Lots of dam water (sic)

I know.
That's a horrible title for a blog post, but it's certainly appropriate for this one!

This year has been exceptionally wet for Montana, to understate the situation.  Our annual yearly average rainfall is generally around 12 inches; our actual rainfall for JUST the month of May this year was a little over 8 inches!  And that doesn't even count the moisture from the snow...that's straight rainfall.  The ground is saturated (something we almost never say, in Eastern Montana) and water is running off into all the little coullees and potholes, reservoirs are brimming. 

If you look at a map of Montana, you'll see a large, seemingly out-of-place body of water across the center of her...the Fort Peck Lake.  It was created by damming up the Missouri River in the 1930s; I won't get into all the history, here, because a.) I'd get it wrong and my family would call and email me to correct it, and b.) not everyone is into history and would groan, leave the Chronicles disillusioned and never read to the end of this post.  If you want to read about the making of the dam (which really is fascinating) you can go to http://www.fortpeckdam.com/ and get the info.

Even if you don't like history, there are some things you should know about the dam and lake in order to appreciate the rest of my story.  Excerpted from the Billings Gazette, June 11, 2011:

By the numbers

Fort Peck Dam is the second-largest dam in the United States and the eighth-largest in the world.
The earthen dam was built in the 1930s by pumping a mud slurry from below into forms. The slurry was then allowed to dry.
The reservoir behind the dam is 134 miles long and boasts 1,520 miles of shoreline when the reservoir is at an elevation of 2,234 feet. Right now, the dam's elevation is more than 2,250 feet, its maximum pool. At its deepest, the reservoir is 220 feet deep.
The spillway is located three miles east of the dam and has been used four times -- in 1975, 1976, 1979 and 1997.

This year is only the fifth time since it was built that the Corps of Engineers has opened the spillway, and they're releasing record amounts of water (37,000 cubic feet EVERY SECOND) into the Milk River and on down to the Missouri.

I had to see it.  I had to take my kids to see it.  Everyone else in Eastern Montana had to see it too, it would appear.  It's history in the making!

Big, big water...

 This is the side of the dam toward the water; all those green bushes you see are trees underwater.

This is a shot from the back side of the dam.  That's a car, circled in red....it's hard to give a good idea of how big this dam is, without proportional examples.

Cars driving on the top of the dam,  toward Glasgow.  (Don't we have incredible skies?)

And here it is: the spillway, where all the action is!

The lines of this structure....I couldn't stop looking at the symmetry....

Scared of heights?  Then you'd probably better not walk the top of the spillway...

I'm a wee bit nervous about heights....and terrified of my kids leaning over to look! 

 This is where the water explodes into the river....

One of the sixteen gates, where the water is being released. If all the gates were opened fully, 2 million gallons per second would blow out of there! 

It's hard to show, but the gates are raised by these huge chains.

This is the back of the gate, holding the water.

You can't imagine how loud it is! 

Looking at more water than he's ever seen in his little life...

See the beautiful light posts?  They're big metal poles with beautiful detailing. (Close ups to follow for Rosie.)

One thing we noticed and discussed was how beautiful the design of all the buildings is....they're not only practical and functional, but they have art deco lines.  I wish that much attention was paid to structures designed these days.

The kids HATE having their picture taken.  Someday they'll regret their grumpy reluctance to smile...

We went to a little cove to splash around for a little bit before heading home.

It was a leetle cold....

...but that didn't deter anyone from splashing in!

Happy smiles, through chattering teeth!

Angus would go down to the water then run back when a little wave splashed up against the shore...
Maggie found this hilarious, and teased him about being scared of the water.

Time to go!  Wet toesies in dirty socks...

The country around the reservoir is rough, with hills that just scream "Dinosaur bones hidden here!"

Welcome to the Hell Creek Formation, one of the dinosaur capitols of the world. I took these pictures on the way home, from the car, so they're a bit blurry.

 

Who can resist little Hereford calves, with their sparkling white faces? Not the Farmer's Wife!

