I stepped outside the nook today, onto the new and improved wider nook deck
(formerly known as the boardwalk along NSSG) to just stand in the bright
sunlight and bask in the heat. I was immediately assaulted by butterflies
of all descriptions and sizes.

They were fluttering around the ever blooming Blue Enigma salvia, the
hot pirkle phlox that is STILL blooming that I saved from the abandoned
trailer lot off 25-70, flapping madly around the twisted, Dr. Seuss-like
stems of Cleome that appropriately was the deep rose pink and light pink
ones to compliment the hot pirkle phlox. Fairy meddlings.............

My stepping outside onto the deck was right in their line of flight. We
needed a fairy air controller. I realized as I stood there enraptured with
this occurance that I was covered in butterflies. Yes, covered. They were
in my hair, on my arms, my blouse, my leg, one on my glasses, and one on my
hand. The rest were flapping around me and my head like they were trying to
determine if I was some huge flower or obstruction.

The blue ones decided to taste me. Apparently I had enough minerals on me
to give them pause and linger for a moment. But the rest realized I was just
an obstruction and detached and proceeded with their ministrations to REAL
flowers.

But that wasn't the end of it. Now that the butterflies had abandoned me in
their cloud of colorful wings, I was getting straffed and cursed out by
bright shiny green Rufus hummingbirds.

They too were drawn by the enticing Blue Enigma salvia. As I was busy
carefully disengaging the flutterby's, the hummers were taking assault on me
in the air above my head. I felt them brush past me and trill as they came
within a whisper of me. Sharp squacks were shouted at me as they cursed me
for being in their line of buffet. I was amused and impressed.

As I carefully moved away from their favorite fast food stand, I saw out of
the corner of my eye more acrobatics going on with the rest of the crowd of
sparkly Rufus males. They apparently were playing tag with each other,
darting in and out of the stems of various perennials like skilled pilots
dodging huge flowered trees.

On this end of the front gardens, are 4's, Helianthus Lemon Queen, those
Herbsonne rudbeckia's, Joe Pye flowerheads that look like soft grayish pink
balloons that attract all the bumblies and their kids, below all this color
and chaos the sedums are enticing more air traffic madness with the wasps,
and teeny fliers. And to add to the confusion, the fig tree is sending out
smells that are alerting the **** ants, wasps, hornets and those electric
blue butterflies to their sweetness and slight decay where the fruits hang
deflated like tan and purple striped circus balloons.

I can just see the round dark bottoms of some of the ripe figs but won't
even yield to the temptations of bending branches to pull off a fig because
I might draw back in a mean sting. The hornets that arrive for the figs are
the huge pointy butted ones who build those enormous paper nests that put
fear in everything but bears and fools. I keep hoping the hornets moved far
enough away last year to make a trek to my fig tree unappealing. So far
it's only been those bitches with the red bodies, black wings and crappy
attitudes that are burying their faces and heads into the over sweet ruby
red flesh. They still wiggle their rear ends in ecstasy as they give in to
the abundance of food and sweetness so if you grab a fig, you get stung only
because their stingers are always ready for you. Once is enough to make you
cautious. They're so drunk on the sweet that they don't rile up and assault
you again and again like they usually would, and I don't want to disturb
them.

Instead, I snatch a ripe fig from lower branches, reminding myself that this
fall I am going to have to prune these branches so I can reach the fruits
next year, and find distraction at the square dances that are being held on
every sedum flower head. I can almost hear little fiddles playing and
cadences being called out as everyone is working at feverish pitch. The
heat doesn't deter them or the hummers, and I'm ever surprised at their
tenasity to sup out every teeny weeny drop of nectar. So I water so that
there will be a bit of moisture to draw out the last dregs of nectar for
them.

Everything now is stressed in the raised beds in the heat. you can hear the
moisture sucking right out of the soils, and the rasping sounds of
perennials pleading for me to water them. Only plants that have their toes
firmly in the dirt don't droop, and today I noticed the Frakartii asters
were setting buds and rising upwards to their stately height of seven foot.
I can hardly wait.

