Sweet Success

 
I am a farmer's daughter...a farmer who grew sweet corn, among other things.  I have many memories of moving irrigation pipe through the maybe 6 foot tall corn field, early in the mornings. The corn would be wet and the sharp-edged leaves would slap me in the face. 


Imagine walking through a field of this at about
5 a.m.  It is not one of my most pleasant childhood memories.  But we had lots of fresh corn on the cob to eat, which I love.





So an entire bed of our garden each year is devoted to sweet corn.  Paul grew it before I got here but the expectations were high when I started planting the sweet corn, given my heritage and all.  Well, the first year was a disaster.  I'm not sure why, but the corn patch was spotty at best and, maybe, produced a couple of ears.  When my Dad saw it, he said (kidding) he couldn't believe I was his daughter.  Thus the challenge was on.  I found corn seed that was supposed to grow in areas with a shorter growing season (that's us).  No offense to my Dad, but everything will grow in the Willamette Valley! 

The next year was a little better but not much.  The third year the patch looked really good and the ears were starting to look like they were getting ripe when a flock of blackbirds came in and decimated the entire patch in an afternoon.  I was so mad I could have spit nails.

The next season, quail came in and ate the little corn sprouts as they poked up through the soil.  I replanted and put bird netting over the entire bed until the corn got tall enough to fend for itself but it didn't really do well after that.

Last year, I covered the bed before the sprouts came up and I covered it again to ward off the blackbirds.  But in all my efforts to keep the birds out, I neglected to check the corn often enough.  We had ears but they were really over-ripe, in my opinion anyway.  

 
Now this year it appears as though I may have  finally succeeded in growing a nice patch of corn. 










Today I picked the first ears and they look perfect. 

There are many ways to eat corn but nothing is better than picking an ear, shucking it and dropping it in a pot of boiling water for about 5 minutes.  Slather it with butter and salt and take a bite.  Pure heaven for this farmer's daughter.  I think, this year, Dad would be proud.

A Room of One's Own

Everyone needs a space of one's own...someplace to relax surrounded by things you love.  I was a little concerned moving to this house that Paul had been in for 14 years.  I wondered how I would fit in and where that space of my own would be.  Paul has the studio, his sanctuary. Peter has his bedroom, his sanctuary.  Our bedroom belongs to both of us, our sanctuary.  I voiced my concern to Paul and he immediately said that the space at the top of the stairs could be mine.  At that time, it was fairly unfinished and a blank canvas.  The only parts that were done were the floor, the drywall, a large window and two skylights installed but not trimmed out.  We talked about what I wanted and needed in my room and Paul went to work.  And work he did.  The room needed so much done that it's taken him about three years worth of time to finish it.  But finish it he did, today, in fact.  It is indeed beautiful.  
 


An amazing bannister of maple and fir leads up to the room.  That in itself took an entire summer!  

There's a shelf at the side of the stairway that holds pictures and treasures.  There are banks of the old bolt cabinet drawers that appear in the kitchen, too.  








 

There is a bookcase to hold my books and stereo and the TV we never watch.  My comfy couch is just waiting for me to sit and read or stitch or sip a beverage and contemplate my next project.  

The knee wall is covered in lovely maple and fir with doors for access to storage.  My desk is there for working or setting up the sewing machine.  

It is truly my space and I love it.  Paul promised me when he started that he would make it beautiful for me and he did.  There is love everywhere I look in that room.

Purple Passion

It's lavender season...finally.  I love lavender!  In fact, there are two plants that I always plant in my garden, no matter where I live.  One is a Cécile Brunner climbing rose.  The other is lavender.  

Lavender has an interesting history.  It is known for it's soporific and medicinal properties.  The smell of lavender blossoms will relax you.  We have lavender-filled bags to put over our eyes during savasana at the end of yoga class.   It is so soothing.  

Lavender is also known as an antiseptic and anti-inflammatory.  I read that essential lavender oil was used during World War I to wash down hospital walls and floors.  A bit of lavender oil on the temples is said to help a headache.

The word itself comes from the Anglo-Norman French lavandre, which, I think, means to wash.  It was often added to bath water or water used to wash linens to add a sweet scent.  At any rate, lavender is a pretty amazing herb.

When I moved to this place six years ago, there were two lavender plants here.  They were given to Paul by a friend.  They are the most prolific lavender plants I have ever seen.  There are now around fifty lavender plants growing on the property and they are all from seedlings started by the existing plants.  This doesn't count all the baby lavender plants I have given away.
 
And now that they are all blooming, the plants are abuzz with honey bees!  When I walk out to the garden, it sounds like a little freeway humming out there.  Bless those honey bees and more power to them.  I just wish I knew where to find their lavender honey!