*We also went to the Fort Peck Interpretive Center, but this post had to have boundaries.  I think the Farmer is going to post pictures from that little jaunt.  If he does, I'll link to it so you can see the kids' favorite part of our little field trip.

Help Wanted

Once upon a time...a long, long time ago....I had the privilege of working at a greenhouse in Miles City.  First, for Jim (who kept an ice cream freezer in the breakroom for us and I believe was only in the greenhouse business to grow enviously large tomatoes), then for his son Justin (who does NOT have an ice cream freezer or a passion for tomatoes, but does have an incredible business plan and expanded the place exponentially). 

It was one of the best jobs I've ever had.
Actually, the job had me.

It's tough work...very physical and dirty, you're on your feet all day, constantly in motion.  Customers sometimes want impossible things; plants that they insist will survive in Montana, chartreuse foliage on an evergreen, some little pink flower that Aunt Mae grew in HER garden 40 years ago but who knows the name.  On hot days, you think you might melt into a dirty puddle of Miracle Gro and sweat. 

It's very calming, very creative work.  The colors sing all around you, the air is filled with moisture and oxygen so your skin feels great, most everyone who comes to the greenhouse is instantly in a good mood and full of ideas.  One customer in particular that I happened to luckily stumble across in the perennial greenhouse apparently had no financial constraints whatsoever and she wanted help.  Boy, did we have fun!  I spent about two hours with her, designing beds, filling pots, loading carts...we hugged when she left and I've always wondered how it turned out. 

I would've worked there for free.
And still do, sometimes....

For some reason, when I go to MCG, I always end up helping people find plants, toting around big pink geraniums to match with the perfect lobelia, or talking some poor soul into trying the Cherokee purple tomatoes.  I deadhead constantly, and usually have to hand over a fist full of my gleanings in order to write the check for my own purchases.  I check the moisture of the soil, without thinking, in pots and four packs.  I note the mislabeled herbs and try to find the proper places and tags. 

Last Monday, I made my big trip to the greenhouse for my tomato plants and some annuals. And to say hello to all the plants and apologize for not being able to bring them all home to live with me.  And to look at Jim's tomatoes with mouth hanging open.  (He still does a lot of the watering and I always hunt him down to collect my hug.)  I almost made it out of there, was walking toward the door thinking about getting my plants home, when I encountered the cutest old couple you can imagine. 

Now, I don't know about you, but little old couples make me smile...even the grouchy ones. There's something about how they can finish each other's sentences, roll their eyes and wink at the same time, move slowly and in unison.  And this little old couple...
Well, he had a perfect straw fedora, plaid cotton shirt buttoned to the chin, jeans nearly up to his armpits and what looked to me like a permanent smile. She was wearing polyester everything, packing a very serviceable purse in the crook of her arm, and was quite busily sorting through the geraniums, trying to find two that were the same color.  The more she shuffled them, the harder it got to figure out which was which, and I could tell it was really starting to get on her nerves a little.  The old gentleman smiled as I paused to see if I could help and she looked up and briskly inquired if I worked there.  Well, no, I don't but I could maybe help...

I asked what color she was looking for and she raised a pot (indiscriminately, I think...any old pink geranium would do, at that point, as long as it had the EXACT match).  I checked the label, found its mate and started to bid them good day.  But now she needed a green trailing plant to go with them.  It had to be green.  It had to be trailing.  She didn't know WHAT it was, but she had to have it.  I gave up trying to slip away and just devoted myself to finding the green vine.  I must've held up 20 different types...none right.  I asked questions about leaf shapes, textures, depth of color and found several more specimen....none right.  Finally, she spotted a plant that was neither green NOR trailing, and decided THAT was the one.  (Her dear husband had long since abandoned the project and was sitting on a little bench, smiling and soaking up sun.  My kids were following Jim around and playing hide and seek with the greenhouse cats.)  As I was packing her plants to the counter, she stopped suddenly and looked at me...truly seeing me for the first time....and said, "Do you work here?" 

Well, NOW I do...

