Tag: summer

Zinnias

On By trashonthemonocacyIn Frederick, Maryland, Modern Life, Nature, Photography5 Comments

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Zinnias. They’re not native to Maryland, preferring the hot, dry locales of the southwest and Mexico, but I love to plant them in my garden. In the early spring, I buy a few seed packets, pull my own baggies of last year’s seeds out of storage, and spread them over bare soil that will be dry and hard by August. I rake the dirt over them a bit (maybe), sprinkle some water on top, and leave them. As the tulip and daffodil leaves begin to shrivel, the zinnias begin to sprout, and when the butterfly weed has begun to wane, the zinnias grow taller, and as the coneflowers think of fading, the zinnias bloom. I plant a variety of low-growing zinnias so close together that they create busy bouquets

as well as the more classic, tall varieties, some so tall that I need to stand on tiptoes to photograph, which bloom in a plethora of color and a profusion of petals.

They’re a favorite of bees and butterflies,

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but it’s the resident hummingbirds that draw the most attention, zooming between our honeysuckles and vegetable garden out back — ceding the sunflowers to the goldfinches for the most part — and the zinnias out front. One morning our old labrador, Poppy, startled one when she stepped outside for her morning constitutional. It zipped away momentarily but soon returned to consider this bear-shaped, heavy-breathing mammal. Poppy, either sensing its superiority or hoping that it might want to play, promptly rolled over for it. The hummingbird simply ignored her and tended to the flowers, but, really, what else could it do?

Huh. Now that’s a book waiting to be written.

Hot Tea…Party On!

On By trashonthemonocacyIn Environment, Modern Life, Monocacy River, Trash7 Comments

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It was hard to tell difference between the water and the air last week; I came out of both feeling soggy and on the wrong side of refreshed. Wading through the river for a castaway water bottle was much the same as channeling through the weeds for an emptied bag of chips. But there was some pleasure in filling two bags of garbage to overflowing. I take my overblown feelings of success where I can find them.

Although what I found was not so peculiar — abandoned campfires, lost fishing gear, and discarded food and drink containers — the details were just off enough to entertain me every now and then. For instance, this situation:

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Beside this:

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My thought? Only the most refined revelers on the Monocacy drink Earl Grey tea while melting synthetic fabric over an open fire. Do you think that Bigelow might like that for an ad campaign? Or a bit of co-branding with the DNR? We could always include 3M as well because of the Post-It Notes. Were these partiers writing scraps of poetry and submitting them to the flames as offerings to the Muses? I can only imagine. Leaving the lighter in the fire is such a nice touch.

Apparently I’m feeling a little snarky. Maybe I’m still just a little sore about being fooled by this lure I found under the water nearby:

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I thought at first that I was seeing a cool larva of some sort. It didn’t take me long to realize my mistake, but it wasn’t until I pulled it up that I realized what it was supposed to be.

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A crayfish? I can still barely see it. I guess the fish didn’t buy it either.

It’s hard to think clearly when it’s hot out.

 

On Barefoot

On By trashonthemonocacyIn Childhood, Frederick, Maryland, Memoir, Monocacy River3 Comments

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I remember running around barefoot for most of the day in summer. My heels and toes were tender in the early days of June, but by July I could walk the pebble path on the side of my house without flinching. The pads of my feet still remember the sunburned heat of old asphalt and the grainy planes of concrete sidewalks. Even now I can feel the unpolished wires of a chain link fence pressing into my toes. The lawn of crabgrass and clover felt cool and pleasantly scratchy, the bare earth we used for bases dry and unyielding. The water in the creek was warm and silty, its bottom a squishy muck interrupted by sharp and slippery rocks.

My brother cut his foot on a piece of glass in the creek — the trail of blood he left on his hobble home stained the sidewalk for what seemed like weeks that rainless summer — and he needed stitches and crutches to mend. (Oh, how jealous I was!) That should have made me cautious as a child, but it’s only managed to do so now that I’m adult, worried for my sons’ vulnerable skin. Now we live in an age of water shoes and quick-drying, strappy sandals. But, honestly, the invasive itchy plants keep the boys and I in boots most of the time.

