Susan's Meadow Knoll Journal

August 1. Indigo Dying is all but done. I keep telling myself that, then thinking of little things I want to add. One of the challenges of this book was incorporating some really interesting material about indigo that I didn’t discover until I was more than halfway finished with the writing. It was too good to leave out, and it also suggested a subplot—which meant that I had to go back and incorporate that plot line in the text I had already written. Not hard to do, but time-consuming. I’m pleased with the result, and delighted with the information about indigo, for centuries a valuable and important plant. My editor is thinking of changing the publication schedule, though, so that the book won’t come out until January 2003. Our Robin Paige series would take the October slot in the Prime Crime schedule. Not sure how I feel about this, but I’m not in charge of the publishing schedule. (This is probably a good thing!)

August 3.

Yesterday, I got a wonderful photo of one of my favorite Meadow Knoll residents: a golden orb spider. She spun her web from an orange canna to a branch of a nearby chaste tree—smart spider, since the chaste tree hosts an amazing variety of insects, all of them in search of what must be a marvelously tasty nectar. The chaste tree (Vitex) is a Texan’s substitute for lilacs, which don’t like our warm winters and hot summers. It’s a small tree, no more than 8-9 feet when it’s mature, and grows so fast and naturalizes so easily that it’s almost a weed. The leaves and berries (formed along the beautiful purple blossom stalk) have long been used to treat PMS symptoms. But the chaste tree got its familiar name from its reputation as an anti-aphrodisiac (an herb that is supposed to suppress sexual desire).

August 4. It’s a good thing I got the picture of the spider yesterday, because today she is gone and her web is in tatters. We’re guessing that she herself became a meal for one of our resident flycatchers. It reminds me that we’re all part of the food chain, like it or not. I’ll miss seeing her when I water that part of the garden, but another golden orb is spinning a web in the Carolina jessamine vine. Life goes on.

August 5.

When I started doing the research for China’s "dyeing" book, I met an interesting spinner/weaver who introduced me to the pleasures of spinning. Last month, I bought an inexpensive used spinning wheel, made (of all things!) of PVC pipe! Here is a picture of it. I’m still a novice, of course, but I’m learning and having a great deal of fun with it.
Here’s a picture of some of the wool yarn I’ve spun and dyed with Koolaide. Bill has promised to build me a small lap loom, so I can use up some of this knobby beginner’s yarn.

August 7. Last year’s drought was hard on all our Meadow Knoll birds, but maybe hardest of all on the quail. I thought of this early this morning, as I walked across the corner of Cattail Marsh, listening happily to the high, thin whistles of a covey of young quail loafing among the sunflowers and grass. Last year, there were few of those familiar calls of "bob-white, bob-white!" for few of the clutches of eggs could have survived. A mom quail builds her nest in April in a large clump of grass, hiding herself and her 10-14 eggs from hungry predators such as hawks, coyotes, raccoons, skunks, and snakes. If she can manage to fend off the marauders (it’s rough out there!) she incubates her eggs in May, hatches them out in June, and feeds her chicks through early July, until they’re big enough to forage on their own. But the long drought of the past few years destroyed a great many nesting sites, there wasn’t enough moisture in the ground or the grass to incubate the eggs properly, and there just weren’t enough bugs or seeds to keep a young quail family in business. This year, happily, things are different. We had rain in March and April to encourage the grass, and rain in May to moisten the eggs, and there have been lots of grasshoppers—far too many, from my point of view! So I welcome the silvery whistles of the young quail. I’m rooting for you, guys! Eat well, live long, and we’ll all pray for a rainy May next year, too.

August 10. People who live in the country have learned, sometimes the hard way, that good fences make good neighbors. The problem is that when people come to a rural area, they think all the open space they see is really open and free, probably because there aren’t any fences or curbs or easy-to-see property lines or street signs. They seem to want to make their own rules and have their own fun, and damn the consequences.

Last summer, it was kids from another area riding dirt bikes around the lake, eroding the fragile soil, terrorizing the wildlife, and shattering the quiet. And in the fall, shooting the doves as they sat on the telephone line, and shooting the line to ragged bits. Such fun.

Last month, the purchasers of Lot 14, on the other side of the lake, brought out a bulldozer to cut a road to the lake shore. Unfortunately, they cut their road across the best part of Lot 15, destroying a dozen mature cedars. After this cut-and-slash, they got Lot 14 surveyed and found that all those pretty trees they ‘dozed down belong to their neighbor. (Wonder who’s going to settle the score on that mistake!)

And last week, the telephone company came out to bury cable—in the bar ditch along the road rather than in the utility easement on the other side of the ditch. Not a problem, they say with a shrug. Of course not, until it’s time to scrape out the clogged ditch with the tractor blade and somebody’s telephone line gets cut! Good fences make good neighbors—and thoughtful attention to simple courtesies, as well.

August 12. There’s not much blooming in the garden these days, except for the Mexican oregano (Poliomintha longiflora) which is a riot of lavender tubular blossoms and a feast for the hummingbirds and hummingbird moths. This shrubby herb isn’t nearly as widely used as it should be. For me, it’s a reliable bloomer during summer’s eternal heat, and a great xeroscopic plant that isn’t fazed by endless days without rain. It has a creosot-y tang that doesn’t appeal to me in cookery. But we sometimes add it to the pecan sticks we use for fuel in our grill, and I’ve occasionally added a few leaves to the frijole pot. South of the Border, it’s widely used to flavor beans and stews. (But it’s sometimes confused with the "other" Mexican oregano, Lippea graveolens. Same common name, different plant.)

August 14. Rain! Real, genuine, honest-to-goodness rain! After 45 days of hot (100+ degrees) and no rain, this wet stuff is fabulous. We got over an inch last night, and half an inch today. The grass is already greener, the dust has been washed off the leaves, and the birds seem to be singing more brightly. In an odd way, I think I value our long, dry summers because they teach me to appreciate the relief of the rain, something I never gave much thought to when I lived in the city. There, it was always a nuisance more than anything else. Here, it’s pure joy.

August 29. Sometimes vacations are more work than they’re worth. This one definitely didn’t fall into that category! It got off to a good start because I was able to send the manuscript of Indigo Dying to my editor before I left, so I could go with a clear conscience. I even managed to catch up on the laundry and vacuuming, so we came home to a decently clean house. But the best part of the vacation, of course, was the cool Canadian air and stunning surroundings. We rented a cottage on the Bruce Peninsula, with Lake Huron at our front doorstep and a Canadian park at the back door. Bill went swimming, we canoed around the inlet and took a boat tour of Five Fathom Park (Canada’s underwater national park), and I spent a great many hours reading and knitting. (I have to find a way to use up some of the pretty yarn I’ve been spinning!) We’ve put one vacation photo here, of the beautiful lighthouse on Cove Island, built in the 1850s to warn ships away from the dangerous rocks. If you like, you can go to this page for a few more.

August 31. The big news this week is rain, rain, and more rain—and even more on the way! The lake is brimful and running over, the creek is singing, and the road is a muddy mess. But with more rain coming, we won’t be able to work on it for several days. One lovely result of this great, wet gift: the tiny trees we planted in the early spring are flourishing and the overgrazed meadow is recovering faster than we hoped.