Yesterday, I finally got all my purchases planted in their proper pots and beds, telling them what pretty little things they are and how happy we would all be together, and thought about the greenhouse.  And the old couple with the matching geraniums and their green vine-y plant that was neither of those adjectives.  I hope she doesn't blame the "help" at the greenhouse when her pots don't look like she thought they would....

Here comes the sun...

Angus has been singing that all day!
And here's why:

Our propane tank has been a very odd shade of green for a year....driving my in-laws crazy, I believe....but there was a reason for the funky color. Really, there was!

I had a picture in my head, born in countless MASBO workshop doodling sessions, that I wanted to project on that big, blank canvas of sorts. 

In the beginning...

...less than exciting, right?

But wait!

Halfway there.....

Finished product!

Much better. Not perfect, but much better. 

Dutton-ness

Okay, so I'm a little different.

I understand what animals are saying and translate it for my kids. (They really believe I have this ability!) I'm one from a long line of animal understanders.

Storytelling...we have to tell stories or we'll explode.  Really.  Most Duttons are GREAT storytellers; I'm an amateur amongst the great ones, but someday...

There's a lot of whimsy, a lot of mischief and eternal teasing.  If Duttons like you, they'll tease you.  And nickname you, but that's another post. 

One of the masters of all traits was my Great Uncle Joe.  There isn't enough time or room in a blog post to begin to describe him; I won't try. He was one of the four most important men in my childhood, someone who ALWAYS had time for me, always made me believe I was someone special no matter what.  But  reading this, you'll see where I come from and why I am who I am...

Once upon a time, when I was seven years old, I wrote to the Easter Bunny with a special request as to the placement of my Easter Basket.  (Yes, even then...an odd person...)  I remember writing the letter, actually, and addressing it to Easter Island, carefully putting the stamp on the envelope and Mom mailed it at Sand Springs.

Sand Springs Store and Post Office...now there's a book!  My Uncle Joe and Aunt Daisy were the proprietors/post masters and a thousand other roles; the center of our little community.  My Mom worked there and that's where Uncle Joe got ahold of the letter, bless his heart. 

This is not a man who just sat around, reading the paper and growing old.  He was a pilot, helped fix wells, volunteered as ambulance personnel and so forth.  But he loved people, and his family especially.  Uncle Joe (I mean, the Easter Bunny) took time to send this response to me:

In this envelope:

Thrills!!!

Of course, I immediately wrote back, apparently reluctant to sleep by the creek as suggested. 

This was the letter I recieved in response:

The letter reads:

*In explanation, regarding the name of my horse, Gross.  It was NOT MY CHOICE!!! My Dad has this habit of naming horses after the person he bought them from.  I was told that he bought my fat little sorrel from a guy with the pitiable last name of Gross.  I suffered right along with him, because other kids had horses with names like Brownie or Joe. 

Anyway, back to the story...
My Easter basket WAS by my bed that year, but never again. 
I truly believed in the Easter Bunny for many, many years longer than I ever believed in Santa.  After all, I had proof!

I'm so very grateful to my Mom for saving these letters for me.  They are dear as can be, and when I read them, I can see Uncle Joe in his cozy, cluttered office, typing and drawing and laughing to himself.

I'm so very grateful I grew up in a family that pretended as automatically and naturally as sneezing and who showed us that it should continue though all our lives.  This summer is another Dutton family reunion...I can't WAIT to be among my own, again!

Let's celebrate!!!

Today is National Donut Day! 

Go forth, and honor the blessed pastry....

We're in shock...

Today, Clyde from MidRivers Communications came to our house and hooked up our television to Expanded Basic Programming; which means that I can watch baseball this summer and football this fall.  Really, that's the most important thing about this blessed event.

A sidenote about Clyde....he's a high school classmate of mine that attracts kids like sticky spots on the floor attract dirty socks.  Maggie and Angus believe that he comes to our house solely for the purpose of seeing them.  And, really, he does nothing to dispel that idea.  Also...and this is an odd phenomenon....he usually shows up around lunchtime to work on our communication equipment and joins us (after some persuasion).  This is a good thing for everyone, as we love having someone new to talk to over our hamburgers and he gets a hot meal.  Perfect.  When he leaves, our internet is faster, our television has programming, we have the latest news on basketball and fishing....it's very good. 

