Dear Marybeth,

You wanted to know what I was growing in Montana?
Here are some photos with explanations!
It has been brutally hot, this end of June, so some things are very happy (tomatoes and zucchini) and some things are very sad (peas and cucumbers).


This is the zucchini; I think perhaps in your area they're called summer squash (?).  They have the most gorgeous orange-y yellow blossoms (that are edible!) and they produce baskets of little green squash per plant.  I have four zucchini plants which is considered insane around here.  Seriously.  When these babies start putting out the veggies, people lock their car doors for fear of being zucchini bombed, which is when an anonymous gardener who is swamped with the squash leaves a grocery bag full of them in your back seat. This happened to me, once.  Now I'M the zucchini bomber! (It's considered much kinder to first bake the zucchini into bread before leaving it in the car.)

Here are the zucchini plants with their friends the carrots (on the edge of the bed) and zinnias planted in the middle.  I know; zinnias are flowers!  But I love to blend the two !  More on that later...

Little carrots! I had just gotten done thinning them, took this picture and realized I needed to thin them more, yet.  I hate thinning carrots.  It's hard to decide who's going to stay and who has to die.  And it takes FOREVER.  By the time I get done, there are little carrot carcasses laying about and I'm thinking, "I can buy carrots...WHY am I growing them?!?!"  But home carrots actually have flavor, where boughten carrots are really rather bland.

Baby cucumbers....aren't they CUTE?!  I go out and check them every day, smiling at how they are so tiny.  My cucumbers are unhappy.  I think it's because I amended the soil in those beds this spring and perhaps got it a little "hot" with too much manure.  Either that or they're just mad about the weather being so blasted hot.  I can't tell.  But where the zucchini are growing wildly, the cucumber plants are just sitting there pouting and staying stumpy. Yellowing on the edges of the leaves, even.

I think spinach is beautiful.  I love to eat it in salads, I love to watch it explode in the garden...one day, nothing; the next day...SHAZZAM! spinach!

Tomatoes....personally, I think the smell of tomatoes is the smell of summer.  These are little pear tomatoes which will be used for sauce, not eating.  My cherry tomatoes are just setting on fruit and I'll show you pictures of them in another post.  I'm the only, only, only one in this house that eats tomatoes and I have at least eight plants.  I can't help myself!  Part of the reason I plant so many, though, is because tomatoes are delicate, needy things that die easily in this part of the country.  They don't like wind (it blows 20 mph almost every day, here), they need lots of water (it rains once a month), they desire a perfect soil (ours is sandy and needs amendment constantly) and they won't produce unless all these elements are just so.  Also, my dogs lay on them.  That tends to inhibit growth.

I have some herbs.  This is the cilantro.  I make a lot of pico de gallo in the summer and like middle eastern dishes, all of which call for large amounts of cilantro.  This little plant re-seeds itself in my herb bed, but every year I panic and think it might not, so I buy a couple plants just in case.  Then, about 2 weeks later, it's everywhere and I feel so foolish for doubting...but one never knows!  I think it has lovely leaves, all scalloped and fringe-y.

I tuck vegetables in with my flowers wherever possible.  This is a whiskey barrel planter with dahlias (not blooming at the time) petunias and a little patio tomato plant.  The tomato is very happy, the flowers are very happy and when I can snack as I weed, I'm happy, too!

I'm embarrassed to show you OUR pumpkin plant.  Maggie and Angus, my kids, were supposed to be taking care of them but they are not as interested in pumpkins as they are toads, so I'm watering them occasionally and apologizing for the lack of care.  That's salvia in the background because, yes, the pumpkins are planted in a flower bed....

This is a poppy that volunteered to grow by the woven wire fence....I love poppies, with their tissue petals and stubborn will to grow in awful spots.

Columbine, raising its face to the sun. This is my favorite flower.  They look like shooting stars!

Flax, which only blooms in the morning.  The birds love the seeds and I love the true blue-ness of the blossoms.  There are very few honest-to-goodness blue flowers...have you noticed that?  Most are purple-y!  But flax is blue, blue, blue.

