Reflections on the Fifth Week of Summer

 “You are smashing flowers with a hammer?” was Mom's reaction to me registering for a pounding flower class. In a back alcove of Fox Sew and Vac, my friend Cindy and I joined Terry and her friend Pearl Rose for an intimate class with teacher Margie. She showed us pounded flower scarves, bags, cards, and quilts then demonstrated arranging and tapping flowers with a carpenter's hammer. On a cutting board, I lay a piece of muslin and arranged pansies. I covered the design with more fabric and tap-tap-tapped. When I peeled back the top layer of muslin, the picture resembled a water color. Flowers oozed off or just blended into the fabric. Sharing supplies, we pounded flowers on muslin and fancy paper. Thick geraniums and pansy stems squirted. Thin garden phlox stamped. Tapping vibrations danced the strands of grass I tried to place. Women obligingly paused till I settled my pieces and covered the design. Because it was quilt guild discount Saturday at the store, many quilters paused at our table to ooh and aah. Margie demonstrated stamping our pounded design. Inspired, we scooped up left overs. The others planned to tap their flowers into designs. With Ellen and Chris' quilt to finish, I smashed mine for worm food.

Reflections on the Fourth Week of Summer

 

Early Friday, I drove past cows grazing in Kathy's lower field and turned onto the dirt road to fetch her for a quilter's yard sale in Franklin. We delved through piles of material and inspected housewares. After our girl's morning out, I pulled back onto Kathy's road. A car had parked at the other end of the field. “I wonder what he's doing by my cows.” I backed down the dirt road and onto the hard road so she could investigate. “He's looking at something. Is Ruby having her calf?” I drove closer. “Oh, it's a woman..” I parked. “It's Tammy.” A small black calf lay in a lump on the ground. The other cows stood fifteen feet away. Kathy's daughter Tammy walked to us and said the calf wasn't moving except to twitch its ears. Kathy said, “Maybe it was just born. The shock of birth takes awhile to wear off.” Because a weak back had put Ruby at risk in labor, Kathy tried to check her. “Here, Ruby.” Ruby looked over her shoulder but didn't come. The calf raised its head. Kathy walked along the fence to get a view of Ruby's hind quarters. The calf scrambled to its feet and ran to Ruby. The herd circled the newborn, and Ruby led them into the woods. “She's hiding the calf from us.” Saturday, Kathy emailed. “It's a girl so Tammy named her Diamond. Maybe she's a diamond in the rough.” Sunday I called to ask if Ruby was still hiding Diamond, or if I could get a picture. “Oh, you could have gotten a great picture yesterday. She got out of the fence and was walking on the grass along the road.”

Reflections on the Third Week of Summer

  The first Night Beacon Daylily bloomed this week. Dark maroon encircling a bright yellow center accented the green, green time of year when mower hums blend with chickadee twitters, robin cheer-ups, and wood thrush fluty melodies. I savored the sun-warmed sweetness of the first ripe cherry tomato. I unfastened bull clips to open row cover doors on blueberry tents. Milkweed fragrance drifted into the enclosures, bugs crawled on the ghostly white fabric, and berries plunked against the bottom of my metal bucket. Strawberries and peas put me on an every other day pick-and-weed schedule. Sunlight flashed off goldfinches zigzagging into treetops. Butterfly pairs swirled in rising circles. Unlike a friend, who's moving south so that a snowflake never lands on her head again, I relish nature's changes–the parade of treats that living in rural Western Pennsylvania brings. Delights increased this year when great niece Addy reached for sunlight filtering through leaves, listened to Deer Creek glide over its rocky bed, and watched family gathering dried grass for garden mulch.

Reflections on the Second Week of Summer

George snoozed through the beginning of the week. He stopped eating, drinking, and eliminating. I made a vet appointment. Spence petted, finger-dipped water onto George's nose, and offered cooked chicken. George nibbled a bit and peed once, but we drove his limp fur-and-bones to the vet anyway. The blood work and his temperature were fine, but he was dehydrated and had lost a pound in a week. The vet injected fluids, prescribed three medications, and said, “If he's not eating, bring him back Monday.” I squirted stool softener into his mouth, held his jaws shut, and ignored the bubbles he forced through his lips. Holding him between my legs, I pried his mouth open, dropped the appetite enhancer in, clamped his jaws shut, and stroked his throat. When he'd swallowed three times, I let him go. He scampered away and spit the pill onto the floor. After five tries, I gave up. I dissolved his stomach soother in water and squirted that down his throat. He spit it out. But he nibbled dry cat food and pooped on Independence Day. By then, Emma had stopped eating, drinking, and eliminating. She hid under wisteria vines. I gave her George's squirtable meds. Spence petted and finger-dipped water drops. In vain, he offered beer, broth, chicken, and trout. Sunday morning, she peed and drank water from a flooded plant tray. Ears twitching, tail swishing she monitored wildlife from the deck. We repeatedly told her she was a good girl, but she needed to eat or she'd see the vet Monday. Finally, she joined George at the food bowl and ate a few kibbles.