Kites and Flowers

 I was walking to work this morning (Monday, May 3) and thinking how odd it was that I haven't seen a kite yet.
I walked home at 10:30 and there were 12 on the power lines in one alley.  
Two friends around town mentioned seeing single kites over the weekend, and they certainly aren't ALL here yet, but I would argue that they truly arrived approximately 9 am this morning.
(In 2020 I saw 2 on April 30 and then a larger bunch on May 1.)

In my other annual phenology update: here's my May Day bouquet (actually picked on May 2).  The peony is the only peony currently in flower (from against a south-facing brick wall), the irises are at about peak, and none of the roses, honeysuckle, or mock oranges is blooming yet.  The wheat is from the growing wheat patch (last year I baked a loaf of bread from it).  My next career might be growing grains for the florist industry.  The Mister suggests that might not be much of a career, but one can hope.

May One

The first of May is somewhat of a big deal to me.

Growing up, on the first of May I dropped paper baskets full of dandelions on our doorstep, and every so often as an adult send May baskets to friends. One year I made a May pole in my basement.  I consider it the start of my favorite month of flowers and celebrations. 

The first of May marks the beginning of Pediatric Stroke Awareness Month and I often alert folks to the Childrens' Hemiplegia and Stroke Association (chasa.org) and the fact that kids have strokes, too.

The first of May often coincides with the beginning of the end of the college school year (I'm giving a final tomorrow and one Friday, and graduation is Saturday!) and has become the time I catch up on phenology: I can usually report when the Mississippi Kites arrived (not yet!) and can compare flower seasonality because I post an image of big bouquet each year.

Things have felt odd this week.  It has been a gray and drizzly-- exceptionally spring-like and completely out of place for Western Oklahoma.  Monday I gave a final to one of the best group of students I have every had, with tears and thank-yous and graduation announcements exchanged at the end.  Meanwhile I'll be pleasantly surprised if all of the students make it to Friday's final in a similar-sized class.  My institution's fabulous Dean of Students, the woman who assured every student, parent of student, and faculty member, that she would help with their problems, and that she had chocolate in her office if she couldn't herself be of help, died.  I learned of her death yesterday through an awkward e-mail.  Later in the day I learned that the provost's father and Dianthus's PE teacher's husband died and that there are lots of roles needing filled during end-of-year stuff at our schools.

Given my renewed proclamation of my witchy nature and pagan tendencies (a quick "May Day" search of this blog will demonstrate that my love of May Day long precedes witch year), today I felt I needed a May basket, but I was thinking of death as I glumly walked through the wet grass looking for flowers. I picked the iris and bachelor buttons along the alley and peaking out of a kids' digging area overgrown with honeysuckle and vinca were giant fluffy peonies.  They are along a warm south facing wall in an area that isn't seen, so I didn't feel at all bad about picking them.

I found a real basket from a dear friend.  I gave myself a self-inflicted challenge of arranging them in the basket rather than in a vase. I lit the sun and moon candle from Carrie-Ann, my moonbeam (I was her sunshine) who died in September and suddenly we were all there: friends near and far, mother and grandmothers, witches, flowers; light, gray, dark, life, and death, sun and moon.  Spring Re-birth.
And because I'm a product of my time, I snapped a photo, blew out the candle, posted the picture on social media and rushed my sons to their evening activity. 

So May One feels a little more this year.  It reads like the start of some blessing for which I haven't had time to prepare an end:
May one look out for the birds that are bound to come through.
May one recognize that pink fluffiness is transient, but that doesn't make it any less real.
May one light the candles of friendship.
May one remember that death calls us all.
May one recall that just as winter comes, so does spring.
May one always have a colleague with chocolate in her office and may one be the bearer of chocolate when needed.

May one have a great May.

Big Balls in the Sky

Moonrise yesterday was stunning.  Just after sunset, in the purple glowing twilight, a giant ball appeared caught in my neighbor's tree.  The Mister, not normally as excited by the moon as I am, returned from choir practice to tell me to go outside and look at it.

