Why We Buy (George money)

My new favorite t-shirt.

It's wrinkled, because I had to dig into the dirty clothes for it. I guess I should be ashamed of such a slipshod photo, but I couldn't convince myself to iron a dirty shirt.

One of these days I suppose I ought to start acting my age. I imagine even now, people point and whisper behind my back. Since my hearing's not what it once was, I just don't notice it.

Will I still be wearing zombie t-shirts when I'm 60? I don't know, maybe. I don't have any children to embarrass, so it's likely.

One of my friends calls the upcoming US tax rebate her George money. We plan to be good citizens and help the economy, by spending our George money instead of saving it. (Uh-huh.)

I started a little early. I've bought this zombie shirt and pre-ordered the new Charlaine Harris book. I'm already listening to my new REM CD. (I slipped up and bought a Teddy Thompson CD too, before I realized that he's British. To be a solid citizen, I should concentrate on US products only I guess.)

I also ordered this Zebra/UPC t-shirt but haven't received it yet.

I plan on buying a coffee press.

I want Annie to throw me a few bowls (if she ever gets around to pottery again).

Mmm, what else?

I've been meaning to read This Republic of Suffering and Peter Sagal's book. I want all of Elizabeth Dewberry's books. (Ack! Elizabeth Dewberry, you are brilliant, but you really need a website.)

When I told my husband I might spend all my George money on books and CDs, he thought I was kidding, and laughed.

What are you doing with your George money?

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The shirt is all Twinks' fault, by the way. I'd never have know about shirt.woot if I hadn't read about her Nessie shirt. I have a feeling I'll be spending lots of money there in the future.

Fire and Ice

Zebra Swallowtail (Eurytides marcellus).



Captured during his unannounced guest appearance at the Fire and Ice show¹.

Alabama Power's indiscriminate and ugly tree-removal policies have saddened me every time I drive this road.²



But when the sun warmed that questionably broad path, I was surprised at what popped up.



Wild hyacinths (Camassia scilloides). They dot the woods beyond the power lines, but this much sun exposure (and no late killing frost this year) caused a population explosion.

I doubt they'll last here long -- brush will dominate within a year or two, choking out anything this small.

But obviously, they can lie dormant, waiting for the day when they feel the sun again.

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¹Fire Pinks and Wild Hyacinths

²They don't practice quite so much dogwood-twisting tree torture in ritzy lawyer-heavy Birmingham suburbs, but out here in rural areas, I'm sure they figure no one of importance will mind.

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Friday Ark.

Limestone glade

We discovered a small limestone glade. It's not near our place, but it's in the same county (Blount county).



Plants in these glades thrive in unusual conditions: very thin soil on dry rocky ground.



A rocky pocket. From above, these flowers bring starfish to mind.



Widowscross, Sedum pulchellum. A.k.a. Pink stonecrop.



Most of them were white rather than pink. Definitely, they fit the description of "locally abundant".



Drifts of sandwort surrounded the sedum. I believe this is Glade sandwort, Minuartia patula.



In the shadier areas, there was a little Miami mist (Phacelia purshii). (Sounds more like a soft drink than a plant to me.)



I love the fringed petals.

Chickadee nest

Carolina chickadees (Poecile carolinensis) have made a nest in one of our bluebird boxes. It's apparently not an agreeable spot for bluebirds -- none have nested there in three years -- so I'm glad the chickadees found it.



I was surprised at the amount of cedar tips cushioning the nest.

There's a little blue feather on the lower right of the first picture, and I wonder where it came from. Did bluebirds start the nest, and the chickadees just finished it? Or maybe a bluebird stuck his head in to see what was going on, and left a calling card.

The chickadees could have just picked up a pretty soft blue thing as building material. We see swallows picking up duck feathers all the time, so I know some birds "feather their nest" with other species' feathers.

One of the first birdsongs I learned was the Carolina Chickadee's. A friend and I chased all over her property for a frustrating hour before we finally pinpointed the bird who sounded exactly like a rusty porch swing. You can listen to him here.

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Friday Ark is up!

Fire Pink

Shady masochist.



Don't wanna be rich.



Looooove it when you treat him bad.