As my mind thinks about the tragic drama unfolding every hour down in the
Gulf coast, Nature up here whispers that somehow, things will eventually
work out. Nature moves past us. She heals the land, and if things aren't to
balanced, more destruction and renovation is done until Nature shows that
she has always had the upper hand. I stood and started quietly weeping for
the lost people and for the suffering that made me feel so helpless, and as
the tears rushed out of my eyes, the butterflies must have decided that
again I wasn't a threat, and reminded me with their flutterings and landings
on me and my clothing, that their life is fleet and brief. Make the best of
things offered and move on to inevitible ends for the next beginnings.

madgardener, up on the ridge, back in Fairy Holler overlooking a sunny
English Mountain in Eastern Tennessee

I can smell your garden from my house! I send your notes to lady friends in
Alaska and all three agree, you need to write books.
BetsyB
"madgardener" wrote in message
...
I stepped outside the nook today, onto the new and improved wider nook deck
(formerly known as the boardwalk along NSSG) to just stand in the bright
sunlight and bask in the heat. I was immediately assaulted by butterflies
of all descriptions and sizes.

They were fluttering around the ever blooming Blue Enigma salvia, the
hot pirkle phlox that is STILL blooming that I saved from the abandoned
trailer lot off 25-70, flapping madly around the twisted, Dr. Seuss-like
stems of Cleome that appropriately was the deep rose pink and light pink
ones to compliment the hot pirkle phlox. Fairy meddlings.............

My stepping outside onto the deck was right in their line of flight. We
needed a fairy air controller. I realized as I stood there enraptured with
this occurance that I was covered in butterflies. Yes, covered. They
were
in my hair, on my arms, my blouse, my leg, one on my glasses, and one on
my
hand. The rest were flapping around me and my head like they were trying
to
determine if I was some huge flower or obstruction.

The blue ones decided to taste me. Apparently I had enough minerals on me
to give them pause and linger for a moment. But the rest realized I was
just
an obstruction and detached and proceeded with their ministrations to REAL
flowers.

But that wasn't the end of it. Now that the butterflies had abandoned me
in
their cloud of colorful wings, I was getting straffed and cursed out by
bright shiny green Rufus hummingbirds.

They too were drawn by the enticing Blue Enigma salvia. As I was busy
carefully disengaging the flutterby's, the hummers were taking assault on
me in the air above my head. I felt them brush past me and trill as they
came within a whisper of me. Sharp squacks were shouted at me as they
cursed me for being in their line of buffet. I was amused and impressed.

As I carefully moved away from their favorite fast food stand, I saw out
of the corner of my eye more acrobatics going on with the rest of the
crowd of sparkly Rufus males. They apparently were playing tag with each
other, darting in and out of the stems of various perennials like skilled
pilots dodging huge flowered trees.

On this end of the front gardens, are 4's, Helianthus Lemon Queen, those
Herbsonne rudbeckia's, Joe Pye flowerheads that look like soft grayish
pink balloons that attract all the bumblies and their kids, below all this
color and chaos the sedums are enticing more air traffic madness with the
wasps, and teeny fliers. And to add to the confusion, the fig tree is
sending out smells that are alerting the **** ants, wasps, hornets and
those electric blue butterflies to their sweetness and slight decay where
the fruits hang deflated like tan and purple striped circus balloons.

I can just see the round dark bottoms of some of the ripe figs but won't
even yield to the temptations of bending branches to pull off a fig
because I might draw back in a mean sting. The hornets that arrive for
the figs are the huge pointy butted ones who build those enormous paper
nests that put fear in everything but bears and fools. I keep hoping the
hornets moved far enough away last year to make a trek to my fig tree
unappealing. So far it's only been those bitches with the red bodies,
black wings and crappy attitudes that are burying their faces and heads
into the over sweet ruby red flesh. They still wiggle their rear ends in
ecstasy as they give in to the abundance of food and sweetness so if you
grab a fig, you get stung only because their stingers are always ready for
you. Once is enough to make you cautious. They're so drunk on the sweet
that they don't rile up and assault you again and again like they usually
would, and I don't want to disturb them.

