August Eighth. We’ve been
Waiting with impatience for
these ugly beauties.
Summer
137. Critter Wars: they shoot groundhogs, don’t they?
The long, gentle summer evenings of my childhood were sometimes pierced by the crack and zinging whine of a twenty-two rifle.
It was my grandfather, defending his country sweet corn patch from the groundhogs.
His main garden was in town behind his house, where he planted and tended and grew enough vegetables to feed us and his entire neighborhood.
But oh how he loved his sweet corn. And in the country below our house, there was plenty of room for as much sweet corn as he could plant. It seems we had corn on the cob every night for dinner in July and August.
Pa wasn’t a cussing man — he was a school teacher — except when it came to the groundhogs who ate his corn. For awhile when I was a kid I thought damgroundhog was one word.
I feel his pain.
He would sit in a yellow lawn chair in the back yard above his garden with a glass of sweet tea and his twenty-two across the aluminum arms of his chair. Waiting.
I’ve been suggesting to Mr. H. C. that he do the same with the deer. Of course, we aren’t allowed to actually shoot them, but he could aim above their heads… (Or he says shooting in front of them on the ground is the safer way). Perhaps they would think it was hunting season and disappear into the deep woods.
He didn’t seem to be interested, so I got out the yellow lawn chair and the twenty-two rifle for him yesterday. This evening, I saw him cleaning it, and there is now a clip sitting near the back door. I suppose I could try it, but I think I am such a bad shot, I could accidentally hit one when I’m aiming over their heads.
Can you be arrested for poaching the King’s deer on your own land?
Yes, you can.
112. The Joy of Small Surprises
We pulled into the Apple Hill driveway Saturday evening at dusk after a long, grueling, expensive week at the city house. We were all tending towards grouchiness — even Henry the cat, whose nap had been rudely interrupted to be jostled along in the truck. There in the driveway, between two old pine trees — one dead and one not looking so good — was this joyous flower: 
Yes, it certainly is odd. One lone stalk bursting into five gorgeous icy pink lily-type flowers that circle the top. We had no idea how or why that one odd flower was growing in that one odd spot. But it made us laugh and take a picture of it.
A Sunday afternoon porch sit with neighbor Betty gave me a clue. Clara always called it a Naked Lady and got angry at anyone who mowed it down while utilizing instruments of lawn destruction.
Yes, I’ve been there. Every gardener has. 
Later I googled Naked Lady Lily — ahh, the small joys of the internet — and discovered that it is not, in fact, a lily. It is Amaryllis Belladonna, and the only true amaryllis. You know those giant flowers sold at Christmas time, under the Amaryllis name? Not. (For your gardening pleasure, they are technically named Hippeastrum.)
These lovely Naked Lady Amaryllis grow leaves in the spring that die down, and then, right about now, send up one lone stalk bearing amazingly gorgeous flowers. Once I had seen them in my yard, I saw them three times yesterday in other places as well. 
Apparently Clara’s Naked Lady doesn’t know that it is hardy only up to Zone 8, and up here in the frigid hinterlands of Zone 5, the bulbs have to be dug up in the fall and replanted in the spring. They look best planted with hostas, and they don’t mind a shady spot, though they prefer sun.
These lovely flowers are originally from South Africa and were brought by sailors to Europe in the 1700s. They love the Mediterranean climate the best. (Who doesn’t?) 
So now I have a quandary — should I just let it be and risk losing it? Should I dig it up and replant it in the spring with a few others? One website noted that they really don’t like being disturbed… The bulbs are 3 for $39.95! Gulp. No wonder Clara only had one! Maybe I’ll just plant some pretty hostas around it…
C.S. Lewis wrote about interruptions in a letter that is quoted in Yours Jack: Spiritual Direction from C.S. Lewis. He said that interruptions of one’s own, or real life, are not interruptions at all, but your real life — the life God is sending you day by day. Life is filled with little interruptions — sometimes they aren’t pleasant, sometimes they are just irritating, but sometimes they are little gems of beauty, laughter, joy.
These moments are your real life; note them and be thankful for them. No matter how small.
I had other small surprises this weekend that made me smile. How about you?
Unknown squash growing in the compost pile.
the circle of life 