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Fire Pink, Silene virginica. (Map.)

"Pink" refers to the zigzag pattern, as if the petals were cut with pinking shears.

Here it flourishes in the driest, rockiest areas. The previous owner laid down a narrow chert road through the woods. Fire Pink popped up along the edges and multiplies every year, fashioning its own version of a red carpet.

Anatoli the Anole

My husband rescued a baby Carolina Anole (Anolis carolinensis, a.k.a. Green Anole) from certain death. He recovered nicely, and is now living in Geckie's old cage.

He's much more swift and agile than Geckie, and unlike a leopard gecko, he can cling to the glass sides of the aquarium.

We named him Anatoli. Yes, that's Anatoli the Anole, in keeping with our ludicrously juvenile reptile-naming scheme.

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See FC's recent post on Mood Lizards for a great series of pictures of a Green Anole changing colors.

Stupid cows

Stupid cows.


Stupid cows.


Stupid cows!

Ack! The neighbor's stupid cows are back! The game camera was full of pictures of cows.

Actually the cows aren't stupid. They're pretty smart -- they know their owner doesn't maintain his fences. I'm just saying "stupid" because I don't want to cuss on the blog.

I was gone all day, so the cows had plenty of time to do some real damage. Then they came back again overnight, and were in the garden before it was even light outside. (Nocturnal cows!)

I considered myself lucky not to have to wash the dog this time, though.

Jack in the Pulpit

We're lucky enough to have more than one type of Jack in the Pulpit growing wild on our property. This is the most common, Arisaema triphyllum spp triphyllum. (Triphyllum = three leaves.)



Technically speaking, the "jack" is the spadix, and the "pulpit" is the spathe.



One of these days I'm going to memorize plant anatomy so I don't have to look it up all the time. I always feel dumb when I ask a question, and the answer involves so many technical terms that I feel like Gilligan, with all the Professor's lofty knowledge floating away right over my head.

At that point I never can decide the best course of action:
1) Nod and act like I understand,
2) Look confused and hope the expert will realize that I don't understand,
3) Admit outright that I don't understand, or
4) Look around frantically for another interesting flower, so I can shout "Ooh pretty!" and run away just as soon as the expert's lips quit moving.

Usually I opt for something between #1 and #2. "Hmm..." combined with a thoughtful look -- neither too confused nor too satisfied. A look that should convey, "Although I'm not a total idiot, I didn't quite catch your meaning, because obviously I'm not as smart as you are."



Here's Arisaema triphyllum ssp quinatum. I could only find one that was in bloom already.



Up close and personal.



There is another type here, but I couldn't find it blooming yet, so I'll write a "part 2" later.

Jacks are easy to confuse with Trilliums sometimes, especially before they bloom. The lighter colored leaves in the lower portion of the photo are Jacks:



In a garden I toured recently, the owner showed us what she called a "Japanese Jack in the Pulpit":



See how long the spadix is? Note my friend's fingers at the top of the picture below. She's holding the tip of the spadix! And that's the spathe way down on the ground, underneath the leaves (that look more like our Green Dragon's leaves).



I believe this variety is either Arisaema urashima or Arisaema thunbergii. (They're similar.)



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More information:

Wildwood Park's look at Jacks.

Primrose Path's page on American Jack varieties.

Paghat's Jack in the Pulpits and Cobra Lilies.

Arisaema Info.

International Aroid Society.

Bee fly

Major bee-fly, a.k.a. Greater bee-fly, Bombylius major.

Bee flies are what they sound like: flies that resemble bees. This one is the one we see most here, though there are several similar species in the family Bombyliidae.

See photos of several of them at Giff Beaton's site. (You know there are a lot of members in the family when there's a World Catalog of them.)

They hover about like small cute bumblebees, and they don't seem to mind drawing attention to themselves, the way they'll hover in the same position for quite a while. I've also seen them dart back and forth between two positions a foot or so apart -- if it were a bird, you'd say it was a mating dance, though I would assume that flies don't do that.

According to this site, "Its larvae are brood parasites and are found in bees' nests. Adults feed on nectar, using their long proboscises whilst hovering beside a flower." The whilst there should give you a clue that this fly is also found in England.