Instead, I snatch a ripe fig from lower branches, reminding myself that
this fall I am going to have to prune these branches so I can reach the
fruits next year, and find distraction at the square dances that are being
held on every sedum flower head. I can almost hear little fiddles playing
and cadences being called out as everyone is working at feverish pitch.
The heat doesn't deter them or the hummers, and I'm ever surprised at
their tenasity to sup out every teeny weeny drop of nectar. So I water so
that there will be a bit of moisture to draw out the last dregs of nectar
for them.

Everything now is stressed in the raised beds in the heat. you can hear
the moisture sucking right out of the soils, and the rasping sounds of
perennials pleading for me to water them. Only plants that have their
toes firmly in the dirt don't droop, and today I noticed the Frakartii
asters were setting buds and rising upwards to their stately height of
seven foot. I can hardly wait.

As my mind thinks about the tragic drama unfolding every hour down in the
Gulf coast, Nature up here whispers that somehow, things will eventually
work out. Nature moves past us. She heals the land, and if things aren't
to balanced, more destruction and renovation is done until Nature shows
that she has always had the upper hand. I stood and started quietly
weeping for the lost people and for the suffering that made me feel so
helpless, and as the tears rushed out of my eyes, the butterflies must
have decided that again I wasn't a threat, and reminded me with their
flutterings and landings on me and my clothing, that their life is fleet
and brief. Make the best of things offered and move on to inevitible ends
for the next beginnings.

madgardener, up on the ridge, back in Fairy Holler overlooking a sunny
English Mountain in Eastern Tennessee

"BetsyB" wrote in message
...
I can smell your garden from my house! I send your notes to lady friends in
Alaska and all three agree, you need to write books.
BetsyB

join the "Madgardener needs to write books club......" g (blush) I hope
I will one day, if I could just find a publisher who wouldn't red pencil me
too harshly..................and PUBLISH me! (I've written a "children's
book" which is more for us big gardening kids, but I'm trying to gather all
my past postings and writings from this newsgroup of the last almost 8 years
to print up and submit. Google doesn't have them all. A friend who used to
write me often and whose generosity was amazing (IGROWROCKS) had sent me all
my postings and I didn't have time to print them all out before my
computer's hard drive fried. Then Deja Vu sold out to Google and that was
the end of all the postings. I know some of my stuff wasn't and isn't good,
but I truely believe that those early years when I was alone and up here
gardening more frantically were more inspirational than you can imagine.
One can hope one day that some lurking garden reader decides to reveal to me
that they've been saving all my posts or writings and will forward them all
to me. My appreciation would be incomprehensible and deep.

beautiful day today. perfect outside, with the temporairy residental hummers
squeeking and chirkkking outside the open windows in their favorite spots
maddie
"madgardener" wrote in message
...
I stepped outside the nook today, onto the new and improved wider nook
deck (formerly known as the boardwalk along NSSG) to just stand in the
bright sunlight and bask in the heat. I was immediately assaulted by
butterflies of all descriptions and sizes.

They were fluttering around the ever blooming Blue Enigma salvia, the
hot pirkle phlox that is STILL blooming that I saved from the abandoned
trailer lot off 25-70, flapping madly around the twisted, Dr. Seuss-like
stems of Cleome that appropriately was the deep rose pink and light pink
ones to compliment the hot pirkle phlox. Fairy meddlings.............

My stepping outside onto the deck was right in their line of flight. We
needed a fairy air controller. I realized as I stood there enraptured
with
this occurance that I was covered in butterflies. Yes, covered. They
were
in my hair, on my arms, my blouse, my leg, one on my glasses, and one on
my
hand. The rest were flapping around me and my head like they were trying
to
determine if I was some huge flower or obstruction.

