Every day in June #10

We rode out past the roadblock again, over the newly constructed bridge and into the sort-of country. New mown hay in cylindrical bales, scattered across the field as though tossed at random by a giant throwing bread crumbs. The smell of fresh cut lawns and people cooking their burgers on the grills beside the baseball fields.The sign in front of the elementary school beyond the park said "Have a great summer!"  On the way back in, I heard the first cicada of the season.

Day #2: Steamy roads

It looked like this streak was going to be no streak at all. I left home at 6:10 this morning and returned home in the late afternoon after a torrential downpour that left rivers in the street. It was a heavy but short storm and the hot streets dried quickly so by 7:00, I could ride.

My EEH suggested I set a minimum mileage goal for any ride to qualify for this streak. I decided that 5 miles was a decent distance. That's a little less than a half hour of easy cycling so I should be able to at least do that every day, right!

After a half mile or so this evening, the rain began to fall again, very intermittently. Just a drop here and there. I heard it on my helmet more than I felt it. Plink ... plink ... ... ... plink. Then it fell more steadily. As the pattering rain wet the roads, the steam began to rise from the still warm asphalt. Why does seeing this make me feel like a kid? Is it the bicycle and the way I can lean into a downhill curve and coast through the mist?

I'm home now, a little sweaty, a little wet from the rain. It is an early summer evening, the heat of the day subsided, the humidity heavy. Lightning bugs blink out by the trees, a mockingbird sings from the top of a roof. I will make a cup of tea and sit on the porch swing and breathe the damp, heavy, evening scent of the Confederate jasmine that covers the lattice below the screen porch. A cardinal will flit across the backyard, bright red. The darkness will come and maybe the barred owls will call.

We went to the beach ...

We read a lot ...

at the house ...

and on the beach.

I cooked, they cleaned.

We ate a lot of peaches.

 
We played the dice games we learned in Bolivia.

We rode in the golf cart.

 
We missed the ones that weren't there.

Gosh, I love being with these people.

Tired

I'd been hoping to "make-over" that lower terrace this summer.  I reworked one bed a couple of months ago, digging and amending the soil and transplanting daylilies, hostas, and parsley. The rest of the lower terrace garden has languished, a sad assortment of shasta daisies, a knock-out rose, and lots of weeds. Back in May, I added an astilbe and a hydrangea in the shady corner, but the path was an uneven and the whole thing was weedy mess crying out for attention and restoration.

Today was the day.  I dug, moved rocks, hauled topsoil, chopped and added leaves to the beds, smoothed the path, laid down landscape fabric on the path and spread cypress mulch on it.  I lined the beds with the afore mentioned rocks (which are really chunks of concrete that we scavenged years ago), and planted and transplanted ... another hydrangea, several hostas, some impatiens, ferns, ajuga, and a lone coral bell that had gotten squeezed out by a vigorously growing hosta in bed in front of the house.

Today's work is done now and the sprinklers are running, watering in the new plants.  I am bone weary, arm hanging limp tired.  I may not be able to move in the morning.  But I like this kind of job-done-weary ... and it is a beautiful night.  The cicadas are humming and I expect I'll hear an owl or two in a little while.  Lightning bugs are twinkling here and there and the full moon will be up in a little while.

I am grateful.  So very grateful ... for arms to lift and haul, rake and dig; for legs that carry me back and forth, uphill and down; for good tools; for a well that has never run dry; for the white hydrangea and phlox blossoms that shimmer in a moonlit garden.

Greens for dinner

Okra from the farmer's market for gumbo

Basil from the garden for pesto

Reds for lunch

Yesterday.

Watermelon, cherries, and a tomato from the garden.

This morning's ride

It's a humid day but the morning is still cool when we pedal out of the baseball field parking lot and head southeast.  I begin to notice the wildflowers along the road edge, Queen Anne's lace, periwinkle bachelor buttons, fleabane, and further along, thistles not yet open with a hint of their burgundy petals at the tip of tightly closed buds.

Pinto horses swishing tails, cows grazing.

It's a humid day and the smells along the road hang in the air and follow me as I pedal past their origins.  The heady scent of magnolia blossoms and the sudden, shocking stench of road kill.