I have calves that are named for flowers....here are Poppy, Buttercup and Johnny-jump-up.  Poppy gets in my yard and I noticed this morning that she's been eating the lettuce...how NAUGHTY!  We will have words, later...

Here's my pergola, with the garden beds at each corner.  There's a picnic table under it that we use for just everything...the kids take color books and projects out there, I read and pot plants and have snacks, we have picnics, the dogs lay under it for shade.  There are solar lights strung so that when the sun goes down, the tiny white lights make a soft glow and we can stay out even longer.

That's all I have for right now.
I need to get busy watering because it's supposed to be 97 degrees today, a nice break from the 104 degrees of yesterday, and the plants are gasping!

Your friend,
Mary

Day 1: Self Portrait

What are you reading these days?

This seems rather backwards to the rest of the world, but we actually read more in the summer than in the winter, here.  There's something about the long days with no schedules, especially in July when the afternoons are 100 degrees and there are 69 channels of nothin' on the television, that seduce us into taking our books to corners of the house, quietly slipping away into worlds of faeries and kayak trips.

I'm one of those irritating people who read 6 books at once, depending on my whim of the moment as to which one I'll pick up.  This drives some of my friends crazy, as they are the type to read one book through, then read the NEXT book through, very orderly and thoroughly.  I've never been able to focus that long on one book, really.  Nor do I want to.  For instance, if I'm reading about someone in World War II and I can't bear the weight of it, I'm so relieved to have The Marvelous Beginnings of the Moosepath League to fall into, to lighten the thoughts in my brain.  If I read a travel book, I like to be able to balance it out with a cookbook in the next room, bringing me back to this present time and place.  Moody readers are the worst, aren't they?

Here's what I'm reading:
(My friend, Joni, gave me this little tote and it's perfect for corralling my books by the couch.)

I've been grinding away at Cutting For Stone for at least 6 weeks, now...maybe longer; it has very explicit surgery descriptions and I have such a vivid imagination that I can almost feel them.  But I work away at it and when I'm done, I have friends to discuss it with and THAT is the reason I continue.

The time management and organizing books were for my workshop and have helped me IMMENSELY.  I continue to read and underline and mark, then turn around and apply to my life in as many ways as I can.  I knew I was differently wired than many of my friends, and these books are helping me learn to make changes to the way I organize in order for my habitat (so to speak) to work with the way I naturally think.

The John Grisham, Chris Bohjalian, and Racing in the Rain books are my fiction challenges to myself.  I have to FORCE myself to read fiction.  Isn't that crazy?  But true.  So I try to include a couple in my pile and pick up at least one, once a day.

The fishing book is feeding the passion, of course.  Loch and River is an illustrated journal of an avid fisherwoman who was born in England in 1884, but fly fished mainly in Scotland and Ireland throughout her years.  It has her notes from each day, illustrations of the flies she used, observations of the countryside and weather...it's incredible.

Eat, Pray, Love is almost done...I'll write more of that in a future post, as it smacked me upside the head earlier this month, oddly enough.  Pass the Butterworms is about travel, mostly to inhospitable places like Mongolia and it's more of a collection of writings than anything.  I'm afraid I read too many travel books and now grow impatient with the dozens of Tuscany writings.  Mongolia is a refreshing change.  :)

Finally, Confessions of a French Baker is a little book with recipes and techniques for making good french style loaves of bread at home.  I'll try some of the recipes, but think that truly...the only place to get perfectly French bread is in France.  Let's go there, now.


This is what I'm SUPPOSED to be reading for book club:

 Confession: I've only read about a chapter of the Marilu Henner Memory Makeover book.  It was for last month, for heaven's sake!!!  And this month is Sky of Stone by Homer Hickam who will actually be attending our book club meeting!  Can you believe the thrill?  I can't wait.  But I've read the book about three times, so don't feel a huge sense of urgency right now.  I WILL be frantically reading it for the fourth time about three days prior to the gathering.

