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| A dark red hollyhock |
August 14, 2018 - Tuesday morning
67 degrees/clear skies/breezy - humid
Pentoga Road
Speaking of hollyhocks, I was mowing yesterday when I spotted multiple large-leafed something or the others growing alongside the house.
I climbed down from the riding mower for a closer look.
It seems the large perennial hollyhock that grows in the area spread it's seed and there are now a half a gajillion smaller ones sprouting in the area. I love hollyhocks, one of my favorite flowers, but what do I do with these?
They can't simply grow just anywhere out in the middle of the yard and as dry and hot as it's been, I hate to transplant them now. I think I'll continue to mow around them for a few more weeks until the temperature cools down and begin the process of transplanting them in a more appropriate area.
The majority of yesterday was spent trimming and mowing the yard. It's certainly getting dry and I notice the grass is beginning to get a bit crunchy underfoot.
I've been watering the garden, but all that really provides is a stop gap measure until we receive some meaningful precipitation. Up until a week ago, our rainfall had been almost perfect. I guess we need to pray a little harder that God turns the faucet back on.
It's that time of the summer when certain types of popple trees begin to shed their leaves.
These are just a harbinger of what's to come in the next six to eight weeks. Soon there'll be piles of leaves, more than a foot deep in some areas, as the hardwoods prepare for the winter months ahead.
The late afternoon was spent in the shop. Let's see how good a guesser you are as to what I'm attempting to make.
Sargie was home early last night and we decided to enjoy stuffed baked potatoes along with grilled hamburgers for supper.
What to stuff the taters with? Why, anything from the garden! I wandered out to see what was available.
We already had broccoli and cauliflower in the refrigerator. I reached under a potato plant and grubbed out several medium-sized spuds, more than enough for supper. In addition, I returned with both sweet and hot peppers.
The hot banana pepper, on the left, was supposed to be a sweet one. Someone lied along the way. I like hot peppers, so diced it up onto my potato. Sargie has a more delicate palate and settled for the conventional sweet, green pepper.
I kissed her goodnight several hours later and she complained that peck alone caused her lips to burn. Seems the residue of the oil from the hot pepper was still active.
Naturally, I replied that her lips tingled because she's married to a descendent in a long line of hot, passionate, northern European, kissers. It's a blessing/curse we've carried for generations.
Yeah, that one didn't fly.
One last thing happened yesterday. Boy, talk about not very bright. Mama didn't have no Einstein for a son.
As I've written previously, I have a problem with my left foot caused by a large heel spur. Late last week, I did some real damage while walking and have been hobbling around ever since. Yesterday, it began to feel better, the first time in several days, and I could actually walk pain free and without a limp like normal people. I have an appointment the first week of September with the podiatrist and have been hoping to get by until I'm able to meet with her. (For those who keep saying I should get in to see her sooner, she's on vacation.)
Sargie was outside last evening bringing in the laundry. There are certain people that occasionally drive by that, if they see us outside, will stop and talk... and talk... and talk some more. It's not normal conversation, but rather an opportunity for them to pontificate about everything that is wrong in the world, from their health to the weather, including all subjects in between.
Put it this way, we quickly learned to NEVER inquire how they are doing. They're happy to share their continual self-made misery.
If outside, Sargie and I have been known to make ourselves scarce when we hear the distinctive sound of their vehicle as it draws nearer on Pentoga Road. On a good day, we may have half a dozen cars drive by and their beater, sans muffler, is easily distinguishable from a quarter mile away.
I was standing by Sargie last night as she took down the last of the laundry from the line when I heard a car coming. I knew it wasn't the people mentioned above, but wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to play a joke.
I yelled, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, BARBI. HERE THEY COME!! RUN, HIDE BEHIND THE SHED AND SAVE YOURSELF!"
That's when the last of my brain cells died. I forgot I had a gimpy foot, heel, and arch, and in my foolishness, went to grab her hand and run. Problem was, when I came down on my left foot, something not good happened and I immediately went down writhing in pain.
It was a, "I want my mommy," moment.
So this morning, I'm back to where I was at the end of last week, gimping, limping, and hobbling around.
And Sargie? Well, after she royally chewed me out for even being outside rather than in the house with my foot propped up somewhere over my head, let alone trying to run, she began teasing me for my foolishness.
It's true. He who laughs last, does indeed laugh best. Being the delicate flower that I am, I'm fearful my self esteem has been irreparably damaged.
