The Burrow

I really needed something to cheer me up this morning.   The world's going to hell in a handbasket and I am not enjoying the ride.   We are tearing down instead of building up.   The future is uncertain but feels bleak. Nothing is going the way it ought to. And then I turned into the driveway and saw this: Before The Yard Guys gave it a drastic pruning, my Texas Ranger ( Leucophyllum frutescens) was dying from the inside out.  After its haircut, with the innards exposed to sunlight, the main plant seemed to be doing just fine.   Last week I noticed a few green sprigs at the bottom.  Somehow, without my paying attention, they turned into a lovely little bush of their own. Maybe that's an answer.   Cut out the rot.   Expose the old and withered, hanging on for dear life, willing to kill the plant in order to survive.  Let nature take its course.   If only the political world were as easy to manipulate as ...

I'm surprised at how difficult I'm finding it to shelter in place.   Getting out of my pajamas was a good first step.  Having our young friend in to help us clean brought some socially distant cheer.  I was dressed, the clouds weren't too threatening, and the street was empty.  I needed to exercise, it was too cold to swim, and so I ventured out into the world for the first time in days.  I found this  outside my front door to my left,  and this to my right. It was nice to be reminded that Spring is really on its way. After a lovely conversation with The Neighbor on the Other Side, who told me to stay home and let her go to the store if we needed anything, who sat in her car as I stood a socially distant distance away, who wishes she could take her kids to museums to culture them up  but without that option and with no sports to play or watch, she would, indeed be happy to go out to the store for us. And then it beg...

I have no new words.  I have nothing more to add to the conversation. I could write about FlapJilly's big cousin, whose team is seeded first in the Final Four in the Babe Ruth World Series. I tried.  My brain kept going back to 22 dead because of the color of their skin. So, I'm posting these photos because I promised that I'd keep you posted on the spire's progress.... and because I just can't write anything else today. It soothed my soul to be outside and take these pictures.  I offer it as an antidote to all those words that have been said before.

The roses are budding  and blooming. The container gardens are relishing the cooler temperatures and the bright spring sunshine. Out in the real world, there are many natural wonders.   These are the spikiest thorniest scariest little things, with the most beautiful flowers. The paddle cacti are bursting with color. Up close, the pollen is very sexy. Every time I sneeze or put anti-allergy drops in my eyes, I remember the soft stamen and pistils and smile.   And then, in case I forget that I'm in the desert, there's this: With all that tasty foliage, one wonders what beastie decided to take that bite.

That's what TBG said as we looked at the rosebush outside our bedroom window. It's quite odd, we thought, that those flowers exist on the same plant. In fact, those flowers go through all those colors before wilting and leaving the rose hips behind.  It's colorful and unusual and beautiful and prickly all at the same time. It's interesting and surprising and not something we've ever seen before. Or, as my husband went on: They are a melting pot, a polyglot, a bunch of differences inhabiting the same space... and they are getting along just fine.  It's a Tucson thing.  

Last night, the sun set like this but TBG and I were hard pressed to take our eyes off the book Little Cuter created.  The Grandparental Invasion - March 2017 is filled will hugs and love and smiles. Our basketball pools, decorated by the stickers FlapJilly put on her dog and her father and her Gampa, are totally busted, but the hearts and the minions and the Minnie Mouse polka dots allow us to smile as we cross off another team.  The love is there, but the girls are not. Sigh..... I needed an antidote - and Scarlett and the Tucson Botanical Garden's butterfly exhibit came, once more, to the rescue.  The exhibit receives shipments of chrysalis every three weeks; there's always a new specimen to examine, like this one, who flew right past my nose to land on the hibiscus leaf.   From the side, he's perfectly camouflaged. There were blue ones and big-eyes-on-the-wings ones and then this new one, with round wings and straight wings and s...

Big Cuter reports on the horizontal rain afflicting northern California. Little Cuter complains that this winter has been lame , as, snow-less and frigid, she watches the East Coast dig out. We are having unseasonably warm temperatures, here in the desert Southwest.  In honor of the sunshine and the light breeze and the hint of spring in the air,  I wore shorts and began to refurbish my containers. There was a lot of work to do. Last week I cut back all the obviously dead pieces from most of the containers, leaving only that which seemed likely to bloom.   The results were appealing in a  what will these flowers look like?  sense,  but they all need to be cut back and repotted.  I bunched this snapdragon  with two other survivors in one pot, but the rest of them will have to wait while I cogitate.  Some of the containers are still quite beautiful, even if the colors are a holiday or two behind. We see this bas...

Certainly, there are plants at the Botanical Gardens. Some make you smile, like these cacti Scarlett named Llamas I see snails with their necks elongated. We laughed at both descriptions. This was all on the way to the tropical environs and big bigger biggest leaves in the desert in The Butterfly Experience. These LBT's (Little Brown Things) were everywhere, fully exposed and camouflaged. One circled me, but decided not to land. I was kinda sorta glad about that. You are warned to avoid touching the butterflies if they land on you.   You are also warned to avoid stepping on them. Their life-cycle spans 2 to 3 weeks; no need to shorten it by human intervention. We stood for a while, watching the proboscis probe as the antennae and wings provided balance. A friend came to visit, skirting my elbow and sharing the nectar as his (her?) wings fluttered. They didn't seem to notice us, which was vaguely insulting. These orchids were mesmerizing, a ...

There hasn't been a picture post of flora in The Burrow for a while.   Here's a summer edition, for those who need a break from Olympics and politics. I know that I needed one. ***** It's hard for me to imagine anything blooming in triple digits, but these roses put on another show. The osteospurmum decided that the heat was perfect for its purple flowers. The ones in the shade are doing nothing.   This fellow, though, is blooming its heart out for me.  The wild gomphreda is taking over the tended look of the big pots with its long stalks. They blow in the wind, waving and bowing and coming back upright with the slightest breeze. They are fun to watch, but their wild nature is in stark contrast to the more well-behaved vinca. I planted them looking for height; I got more than I bargained for.  That became quite clear when I stood back and looked at the smaller pot. The gomphreda are taking over the pathway to the pool. TBG is ...

Some consideration was given to creating a Mothers Day post. Then, this happened: The amaryllis which had languished in the potting shed was springing to life before my very eyes. After several months of sporadic attention in the Pot Before You Are Finished For Good, the Christmas-time flower is going to be just a little late for Mothers Day. I could not ignore its valiant efforts to please, so I moved the PBYAFFG to the courtyard,  where, I saw these: Overnight, these big, fleshy leaves had produced the perfect shade of lavender on straight and sturdy stalks.  Again, I couldn't ignore the magnificence; off to the garden center I went. I transplanted unhappy osteospermum and added some gonfreda and deadheaded and amended and left some fun for tomorrow.  This gladiola began peeking out on Saturday; this was as far as she got by Sunday evening.  I'm going to entice the rest of her friends out tomorrow,  as I end my planting for the seas...

I could write about a Sanders supporter calling Hillary a whore.  I could write about the Chibok girls, missing in Nigeria for two long years.  I could write about the Trump kids feeling really really bad about not registering to vote for their dad in the primary. I could, I suppose, but what is there to say that hasn't been said?  I can't come up with an original thought.  I'm furious, I'm impotent, it's systemic, and no one seems surprised any more.   We know what to expect. It was depressing, so I went outside.  And I was surprised. Who knew that roses grew in the desert?  Certainly, I did not.    These blooms are on the same plant, another surprise. They appear here in sequence, growing older as you scroll down. From orange to through red to pink.... more surprises. This new one beside the first one gives me hope. If only the world were as delightfully surprising... Hillary and John Kasich would...