The blue ones decided to taste me. Apparently I had enough minerals on
me
to give them pause and linger for a moment. But the rest realized I was
just
an obstruction and detached and proceeded with their ministrations to
REAL flowers.

But that wasn't the end of it. Now that the butterflies had abandoned me
in
their cloud of colorful wings, I was getting straffed and cursed out by
bright shiny green Rufus hummingbirds.

They too were drawn by the enticing Blue Enigma salvia. As I was busy
carefully disengaging the flutterby's, the hummers were taking assault on
me in the air above my head. I felt them brush past me and trill as they
came within a whisper of me. Sharp squacks were shouted at me as they
cursed me for being in their line of buffet. I was amused and impressed.

As I carefully moved away from their favorite fast food stand, I saw out
of the corner of my eye more acrobatics going on with the rest of the
crowd of sparkly Rufus males. They apparently were playing tag with each
other, darting in and out of the stems of various perennials like skilled
pilots dodging huge flowered trees.

On this end of the front gardens, are 4's, Helianthus Lemon Queen, those
Herbsonne rudbeckia's, Joe Pye flowerheads that look like soft grayish
pink balloons that attract all the bumblies and their kids, below all
this color and chaos the sedums are enticing more air traffic madness
with the wasps, and teeny fliers. And to add to the confusion, the fig
tree is sending out smells that are alerting the **** ants, wasps,
hornets and those electric blue butterflies to their sweetness and slight
decay where the fruits hang deflated like tan and purple striped circus
balloons.

I can just see the round dark bottoms of some of the ripe figs but won't
even yield to the temptations of bending branches to pull off a fig
because I might draw back in a mean sting. The hornets that arrive for
the figs are the huge pointy butted ones who build those enormous paper
nests that put fear in everything but bears and fools. I keep hoping the
hornets moved far enough away last year to make a trek to my fig tree
unappealing. So far it's only been those bitches with the red bodies,
black wings and crappy attitudes that are burying their faces and heads
into the over sweet ruby red flesh. They still wiggle their rear ends in
ecstasy as they give in to the abundance of food and sweetness so if you
grab a fig, you get stung only because their stingers are always ready
for you. Once is enough to make you cautious. They're so drunk on the
sweet that they don't rile up and assault you again and again like they
usually would, and I don't want to disturb them.

Instead, I snatch a ripe fig from lower branches, reminding myself that
this fall I am going to have to prune these branches so I can reach the
fruits next year, and find distraction at the square dances that are
being held on every sedum flower head. I can almost hear little fiddles
playing and cadences being called out as everyone is working at feverish
pitch. The heat doesn't deter them or the hummers, and I'm ever surprised
at their tenasity to sup out every teeny weeny drop of nectar. So I
water so that there will be a bit of moisture to draw out the last dregs
of nectar for them.

Everything now is stressed in the raised beds in the heat. you can hear
the moisture sucking right out of the soils, and the rasping sounds of
perennials pleading for me to water them. Only plants that have their
toes firmly in the dirt don't droop, and today I noticed the Frakartii
asters were setting buds and rising upwards to their stately height of
seven foot. I can hardly wait.

As my mind thinks about the tragic drama unfolding every hour down in the
Gulf coast, Nature up here whispers that somehow, things will eventually
work out. Nature moves past us. She heals the land, and if things aren't
to balanced, more destruction and renovation is done until Nature shows
that she has always had the upper hand. I stood and started quietly
weeping for the lost people and for the suffering that made me feel so
helpless, and as the tears rushed out of my eyes, the butterflies must
have decided that again I wasn't a threat, and reminded me with their
flutterings and landings on me and my clothing, that their life is fleet
and brief. Make the best of things offered and move on to inevitible
ends for the next beginnings.

madgardener, up on the ridge, back in Fairy Holler overlooking a sunny
English Mountain in Eastern Tennessee