So let's wrap up the few days since the last post.
The deck continues to be the number one construction triumph of the year, according to some. Like a teenager Sal is staying out all night and sleeping most of the day. Except when he's eating or mousing. Yes, that's right. Our roly-poly love cat encountered an unfortunate mouse on his walk a few mornings back.
The mouse was well on the other side of a chain link fence, so I thought there was no harm in allowing Sal (who was leashed) to enjoy watching the little thing frolic in the leaves. I think it said, "Nah, nah nah nah nah," just before Sal's paw shot through the fence and grabbed it.
He pulled it back through the fence, it squeaked, he jumped about a foot in the air, straight up, dropped the mouse and hightailed it in the opposite direction as far as leash would allow. I let the leash go and he ran 20 feet before the "zone of safety" between him and this inch long mouse was sufficient.
Meanwhile mouse kicked its little legs once and promptly went off to mouse heaven.
I had to drag the brave hunter back to see that the mouse was not a threat. He poked it a time or two with his paw, sniffed it, looked up at me and said, "Wohrrr?" Translated this means, "It doesn't want to play any more. I'm bored."
Catherine, the Park's landscaper, has been bringing me treasures as she moves and divides the Park's many perennials. I have been the lucky recipient of a cranesbill geranium, an astilbe, a ground cover which I think may be dichondera, an unnamed but lovely clumping grass, and six pots of amaryllis which needed a babysitter.
Out in the tier garden I planted more okra and some yellow patty pan squash. I'd like to plant some more crookneck squash but I have misplaced the seeds. If anyone knows where I hid them please drop me an e-mail. Only two of the six I planted about 10 days ago have come up, so I want more.
I moved my sage which was in a pot into the ground, where I hope it will be happier. And I need to transplant the basil and my rose into the ground as well. The basil doesn't like the pots and the rose will be winter-hardy if it's planted in the ground.
I was trying to find an address for someone and discovered Google's "street views". This led me to look for a street view of the house I spent much of my childhood in. My parents bought it in 1949, and we lived there for quite a few years. I loved that house. It is now a little down-at-heels but not neglected. When we lived there the roof was red painted shingles, the shutters were red, the awnings striped red and white. The front yard was a green carpet of carefully tended grass, punctuated by Mother's flowers.
You entered into a small foyer. To the right is the living room, the the left, through an arched doorway was the dining room. The kitchen was large and square, with a gas, and a wood stove. In the odd-room arrangements found in house built in the late teens and early 20s, you entered one bedroom through the kitchen. The other bedroom was accessed through the living room. (That was my room). The bathroom was between the two bedrooms.
To the back was an enclosed screen porch where Mother's *miracle* new washing machine lived. This must have been purchased about 1952, and replaced the tub and wringer set-up. Down the steps and out into the back yard, which was huge. The house sat on a 100x 200 ft lot in those days. We had a shop for Dad, a set of clotheslines for hanging laundry, a chicken coop for my chickens and an enormous vegetable garden. The back of the lot ended in Willow Creek, which came up regularly every spring and flooded us. I remember being taken out in the middle of the night in a rowboat, which came right up to the front door. In those days the house was on stilts, with lattice around the perimeter. Willow Creek must have been tamed, because I see from the picture that the house has been dropped onto a foundation.
The elm in the yard was hardly more than a whip when Dad planted it. A tornado took the huge willow tree that grew about 10 feet from the dining room window.
I'm so glad to have this picture, as I had not a single photo of this house. Memories live in pictures.