BugGuide has a species account here with more details, and some nice shots of them hovering.

I haven't found any one article detailing information about this bee-fly, but there are lots of links highlighting certain aspects of their behavior:

Drawing up sand or sawdust to coat eggs (here).

Comparing them, as generalist pollinators, to more species-specific pollinators (here).

Wingbeats in B flat? (here)

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Friday Ark is here.

Felder Rushing

Yesterday some friends and I traveled to Tuscaloosa for a seminar called, "Gardening in Dry Times".



But really, we went to see Felder Rushing. That's him posing with his hanging salad garden ("I don't even have to bend over to eat it!").

He's one of the more entertaining people you'll ever hear speak. Whenever his name is mentioned, you'll notice that four or five folks will automatically chime in, "Oh he's such a hoot." And he is, but you learn a lot too.



His traveling truck garden. Seventy miles and hour, and everything is fine.



Not your grandfather's notion of truck farming.



Flamingo #1.



Flamingo #2.



The whole of it. Note the wind chimes on the right. "If you see whiteflies, just drive faster."



My favorite bumper sticker.

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Check out his website for more great unusual gardening ideas, photos of previous incarnations of the truck crop, articles, and more.

Trillium flexipes

Trillium flexipes blooms concurrent with the emergence of poison ivy in this area.



The flowers aren't always standing up proud like this one -- sometimes they're considerably more droopy.



But the more erect version is generally considered "standard". People generally like it better, at any rate, when they don't have to go poking under the leaves to find the flowers.



The flowers never point up though - always out or down.

I like to note botanical names of things here, but most of the time I have to look them up. I'd love to go around referring to everything in Latin, but honestly, I haven't committed many of those names to memory. Except with Trilliums.

This flower's most common everyday name is Bent Trillium, though I've often seen it referred to as Nodding Trillium, Drooping Trillium, or White Trillium. But there are two other similar Trilliums (rugelii and cernuum) that are also sometimes called by the very same common names. I do like the evocative terms Toadshade and Wakerobin, and if they were used consistently I'd be happy to employ them. But to avoid getting lost in the common name mire it's always best to use Latin for Trilliums.

Most of the maps don't show this Trillium here. Flowers don't read maps though, and I've found Trilliums to be poorly mapped in general. That USDA distribution site pretends to take reports, but in my experience they just ignore them.

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Nice Trillium reference page here.

Cedar-apple rust

Extension agents probably hear it a lot this time of year: What the heck is that alien orange thingy in my cedar tree?!



Check out those gelatinous telial spore horns (noodly appendages).

It's Cedar-apple rust, and it's caused by the fungus Gymnosporangium juniperi-virginianae.

If yours doesn't look quite like this, it might be one of the similar (related) rusts: Cedar-hawthorne rust or Cedar-quince rust. Check the chart of rust differences.

Basically, the Cedar-hawthorne rust's noodly appendages are short and stubby (as opposed to the long and thin ones on the Cedar-apple rust gall shown here). And Cedar-quince rust is mainly just orange goo on bark and twigs. You can see pictures of the latter on my previous posts on the subject here and here. The photos at the first link also show how the rusts appear when they're not quite so wet.

I can't seem to stop writing about these rusts when they make themselves so obvious in the spring. The way they alternate hosts, and of course their appearance, is so unusual.

Fungi expert Tom Volk has written about Gymnosporangium juniperi-virginianae too, in a much more scientific fashion, here.

Interloper

Who invited him to this meeting?!

Confessions of an unfit baker

Me: I can't find my hand mixer. Can I just stir cookie dough with a spoon?
Mom: Sure, we did that all the time before electricity.

Me: Is it ok if I melt the butter instead of waiting for it to soften?
Mom: Well, your grandmother always did that.



Two hours later:
Mom, why are my cookies all run together and flat as little pancakes?!


The horror!
(These tasted ok, they just looked ridiculous.)


Triple threat: run-together, flat, and burned.
(These had to be tossed.)


At least these are round.

I searched the internet and found that three things could make for flat cookies. I had done all of them.

1) Too much stirring.

2) Too much baking soda.

3) Melting the butter.