Now.
On to the point of the post.
(There IS one, I promise.)

I was very excited about being able to watch the evening news, especially the local news...just like the rest of the world!  The internet is alright, but the evening news is somehow more official, you know?  So, the kids and I sat down this evening to hear what Brian Williams had to report. 

We may not sleep tonight.

First, it was the horrifying, depressing state of the U.S. economy, with people in lines looking for jobs, houses being foreclosed, big red arrows pointing down on scary looking bar and line graphs.  Maggie was almost in tears, saying, "Oh, Mama...those poor people!" 

Then, to the tornado in Springfield, Massachusetts, which was entirely too close to our friend Suzie K.   They showed video of the tornado coming, with a woman screaming in the background.  This afternoon, a thunderstorm passed through our area, with rain and hail, and the video hit a little too close to reality for us.  One of the tragedies of the storm was a mother dying while saving her child by covering him in the bathtub. 

We almost didn't make it past that section.  There were tears with in all our eyes and Maggie thought we should call Sue, just to make sure she was alright.  And much, much worry about the child in the bathtub.  ALL of us were worrying about the child in the bathtub. 

Then, the E Coli outbreak in Germany. 

By the time they got to the cheery Yosemite Park pictures, we were a mess.
We had to shut it off.   

I hadn't realized how much we were sheltered from the horrors of the rest of the world.  My babies live in a place where everyone is kind to them, the scary things are rattlesnakes and broccoli, hurt means a bloody knee, and people most generally die because they are old.  A secure, safe, happy world for the most part.  A world where topics and characters have been carefully filtered and screened, where the Waltons make sense and they can relate to 'Lizbeth, not (shudder) Spongebob.

It's going to be quite a transition. 

There are good things, of course.  Right now, the kids are watching a Netflix movie about dinosaurs...and asking good questions.  The Farmer is thrilled about the Discovery and History channel!  And I'm happily thinking of the sports I'll now be able to watch on the big screen and not the computer.  I can see Downton Abbey when the rest of the world is watching it, not later, when it's streamed on the computer.  Some things are good. 

I'm sure this first week will be just saturated with television. But with the nice days, puddles and flowerbeds to play in, I'm not concerned about parking and watching indiscriminately.  This next winter will be much more of a challenge. 

And tomorrow morning around 4:30, when everyone else is sleeping and I'm lurching around before my run, I'm going to set the parental controls with a secret password.....
Mwah-ha-ha!!

MORE cow pictures...

Hey, it's all I've got right now....

*sniff*
It's all I've got MOST of the time....

Welcome to Cohagen, Montana.

The bulls have been moved from the pasture next to our house and the two year olds with their calves have moved in.  It's a good arrangement for all of us.  The cows come visit my bum calves....

Check out that grass!!!

Guess who came home for a visit?

DAISY!

And Rosie, too, of course.

Can I just tell you? I am so stinking proud of that little cow that I could bust!

She's beautiful. 

And her calf? 

Beautiful.

One in a million chances that a bum calf would turn out to be a great little cow....

(I tried to convey these thoughts and feelings to the Farmer, who, when strenuously prodded for a response said, "I've got nothin' to say against it...".  He's just jealous.)

Moving on....

The latest portrait of Willie and Lily.

Makes me laugh, because Miss Lily has her little snoot up, looking for the bottle!

Okay, this is just silly, but you saw that coming, didn't you?

One of the things that amuses me about cows is how they all have different hairdos; unique topknots.

These girls are all blown out, but when the wind isn't tossing them, they'll have curls or frazzles or bangs, almost.  They look for all the world like a bunch of ladies who went to the beauty shop for their wash and set.  Sometimes, when we're moving cows, I get all distracted looking at their funny hair.

This morning was lovely, so I went out on the deck for coffee.

