Summer heat is here - go read a book

Summer heat sounds like a good book title. I've considered using it a few times but it's already been overused. Actually, it's been used to death so I will avoid it. The summer heat we're experiencing is not at all romantic. It's hot, sticky, and exhausting. Maybe it is romantic, after all. 

The stretch of days between the first of July and the middle of August used to be called the "dog days of summer." I suspect the younger crowd has forgotten all about that just as they've conveniently forgotten so many other things that don't fit their climate change narrative. 

I hear the "news" reporters crying about how it's never been this hot. Really? Temperatures in the low to mid-nineties in July is new? I don't think so, kids. It's the dog days of summer, remember. It's supposed to be hot. And, in case you don't know, locally our hottest day in July happened in 1954 where the mercury reached 105F. 

What? You don't get the mercury reference? Read a history book. 

The dog days of summer also mark the rising of the dog star, Sirius, in Hellenistic astrology. Hellenistic being what historians usually classify the era from about the first or second century BC to the sixth or seventh century AD. Again, read a book. 

This is the time of year when the garden harvest begins. We've been eating a lot of cucumbers this year. I've made a couple of batches of refrigerator pickles, and next year plan to can bread and butter pickles. "Old-fashioned" food without chemical preservatives appeals to me. 

I've room for a good-sized garden here on the manor, but there are precautions to be made. We have a lot of deer, rabbit, raccoon, squirrel, and birds around. They can decimate a garden so one must prepare and then be constantly vigilant. My solution will be an electrified fence. 

I'm looking forward to growing more of my own veggies. The notion takes me back to my girlhood days and my grandfather's garden. It will keep me connected to him, and that is a good thing. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor


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Living in the time of COVID-19

Our future?

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” ― Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

The World Health Organization declared COVID-19 to be a pandemic on March 11, 2020. Maryland’s governor at the time, Larry Hogan, declared a State of Emergency in Maryland on March 5, 2020. I give Hogan his due credit for moving on this because central Maryland is home to Baltimore City and people down there do not understand the seriousness of any given crisis. I’m happy to live far, far, far away from metropolitan areas. 

As of today, we’ve been under stay-at-home and safer-at-home order for thirteen weeks. That’s a quarter of the current year for the math-challenged, ninety-one days for the quick ones. 

Governor Hogan has bowed to the pressure to “reopen” the State of Maryland. I understand. Tax revenues are down. Why? People are not working, ergo, not getting paid, ergo, no income tax is going into the state coffers. 

The mass media has all but forgotten the COVID-19 pandemic. They’ve dropped it like a hot potato in favor of promoting the United States being torn apart by riots over the death of one man being taken into police custody. One man – one cop. And for this people are burning and looting their own communities. 

I understand that death should never have happened. 
I understand the message has now been distorted by the violence. 

Should one violent act spawn a thousand? Is this what we really want to teach our children? Who do you protest for? Who owns you? 

I’m deeply saddened by what is going on in the world today and frightened. The people are being manipulated at every turn. At home on the Manor, I wonder if I’m truly safe. 

In years to come, the mass media will distort everything happening today. The violence is not necessary. People who WERE viewed as equals will NOW be seen as thugs. It’s all to perpetuate a peculiar form of victim-ism. 

We are all being controlled, and once we allow it, it will never end. 

The liberals and the socialists have won this battle, but not yet the war. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

The never-ending brush pile

Having a lot of trees means we always have a lot of sticks and limbs to burn. If we want the place to look decent, that is. We could let everything stay where it lands, but then we'd be knee-deep in deadwood. The solution is we burn, which is what we did this Monday past.

A strong wind is Mother Nature's pruner. Dead limbs and sticks come down. I pick them up. Sometimes what comes down is the entire top out of a tree. Wood with a large diameter gets cut to length for the woodstove. Everything else gets tossed on a pile that gets burned on a regular basis. 

It's a family affair. If we're working outside, the dog is generally right there with us. Our current cat, Loki, will meander around to keep an eye on us, but he's not a helper. He's a watcher. With this cat, that's almost as scary as it sounds. 