This is what Maggie is currently reading:

A pet book, a dragon book, a horse book and a fairy book that she's just finishing up as I type.


These are the books Angus is looking at:

Very eclectic mixture of a mystery, a fable, an adventure and a nature book.  Hmm....


And finally, the magazines:

The fishing mag was a freebie at the library, so I grabbed it.  I like putting the food and fitness magazines together...provides balance, you know.  And I did NOT buy the People magazine with Kenny Chesney on the cover, even though I really, really wanted to because...another confession, here...I really think he's pretty cool and quite easy on the eyes.  Shelly put it in the little gift bag she brought for Maggie, knowing that I love the trashy tabloid but won't spend my hard earned money on it; bless her heart!  (It's starting to get a little frayed, but only because it has great recipes in this issue.) (I promise you, it DOES!)  Bon Appetit is a subscription from my friend Sara and it's the most wonderful gift every month!


So....what are YOU reading these days?

For Grandma Celestia and Grampa Jasper

I was gently prodded this morning to write more Chronicles because certain *ahem* readers were wanting to know more about what's going on around here.  (Which is nothing, really, but still, they want to see it.)

Today, we....

Captured a very nice, very tolerant toad.  They capture him DAILY, although Maggie insists it's not the same one.  I know it is.  He's the world's dumbest or loneliest toad, and I've grown rather fond of his little mug.  They always make sure to clean him up before presenting him to me, by bathing him in the bathroom sink.  Today Maggie was drying him a little too vigorously and I had to step in...but I think it must have been a sort of exfoliant because he does have a sort of amphibious glow, don't you think?

"We call him Mr. Perfect, because he's the MOST PERFECT toad we've ever seen!"

We have a wading pool, but it seems to serve the kids better as a shelter or secret hideout.  They miss the point of the "secret" hideout because they HAVE to show us how wonderful it is! Note the welcome mat out front.

He's mixing potions....

...that consist of water and dirt, creating the mud of his dreams.

We have artistic efforts, too!  This may be the happiest horse I've seen.  (I wasn't sure it was a horse, but it is, so now you don't have to guess.)

And this face, drawn next to the front door, which makes him look like he's peering around the corner.

This is typical summer attire:  purple satin harem pants and a cheerleading t-shirt.  No shoes.

We just had root beer floats and chocolate milkshakes for the afternoon pick-me-up and Mr. Perfect is languishing by the "pool".  

A prairie sunset for those in the mountains who miss them...

Photography Blog Challenge!

I'm not sure if it's a blog challenge or a photo challenge, so I combined them.
And here's the really, really....REALLY awful thing:
I see the word "challenge" and my head instantly converts it to "competition".
"IT'S NOT A COMPETITION!!!", I have to actually say out loud to myself.
Seriously.

My friend Kim is always inspiring and challenging me, sometimes when she doesn't even know it.  This time, she threw down a challenge for our blogs that uses photography, since we both use our cameras as much as some people use microwaves.  This is DAILY.  Which means I'll have to blog DAILY.  (I apologize in advance for the frequency of Chronicles in your email box....)

I'm going to post the challenge here, so if anyone else is interested in joining us, you'll have the list.
I'd LOVE it if you would!
We're starting tomorrow, July 1st and it will run for 30 days.
IT'S NOT A COMPETITION!
:)

I've gotta tell you, I'm going to have to look up what "Bokeh" is.
And "A bad habit" is worrying me.
And I'm going to have to really stretch on the "Faceless self-portrait".
But it should be fun!
Join us!

In which Mr.and Mrs. Smith come to Montana

with their son, Ison, and bring sunshine into our lives for a couple days!

This is going to be more of a photo post than anything, just because I cannot get over what a beautiful, dear child Master Ison is.

The last time Don and Shelly were here, she was pregnant and we talked about parenting.
This time, we got to meet the baby we had been waiting for, only now he's TWO years old!

Meet baby-turned-big-boy Ison Smith!

The men made supper on Friday; fish, fried potatoes, baked beans, and fruit.  It was SO good!