It felt distinctly springy standing there watching the colors of the sky change.  Our yard is riddled with croci and little iris reticulata, the daffodils on the north and east sides are blooming (those against the south wall bloomed and faded long ago), the buds on the peach and lilacs are swelling, and the air smelled faintly sweet as the golden currant started to open.  Another neighbor's Bradford pear is mostly open and an apricot and a cherry (I think) a block away are blooming in a backyard.

Watching the moon, which felt obviously full, rise, I wondered how it could actually be waning.  For I knew that yesterday was the spring equinox (at 4:58 p.m. local time) and I knew that Easter comes the first Sunday after the first full moon after the equinox (a piece of information I have always enjoyed because it combines solar time [the equinox], lunar time [a full moon], and human calendars [day of the week] in what I now recognize as a pleasant combination of my scientific, pagan, and Christian sensibilities).  So if yesterday was the equinox and Easter is not for another full month, then the moon must have been past full (otherwise Easter would be this Sunday).

This morning I looked this up to confirm, and the full moon was at 8:42 p.m. local time just after I was admiring it, almost four hours after the astronomical equinox. I wondered if the disparity was something to do with the full moon being visible in Jerusalem or Rome or somewhere, or the day of the equinox rather than the moment of it.  It turns out that by the Georgian calendar, Easter is set as the first Sunday after the full moon after March 21 (representing the equinox) rather than the actual equinox.  Fascinating. (To me, anyway, literally).

Big balls in the sky keep surprising me.

Croci!

While we have had some crocus up for at least a week and a half, between 10:15 a.m. this morning (Sunday, February 24) and 4 p.m. this afternoon, dozens of yellow crocus, several clumps of white and several purple reticulated iris opened. 
We admired the several clumps of yellow crocus and single purple iris open at 10:15 so we know the dozens more were really new. 
Spring for a while! 

Daffodils!

There are daffodils open on the south side of my garage right now, Feb. 4.

Thanks to The Mister for alerting me.

Birthday Woman in CHASA T-shirt

Obligate photo demonstrating their are
flowers in my yard, although there was only
one peony blossom.

Witchy or glowing?
You decide.
Or both?

I've recently read witch books, I've read pie books, I've gardened, I've seen a painted bunting in my backyard for the first time in my life and I've thought a great deal, about things I want to tell you.  These things are about pie and witches and family, but also about cancer and racism and white privilege, and I really do want to write about hemiplegia and strokes.  But the writing is not coming, and I have to start somewhere, so today I'll throw up a few photos from my birthday and let you draw your own conclusions.

Notes: The purple shirt is my CHASA shirt.  The hand make a heart and they are different colors to demonstrate a stroke survivor uses them differently (it may be a tad too cute to get the message across).  The ten candles are arranged four on one side and six on the other.  They entire middle of the confection is intentional collapsed and filled with whipped cream and rhubarb sauce and did not support candles, much to Dianthus's chagrin.  (and, as it turned out, the hard meringue on the edges might or might not support one). Rhubarb has apparently become somewhat of a birthday thing for me (three of the last four involving rhubarb?) and I'm loving it.  I'm also buying it frozen at the store, because I have not found any fresh locally this year.

The anti-red eye edit is freaking me out.  There is no
way you could see that much of my eye.

60 years total experience and rhubarb meringue "cake"

May Day!

It's that time of year again.  Workers march.  Pagans frolic.  I think about flowers.  And we all raise awareness for pediatric stroke.

First Big Bouquet of the Season
April 17 (peonies are pretty much done now)

Yep, May first, the beginning of Pediatric Stroke Awareness Month.  I'm proudly wearing my new CHASA "I Believe in a Pediatric Stroke Survivor" t-shirt and shamelessly posting a picture of my favorite pediatric stroke survivor with his new glasses and think about all of the cool things I will be posting this month-- after finals.