Burning is hard work. The brush is usually awkward and heavy. Having a battery-powered chainsaw helps. Once the fire is going, there is time to take a break and enjoy the flames and being outside. Once the center burns out, the edges need to be raked in so that material burns. Having the John Deere 1023 with a bucket really helps. The tractor does the work. I spent years using a rake and believe me, the tractor is better! 

Once the fire dies down, it's time to wet down the area and let it finish. My office has a window where I can keep an eye on things. Wetting down the ash forms a crust, and what's underneath smolders away to ash. Then it's time to start the process over again.

There will always be the next big wind that prunes the trees. It's just the way things are. 


The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

Peonies - almost there

May 11, 2020

My mother and grandmother both loved peonies. My grandmother had a row of them planted along her driveway, and my mother did the same thing in 1965 when she and Dad bought their house. My grandmother, in fact a lot of the older women I knew as a child, called them "pineys." 

When I moved to the manor, my mom insisted I have a start of her favorite variety, one that is pink with a yellow center. The problem with that was I'm not the same caliber of fan my mother and grandmother were. But I was dutiful in those days. 

Somewhere along the line, probably in 1993 when my mother sold the house she and Dad had lived in, I went to the row beside the driveway and dug starts for a white, red, and mauve-ish pink, and planted them in a row front of the porch. Pink, white, red, step, red, white, pink. The women before me were more haphazard in their plantings. 

I must admit that, now, in the spring, I wait for the "pineys" to bloom, checking them daily for progress. The deer taught me a hard lesson - if I live here I can't have many flowers. I spent years doing backbreaking gardening only to have the deer eat the flowers down to the ground. They don't eat my peonies. 

It won't be long now until they open and the connection to my grandmother and mother comes full circle for another year. I have a lot of those connections and they mean more to me with each passing year. 

I miss having lots of flowers. I do. But it's too much work and the deer too plentiful to spend all that time so they can have a salad bowl every year. Life on the manor is a mixed bag. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

An old fashioned spring

a late dusting of snow

In the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020, we are enjoying an old-fashioned spring. February brought lots of snow flurries, March was truly windy, April was wet with gentle rains, and it looks like our last nighttime freeze may well be mid-month. The ground has been slow to warm, but the little peeper frogs are in full voice after dark. 

As a girl, I wasn't allowed to wear shorts until after the first of May. I thought it was silly but looking back I see a certain wisdom in it. While the May breeze holds hints of warming, there is still a little bite of dampness there. 

I'm not bemoaning this slow spring. Everything is happening as it should. The trees are leafing out and the maple seeds hang heavy on the branches. Bare spots in the lawn are filling in and it's time for it to receive a last over-seeding. The lilacs are blooming, such as they do, and those blooms are lasting a long time. The ajuga and wood hyacinths cover the bank in shades of pink and purple. The tulips and daffodils have bloomed, and the hostas are mid-way to their full size. 

Everywhere I look I see something that needs to be done or will need to be done in a few days. It would be daunting if I allowed it to be. Instead, I prefer to look at it as part of my stewardship of this small part of the land. 

The peonies stand tall at this moment. They're full of buds and must be tied before the blooms open and weigh down the stalks. The lilacs will need to be pruned. Every year I make a circuit around the yard and cut back maple tree limbs that hang low enough to be a nuisance while mowing. And yes, the grass needs to be mowed. If I were able to purchase mulch I'd spread it but we remain under house arrest due to COVID-19. I am truly tired of my constitutional rights being trampled upon even as I understand the need to keep myself safe. 

It's not that being home on the manor is a hardship, but so much of what needs to be accomplished requires items I don't have. Like mulch. If this old-fashioned spring has taught me something, it's that my level of preparedness needs to be upped. Even life at the manor isn't immune to the actions of outsiders. I just need to out-think them. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

Restoring a pathway

The property we live on was gifted to me by my maternal grandparents. They were good people and I say that not because they were my people, but because I've lived long enough to meet bad people. 

My property joins the lot my cousin got when our grandparents were giving. There is one stone fence that encloses both properties. We tore through a section to create a shared lane instead of using the more dangerous farm track our grandfather used for his Allis Chalmers WC tractor. 

