Oh, deer!

Our flowering crabapple tree in the back yard put on a beautiful display of color this spring. The blossoms drew lots of bees, and Michele liked to stand under the boughs and listen to the "murmuring of innumerable bees."

Bees weren't the only ones who favored the tree. A band of six deer hangs out in our neighborhood, and one guy came into the yard to have a little nosh.

"Who you lookin' at?"

"I can't eat when I'm under this kind of scrutiny!"

A new roof

Last summer's epic hailstorm injured Sophie the Honda and damaged the roof. My insurance company reminded me that I have a deadline by which to start repairs on the roof, so earlier this summer I got estimates.

My neighbor recommended a buddy of his who was not licensed but worked cheap. The guy gave me his estimate written in a barbed and illiterate hand on a piece of scribble paper: "Fix roof," with a total that would keep him in beer for months.

The neighbor's ex-wife recommended a guy who is indeed a licensed roofer and maintains office hours at the bar at the VFW.

A friend recommended the guy who fixed her roof. He showed up six hours later than his appointed time, got up on the roof and walked around for a minute in a vague, desultory, poetic manner, promised an estimate by the end of the week, and disappeared. That was mid May.

Finally, I called my neighbor, who is a licensed contractor, and said, "Stan, I need a roofer. I need a reliable roofer. Don't argue with me." So he gave me the name and number of the guy he uses.

Ian showed up at the appointed second, gave me a sample of the material he proposed to use, gave me a detailed description of the structure and a potential problems with Original Western Area roofs, gave me a list of references, drew a diagram of what he proposed to do, got up on the roof and measured and took a core sample (I have two roofs, one of which contains pumice, which absorbs water), and gave me an estimate a couple days later.

Today I came home for lunch to see workers swarming all over the yard and roof and the materials staged in the driveway. And now, after work, they have already removed part of the roof over the bedroom. It sounds as if they're coming right into the house because the sound carries so well down the chimney.

The odor of 20-year-old waterlogged pumice is very sour, like vomit.

Here is the roofing material staged on the lawn. You can see a corner of the roof in the upper right.

Hailstorm update

Here's the story of the hailstorm in the Monitor/Monster/Vomiter. We filed claims with our insurance agency. The line was out the door today when I went in, and the agent said that they're going to bring a catastrophe team to Los Alamos to deal with all the claims. The skylights on the back porch were smashed up pretty badly. One of the paper-wasp nests was blown down, but we're not going to submit a claim on it. Michele's vehicles are probably totaled; we'll see.

The street sweepers were out in force today sweeping up the leaves and branches from the streets.

And here's the bruise on Michele's back this morning. As you can see, the color is more intense than it was yesterday. She said that it doesn't hurt too much. The places on her shoulder and the side of her head hurt more. The knot on the back of her head is not as big as it was yesterday.

My friend Anita took this picture.

My friend Judy took this picture of her deck.

My friend TJ took this picture of a hailstone.

And here's P-doobie in today's news.

Hail, yes

This afternoon we had the Mother of All Hailstorms on the Hill. I was walking back from lunch and managed to duck into CB Fox before I got clocked. The hail and rain defeated the storm drains, and Central Avenue was a river of hail, water, branches, and leaves.

The hail was the size of golfballs in Western Area and the size of large marbles downtown. Here is the street in front of CB Fox. I took this one with my cellphone.

Here is the hail by Re/Max looking southeast toward Metzger's.

The hail broke the windshield in Michele's truck.

It also broke the windshield of her station wagon and left dents in the roof and hood.

It stripped leaves and branches from trees.

Sophie had some smaller dents, because she was downtown. The driver's-side mirror was broken.

Michele sustained the worst damage. She was trying to save the tomatoes and was struck on the head, knees, and back by the hailstones. Here is the bruise on her back.

Suppertime, and the livin' is easy

Earlier I posted images of an English sparrow in the hole in the poplar. Yesterday we watched for a long time as the mother and father fed the nestlings. Click on the images to enlarge them.

Are you in there, Myron? It's time for dinner.

Just be calm. I'm regurgitating as fast as I can.

I'd really like a green chile cheeseburger instead of masticated insects.

What do I have to do to get something to eat around here?

Open wide, Myron.

Let's get it in your mouth. Don't drool.

And a cut of pie for dessert.

"Yea, the sparrow hath found an house"

Yea, and Chuckbert hath identified the bird in the poplar tree. It's a house sparrow. Last year we had the chickadee.

My little chickadee!