The Crappie Queen is off today and we've talked about going fishing. A front is to come through later and hopefully, bring us some much needed rain. Until then, I'll hobble my way to the garden and then onto the shop.
After all, a man's work is never done.
So are the tales from Pentoga Road...
It seems the large perennial hollyhock that grows in the area spread it's seed and there are now a half a gajillion smaller ones sprouting in the area. I love hollyhocks, one of my favorite flowers, but what do I do with these?
They can't simply grow just anywhere out in the middle of the yard and as dry and hot as it's been, I hate to transplant them now. I think I'll continue to mow around them for a few more weeks until the temperature cools down and begin the process of transplanting them in a more appropriate area.
The majority of yesterday was spent trimming and mowing the yard. It's certainly getting dry and I notice the grass is beginning to get a bit crunchy underfoot.
I've been watering the garden, but all that really provides is a stop gap measure until we receive some meaningful precipitation. Up until a week ago, our rainfall had been almost perfect. I guess we need to pray a little harder that God turns the faucet back on.
It's that time of the summer when certain types of popple trees begin to shed their leaves.
These are just a harbinger of what's to come in the next six to eight weeks. Soon there'll be piles of leaves, more than a foot deep in some areas, as the hardwoods prepare for the winter months ahead.
The late afternoon was spent in the shop. Let's see how good a guesser you are as to what I'm attempting to make.
Sargie was home early last night and we decided to enjoy stuffed baked potatoes along with grilled hamburgers for supper.
What to stuff the taters with? Why, anything from the garden! I wandered out to see what was available.
The hot banana pepper, on the left, was supposed to be a sweet one. Someone lied along the way. I like hot peppers, so diced it up onto my potato. Sargie has a more delicate palate and settled for the conventional sweet, green pepper.
I kissed her goodnight several hours later and she complained that peck alone caused her lips to burn. Seems the residue of the oil from the hot pepper was still active.
Naturally, I replied that her lips tingled because she's married to a descendent in a long line of hot, passionate, northern European, kissers. It's a blessing/curse we've carried for generations.
Yeah, that one didn't fly.
One last thing happened yesterday. Boy, talk about not very bright. Mama didn't have no Einstein for a son.
As I've written previously, I have a problem with my left foot caused by a large heel spur. Late last week, I did some real damage while walking and have been hobbling around ever since. Yesterday, it began to feel better, the first time in several days, and I could actually walk pain free and without a limp like normal people. I have an appointment the first week of September with the podiatrist and have been hoping to get by until I'm able to meet with her. (For those who keep saying I should get in to see her sooner, she's on vacation.)
Sargie was outside last evening bringing in the laundry. There are certain people that occasionally drive by that, if they see us outside, will stop and talk... and talk... and talk some more. It's not normal conversation, but rather an opportunity for them to pontificate about everything that is wrong in the world, from their health to the weather, including all subjects in between.
Put it this way, we quickly learned to NEVER inquire how they are doing. They're happy to share their continual self-made misery.
If outside, Sargie and I have been known to make ourselves scarce when we hear the distinctive sound of their vehicle as it draws nearer on Pentoga Road. On a good day, we may have half a dozen cars drive by and their beater, sans muffler, is easily distinguishable from a quarter mile away.
I was standing by Sargie last night as she took down the last of the laundry from the line when I heard a car coming. I knew it wasn't the people mentioned above, but wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to play a joke.
I yelled, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, BARBI. HERE THEY COME!! RUN, HIDE BEHIND THE SHED AND SAVE YOURSELF!"
That's when the last of my brain cells died. I forgot I had a gimpy foot, heel, and arch, and in my foolishness, went to grab her hand and run. Problem was, when I came down on my left foot, something not good happened and I immediately went down writhing in pain.
It was a, "I want my mommy," moment.
So this morning, I'm back to where I was at the end of last week, gimping, limping, and hobbling around.
And Sargie? Well, after she royally chewed me out for even being outside rather than in the house with my foot propped up somewhere over my head, let alone trying to run, she began teasing me for my foolishness.
It's true. He who laughs last, does indeed laugh best. Being the delicate flower that I am, I'm fearful my self esteem has been irreparably damaged.
The Crappie Queen is off today and we've talked about going fishing. A front is to come through later and hopefully, bring us some much needed rain. Until then, I'll hobble my way to the garden and then onto the shop.
After all, a man's work is never done.
So are the tales from Pentoga Road...
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| Look closely. First it was toads, now it's Leopard Frogs. |
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