I took a plateful of the least stupid-looking ones to my meeting, and prayed that my friends wouldn't laugh. When I went to retrieve my plate at the end, I could hardly believe it. They'd eaten all the cookies!

Maybe their grandmothers always melted the butter too, and they were nostalgic for flat cookies.

Just don't tell Cookie Jill, ok?

The winner!

The winner for the Nightshade drawing at Rurality is Marilyn Greene from Taylor, Michigan. Marilyn blogs at The Stair Landing and is a great knitter.

Congratulations Marilyn!

If you didn't win in the drawing here, you still have plenty of chances to enter. Check out the Susan Wittig Albert's blog tour page for the links.

Double Dog Dare

Double Dogwood, Cornus florida.

The owner didn't know the specific variety name, but said that it came from Hanna's in Birmingham.

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The Circus of the Spineless is up!

And don't forget the Friday Ark.

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You can still register to win Susan Wittig Albert's newest book in the China Bayles herbal mystery series, Nightshade. But hurry, Rurality's drawing ends at noon today! Click here.

Game camera for late March

The last game camera location was a little far from most of the action, and resulted mainly in shots of poorly-lit mystery creatures. So we moved it a bit closer to the clearing.



Maybe a little too close. We'd have had a perfect bobcat photo if we hadn't moved the camera. Oh, well.



The little masked bandit showed up well, though.



As did the &$*#^@% stray dogs. We never see them in the daytime, but apparently they love to roam and bark all night.



No idea.



Sad looking coyote, huh? I'm tempted to say he's thin because we're no longer supplying the free chicken dinners*, but it's probably not that.

I'm not sure why the color is so odd. I tried photoshopping, but realized that I don't know how to reverse grass that looks brown, dirt that looks green, and a coyote that looks like he stepped out of a B&W movie.



That's more like it! The turkeys seem to wander much more on dreary, gray days.

I just knew we'd have a shot of a mink by now. But no. I have another idea about aiming the camera more towards the rocky edge of the creek bed.

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*We only have two chickens left. Coyotes and bobcats ate the others, and we haven't replaced them yet. Hubby says that the survivors should have names, and has dubbed them Chicken (the Easter-Egger) and Dumpling (the Marans). They flock together during the day, but sleep on opposite sides of the coop at night.

We'd like more chickens, but the minimum order from a hatchery is 25 -- more than we need. Local co-ops aren't bringing in chicks anymore. (Death of true rurality or rise of avian flu hysteria, take your pick.) We may try checking other counties' co-ops or the flea market this weekend.

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If this is your first visit:

These shots are from our game camera, a Cuddeback Expert 3.0. Click on the game camera label to read more about it and see more photos.

I crop the bottom info from the photos because
1) The Cuddeback logo is distracting, and
2) Hubby never remembers to reset the date/time stamp after changing batteries, so it's never right.

If Cuddeback wants to send me a free camera, I'll happily stop cropping their little logo out of the shots... but I figure I give them enough free publicity as it is.

By the way, I did finally remember the name of the top-of-the-line game camera that I'd been talking about before: Reconyx. Their photo quality does not appear to be any better than the Cuddeback, but the trigger times are lower: 1/10 to 1/5 second, depending on the model. And it can take up to 99 photos per trigger. But at around $1000, it's a little beyond my reach for now.

Prime Thyme Mysteries 3

Thank you, Karen, for hosting me today! This blog tour celebrates the launch of Nightshade, the sixteenth China Bayles mystery. China (for those who haven’t yet been introduced to this mystery series) is a former criminal defense attorney who has opted for a quieter life as the owner of an herb shop in Pecan Springs TX. Each book in the series includes a signature herb that has something to do with the story, the characters, and or/the themes of the book. In this post, I’ll be telling you something about the herbs in Books 7, 8, and 9. (For posts on other books, check out the tour calendar.)

Chile Death



In China’s seventh mystery, Pecan Springs is rattled by the news that somebody has put peanuts into an entry in the chili cookoff. Peanuts in Texas chili? All by itself, that’s a crime (Texans never put peanuts in chili)—but it gets worse when a cookoff judge dies. Was it a culinary error (bad enough) or premeditated murder (worse)? The investigation takes China into a couple of hot spots and nearly costs her life. But the good news is that lover Mike McQuaid (shot in the previous book) is on the mend. Are those wedding bells we hear, or the crackle of chiles roasting over an open flame?