Over the years, birds have pecked a hole in the trunk of the dead poplar in the back yard. You can see the hole on the right side of the main trunk. Click on the images to enlarge them.

Here's the current occupant, a mountain chickadee.

While I was trying to take another picture, Ike startled the bird, and it flew just as I pressed the shutter. You can see the chickadee in flight in the left-center of the image.

National Poetry Month, and it's still not spring

In a Station of the Metro
Ezra Pound

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.


Flowering crabapple petals on a snow-wet bough.

Blossoms and snow

National Poetry Month and Spring

in Just-

by: e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

in Just-

spring       when the world is mud-

luscious the little

lame balloonman

whistles       far       and wee

and eddieandbill come

running from marbles and

piracies and it's

spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer

old balloonman whistles

far       and       wee

and bettyandisbel come dancing

 from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's

spring

and

     the

             goat-footed

balloonMan       whistles

far

and

wee

Mud-luscious, but not in Los 'Mos this morning.

Footprints in the front yard

I was sitting in my chair by the window and looked out a few minutes ago at the crusted snow and patterns made by the prints of the letter carrier and critters. Here are some images.

A narrow fellow in the greenhouse

A narrow fellow in the grass
Occasionally rides;
You may have met him,--did you not,
His notice sudden is.

The grass divides as with a comb,
A spotted shaft is seen;
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on.

He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn.
Yet when a child, and barefoot,
I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash
Unbraiding in the sun,--
When, stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled, and was gone.

Several of nature's people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality;

But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.
--Emily Dickinson

Michele has her herbs and peppers in the greenhouse, and lately, when caring for her plants, she'd hear a rustling. At first, it was hard to locate the source, but one day the sound seemed to be coming from underneath the tarp floor. She stood still for a few seconds. There it was again! Then she felt something move under her foot; the movement immediately caused a tighter breathing and zero at the bone. (Less poetically, she shouted the name of the Redeemer--though not in a sense of worship--levitated, and air-walked out of the greenhouse and into the yard.)

Snakes are good. Snakes are our friends. We are especially glad to have them in the greenhouse. We like to know, however, where they are at all times so Michele doesn't need to be defribrillated every time she snips some thyme.

So she hit on a solution. She decided to stand on the step into the greenhouse and sweep a broom gently over the tarp to warn the snake that it's time for her to water the plants. The sweeping worked well for a while, but then apparently the sound started to resemble the rustling of a mommie snake.

Now the snake comes when called.

Michele is thinking of ways to make a pathway around the racks so that she can walk without worrying about the snake, and the snake can say hello without being stepped on.

Some of Michele's plants and her narrow buddy, under the tarp.

I put on my specs and think of thee.

Here I am wearing my new reading glasses.

Gosh, these new glasses work really well!

"It was on the 10th day of May 1884--that I confessed to age by mounting spectacles for the first time, and in the same hour I renewed my youth, to outward appearance, by mounting a bicycle for the first time.The spectacles stayed on."--Mark Twain

'Twas ever thus

I paid off my car in May. Yesterday as we were loading Ike into the car for walkies and donut holes downtown, Michele said, "Somebody banged your car." And sure enough, some @%$^*@ had hit the back bumper, dislocated a panel, and left without leaving a note. I'm steamed. (An' P-doobie don't like bein' steamed.) I'll take it to a body shop and get an estimate. If it's reasonable, I'll pay out of pocket. Son of a . . . .


Ouch!


Scccccrrrrape!

I got my eyes checked (why, P-doobie? Don't you like them striped?) on Thursday, and I'm getting new reading glasses with anti-glare coating so I work at the computer at the store with less strain and with transitional lenses so I can read outside. I also told the nice helper that I want frames that would be suitable for use by a 12-year-old boy. I'm hard on frames.

Our white roses are blooming in the back yard.

Volunteers on parade!

The front yard is full of volunteers that have started from wind-blown seeds. Here is a member of the family Lonicera, the honeysuckles. It took root near the mailbox.

This lilac apparently grew from a seed that lodged between the wall of the carport and the front step. This is the first year it has bloomed.

Although this iris is not a volunteer, it fights valiantly through the climbing rose next to the carport.

Blossom, dearie

Michele and I love our flowering crabapple tree. We sit at the garden table under it in the summer when we have breakfast or dinner, and the little crabapples are a treat for the birds all winter long. We also hang a birdfeeder from one of its branches. Last spring the winds blew all the petals off, so we didn't get to enjoy the bright pink display. This spring, however, the petals survived. We're looking forward to summer and, in the fall, a bumper crop of crabapples.