. There's been a lot of bud aborting in my groanhouse of late. Don't be doing that.

I got this plant at a greenhouse in WV the Monday after the big freeze. Jasmines like a cold period to set buds. The greenhouse this was in had to be in the 40's. The jasmines I got there are SO THRILLED to be in my care now. They're putting out tons of new shoots and setting buds in the warm humid space.

These buds have opened and filled the space with citrus blossom scent. Ruby Red Grapefruit. Wouldn't it be a hoot to have citrus fruit form here? To see huge pink grapefruit hanging from a foot-tall "tree?" How exactly does that work? I'd have to fashion some kind of bra for this tree to support full-sized grapefruit. It's a twig!

My friend Lori from Indiana sent me a babe off her giant variegated agave. A rare, beautiful and valuable plant. Symmetrical and leathery and lovely. She packed it in bubble wrap and sent it Priority in the three days that were in the 60's. Arrived in perfect shape. I expect to be giving its babies away in a few years. And my friend Betty from Claverack NY sent multicolored abutilon seeds from her plants, one parent of which is "Kristen's Pink." Growing those will be fun!

Little Christmas lights help with the floppy red poinsettia. They dignify it.

I would not be telling you the whole story if I did not show the Shelves of Death. The big pot in the middle is the only one with any life in it. Sigh. I lost so many plants...

To cheer on the one living shoot at the base of what was once my giant orange hibiscus, I planted some lobelias that survived the freeze. They'll bloom soon, and cover its knobby knees while the shoot grows.

I've been ordering plants online. Dumped $50 into mini and scented geraniums from Hobbs Farm in Maine. Of course, they'll have to wait until the temperatures between Maine and Ohio are well above freezing before they can pack the plants up and ship them. That could be awhile. I want them now, but I'm not getting them. I have a $40 gift certificate from Logee's from my friend Charles in Brownsville sitting here. I have the plants all picked out, but Logee's isn't going to send tender plants in 20 degree weather. Sigh. I want them now...

The Shelves of Life. Black Vesuvius, the red geranium on the left, never blinked. Just lived through it. 

 Ironically, I'd saved some cuttings of the heirloom geranium Occold Embers, which perished outright in the freeze. These were sitting in a glass of water on the kitchen windowsill. Not rooting. Just sitting there. So I dipped them in rooting hormone and put them in wet vermiculite and put a clear plastic drinking cup over them as a little humidor.
The blooming plant is patchouli. The leaves smell like hippies. I realize it's mostly about smell for me now.

All in all, coming along. Not there yet. But the blooming grapefruit and the poinsettias and the lights help.

And what really helps is my sweet friends who have swooped in once again to lift me up. Thank you all.

Tiny Shoots

Got-r-dun all by myself today. After the big greenhouse freeze, I decided to make sure it never happens again. I researched freeze alert devices online and finally ordered the Reliance THP201 PhoneAlert Home Warning System. I had really wanted something lo-tech that would ring a bell, but I couldn't find anything like that. I kept shying away from automatic dialers, but finally settled on this one. 

When the temperature inside the greenhouse hits 45, this little unit dials up to three different phone numbers and a recorded message says that everything you love is about to die again. Or something to that effect.

To hook it up, you need to plug it into an electrical outlet and run a phone line from the unit into your home phone jack. And though I had thought when I bought it that it would simply dial our home phone number, Bill told me that it can't do that because it's hooked into the same line. 

So I programmed it to dial our cellphones. That oughta work. All I have to do is leave my cellphone on where I can hear it ring on those supercold nights with big temperature differentials, which are the kind that tend to create gas line condensation problems that shut our gas off. 

Then I have to remember to sign out of Facebook so my friends don't message me all night. Blook. Blook. Blook. 

 So the task today was to run the 50' phone line I bought at Radio Shack from the greenhouse into our house.  I had found a handy-dandy cable hole near the downstairs bedroom and planned to make like a real electrician and run the line up over the patio windows and into that pre-made hole.
Except that I couldn't get the floppy phone line (light gray) to go through about 8" of wall and insulation. I thought for awhile, the way a chimpanzee sits next to a termite mound and thinks.

Then I went and got a long bamboo chopstick.

I securely taped the fragile plastic phonejack plug to the chopstick. The I used the chopstick as a needle and threaded that baby through all the insulation and wallboard and garbola in the wall. I was pretty happy with the elegance of that solution. I hooted like a chimp who'd found termites.

Speaking of insect pests, you will note a few ladybugs in this photo.

When I cleared the floor to make room for my work, I lifted a cardboard box and found this. Enough Asian multicolored ladybird beetles to make us all miserable for quite some time. Hello, Multitudes. I know you all want to spend the winter in a noisome cluster in the corner of this bedroom. However, you will not. Die, all of you.

A few swipes of the dustbuster later, I had emptied them out in the yard and danced a rapid tarantella atop them. None survived. I hate those things. So much. So, so much. I do not love every life form that crawls on the earth. Just almost every life form. I withdraw my universal love from insects with a foul stench and painful bite that get into my food, hair and nighttime water glass, that hibernate by the trillions in my house.

Phone line run, plugged in, armed and ready to rock. 

I programmed in the numbers, tested that the unit dialed them correctly, and left it there to do its very occasional but vital work. It's got a 9volt battery backup in the event of a power failure at the same time as a gas failure. It has happened. 

Behind the unit you will see what has become of my three baby orange hibiscus plants. Those tiny green shoots at the root will someday bloom. 

Here's what's going on with some of the geraniums, two weeks after the disaster. It's slow. Lord, it's slow, but it's heartening to see the green shoots of life begin to push out of the roots.

