Children's Fashion Workshop

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I'm Erin.  Gardening addict, incurable maker, insatiable reader, closet author, chronicler of childhood, wanderer, wonderer.  I'm glad you've come to sit a while with me.

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Offhand comments:

9.y.o.-"I have three ant bites.  Can I use this stuff I found in the first aid kit on them?  It's called ant-acid." 

9.y.o.-"It would be awesome if we had a 3-d printer because then we could print anything.  Like...like a tiny little model of Angkor Wat!"

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Wednesday
Aug052015

autumn ditch lilies

Every morning I go for a walk.  Down my long driveway and past the mailbox, up to the neighbors' mailbox and back.  

Sometimes I have company.

Usually though, it's just me, and the wet morning air, and next to my path, the ditch and the fencerow.  Which things are unexpectedly, endlessly fascinating.  

At first, in late spring, they burst forth with wild roses and honeysuckle that made my walk smell like I'm sure heaven must.  Then it was hard green blackberries that turned red, then black, and stained my fingers (and those of my little company) purple.  They weren't very good for the goal of actually exercising my legs and heart, since I had to stop to pick them, but surely the little shots of vitamin C made up the difference?

The power lines run along the fence too, and mockingbirds, mourning doves, eastern bluebirds and cardinals always watch and gossip about me from that safe height.  

When the blackberry canes turned black and died I thought maybe the fencerow was done for the season.  Surely now it's just going to sit, dry and brown for a while.  

No no, the stage has a new act for me.

There are tiny clusters of rosehips.  I'll be back for sprays of you when you turn red closer to the holidays.

And precious little bunches of wild grapes.  I don't know whether these are wild scuppernongs or more akin to the wild tiny purple grapes that grew in our woods in California.  Those were gone almost as soon as I saw them color up, to squirrels and birds and who knows what else.  Maybe these will stick around long enough for us to taste one when they're not hard as marbles. 

And completely unexpectedly, the ditch is full of these white trumpet lilies.  I thought maybe somebody had misplaced a garden lily, but there are dozens of them in the ditch, and growing on the unkempt roadsides everywhere.  Who knew a ditch and an untidy fence would be so much fun to watch?  And what will they serve up next?

~E~

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