Occasionally, I venture onto the paths of the Monocacy in flip-flops. On the way home, aware of the bites and stings of mites, insects and poisonous plants, I regret my choice and realize, once again, how far away I am from the sun-shocked nine-year-old girl who roamed a small corner of Frederick with her tribe of neighborhood kids. But, the scars on my knees remind me, not too far away.

When You Lose Your Head

On By trashonthemonocacyIn Family, Monocacy River3 Comments

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Poor Barbie. Dismembered, beheaded, and thrown away by the Monocacy River. I passed by her for days before I finally stopped to pick her up. It’s not that I didn’t notice her or even think about her; I just kept hoping for a better conclusion.

It’s been a rough summer here along the Monocacy. First I realized that I had to move my father into a new living situation from York to Frederick by the middle of August ( see In Knots). Then my husband slipped down one of the river’s taller banks and tore his quadriceps tendon, which required surgery and a long recovery at home that isn’t over yet (see The Monocacy Rocks for the general site of the accident, and be forewarned!). And, finally, school was out. The less said about that, the better.

Poor me. But at least I’m not Barbie. I do have my head, and I’m back on my blog. That’s a much better conclusion.

American River

On By trashonthemonocacyIn Monocacy RiverLeave a comment

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The sweat might be dripping down my neck and my bare ankles burning from all of the hops and nettle I stepped through to reach the river’s sand-and-pebble shore, but, in this summer’s heat, I am happy. I find the greatest peace at the most extreme of temperatures. At 20 below and 100 above, all but the hardiest of creatures are still and quiet, and, whether muffled in layers of clothing or in waves of heat, I feel alone and at home.

Unless, of course, it is a long Sunday afternoon, and droves of pool-less, beach-less citizens suddenly appear. As much as I like my peace, it is good to be reminded how very much I am part of a larger community. My boys play in the water with the children they meet, even if they and their families only speak Spanish. Kayaking hipsters wave hello to us. “Country” folk share fishing stories. Bored teenagers of every shape and size and color appear in motley groups, trying to escape the watchful eyes of adults. (They look a little annoyed when they see me, but my dog wins them over). The river, so imperfect, is so very American.

 

 

The Little Things

On By trashonthemonocacyIn Monocacy River, WildlifeLeave a comment

When I think about summer along the Monocacy River, I think about sun, heat, and humidity, of course, but it’s the little things that really define the season…things like spiders, bugs, beetles, bees and other creepy crawlies. Some of these invertebrates are welcome: I love examining spiders in their webs, watching damselflies flit from plant to plant along streams of shallow water, and bees bumbling over the wildflowers in the floodplain. On the other hand, the invasive insect destroyers, like japanese beetles, which descend upon plants in dense, reproducing masses and devour their hosts’ leaves to bits of lacy shreds, repulse me. Yesterday, however, when I saw a slew of them chewing up some stinging nettle, I was almost happy with them. So, you see, it really is the little things. As long as you don’t mind getting a gnat in your eye every now and then.

In Knots

On By trashonthemonocacyIn Family2 Comments

It’s ridiculously trite to say that life is complicated, so let’s leave it unsaid and admit that it’s true all at once. For a stay-at-home-mom (which is what I’ll call myself today), summers are not restful, particularly when camps and the like are impossible for her children. I feel like nothing less than a one-woman show, doling out food, entertainment, and enriching activities to two boys who want nothing more than to fight with each other…constantly. This year, to make matters more difficult, I need to help my father, who is in the early stages of dementia, move from a 4-bedroom house in Pennsylvania to a 2-bedroom apartment in Maryland by the end of August. For a man with hundreds of antiques, ranging from wooden spoons and bowls, to early American furniture, to a vast collection of Noritake china, the prospect of such a move is terrifying, and I find myself in the new position of being the comforter rather than the comforted, even though I myself am almost sick with apprehension, grief and guilt. So, yes, I am tied up in knots this summer.

But I also know that one day I’ll look back on this summer with not a little bit of nostalgia. Some of my most painful moments are my most vividly remembered. These times of transition are unique: held dear as the last precious moments of an earlier life and yet thrilling as the first few steps of a new one. My boys won’t be boys much longer, and my father’s mind will never be better than it is now. As much as I want to rush to September, I must not run blindly and breathlessly through these last few days of June and the entire months of July and August.

I just need to stay afloat.