Okay, so it was a little cool, and I actually ended up with sort of a coffee-sicle, but here's my view from the glider.

Wish you were here to have coffee with me, and enjoy the funny cows at sunrise....

Meringue Miracle...in which the Farmer's Wife finds the perfect recipe and saves the world. Or something like that.

I'm going to just say it.

Meringue is a very strange and wonderful substance that I want to just stick my face into and eat until it's gone.  It's like eating clouds, isn't it? 

It's big hair, for pie.

I never have much luck making the stuff....it's always shrink-y, or water-y or just plain ugly.  And there's NEVER enough of it in a recipe to make that mile high poof that one sees in Southern Living magazines. I've tried doubling, to get the effect, and there's no such thing....one really can't double meringue recipes with any success.  Heck, one really can't make ONE meringue recipe with any success, often times!

BUT....I've found THE perfect recipe for meringue.  It's brilliant.  It's astoundingly simple.  It's stunningly foolproof. (I would know...being the fool who tested it and found success.) 

And I'm going to share it with you! 

I tested it on key lime pie...(Hi, Patricia!)
BEHOLD....

*Actual, unretouched photos

It's a little weird, compared to your conventional meringues, but I think that's why it worked for me.  If you already have a great recipe and make lovely confections with it, don't mess around with this.  But if, like me, you have had flops instead of fluffs, this will make you look good. 

Miracle Meringue

1/2 cup cool water
2 T. white sugar
1 T. corn starch

Mix these ingredients in a small saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until mixture is thick and clear. (It won't be crystal clear, but it will lose the cloudy corn starchy look.) Remove from heat and set aside.

In a large glass or metal mixing bowl, beat
3 egg whites (handily left over from the pie recipe)
1/4 tsp. cream of tartar
1 pinch salt (couple shakes from the shaker, I think)
Beat until the mixture is foamy.

Mix in
1/2 tsp vanilla extract and gradually add 6 T. white sugar, beating constantly until soft peaks form.

Add the corn starch mixture to the egg mixture, gradually, beating until stiff.

Spread over the top of a WARM pie, all the way to the edges of the crust to seal it.  (There will be PLENTY!  I promise.  You'll even be a little overwhelmed at the amount at first, then giddy that your meringue is so big!) 

Brown in a 450 degree oven. 

Have your camera ready when it comes out, because you'll have such a case of Pie Love that you won't be able to restrain yourself....you'll have to show everyone.  (Sort of like those crazy *ahem* people who show pictures of their flowers to anyone who will stand still long enough...)

It's in the bucket...

A couple years ago, a movie came out called "The Bucket List"...I'm sure you're all familiar with it.  Basically, a couple guys were dying and one of them was a billionaire who decided they should do all the things they always wanted to, before they died.  He funded the experiences and they didn't worry about the risks, just went ahead and tried everything they could. 

Since the movie, the term "bucket list" has been used to label a list of things one wants to do before they die. I think most people sort of have this mental list....some write it down, even!  I love lists.  Perhaps it's because they organize all the flotsam and jetsam in my head, whether I do them or not.  I have a list that I wrote when I was about 23 years old, of things I wanted to do in my lifetime, and some of them make me laugh, now! (One of the things that makes me laugh is that I was 23, for heaven's sake, and thinking I'd probably die around 40 years of age, so I wanted to get busy with my dreams....)

Anyway, one of my friends said something about "that's on my Bucket List..." the other day and I started thinking about what my current Bucket List is. It's long, so you won't get the whole thing. And some are private, so you don't get those either.  Some are silly, some are on the impossible side...there's a lot of travel involved.

(Incidentally, when I went to Boulder this spring, Chad and Sara unknowingly helped me knock three things off the current list!  1. Go to a big zoo.  2. Eat at a really good restaurant that has tiny servings of incredible food.  3. See Pat Green in concert.)

