The Passing of May

This has been a busy month for us in Dragonwood. It is the month of warmth and planting the rest of the garden, the month of asparagus for dinner, the month of bees swarming. I have caught three escaping swarms, bringing our hive count to ten! We have been eating asparagus several times a week, and I even put a couple of quarts away for the winter. I love asparagus - it comes up anew every day, and it is so tender and tasty. Our strawberries are starting to come on, as well. When I am weeding the strawberry/asparagus patches, I don't hesitate to nibble for some refreshment. This has also been the month of irises, which bloomed gloriously this year. Now it is getting hot, and the mosquitoes are starting to haunt the woods. They like the undersides of cool green leaves. Squirrelboy emulates his namesake, climbing everywhere he possibly can. When I am working in the garden, he wanders off on great adventures, absolutely fearless. I often must go hunt him when my tasks are finished, but he is usually found in one of his favorite places - a mud pit, a pile of wood, or a dirt hill. In the Manor, the Lord of Dragonwood and our hired man work diligently to hang our drywall. Most of the large rooms are being mudded now. Today I made a large harvest of citrus thyme, which I hope to sell at the farmer's market. We won't be selling until July, but there is much work to be done now. I also hope to make lots of tasty herbal tea. The mint is insane in my gardens, and I must pull it as a weed to make room for other things.

Spring Greening

The first green in the woods is low, a bright emergence above the leaf mold. Not long after, a fuzziness appears in the high branches. The wildflowers have a timing all their own, as the leaves of the trees begin to open. First out are the bloodroots, followed by spring beauties and toothwort. For those of you with gardens of your own, this roughly corresponds with crocus blooming. Next come the dutchman's breeches, a feathery-leaved plant with flowers that look like little bloomers or teeth. Faerygirl used to call them the tooth-fairy plant. This year, the early spring wildflowers were blooming in the first week of April. The children and I left for a week of vacation, and were able to enjoy the very end of their blooming. The trout lilies, too, bloomed. Then the violets and sweet-smelling phlox reigned for a week or so, and the May apples started spreading their umbrels. "Bloody noses", my mother-in-law's name for our red trilliums, now spread in great patches through the woods. The phlox and violets still bloom, but their time is ebbing. Wild geraniums have just begun to open, and I have spotted some Jack-in-the-pulpits. As each wave of wildflowers crests, more green rises, licking upwards in plant growth, reaching downward from the crowns of the forest. The thickness of the green in such a few short weeks amazes me. By May, most of the wildflowers will have had their brief time in the sun.

Creepy Night Music

The eerie whines of hunting coyotes awaken me. I go out to check the dog, who nervously presses close to me. She is afraid of them. A neighbor has told me to be careful. She says the farmers are hunting coyotes, that she saw one as large as a big dog, and dead, in the back of a local pickup truck. She usually knows what is going on in the neighborhood. I was worried about Tabby, our gentle but old dog. I'd felt her fear of other canines before, when the neighbor's dogs came over. She'd be no match for coyotes, or coydogs. This latter, dear readers, are hybridized dog-coyotes, bigger and perhaps bolder than their completely wild counterparts. We've been told they den in an old gravel quarry, not far from Dragonwood. Even in my hastily thrown-on bathrobe, the night is warm. But the golden gibbous moon lolls crazily on its side in the hazy sky, and the frog songs, so melodious earlier in the evening, have shifted into a nervous trilling. In the dark, every snap from the woods means something, as Tabby's attentive ears suggest. Something big is moving in the woods. Tabby lays across my feet, but she is not scared like she was before. She wants to be outside. I don't. The hairs on my neck gradually begin to settle. I realize I've been petting her to comfort myself as much as to reassure the dog that she is not alone. In the night, when one has a soft heart, perhaps one does these things. Love makes a person bold enough to face fears, even if it's rather foolish. I pat the dog one last time. "I'm going in," I say softly, my usual parting words to her. She watches me go calmly. Kitty Bucko races outside when I open the door, ready to prowl the roof again. And I, dear readers, slip indoors to pen this experience for you! (original written at about 2 AM last night)

April Green

It's warm in Dragonwood. Bees are visiting the crocuses and early spring wildflowers. Just yesterday, a notable green showed above the brown leaf mulch. In the field, wee beasties have left their winter homes behind. Great galls on goldenrod stalks now have holes in them, and strange pupal skins and coccoons are abandoned. Bloodroot is blooming, and the bees are quite busy. Tabby, the dog, snaps them out of the air for a crunchy snack. At the Manor, we are all quite busy ourselves, installing insulation and prepping for drywall. This weekend, we anticipate getting a good start on the drywall, with a little help from our friends. Spicebush buds are bursting into yellow stars. Faerygirl claims to have observed some tiger beetles, and the children bear the welts from their first mosquito bites. I have some peas, brassicas, and lettuces starting to emerge from the earth, in addition to my tomato, pepper, and brassica starts indoors. We also planted some rugosa roses! Every day brings new delights.

The Sacrament of the Woodburner

The Lord of Dragonwood and Faerygirl performing the Sacrament of the Woodburner in February

It is early when you find yourself at the top of the stairs, adorning yourself in thick layers. Chilly air hits your face outdoors, but the daily pilgrimage must be made. Perhaps you don't really want to go, but the sacrifice is important to keep your family warm. The dark lies heavy on the world, even though you know the glint of sunrise is not far from coming. The woodburner must be approached with solemnity and caution; after all, you don't know yet what you will find inside. Some mornings, the open door belches forth hot smoke that could singe the unwary, and some mornings there are merely warm ash and coals. Reach in with the broken garden rake, stir the ashes to find the still burning coals. Go forth, and hunt fuel. Sometimes, you must dig through the snow to find it. Bring the fire to life with sticks and scraps of wood from the Manor construction. Lay on great logs, to sustain the fire as it burns all day. Dust it, perhaps, with the creosote preventer. Then close the great door. Listen as the machinery clacks and whirrs its power, moving hot water through the house. By this time, you can tell the day is coming. The morning rush surges in your blood, and you are now ready for tea and breakfast.

Every morning, I have honored this time. It is my daily time to contemplate, and to sense the changing of the seasons. But last night, we let the woodburner go out. Although we may keep it going a little longer, the sky is no longer dark in the morning, nor are the temperatures so cold. Another morning ritual must replace this daily visit to the source of our warmth. Perhaps it is time to turn to greeting the sun! It's quite nice to take a cup of tea on the deck and toast the sunrise.