TODAY THE DAWN BROUGHT a gray sky with clouds scudding across the field to catch the treetops. Nothing else moved except the taller grasses, and most of the birds and all the animals were absent. One moth from the night clung to the window looking in with sleepy eyes, sheltered by the overhanging frame. It was a very dreary day indeed and good for quiet contemplation and respite from weather related aches and pains. The field looked so much greener today and the flowers out front had perked up from their semi-wilted state of yesterday.

We knew it would rain today without looking at the news report, because the robins called for rain last evening. They are such a common bird that it is easy to pass them by and not really pay them much attention, but if you listen carefully, they give quite a commentary on the state of the yard and are good weather predictors. Their hollow bones are very sensitive to air pressure changes, and they tell us about it in special phrases we can learn to recognize. Many things come to mind with the rain… “raindrops keep falling on my head,” “the quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath,” “raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens,” “singing in the rain.” We have dedicated much song and poetry to it. It is understandable since our bodies are mostly water and our lives dependent on it.

Photo contributed

We are sometimes accused of not having enough sense to come in out of the rain, but if we do, we miss so much. A walk in gentle warm rain is very pleasant and appeals to all our senses. After brutal, hot days it is very welcome. Donning old clothes for a walk through the wet trees is calming and refreshing. Sneakers squishing, the head cools and the water tickles as it runs down the face, over eyes, down a shirt and legs. It is a natural cleansing and baptism in its purist form. Read more…

“JUST SIT BACK and watch it grow!” was a favorite line proclaimed by radio talk-show personality Ralph Snodsmith after he dispensed gardening advice to a caller. The onetime horticultural guru of New York’s WOR-AM, Ralph knew that most plants want to grow if we gardeners just give them the right conditions and care. But sometimes, a plant will take its own sweet time deciding if it is going to live or make a one-way journey to the compost pile instead. This has been my experience with a species called Acanthus spinosus, a.k.a. bear’s breech.

Acanthus spinosus. Photo contributed

Hailing from the Mediterranean, Acanthus spinosus has much to recommend it as a garden plant. Growing in a large clump, the attractive, dark green, glossy foliage is deeply cut, thistle-like, and only modestly barbed. It is resistant to insect pests and rabbits. Spikes of snapdragon-like flowers in shades of pale and dusky pink are distinctive and rise to three feet or more above the leaves. The ancient Greek architect Callimachus was a fan of this plant, decorating the top of his Corinthian columns with Acanthus leaves, and it’s still a common design element in contemporary art and design. Often commonly called “bear’s breeches,” the plant has nothing to do with the slacks Smoky wears or we wish Yogi would put on, but derives from the bear claw-like flower bracts. Other common names are oyster plant, sea holly and bear’s foot. Such a historic plant with a dignified demeanor certainly should have a loftier moniker. Read more…

WHEN WE WERE KIDS our maternal grandmother, Helen Shepard Wambach (Gram), always referred to blueberries as huckleberries. This was probably from her New England background when early colonists called them hurtleberries which was a type of European blueberry. Hurtleberries eventually evolved to the name huckleberries.

There are many varieties of these blueberry/huckleberry bushes that are difficult to tell apart and can range from one foot to 12 feet tall, with berries tasting tart to sweet. Color can be black, blue, red, or dark purple. Apparently, there are some still actually called huckleberries that have 10 large, hard seeds per berry, while blueberries have many small, soft seeds. As far as I can remember, all the blueberries I have eaten in the Austerlitz area have had small seeds.

I am not an expert on the subject and will leave this to the botanists. Most of ours were sweet, with the best ones in a clearing in the woods on my father’s farm. We had lots of shale outcroppings and rock, which helped keep big shade trees from growing. When we were young, we were sent out to learn and glean whatever edible berries we could find. My mother said they got most of their blueberries from a side road off the Dugway Road going east from Spencertown past the farm, which is the current Austerlitz Club. This area is so overgrown now I doubt that blueberries can grow. Read more…