"Come into my parlor," said the spider to the fly

Last month we were graced with a nightly visitor, a nocturnal orb weaver. Each night, as darkness began to fall, she would begin her work. First she would sweep down from the porch roof to the side of the house, laying her first thread. Then she would begin spinning and weaving: up and down and around, back and forth she would go. When she was finished she had spun a massive web several feet wide and deep.
She would then sit in the center of her creation and wait patiently for some unsuspecting insect to fly into her lair. Then she would pounce, first immobilizing her visitor then wrapping her prey in silk. Sometimes she would leave him suspended and return to her waiting and watching. Sometimes she would devour him on the spot. Every morning, both she and the web would be gone, only to reappear again at dusk. Until one night a couple of weeks ago, as the evenings became cool, she came out, but didn’t weave as usual. Her web was only a few strands, suspended in a haphazard crescent from the middle of the porch roof, and she looked much fatter- I suspect she had an egg sac. I think that small web was her farewell gesture, as that was the last we saw of her. I suppose the mosquitoes and no-see-ums are happy that they can now flit about freely in the moonlight. But I miss her.

I tried several times to get a close-up pic of her and did manage to get a photo of her in her web, but she was too high for me. Fortunately, my son got a good close-up shot of her to share. I’ve googled to find out exactly what kind of orb weaver she was, but haven’t found a picture or description that fits her. If you'd like to learn more about these fascinating critters, the Bug Guide has a lot of info on and photos of orb weavers.

A Purely Political Post

Sam is a feisty rooster, and he has taught me well. So I have decided to be feisty in my own way, and comment on political stuff—something I have avoided until now.
First off- let me confess to my political biases: (1)I am a liberal/progressive. (2)I don’t generally like to be privy to information of a personal/sexual nature concerning other people, including political candidates, unless it directly impacts me or national security. BUT…when candidates campaign or tout themselves as advocates of Christian or other “family values” and attempt to convince the rest of us that they are “right” in espousing values, then I expect something more than lip service from them. Maybe I expect too much, but that's what I expect.
So , when news came out today about Sarah Palin’s unwed teen-age daughter’s pregnancy, I tended to agree with Obama when he said that, “We don't go after people's families. We don't get them involved in the politics. It's not appropriate and it's not relevant. Our people were not involved in any way in this and they will not be. And if I ever thought there was somebody in my campaign that was involved in something like that, they'd be fired,"
Obama also said: "This shouldn't be part of our politics. It has no relevance to Gov. Palin's performance as a governor or potential performance as a vice president. So I would strongly urge people to back off these kinds of stories."
He’s right. Up to a point. And I'm not in his campaign, so he can't fire me and he is in no way responsible for my views.
I believe that while private family dynamics may have nothing to do with a potential candidate’s ability to perform well in a particular capacity, it does say something about something. I haven’t quite figured out what that something is yet, but…
It’s kind of like when I’m in the grocery store parking lot and somebody has their bumper emblazoned with “What would Jesus do?” signs and such. When they unload their groceries, then abandon their grocery cart instead of returning it to a corral, and drive off, unconcerned, I tend to get slightly more upset when it slams into my car than I would have if it had been abandoned by an obvious heathen like me who was observed loading six-packs of beer into the trunk of his or her car. This may be unreasonable on my part, but there it is- it's how I feel.
I guess I feel that if you’re going to put yourself forward as a paragon of virtue with a particular set of values that you try to foist off on the rest of us, then you had better make sure your words and your actions are in sync. I hold you to a higher standard than the rest of us mere mortals. I am going to question and hold you responsible for a lot of what you say. If you publicly and vehemently espouse “family values” I expect you to be one of those rare people who has everything under control and on-board in his or her own family. I remember (yes, I am old enough, unfortunately) that when Adlai Stevenson (one of my very favorite political figures) ran against Eisenhower, his divorce became an issue: “If he can’t hold his own marriage together, how can he hold the country together?” It may not have been a valid question, but it did hurt him, politically. In this day and age, with candidates spouting off moral imperatives, it may be a valid and relevant question for candidates who have chosen to run based on those moral imperatives. So with all due respect to Sen. Obama’s statement, I submit that Governor Palin opened the door, and we, the people, have a right to enter, to question and to receive answers.

An Unusual Sight

The sun was shining. Streaks of lightning were splitting the sky. Thunder was booming and crashing. Rain was pelting down, pouring like a waterfall off the front porch. We've had TWO days with rain- good, soaking rain. I can almost hear the plants sighing in relief!

Sam and Monique, who usually retreat into the safety of the coop when the skies get dark and stormy, were evidently confused by the light. Sam decided to do a duet with the thunder by crowing loudly between the booms, insisting that he be fed immediately and let out into the yard to investigate. So there I was, at risk of being turned to cinders by a bolt of lightning, feeding chickens.