The old farm track ran north from the road, above the old home place. It then turned and went west to the end of my property, south to the property line, and then east to reconnect after making the loop. 

Parts of the farm lane have become difficult to traverse. One of my plans for my retirement is to clean up the old track and use it for a private walking trail. The last uncomfortably strong wind storm we had made that job bigger. Now instead of taking the old mower along the track to cut down the briars, I need to take the Stihl out for some serious woodcutting. 

It looks like a lot of work but it doesn't need to be (and won't be) done in a single day. Such it is in the country. There's always work to be done, but there's always time to stop and enjoy being outside and in the woods. 

The old farm track will be cleared. I may even choose a secluded spot to take some stones along the stone fence and fashion myself a little bench so I can sit and enjoy the birds. And breathe. My grandparents would like that. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

A young holly tree

Spring is the best time of the year to go walking around the property to take stock of what's new, what's old, what needs to be done, and what's a surprise. I found the surprise - a new young holly tree. I've marked it so it doesn't get mowed off when we make a pass through the woods with the brush mower. 

It has a lot of growing to do and I plan to give it every opportunity to reach its full statue. I've seen the holly trees on James Island, Virginia, and they are one-hundred feet tall. My grandfather's holly trees were perhaps thirty to forty feet tall. All the younger trees on my property are surely the offspring of that pair. 

I hope to live a good many years yet. Maybe I'll get to see this little guy reach fifteen feet. I'd like that. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

Patience rewarded - white lilac bloom

Growing up, my mother had a beautiful white lilac bush that grew beside a telephone pole. It just so happened that it was also at our extra parking space. You know the one - the space the teenager got to park their car in because the folks had the driveway proper. I didn't mind at all. They allowed me to have my own car so it was okee-dokee. 

I loved that white lilac. For one thing, it was the only white I'd ever seen. My grandparents had several shades of purple, but not white. Every year my mother and aunt would cut blooms for inside. Even my grandmother would sometimes cut a bloom to take home with her. 

When I moved to the manor in 1981, or shortly thereafter, Mom and I dug a start of the white lilac for me. It's been growing since then and finally - finally! - it has started to bloom. For only the second time ever, that old bush has a bloom on it. My partner never believed it bloomed white because it didn't bloom. I can't really fault him since "seeing is believing." 

I hope this is a harbinger of years to come. Enjoying spring blooms is a simple country pleasure I never tire of. Patience has been rewarded. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

Unusual spring winds

This winter will always be remembered for the unusually strong winds. Winter on the mountain always brings a light but steady breeze. If one was to wake in the night and not hear the wind, it would be a strong indication that snow is falling. 

Wind and water are destructive on the mountain. The wind is a rapid and visible destroyer. You hear the sudden snap of wood and a thud as a branch hits the ground. Water is more insidious, washing away the precious topsoil grain by grain. Water can be stopped and channeled to do little harm, but not the wind. 

We have a few large limbs to cut up now, firewood for next year, brought by the wind. Strange how life plays out here. This particular tree was one I asked a cousin to help me cut down. He promised help, but it's a little late for that. 

We'll manage on our own, as we usually do.  

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor

A late entry on spring flowers

I don't know anyone who doesn't like daffodils. My grandparents loved them and had as many varieties as they could get their hands on. Most of my bulbs originated in their garden. 

Every year I watch for the first green tips to break ground. It usually happens in the sheltered spot in front of the eastern-most terrace or on the bank with full southern exposure.

The bank runs along the old driveway or the original driveway to my house. Back in 1981, my mother and I planted starts from her garden on the bank. It was intended as sort of a holding spot until I was fully moved and had flower beds prepared. But miss digging one daffodil bulb and you get more and more daffs. Not a problem. The bank is covered with daffs, daylilies, hosta, ajuga, snow glories, wood hyacinths, tiger lilies, and bluebells. 

Why they still grow there is a mystery to me. The soil is mostly clay and I've never worked in any enhancements. But every spring I eagerly watch and remember the time spent with my mom, playing in the dirt. 

The Lady of Holly Tree Manor