The signature herb? Chiles, of course! Chile peppers are not only super in your salsa, but good for what ails you: poor circulation, headaches, stomach distress, and ulcers, maybe even as an alternative to Viagra. (Chiles have long had a reputation as an aphrodisiac.) While the heat of capsaicin (the chief chemical compound in this herb) can burn, it also takes the pain out of shingles, rheumatism, and arthritis.

There’s lots more about this hot herb—a member of the nightshade family—at Wikipedia. If you’d like to try one of China’s favorite chile recipes, add some jalepeno peppers to cornbread. Or put some chile powder in your hot chocolate for an exotic (and seductive) drink.

Lavender Lies



I always think of this book as the “wedding” book—although between a murder investigation (a local real estate broker is shot to death in his garage) and a surprise guest named Hurricane Josephine, China’s wedding almost doesn’t happen. But it does, and of course it’s an herbal wedding, with rosemary for remembrance, thyme for courage, sage for long life and happiness, and lavender for devotion.



If you’re devoted to lavender, you're not alone. The clean, refreshing scent of its delicate flowers was cherished by the Egyptians (who used it, with other herbs and spices, to make mummies), the Phoenicians, the Greeks, and the Romans (who called it lavender, from their verb lavere, to wash), and by gardeners everywhere. Lavender is used to scent soaps, cosmetics, potpourris, and sachets. You can also use it in your bath, or put a few drops of essential oil on your hair brush. To help you sleep, put a few drops on your pillow. You can even use lavender flowers to flavor cookies and cakes, make tangy vinegars and punches, and brew fragrant teas.

For recipes from China’s and Ruby’s tea room (newly-opened in Lavender Lies) and ideas for a lavender tea party of your own, check out this page. And for a very good review of lavender’s medicinal properties, read this article from the University of Maryland.

Mistletoe Man



It's Christmas, and China has opened her home for the annual Pecan Springs Holiday Home Tour. But she's also worrying about her friend and partner Ruby Wilcox, who hasn't been herself lately. To further complicate matters, China has to round up a supply of mistletoe, the season's most popular herb. It seems an easy enough task—until her chief mistletoe supplier turns up dead.



Mistletoe is rich in lore, mostly due to the unusual growth habit of this parasitic herb. (In fact, some linguists trace its name to the Old English word mistil, meaning different.) Mistletoe grows on host trees, from seeds planted in the bark by the birds who feast on the white berries that ripen during the winter. The plant has been a part of Yule or winter solstice celebrations since the Druids, and the "kiss of peace" that was once exchanged under this plant by warring North Country clans has now evolved into the Christmas kiss. In folk cultures, mistletoe has been used to enhance fertility and to treat epilepsy; medicinally, European mistletoe is used as a sedative and to slow a rapid heartbeat. Recent research suggests that it may also slow the growth of cancerous tumors, and it is employed in Germany to supplement chemotherapy. Mistletoe is not a culinary herb, but the berries are not deadly, as is popularly believed. Please note that European and American mistletoe are not the same species. Many traditions link the two, but they are very different.

For a serious discussion of mistletoe’s medicinal properties, go here. For a more general overview of the plant (and another view of its cancer-curing properties), check out this page.

Readers often tell me that they enjoy learning about herbs while they are entertained by the story. But I have to say that China Bayles has taught me so much about herbs. For instance, I don’t think I would ever have taken the time to explore the herb mistletoe, if China’s supplier hadn’t gone and gotten himself killed!

Thanks again, Karen, for hosting me here at Rurality. And thanks to all you folks who are trekking through cyberspace with me on this blog tour. I appreciate your notes and comments—I’ll be gone for a couple of days this week, but I’ll be dropping in again when I get back.

About the book drawing and Susan’s blog tour



If you’d like to enter the drawing for a copy of Nightshade go here to register. But do it now, before you forget. The drawing for Rurality closes at noon on April 4, 2008.

Want to read the other posts in Susan’s blog tour? You’ll find a calendar and links here.