The fish...
Turns out, they ate AS they fried, so when the rest of us came in to eat, they looked as thought they were showing remarkable restraint with portion size.  They were just full.

These two had a great time for two days.  Here's pretty much what they got done:  Pretend to go check salt'n'minral with 3 guns, just in case they see a coyote, shoot stuff, come back to the house and eat, go out to the shooting range and shoot until dark, then drink beer and shop through gun catalogs until 11 p.m.
Repeat.

Shelly and Maggie, tossing the ball up to Ison in the play house so he could roll it down the twisty slide, over and over and over again.

There was a rather tense moment when Don and Shelly's dog Tig took a run through the yard, challenging the cats.  Elizabeth went straight to the top of the play structure and wouldn't come down.  Trixy stood her ground and got her bluff in.  Jack Sparrow took a beating, much to the distress of Maggie and Shelly, but he limped away with at least 3 lives left!

Ison got these little moccasins in South Dakota...at Wall Drug, I believe.  I couldn't believe how perfect they were for running around outside!

Big boy on a big boy swing with another big boy pushing...big times!

Isn't he an amazing looking child?

Taking a break from the sliding to watch an ABC video on Shelly's computer...

This picture is my favorite...

"No, really...you can have it back!"

Beer and leftover fish...supper of champions!

Herding calves...

They knew he didn't have a bottle, but one shouldn't make assumptions, so they checked him out just in case.

Beautiful child....

Maggie took it upon herself to be Ison's shadow and protector.  They really hit it off!

Tig, intimidator of cats, hunter of birds!

I love Shelly; we haven't seen each other for almost three years, but picked right back up as though it had just been a couple weeks!  It was such a luxury to have her here for two days, to be able to visit to our hearts' content....

More swinging!

Wayland, showing Tig the love...

Don, showing Tig the floor...

Maggie wanted nothing more than to haul Ison around in the little red wagon, but it wasn't until the last night that he conceded for a short ride.  It made her day!

I really wish our friends lived just up the road.  Missouri is like the moon, sometimes!

It's certainly OUR turn to visit them, and I hope we can very soon.

Hooked, Day 2

I want to know who taught THIS gal to cast...

Day two started out with a good run on the gravel path of Brewery Flats and a startling encounter of a little band of smarty pants horses that had gotten out of their pasture and were touring the town, right down Main Street!  I laughed, thinking, "Why, yes, you ARE in Montana, Dorothy!" then took a couple pictures of the renegades with my camera phone.  I cautioned them that they were in big trouble, but they completely ignored me; they were so pleased to be as naughty as they could be and as I was easing up the street, I noticed they were separating out into several little recon groups and headed down side streets.  

Don and Shelly weren't going to be back in town until later that day, so I gathered up my things, said goodbye and thank-you to the nice owner of the B&B Motel (who remembered me from a couple weeks ago!), found a coffee stand and headed out to the next access that had been recommended.  

Gorgeous, overcast morning that looked like it should be cold, but it was downright balmy!

I parked the car, swilled the coffee, grabbed my gear and met Tina, a big old black Lab who was taking her person for a walk.  The lady and I visited for a few minutes then headed down the same trail; I wasn't following her, but that was the way I had to go!  When we got to the little bridge over Spring Creek, we visited a little more, then she showed me a trail that her avid fly fishing husband used and went on her way.

I fished all morning.

ALL morning. 

Until I got hungry, and even then I really didn't want to stop....one more cast, just one more cast...I sacrificed six flies to the fishing gods who gobble them up in trees and weeds.  Six!  I really didn't have that many to burn, but what the heck...I was fishing!

Lunched with the Lord Master of the Universe, who printed a couple Google maps off and highlighted the sweet holes, including one that he said he once caught 15 fish in an hour.  True story.  All I wanted was ONE.  And he rigged me up with hair-fine line, a double fly rig and a pair of old polarized sunglasses because apparently (and THREE guys had told me this in the matter of two days) it's required so that one can see the fish.  (I STILL couldn't really see the fish, but I believe there was some sort of fishing magic in those shades, so I kept 'em.)