So here are some of my things:

• Go to the top of a lighthouse.
• Learn to play acoustic guitar.
• France...at this point, it doesn't have to be Paris; I just want to go to France.
• Learn to tango. (That's a silly one, but I think it would be FUN!)
• Have a restored, shiny red 1937 Chevrolet pickup truck to drive...not to park in a garage covered with a tarp. 
• Learn to fly fish and then, do it often.  (This is completely do-able....it's been on my list since age 23.  That drives me nuts.)
• Go to a Broadway play.  I love theatre, and this, too, has been on my list since 23.)
• Go to a professional football game! My standards have slipped, here....now, instead of specifically having to be a 49ers game, I'd go to any professional football game.  Even...and this pains me to say....a Denver Broncos game.  (Okay, so there are no standards, whatsoever, anymore...)
• Downhill ski.  Yes, that's right...I live in Montana and I've never downhill skied! (Ranchers don't ski...they stay home and feed cows in the winter.)
• Go on a sailboat.
• Have a great hat...you know, like a fairly modest Kentucky Derby hat. 
• Go to Donaghadee, Ireland....where my great-grandmother was from.
• High tea...I want to have a proper high tea, with all the little cucumber sandwiches and petit fours, wear a dress and hat and heels, and all the frou-frou stuff that goes with it! 
• There's an island, somewhere in the tropics, with my name on a cabana and miles of sand and sun...

I'll stop there...it's getting longish and rambly 
What's on your list?

*I'm a big fan of writing it down, because when I found my list from my younger days, I was sort of surprised at how many things I was able to check off! It made me realize that even though my life sometimes looks like it's fairly ho-hum, it really has been full of amazing experiences.

I can't buy this....

....and, my friends, neither should you. 

This is a public service announcement, from The Farmer's Wife.

Last week in Walmart, (Yeah, that phrase right there should lend credit to anything I'm about to tell you.) while waiting to check out, I saw a product called Pajama Jeans. 

That's right.

Pajama bottoms styled to look like "designer" jeans!

From the box, it looked like they were from one of those late night infomercials and I assume it was being marketed to insomniac, stay-at-home moms like me.  So we would be ready at a moment's notice to answer the door and the UPS man would have NO IDEA that we are still wearing our pajamas at two in the afternoon!  The packaging indicated that, heck, we could probably even get away with interviewing for a job in them or a nice evening out on the town.  (Sorta takes "casual Fridays" to a new level of laid back-ed-ness, doesn't it?) 

They were ONLY $49.95, predictably, and the only size I could find there was extra large.  It was almost my turn to check out, so I didn't have the opportunity to think of something I'd forgotten and roam the store looking for a People of Walmart model wearing a size small, which presumably had sold out. 

The other thing I found that gave me cause for concern for naive consumers was in Albertsons last night.  I was looking in the deli area for proscuitto and stinky, imported cheeses when I came across a pre-packaged, cellophane wrapped PARTY PACK of sushi. 

That's right.

A loaded gun laying right there beside the Reser's potato salad and chevre cheese.

There are a couple things (besides Pajama Jeans) that you don't want to buy in Eastern Montana....one of them being a tshirt proclaiming that you're a vegetarian and voted for Obama, the other being raw fish with a blurry "Sell by" date to feed to your party guests.  On both counts, I can't guarantee you'll live to regret your choice. 

(I personally think sushi should be eaten within 15 miles of the shore where it was caught.  The further from the shore, the dicier the proposition of eating it.  Likewise, I'd be suspicious of steak tartare in Polynesia.) I suspect this sushi was older than the cheese from Ireland that I bought. 

I don't know how many of you were aware of these products, but I felt compelled to warn you that they are out there and to urge you to guard against *impulsive buys!

*Better to wait and buy the Pajama Jeans through the informercial, because you always want the "But WAIT! If you buy now, you'll also get..." offer, right?

 



Soggy doggies

The accumulation of rain, as of yesterday afternoon around 3 p.m.:

(It went on to rain more, bringing the total, this morning to 3 inches and 1 tenth...inconceivable!)

Everything is wet.

And grumpy.

Twilla, complaining about having to stay in the porch...

 Lily and Willie, unimpressed with this turn of events....if they go out of the shed, they get wet.  If they stay in the shed, it's loud.

