The winds in Georgia are coming off the Gulf of Mexico this winter, so that the air is warm. It's good weather for the road.
We took the bike up to northeast Georgia and western North Carolina. The mountains are still bare, so that the rocks and waterfalls are easily seen from a great distance. Nevertheless there is proof of life in the warm winter.
The Methodist Church in Clayton, Georgia. Clayton is an increasingly fun town, with an outstanding hardware store (featuring archery, guns, camping gear, and the lot), and several good restaurants and bars. One of the bars is built out of a refinished service station, called "The Universal Joint." Camp at Black Rock Mountain, a thousand feet above, and you'll hear them rocking down below.
So much for the city. Beyond, in the Wild, flowers grow.
Georgia Veronica Blue, one of our native glories.
Nandina berries, which are not native but invasive. "All parts of the plant are poisonous." It's also known as 'sacred bamboo.'
Daffodils in wintertime. These broke out on the last day of January this year.
9 comments:
I have a real fondness for Nandina but did not know it was invasive!
I have it on very good authority that this is the case. All the flower pictures were taken by the wee wife, whose knowledge of botany never fails to impress me.
Nice photos Grim.
We've a bunch of fiery red, dwarf Nandina bushes in one of the flower beds in front of the hovel. They'll turn a nice deep green come springtime. That is, the real springtime.
We also have some Camellia bushes blooming in the back along with some daffodils and crocus on the southwest(leeward)side of the hovel that have been fooled into bloom.
The buds are now set on the Japanese Tulip tree and the Yoshino Cherry tree, while the Forsythia bushes are confused enough by the weather to think they need to get busy making the yellow.
Sure as the sun rises, everything will bloom ahead of time and just in time for a late, deep freeze to destroy the show.
Based on history, the Farmers Almanac, and my bones, I predict that to be sometime around mid to late March.
I had lots of dwarf Nandinas at our little house in the woods.
I love our new house (and love the garden) but I miss our old garden.
Being the youngest sibling and the slowest to think of an excuse for why I couldn't, I had to do all the yard work for mom.
Pruning trees and shrubs, mowing the lawn, digging holes for new plants or moving already content plants, amending the soil, composting organic matter in the back yard, the installation and maintenance of new flower beds, the tending of English boxwood around the house, maintaining a 250 foot hedge of mature azaleas beside a driveway, etc.
By the time I ran away from home, I was quite content to never turn a shovel of soil again. Then I met Walkin' Boss... I've been dirty ever since. =8^}
Yeah, I spent part of the day shoveling horse manure for the wife's gardening efforts myself. It's a hard row.
Pretty day for it, though.
"Yeah, I spent part of the day shoveling horse manure for the wife's gardening efforts myself. It's a hard row."
After years spent in offices, followed by almost a decade of trying to learn to use my new & improved spine/body, mucking a stall, when I'm able, is down right therapeutic. I suppose it's just a matter of perspective. =8^}
Regarding amending soil for a garden... When we bought the current home, the house was sited on a hill that was a bit more than a half acre of red clay situated in what had been a working cattle pasture a couple of decades prior. The clay had been hauled in, graded, pushed, and shoved around for the construction of the house. The first picture we took of the new house was pretty stark. A white, country style house sitting atop a barren, red, clay hill.
As fate would have it, the father of a good friend used to raise chickens commercially. After his dad passed away and left the farm to my friend, chicken houses and all, the friend gave me all the composted chicken manure my trailer could haul. Over the course of many years, those trailers of chicken liter tilled into the soil with a dump truck of sand here and a dump truck of sand there, along with other amendments like chipped pine trees --back when tree surgeons would give the stuff away to avoid paying a dump to take it-- turned that red Georgia clay into fairly loamy soil.
Now when Walkin' Boss wants something planted, or a new flower bed, out comes the good old rear tine tiller and whatever is stuck in the tilled soil seems to grow like there's no tomorrow.
"Pretty day for it, though."
'Twas a beautiful day! I spent most of it piddlin' in and out of the garage and then cleaning/polishing/waxing/glazing my pickup. Yeah, I might be a redneck...
Yeah, it's not really a hard row at all. There are a lot worse things to do with your time.
Your description of your day matches mine fairly well. I just put a coat of wax on the truck, cleaned it up inside and out, and it's standing tall right now. Motorcycles too -- got some new chrome polish last week that makes them shine like new money.
My neighbor just took receipt of a 2012 Ultra Classic Electra Glide. My bro has, at last count, a couple of Fat Boys.
Being surrounded by friends and relatives who ride, and recalling fond memories from the days when I rode, there have been times I almost drove the old pickup to a motorcycle dealerships, but the delusion passes.
My limbs can't be trusted to follow the commands of the central processing unit 100%. My fast twitch muscle response, especially in the legs seems to get short circuited at the da^^^edest times, so I would be wholly irresponsible, not to mention being a danger to others on the road if I were to climb on one. But I can appreciate the notion if not the bugs in the teeth. =8^}
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