I met Don and Shelly at the park, excitedly showed them the maps and we immediately took off for the 15-in-one-hour Hole.  Because I am HOPELESS at maps and directions, we went too far.  Yes, it was marked but  it didn't SEEM right...I have no intuition whatsoever.  Female or otherwise. 

Did I mention it was hot?

Again?

Still?

As in 93 degrees hot at 2:00 p.m.?

But THIS was the honey hole!

15 fish in an HOUR, he says.  

We had to fish it.  

And it sure enough had fish.

And I sure wanted to catch one.

But it turns out my back cast needs work. 

Extensive work.

Especially in tight spots.  

Also, maybe my forward cast.

And timing...I could use some practice with timing.

The good news is that I had figured out how to put the fly where I wanted it, quite inelegantly.  I'm sure the fish were laying there in the hole, laughing, saying things like, "Incoming!"  and "Watch this, Bob; she's building to the cast...this should be good."  They were feeding on little brown flies.  Imagine that!  Except they really weren't all that interested in MY little brown fly.

We'd been fishing about an hour when I caught my fish.

On the little brown fly!

Can I just tell you...?

I was tickled all the way to my toes, and knowing the cardinal rule of fishing (be very, very quiet) I didn't squeal or anything, but I couldn't stop grinning.  

It was a dumb little six inch brown trout that was so beautiful and perfect that it made me cry.  (I know.  It's a girl thing.  But I couldn't holler, so I had to do SOMETHING.)  I'm surprised he didn't slip the hook because he made quite the commotion as I reeled him in!  

It has been so long since I've caught a fish that I had forgotten how thrilling it is and how lovely they are, despite their general sliminess.  He was a brownish green, with a lighter belly and multi-colored dots all over his sides.  Delicate little fins, because he was so little, and perfect fish lips.  Yes, they WERE.  Laugh all you want; God does a good job on these creatures.  

I let him go, wanting to laugh with delight but keeping quiet.

From then on, it was cast, tangle, untangle, cast, tangle, untangle, repeat.  

Fly fishing is incredibly complicated for those of us who are not naturally graceful or coordinated.  

There's a lot to keep track of!  Line to feed, 10 o'clock/2 o'clock casting (except I think in that tight spot it was more 11 o'clock/1 o'clock for me), rocks to navigate on the bottom of the creek, line to untangle, sunglasses to keep track of...my goodness, there's never a dull moment, even though it looks like all I'm doing is standing in the river, waving a stick. (Title of a book by a guy named John Giurach, too.)

I snagged one more, but didn't bring him in; I think he was one of the wise cracking fish in the hole and I'm SURE he was just messing with me.  I saw a few rise close to my flies, but they decided it really wasn't worth it.  

I've renamed the hole 1-in-15-hours Hole.

Don came back and reported that he'd caught a few, but we were HOT and sweaty and the game warden came to say hello by then, so we packed it up and slogged out.  It was time for them to get on the road and for me to return to get my babies, so we all hugged and sadly parted.  

I'm so grateful for the instruction, the gift of time and friendships, the little brown trout that finally took a chance and made my week, for Google maps that will be jealously guarded until next week, because I don't mind telling you...

the biggest thing that was hooked this weekend was a 40 year old ranch wife and mother, who remembered why fishing was a passion for her and who is tremblingly excited to use her not-a-virgin-anymore fly rod, again soon.

Hooked

That's exactly what it looked like this weekend on my first fly fishing experience, except I wasn't as well coiffed or clad.  I hooked everything but a fish on the first day!  

My friends Don, Shelly and Ison Smith came all the way from Missouri for a visit this weekend and Don wanted to teach me to fly fish.  I've had my fly rod for SEVEN years and had never used it, having never had anyone to really show me the basics.  All the how-to books are incredibly intimidating and besides, I really think this is something that is better learned by doing, not reading.  