Don't call them "Rick Perry glasses" to his mother

Spring, Silent, Smelly and Otherwise

I spent the first half of International Women's Day horrified that not only did my students know nothing of women ecologists, which I had expected, but they also knew nothing of Rachel Carson (or Silent Spring, or DDT, or the EPA or Richard Nixon).  I spent the second half of the day sheepishly confessing that I had never read Silent Spring to several colleagues who sheepishly admitted the same.

March 7

We're going to change that.  Let me know if you want to be part of the Silent Spring read-along.  I have two "in real life" colleagues allegedly joining me, and we'd love to have you as well.  The format will be loose, but I'll be hosting discussions here, and welcoming anyone else who'd like to join.  Comment on how you'd like to participate.

March 8

Meanwhile, with a few set-backs (Spring Break is always cold.), spring is well on its way here.  The two foot peach tree is finishing its glorious run (see photos).  We've been harvesting asparagus, the lilacs are fragrant and wonderful, the fabulous scent of the golden/clove/buffalo currants is wafting in through the open window and the tulips popped up out of nowhere and bloomed yesterday (March 21).  Mockingbirds are fighting over territory and some trees have leaves that didn't have them yesterday.

Match 9

March 10

March 12

March 15

March 16

Feeling a little less like Nero

Fire and Ice Punch Groundhog Party 2017 (CLP Photo)

CLP Photo

As the political situation in the US has done its thing recently (how I hope that sometime in the future I can look back on this and really have no idea to what I am referring), I've spent far too much time reading on-line late into the evening (how I hope that I'm just getting biased fake news, but I've watched whole speeches and I've read the transcripts released by the White House and I've looked for the missing IDEA web pages and, of course, I have seen the Mauna Loa data) and have proceeded to plan a Groundhog "Fire and Ice" party, meet with a student person trainer about lifting weights, and get all excited about another hair-do for adult prom.  I've been cooking from cookbooks, planning summer travels, sledding, going to the zoo, and deciding on special foods to eat with grains of paradise on Valentine's Day.  I watched the first robins arrive (I noticed a bunch perhaps Tuesday morning? Feb. 14), the first crocus bloom (Feb. 10) and the first bulb iris (today, Feb. 19).

I've been having a good time.

Pin-the-shadow-on-the-groundhog Runner-Up

I've thought that maybe I feel like Nero, except he probably didn't rush his kids to Scouts and basketball.

Flamingos OKC Jan. 2017

But I've taken some steps to at least quit fanning the flames-- I rounded up some interest in a local school board election, promoted the Farmer's Market on Facebook and will be hosting my first pie baking workshop next week, with plans for future intergenerational interfaith discussions over baked goods at my church. Pie year: Sharing a Piece of Pie of Peace (or some similar pun).

I stand by kindness and nudges and good food.

Not sure what red dirt prairie dogs symbolize, but they make me laugh.

Robin Signals It Is Time

A puffy red-breasted American Robin on my magnolia tree, the first of the season, alerted me last Wednesday (February 17) that it was time.

Mostly the robin, along with the mockingbird singing on Saturday morning, the crocus blooming in my yard (starting Wednesday), the south-side daffodils already in full bloom when I sought them out on Wednesday, the allergies, and the first Iris reticulata which opened Sunday (Feb. 21), was declaring that it is time for spring.

I also thought the robin might be reminding me that it is time to post about Bird Year beginning, and a sermon Sunday about being protected under the wing of God, the mother hen, made that message very clear.  Some get messages of hope and comfort out of Luke 13:34; I see reminders to blog about birds.

So BIRD YEAR HAS BEGUN.

I will be bird watching, eating birds, listening to birds, reading "bird" books, making duck charcuterie, cheering as the Jayhawks play basketball,  watching bird movies and making all sorts of puns about feathers and flocks and who knows what else.

Of course I'm taking suggestions.

I need to go to bed so I will post more on bird year later (perhaps after you make the suggestions), but think that I should try and articulate the last message I received from seeing a solitary robin on my way to the Convenient Care Clinic to be diagnosed with strep throat, and that is that it is time.