Silver Queens and Salsa

Here's today's meager haul from our little garden. I thought there was something wrong with the okra; it was white. Okra is supposed to be green or burgundy, isn't it? It probably has some disease and isn't edible, I thought. Then I remembered that I’d planted a new (to me) heirloom variety, Silver Queen. Well, duh! Why is it called silver? Silver Queen is NOT green, it’s kind of a pale creamy, almost white kind of green. The seed catalog says it’s supposed to be very tender when picked young, but this may have been on the plant too long. We’ll see.
There were only a few little tomatoes ripe today, and a few squash. This is probably the end of the squash. Squash- vine borers have been doing their dastardly deeds- they’ve already destroyed the zucchini and have begun work on the yellow squash now. With our long season, I may have time to plant more- I’m going to try, anyway. The beans are still doing nicely, as are the peppers, and we got a nice haul of roma and tip-top tomatoes over the week-end.

Most of the tomatoes went into the freezer, but I saved out a few to make salsa- it’s quite good. So good, in fact, that I ate nearly a whole jar all by myself. The jalapeno (seeds and all) give it a wonderful after-burn effect. I may regret my gluttony later...

Carrot Conundrum

Is this just an ordinary carrot that was planted in compacted soil and grew into a forked misshapen carrot?

Or is it an overly ambitious and slightly delusional carrot who thought it could turn into a carrot person if only it could grow legs and arms....

Sadly, it got yanked before the metamorphosis was complete, so we will never know for sure.

Mimosa Blossom Soap- Sort Of

Yesterday was a soapmaking day. My plan was to make some small test batches of new soaps. I knew exactly what I wanted the mimosa soap to look like. Sadly, whenever I know exactly what I want soap to look like, it never quite does. My plan was to incorporate the green of the ferny leaves topped with white and pink blossoms and something to give it a fluffy look. Of course, I was working with a previously untried fragrance oil blend, not knowing whether I would have a nice slow tracing soap with plenty of time to work with color, or whether I would have soap on a stick as soon as I stirred in the fragrance. Luckily, while the soap moved fast, it didn't move furiously fast. But it was setting up pretty quickly by the time I went to pour it in the mold. It didn't come out looking like I'd hoped it would, and definitely needs to be trimmed, but it could have been worse- and it does smell good- almost as good as the real thing!

Mimosa Musings

Living in Alabama as a child during the 50s, I spent summers playing with friends, barefoot and outdoors. One of our favorite pastimes was playing house. We would find a large patch of bare ground, usually under a tall, shady tree, then we’d haul in sticks, stones, dead leaves and whatever else we could find to lay out the outline of rooms, leaving gaps to serve as doors. The daddy, when he wasn’t off at work, usually stayed in the living room, reading the large leaves that served as a newspaper. Few of us girls wanted to play the daddy, and it was next to impossible to get any of the boys to play with us, so we just pretended he was away at work or on a trip. The mother stayed in the kitchen, cooking and fussing at her "children." or primping in the bedroom or entertaining her friends in the dining room. We sat and slept on pine straw sofas and beds and swept the floor with branches. Sometimes we were lucky enough to build our houses around a big flat tree stump or large flat rock. This wonderful architectural feature would serve as a table upon which we served pretend meals on leaf plates. In late summer, a staple of these meals was a pile of English peas still in the pod. In actuality, the “peas” were pods from the mimosa trees that grew all around us. It never occurred to us to eat any of the food we served, which is a good thing, since mimosa seeds contain a neurotoxic alkaloid that can poison cattle, sheep and dogs who ingest it. Besides, none of us liked English peas anyway, and usually had to be forced to eat them at home. Which may be why we enjoyed playing with pretend peas and discarding them, uneaten, without being fussed at by mothers who instructed us to clean our plates if we expected to eat dessert.

I’m reminded of those childhood summers every time I look out the back door and see the huge mimosa growing in the woods behind our house. Its limbs arch almost 40 feet high and nearly as wide, overhanging our fence, filling the air with the fragrance of its fuzzy pink flowers, and dropping seeds that pop up everywhere. And that’s part of the problem. The mimosa (Albrizia julibrissin) is one of those trees people hate or love- sometimes both at the same time. I love to look at it, with its delicate ferny leaves and those fragrant fluffy pink blooms that attract hummingbirds, butterflies and bees. But I hate to pull the lebenty zillion little mimosa seedlings that pop up in the flowerbeds, veggie beds and a hundred other places they don’t belong. And when those pretty pink flowers turn brown, die, and are washed loose in a rain, they cling tenaciously and refuse to turn loose from whatever they land on, leaving ugly brown stringy wads on everything, including the chicken run fencing, the bush beans, the tomatoes, etc. Then there’s the fact that the mimosa is yet another of those imported species that has become invasive and is now threatening native flora.

It’s hard to drive past any open or wooded area along the roads and highways here without seeing mimosa trees. They seem to be everywhere, but the mimosa is not used as a landscape plant in the South as much now as it was during my childhood. One of the reasons it has fallen into disuse is that the mimosa is extremely susceptible to several diseases, including mimosa wilt, caused by the fungus Fusarium oxysporum f. sp. Perniciosum, a devastating disease that has almost eliminated mimosas in many areas. Once infected, a mimosa may die within six weeks. Perhaps this is a case of Mother Nature intervening to remove the threat to native species. Who knows? I don't know how long we'll have the mimosa as a neighbor before it succumbs to disease or is cut down by developers. In the meantime, we'll continue in our love/hate relationship. I'll enjoy its beauty and complain about its pestiness. I might even make a mimosa soap, I can see and smell it now....