So they packed up their little camper and I packed up my car, and we went to Lewistown to fish Spring Creek.  I was so excited that I drove ahead, rather quickly, and got there an hour and a half before they did; which, in retrospect was silly because what was I going to do when I got there?  The instructor was still on his way!

It was HOT in Lewistown.  

Really hot. 

The access points to public fishing that I had explored while waiting for Smiths that had been quiet that morning were launching points for inner tube floaters that afternoon.  Not exactly ideal for fishing. In fact, downright annoying when trying to fish!  But really, it was just a spot for Don to teach me a few things and to practice.  

We left Shelly, Ison and their Irish Setter Tig, panting in the shade by the camper....I still feel terrible about how much they waited in the heat....and set off to fish.  

Don is a very patient, clear instructor who showed me a couple casts, let me practice, gave me more instruction on how to correct the issues I was having, then wandered off to fish and give me space to learn on my own.  I don't know why that's so important, but I get very tense and frustrated, trying to do everything perfectly when someone is standing there; when left alone, I slow down and process, try different things, laugh at myself, cuss at myself, and eventually figure enough out to ask more questions.  I kicked off my shoes and waded in as deep as I dared, casting and chuckling and cussing my errors.  

That first afternoon, my biggest thrill was keeping the same little brown fly on for 2 1/2 hours without losing it to tangles in the trees and grass, both of which happened frequently.  It's the little stuff...

One of the first things I learned was that time stops when fly fishing.  It's like magic.  I really thought we'd only been fishing for about 30 minutes!

Don and Shelly took off for their campsite which was on guest ranch sort of place about 25 miles out of town and I slipped back into town for some cold beer to put in the cooler so I could keep fishing.  I know.  But here's ANOTHER thing I learned:  I'm not really a beer drinker, but there's something about fishing that made me crave it.  How odd is that?  Is it some fishing voodoo that settles on people that pick up the sacred rod, without their knowledge?  I don't know.  But it sure tasted good.  

While we had been out flailing our rods, my friend Mike responded in a message to an earlier plea for information about good spots to fish.  The first thing he said was not to fish where we had just fished.  Of course.  But he told me about a couple good spots and suggested what type of fly to use, which was just what I had been using...elk hair caddis....a little brown fly.  

The plan was to meet back up with Smiths at 7:30 to fish the creek during the golden hours of the day, when the hatch was on and the fish weren't hot and placid.  I got the call from them about 7:30 that they'd JUST gotten to their campsite and were staying put....in the middle of nowhere.  When asked, Don said it was a scary middle of nowhere, not a cool middle of nowhere.  Yikes!

I wasn't going to waste the evening!  With Jimmy Buffett loudly singing "Hey Good Lookin'" and the windows rolled down, I drove to the first recommended access, parked the car and set off to fish on my own.  It truly is the golden part of the day, where the sun is low enough to backlight everything and it's starting to cool off for the night...these are the bonus hours, the ones we dream about in January.  

I found a path that ended up going in a tunnel through the willow thicket, tangles and snarls of grass and weeds and little trees.  But when I came out, I was right next to the creek where the water bubbled around a curve and a nice hole where I was hoping big, blonde, hungry trout lived. 

They may have been there, but they weren't hungry or dumb enough to take the little brown fly I was offering.  My casting got a little better...still quite interesting, but a smidgen better....and I ended up barefoot in the creek again, pants rolled up to my thighs, loving every buggy minute of it.  I realized in those couple hours that it was the quietest, most content that I'd been in months.  

I also realized I was hungry.

Ravenous.

But here's a little tip for you, just in case you find yourself in Lewistown Montana at 9:30 p.m. on a Sunday evening:  the town shuts down around 7:30.  E-VER-Y place to eat was closed.  The grocery store was closed.  The gas stations WERE open but Milk Duds and beer didn't really appeal to me.  Pizza Hut saved my life.  

Also, I was terribly sunburned which I didn't realize until my shower. And bug bit.  And my feet were in rough shape from the creek rocks.  A very satisfying day altogether...because all those things meant that I had been fishing!

End of Day 1....

Stay tuned for Day 2!