February 17 is too early for spring, even in Western Oklahoma. The robin is here.  We couldn't round up any friends to go to adult prom with us, the order for the Mister's gold vest was unwittingly cancelled and surely there is a better time to wear a sparkly dress.  But I'd been waiting for two years for a sparkly dress occasion-- how much longer am I going to wait?  It was time to wear gold with big hair.  A week later I followed up saffron pudding on Valentine's day with a saffron creme patisserie on baklava because the Mister had given me saffron, I've been watching The Great British Baking Show, and a preacher just reminded me that Sundays are feast days during Lent.  It was time for silly dessert.  It's a year I am presenting at three conferences because they are all when I can go.  That's never happened before and is unlikely to happen again. We're going to both the ballet and the Chinese acrobats in the next week because, well, because we can.  It is time.

The US Women the Royals and the Broncos are all champions.  What are we waiting for? It is time.

Friends are dealing with parents and spouses dying, with scary diagnoses, with changing jobs.  What are we waiting for?  It is time.

Again, I'm back to cliche, and again, I think the cliche is right.  Life is uncertain.  The time for living is now.

The robin wasn't looking at the calendar.  The robin decided to enjoy a glorious spring day, mid-February or not.
The time,

The next morning

Yep, it is all my own hair.

it's now.

Pubescent

Pasque Flower, Pulsatilla, Rocky Mountain National Park
West Side, June 1

Not all of my hairy plant photography was focused on leaves this summer.  I also photographed some pubescent* flowers-- both hairy and on the verge of sexual maturity.

Thimbleweed? Anemone, Yellowstone, June

Anemone, Banff or Jasper, June

Calochortus (Mariposa or Sego Lily),
 Rocky Mountain National Park Fall River Valley, July

Fuzzy Margins

Plant science is full of great words. This summer I expanded from fruit and flowers to photographically examine (and record for future classes) the surfaces of leaves.

Among my favorite words are the plant words for hairiness.  Plant surfaces can be hirsute, or pubescent or canescent.  They can be pilose, strigose, tomentose, or villous, or they velutinous when they are velvety.

How would you describe these?

The Unsightly Glow of Persistent Flash Problems

The rain was great for the roses. Well, it was great until the leaves turned black and yellow and fell off (fungal problems in Western Oklahoma!).  I had beautiful bouquets for Mothers' Day and my birthday, but have the persistent problems of being unable to ) the flash.  All of the blossoms are from our yard.  The white is mock orange.

May 11, 2015

May 19, 2015

Because I Never Take Enough "Before" Photos

Iris and peonies along front walk, April 27 and May 3.

The Pilgrims are coming!*

Running to the Farmers'
Market in the FOG.
May 9, 2015

We followed indoor graduation procedures this morning because of the fifth day in a row of real rain.  One of my graduating seniors commented that she doesn't remember this much rain since, well, ever. During a downpour in late April, a new faculty member asked, hopefully, "They say that spring is the rainy season here?" to which I had to respond, "This is my fifth year here and I haven't experienced a rainy season."
Two weeks later and I have now experienced a rainy season. The local paper reports that we haven't had this much rain in a 30 day period since the 1920s.  Last week's drought monitor had us downgraded to "severe" drought (and who knows, by Tuesday our drought might just be "moderate").

Even before the recent deluge, it was a great year for the roses all over town.  Peonies were blooming places I've never noticed them and mine are finally growing up.  I claim not to be a rose person or a pink person or a frilly, fu-fu person, I make exceptions for bouquets of May flowers**.  Images are of a bouquet I picked Tuesday, May 5 and took to Texas.  I also picked one here yesterday, that includes additional deep rose-colored peonies that are just starting to open.

Happy Rain!  Happy Flowers!

*"If April showers bring May flowers what do Mayflowers bring?  Pilgrims!"

**While I still have no images of my famous former peony parties, one can see images of my May flower fanaticism with peonies up close,  or a big West Virginia bouquet.