Figaro, yelling at me about the wet grass! (Like I can change it or something...)

Note the prissy paws....

The only things that seem to enjoy this relentless moisture are the flowers.

Angus "saved" some worms.  These have been handled and mauled and loved to death...literally. At least they didn't die a lonely death, right?

And neither will this child, who it would appear went out the door, threw himself in a puddle, rolled around until he could stand it no longer and returned to the house requesting a hot bath and some cocoa if it wouldn't be too much trouble...(Those socks WERE white, when he left.)

I think today....because it's STILL rainy....we'll make key lime pie and listen to Kenny Chesney and Jimmy Buffett and wear shorts and put little umbrellas in our orange juice and pretend like we're someplace sunny!

Weed it and weep...

I know.
That title has a distinct Elmer Fudd feel to it. 
And I apologize for all the gardening posts in a row, but it has been raining non-stop here and I've been escaping the madness of the house for the relative solitude of the flowerbeds, so this is what's on my mind.  I have wet dog pictures, too, but I'll save that for later today.  Gives you something to look forward to, right?  (In the top 100 worst blog post teasers, "Stay tuned for wet dog pictures" has got to be in the top 30!)

This is perfect weather to weed in, because like all other living things, weeds lose the will to fight after three days of rain.  And it's SO gratifying to pull a world record dandelion out by the root and hold it up like a trophy from a great and noble battle!  Then, after admiring the 8 inch root on that sucker, to throw it on the pile with the rest of the victims, cackling with satisfaction.

The tricky thing I've found, about weeding, is what to do with the volunteer flowers that are growing where I don't want them.  Starting my flowerbeds from nothing, for the first couple of years I found it charming and encouraging.  "Oh, look!" I'd exclaim to myself. "Flax!  Poppies! and I didn't even have to plant them!" 

Self-sowing annuals are the passive aggressive garden inhabitants.  They take full advantage of their flower-ness and quietly scatter where they will, invading the bed like Huns in China.  They KNOW it kills a gardener to have to yank them out, because they really are lovely little plants that we had to pay good money for seed just a year ago.  And they KNOW we can be beguiled by their lovely blossoms, which turn into gazillions of seeds which turn into a veritable carpet of whatever they are. 

Take flax.
Really.  Take all of it you want; it's engulfing my beds.
I want some  flax, because it's a lovely sky blue that is hard to find in the plant world, and it has an ephemeral feel to it.  I planted some seeds, it came up and charmed me, and then moved in like a homeless relative, sprawling all over insouciently, elbowing out my aquilegia and thumbing its nose at me.  It took me a long time to be able to yank it out with no twinge of "what if I eliminate it and it never grows back" feelings. 

Poppies are the same way.
AND....the worst part is that just as I wade into the bed, sleeves rolled up, mouth pursed, heart full of determination, they have the nerve to bloom.  OH...drats!  How to yank up clouds of sky blue flowers, when nothing else is blooming? (Nothing else is blooming, I reflect later, because the flax has engulfed it!) 

I'm developing a hard heart where some of these plants are concerned.  Here's my list of plants that look like friends but are really bullies in the garden.  Think Moe, in Calvin and Hobbes.

• Flax
• Poppies (The California kind....they invade Montana just like the residents of the state from which they originate.)
• Yarrow (Public enemy #1, here in my yard.)
• Salvia (I'm still wrestling for control, but I think I have it disciplined.)
• Hollyhocks (They are the WORST!  And there's always, always guilt associated with yanking them out because they're such sentimental flowers!  It's like slamming the door in your grandma's face or something.)
• Malva (Hollyhock's close cousin...smaller and less well known.  I think of it as sort of a shirttail cousin twice removed and don't have nearly the guilt eliminating these.)
• Did I mention yarrow?

My mantra, that I say over and over as I wade and weed is, "Just because it wants to grow there, doesn't mean it should be allowed to grow there!"  The other thing I say is, "DIE, yarrow!!! DIE!!!" 