This was such a beautiful specimen of Frank Headley. Oh well. It's got a live part.

Happy Thought Pink. You can barely make out the one leaf peeking out at its base. The rest are lobelia seedlings. Yay. Still has pink petals dropped while in its glory. I'm glad this one still has life in it. Very hard plant to find.

Grafitti Pink, a stellar geranium, has some nice leaves coming. I have totally had to recalibrate my idea of beauty in this experience, to find the beauty in tiny unfurling leaves.

Rosina Read didn't lose all her leaves. She'll bounce back well.

My paddle plant Kalanchoe has a shoot, too. Three others died.

The crown of thorns needed to be cut back, I guess. It was about 3' tall, looked like an ocotillo. Loved that too.

Salvia guaranitica "Black and Blue" barely felt the frost. 

The day after I took this photo, my brand new Christmas cactus dropped ALL ITS BUDS. Oh, come ON. You can't keep your dang buds?? I'll stick with my darling 23 year old Mammilaria cactus which blooms all the time and laughs at frost. Christmas cactus isn't a cactus, anyway. 

I've been watching these pink grapefruit blossoms swell and swell and elongate...

and I started kind of squeezing them...

until I could catch a whiff of citrus flower through the seams of the buds

and finally finally they started opening yesterday afternoon. At the moment I discovered one had opened, a hermit thrush started to sing in the woods nearby. Ohhh.

And for the first time I stepped into the greenhouse this morning early and it smelled like it should. Fragrant. Almost like it was before the freeze. 

It's still better at night, though. Night lighting is kinder to tired faces and recovering plant stubs. 

Chet Baker's Birthday Spanking

Chet Baker chases cats. That's pretty much all you need to know. When he sees a cat he lights out like a black bullet and that cat gets gone, under a barn or car or up a tree.

We run several miles of a country road near our home that has cats all along it. Chet LOVES that road.

His first stop is a big pole barn full of cats. He runs round and round it and the cats scatter. I finally get him back and we go on to the next house. There is a brown and white pied cat there who has a loyal friend, a kind brindle German shepherd. She really is a wonderful dog, and she's been extremely tolerant of Chet's escapades. The first time they met he was chasing her cat friend, and instead of pulverizing him she just wagged her tail and touched noses with him. Wow. I was petrified for no reason. 

They've talked and sniffed and met four or five times, always without incident. 

But on this day, Chet surprised and startled her as he streaked right past her in hot pursuit of her cat friend. And, being a shepherd, she went to defend it. I don't think she had time even to realize who he was.

As Chet chased the cat under the latticework of an above-ground swimming pool, the shepherd grabbed him twice from behind.

She punched three big deep holes in his back and thigh before I could scream CHET NO NO NO!!

So caught up was he in the pursuit he didn't even seem to register he'd been punctured. The shepherd's back was up and her eyes took on a queer yellow light and I did not like the way she was looking at him after she'd pulled back from her attack.

I stroked and soothed them both, rubbed her brisket and told her I didn't blame her one bit for defending her home and hearth and friend. And I picked Chet up and carried him until we were past her personal space. I felt bad for both of them. 

Chet and I turned for home. He was running fine, but blood was oozing from the holes, and I was worried about the really deep one in his right thigh.

So we stopped at Jay's and he came out with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and rinsed the wounds. "She got him pretty good there. Might need to close that one up." I agreed. It was nice to have a farmer look at him and clean him up. I was pretty upset. This is Jay with Chet in better weather and happier times. He loves Chet, always sings "My Funny Valentine" when we appear.

I took him home and washed his wounds and rinsed them with more peroxide and Betadine. It was clear something would have to be done about the big puncture. So I called Dr. Lutz and she worked him in around 5 pm.

She took him in the back and Liam and I, waiting anxiously, heard a single yelp from the OR. We heard it over the ridiculous yelping of a crybaby Cairn terrier who had nothing wrong with him except being anxious. Dr. Lutz told us that was when she had to remove an incorrectly placed staple. Chet's such a good patient. Won't bite, won't snarl, stands quietly while they do whatever they have to. A gentleman. At least to humans. Awful to cats and most dogs.

He slept the first two days, lulled by Tramidol and lots of kisses. 

Two days later, he showed a lot less bruising and pain. I took him off the painkillers, but he'll be on antibiotics until the staples come out in another week.

Liam is grossed out by the staples. I've gotten used to them.

He got his Googlespunk back on Saturday (this happened on a Wednesday around noon). Saturday was snowy and he went all humpty and raced circles around the house. He still didn't want to go for a run, though. I understood, and let him rest.

 This morning (Sunday December 8), he finally leapt up when I asked him if he wanted to go for a run. He even suffered his coat. Good choice, because it was 21 degrees and windy. In this picture he's very very cold, as we're just coming out of the driveway, and he's making that continuous "I'm cold" rasp in his throat.
We ran five miles. That's a pretty quick recovery if you ask me. Good work, Dr. Lutz!

 

 He posed for an excellent portrait atop a haybale in the snow. And I marveled that he's made it nine years without anything more serious than this happening to him.

Speaking of which...today Chet Baker turns nine. And what better way to celebrate this wonderful little doggeh than be being thankful that he's still here with us?

Than folding him in my arms and kissing the top of his apple head?

I truly don't know what I would do without him. Yes, Chetfans and Dog People. I'll be more careful with him. But these things happen when you live big, when you run 22 miles a week with your pup. I wouldn't have it any other way. We go together like tomatoes and cilantro, like kibble and chicken livers. He's my guy. The Best Doggeh in the Universe.

Happy birthday, CHET BAKER!!