I pedal down a long hill and see a lone vulture standing on the white line at the shoulder of the road. He stands stock still and I wonder if he will even move when I pedal past.  I shout as I get closer and just as my front tire comes even with him, he takes one stiff hop backwards.  I am past the spot before I realize that what I have seen are his comrades, a wake of vultures, feeding on the rapidly decomposing remains of a deer.  The fetor hangs in the humid air and I pedal hard up the hill to get away from it.

A mile further on, there are blackberries along the roadside, hard and red now, that promise good picking later in the month.

The daylilies are blooming now. Common orange daylilies reach sunward in the ditches, remnants of farmhouse gardens. At the manicured entrances to the housing developments that have sprouted along this country road, are masses of ubiquitous Stella d'Oro daylilies.  They are the Bradford pear of the flower world, floral favorites of neighborhood entrance and mailbox garden landscapers . I prefer their burgundy and peach and pink daylily cousins, bred and cross-bred by old gardeners, avid amateur plantsmen and women, that hang hand-painted signs in their front yards to lure passers-by to purchase a lovely clump or two.

This ride feels good.  My legs feel stronger.  I am not as winded on the hills.  I have something left near the top and forgo downshifting.

It will be in the upper 80's later in the day and I will work and sweat in the garden and never wish it was cooler or drier.  How many times have I heard someone not from around here say, "I couldn't live there.  It's so humid."

This evening, a thunderstorm is likely and we will sit on the porch with a book and a glass of wine and breathe in the fragrance of star jasmine climbing up the porch lattice.

I scream, you scream ...

I love Cabarrus Creamery in downtown Concord with its huge blackboard ice cream menu featuring the quintessential southern Moon Pie and Banana Pudding ice cream flavors, as well as my all time, hands down favorite, Lemon Slice; its fancy bike rack just inside the door;  its old wooden benches outside lining the front of the building and facing Union Street as well as the benches further down in the tree lined shade - perfect for people watching and chatting as you eat your very generous ice cream serving.  I took Erin and Clara, Matthew and Kailie for some ice cream and camera play last Monday ...

I must point out that the sign on the establishment directly across the street from this lovely couple says, "Bliss"

 Lovin' on her baby brother

Fun at the camp lake

We took Thomas back to camp after church yesterday and got to try out some of the fun activities that he does with the boys at camp all week.

The Blob

The tricky part here is getting on! Kaye braved two misses, slipping off the blob into the lake, before she stayed on and crawled to the end to be rocketed off!

I think Joel had the greatest hang time in the air when blobbed by Gary.



But Gary was a close second when double-blobbed by Thomas and Andrew.



And yes, I did brave the blob. Like Kaye, it took me more than one try to land and stay on it. But no, I will not show you my launch into the air. It was less than graceful!

The zip-line over the lake

This was considerably more graceful than the blob flight.

Very fun. Andrew stood by in the boat to help those of us who cautiously made our first trip in harness. I tried it again without the harness, just holding on. No problem.

We are certainly having our share of lake fun and thrills this summer!

Local market, local flavor

It's summertime and our little local farmer's market is in full swing. The farmers come on Monday afternoon from 4-7 and the market behind the old restored Post Office bustles with customers. I get a chance to talk to neighbors that I normally only see out running in the neighborhood. We talk over tomatoes, cucs, and peppers. I discuss my jalapeno syrup recipe with one of the vendors, we sample watermelon, and I admire embroidered pillowcases.

I came home last week with cucs, tomatoes, zucchini, "lopes", and green tomatoes for our new favorite summer sandwich, a creation inspired by John S.

2 slices of whole grain bread
Spread one slice of bread with the creamy feta cheese from the Middle East market (this cheese comes from Egypt and is really delicious!)
Spread the other slice with fresh, homemade pesto
Arrange thin slices of green tomato and cucumber on the sandwich
Add pepperoni if you want, stick it all together
Brush olive oil on the outside of the sandwich and toast on the griddle.
Devour!

For the record, John's sandwich has green tomatoes, brie, and bacon. And it's toasted. Really, really good.

We've been using our green tomatoes for sandwiches and haven't had enought to make it worth making fried green tomatoes. Probably better for us, but I do love FGT's!