16 June …
We were back to cold, wet weather for a few days. I even began using a lap robe again while on the net.
Redding and the area at the foot of the Mountain to the south was in for heat, but no sign of it here … yet. Prediction is the high 80s today. At 0700 it’s still a bit chilly.
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Climate Change is doing strange things to the flora around here.
Oak trees are still dressed in leaves from three seasons … there are dry, brown leaves from 2019 alongside semi-dry dark green leftover leaves from 2020 now joined by rust-brown budding leaves from this year.
The lilacs near the house have not yet lost their blooms. The blossom clusters are still in place but they are a dry orange brown.
I can’t imagine what is making plants hold on to “dead” blossoms and leaves. It doesn’t seem to have anything to do with seeds. Any suggestions?
Some of the iris are in bloom. Others are not even showing buds.
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We all know of Churches with adjacent grave yards. We know them mostly as leftovers from the past or as actually being in the past. The one I remember most clearly is at St Clether’s in Cornwall where I found the grave of a woman who died on the day I was born … exact day, month, and year.
Here in south Siskiyou County, “cemeteries” in current use are Mt Shasta Memorial Park in Mt Shasta, Winema Cemetery (white) and Lincoln Heights Cemetery (black) in Weed, Foulk family grave area and Gazelle Cemetery in Gazelle, and the McCloud Cemetery in (where else) McCloud. There are also several very small family plots on some old-time ranches in this area.
In addition, there is a small area adjacent to St Barnabas Episcopal Church in Mt Shasta where ashes of parishioners are honored. I guess it is not rightly a grave yard since there are no graves. But it is listed on the genealogical web site called “Find a Grave”.
https://www.findagrave.com/cemetery/2548913/saint-barnabas-sacred-grounds
The latest addition there was last friday.
There is a building across the road from the Memorial Park in Mt Shasta which was built as a Lutheran Church (my friend Elizabeth Ramey was one of the original members there). It is now a theatre and acting/dancing school. And there is the Cabaret Theatre (the Old Pink Church) in Ashland, across the state line in Oregon, which has been a dinner theatre for several years.
That can never happen to St Barnabas because of the sacred “memorial” area. I wonder if that was in the minds of those who originated the use of the space, or if it was just a fortunate side effect?
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Mornings outdoors are reminding me of seasonal change (even if it is unusual change times). Woodpeckers are busy clearing trees of the larvae hatching under the bark. We have red headed peckers here and their Rat-ta-tat is nearly as good as a snare drum street beat.
Another bird reminder of past times is that I am hearing chickadees. Not as many as we used to hear when the children called them one’-two-three birds because their call sounded like waltz time.
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And speaking of birds …
The chicken flock is in decline. With the family life changes in store over the next few months, keeping chickens is not a priority.
Two more of the hens are gone. They are all getting old and laying has dropped off. The flock hasn’t been renewed for two years. We are now down to eleven hens … four blacks, three browns, one barred rock, and three whites.
An interesting sidelight is that we are still getting the average six eggs a day.
One of the latest to die was Picasso, she of the malformed beak. I never understood how she was able to eat enough to stay healthy and productive with that twisted beak, but she did okay for quite a long time.
Lesson there? Never discount someone as “disabled”.
After in depth research, Mark found they likely died from worms which probably came from the wild birds which forage in the chicken yard. It is an infestation of a parasite which lodges in the trachea and suffocates the host. The flock is now being treated with an anti-parasite medication and we are unable to use eggs while they are on the medication. Probably more than you wanted to know.
Oh well …
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Once a week I talk with a cousin back east and last week, while sharing memories, I remembered the times (when I was young and child-sitting, at their vacation house on Balboa Island, for one of the wealthy families in my small town) when I would go out after the kids were asleep, wend my way through the back thoroughfares to the inner bay, and take a private swim. What made the memory indelible was that often the water glowed.
There are several places (and times) when and where ocean waters light up, usually a shade of blue or blue-green.
Watching waves break when the sea is phosphorescent is spectacular.
Swimming in glowing water is magical. (Both pictures from the web)
Just one of my Pacific memories … along with grunion hunting.
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I seem to be attracting coincidences lately. The last episode we watched of “the Librarians” was built around Shakespeare’s plays (with a lot of recognizable quotes if you know any Shakespeare). When I came up to get ready for bed, I turned on Sirius and Mendelssohn’s Overture to “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” was playing.
Then a couple of days later I was reading one of Laurie King’s Russell books set in San Francisco during the 30s and found Dashiell Hammett was one of the characters. I had just decided a couple of days before that maybe it was time to become reacquainted with Sam Spade.
Since events etc. come in threes … I wonder what coincidence will come next.
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I was recently reminded that (to paraphrase Dickens) “It is the worst of times. It is the best of times.” and on that note I will borrow from Mary Anne Perrone …
I no longer wait for a special occasion; I burn the best candles and eat cake on ordinary days.
I no longer wait for the house to be clean; I understand that even dust is sacred.
I no longer wait for everyone to understand me; that’s not their task.
I no longer wait for the other shoe to drop; it already has, and I survived.
I am no longer waiting for the time to be right; the time is now.
So ‘til next week …