Gardening is a brutal, blood sport and not for the weak of heart. 

Wet dog pictures to follow....ALSO not for the weak of heart.

Dirty hands

*This post is for Fontie!  Everyone else will probably be bored to tears unless you are a gardener...

In May, my hands look like this almost every day....

....it's completely delightful!

I was allowed to go to the greenhouse, unsupervised, for about an hour on Wednesday. 

This is big.

I don't like shopping...despise it, in fact, except for books, shoes and plants.

A girl can never have too many of any of those, really.

I showed remarkable restraint this trip and only brought home six perennials and a handful of bedding annuals.  It's a bit too chilly for the annuals, but this is perennial weather and if my budget hadn't been quite firm, I'd have just backed up the car and hauled off a bunch more. Maybe rented a UHaul...

Yesterday morning, since it was too muddy to brand, I planted my loot.

Meet Veronica....

Isn't she lovely, with her coy, curling ways?

I have high hopes for this girl! 

One of my beds has been neglected, and I needed something with distinct form and moderate height....I think Veronica will give me what I'm looking for, here. 

Zone 3-7.

And the fussy sisters....Agastache

I messed up, here, and probably will chalk these ladies up to very expensive annuals due to garden amnesia.

The first rule of my gardening manifesto is:

"Thou shall not culture fussy plants."

I completely blew the zone...6-9....when I'm a 3 or possibly 4 on the right side of the house.

I was all entranced by their delicate mango blossoms and healthy growth.

I've been eyeing agastache in High Country Gardens, pretending I could incorporate them into my beds and then accidentally went and bought a couple.

We'll see.

Rudbeckia, my little workhorses....

They look so...short and pointless, right now! 

One of the things I love about gardening (and gardeners) is that one can look at a tiny, seemingly insignificant plant or seed and see the promise of full grown plants.

Relocated Alcea (hollyhocks)....

They don't LIKE being moved around, so I'm hoping they'll forgive me and grudgingly grow here.  I need the height in this spot and am too impatient to wait for the seeds to grind away for two years before blooms appear....

Love/hate tulips...

Maggie wants purple tulips next year....

Perhaps, if I think of it in time, we can find a good spot for purple tulips.

Little pansies, waiting for a home.

No blooms!

When I worked at the greenhouse, I had a hard time convincing customers to buy the plants without the blossoms, even though those are the ones you really want. 

When a plant starts putting all its energy into the bloom, the foliage and roots come in second and third place.  I like looking at the blooming plants in the green house, just to see what they'll be for sure, but when I buy my plants to take home, I look for the ones that haven't started yet.

AND if they do have blossoms, I pinch 'em off as I plant them.

That sounds mean, doesn't it?

It's really doing a favor to the plants and ensures stronger, healthier growth in the long run.

Sort of like spanking kids to discipline them. That's how I look at it, anyway.

Here's a row of marigolds that have been shorn of their flowers, waiting for their tomato companions to be planted next to the white stakes.

I know.  Blows your mind that I planted anything in a straight row, doesn't it?

Here's an intoxicating little plant:

Chocolate mint

It smells like a peppermint patty! 

It gets lots of love, because everytime anyone comes near it, its little leaves get rubbed to release that glorious aroma...

Lemon balm....also much carressed and adored.

Baby chamomile! 

Chamomile smells like apples....even on the hottest days of summer, if I crush some chamomile and smell it, I get a cool, fresh feeling. 

Some of the seeds I planted last week are coming up!

Actually, they're exploding out of the dirt in the raised veggie beds.

Peas are the most beautiful little plants.  They have little tendrils that reach like arms and very humble, straightforward leaves.  I smile when I look at baby pea plants....because I can't hug 'em.

Carrots are not so adorable, as babies, but they make up for it later by being all feathery and elegant, when the peas have become tangled, misbehaving plants that quarrel amongst themselves.

Little envelopes, filled with gardeners' dreams....

It's raining again today, and I'm looking forward to slogging out and planting the patient little pansies, pulling weeds and making more plans for my next trip to the greenhouse!