Summer Bloomers

One of Badboulder's native plants, the holly oak, is displaying an immediate response to just two nights of low forty degree temperatures. This morning, its berries had turned from green to red. Phoenix traffic lights aren't much faster, unless one of those pesky cameras is involved. A closer look at some other plants confirmed that fall is indeed in the air.

We have a short growing season at this altitude but September is too early for me to say good-bye to most of our bloomers--that goldenrod can go. There's a red leaf or two among the Virginia Creeper vines, the Pampas grass is pluming and the grasshoppers are "plaguing".

Desert plants receiving summer monsoon rains can sprout, grow, bloom and seed in an amazingly short time cycle. Seemingly dead plants, thorny-pricklies as well as the more gentle varieties, revive and flower. Even our old faithfuls: geraniums, marigolds, morning glories, zinnias, Pampas grass, and orange trumpet join the Russian thistles, wild sunflowers, poppies, and Mexican hats in their last hurrah.

It's a fantastic (better not use that word Halcyon again) time of year to use our new camera and capture the "Jubilee".

The days are still hot enough to justify making smoothies and iced cappuccinos in the afternoons; Dave's World Famous Margaritas for the evenings--WOW!

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: If I were to look out over Badboulder, from my lofty perch up here in my snug little knothole, there is not a day that I could not see blooms, full across my sweeping mountainside view, or, during winter, perhaps a tiny shimmering bloom lodged between some boulders, seeking a fleeting ray of winter's gentle sun. There is never a day when I cannot find a bloom. There is never a day that I do not look for a bloom. I take nothing for granted. I am thankful for blooms.

a parting shot from bbman: those who hate most fervently must have once loved deeply; those who want to deny the world must have once embraced what they now set on fire. kurt tucholsky, german-jewish journalist, satirist, writer, 1890-1935

The Green Gate

Shortly before we purchased Badboulder, Mr. Pierce's prospecting cabin didn't take well with "blowin' in the wind" and fell down in a storm. The realtors told us they could no longer market the property as a fixer-upper; locals quickly carried off most of the lumber and there wasn't much left except rusty nails when we bought the lot. We gave some of the lumber to a local artist to use in making picture frames.

After finding enough cigarette butts at our front (and only) entrance to indicate quite a party had taken place, we decided in the interest of fire prevention we had immediate need of a gate. David used the salvageable materials to construct two of the three panels that we still use today.

I really liked the look of aged wood; however, the elements were taking their toll and it didn't match the panel constructed of new lumber. Paint was the answer--Amazon green paint. I had my doubts but compromise truly has its rewards. Amazon green grows on one--not sure about the neighbors.

The green color provides a great backdrop for our retired wheelbarrows of zinnias and marigolds and it looks good in our winter snowstorms. In autumn the gate gives our scarecrows a fence to lean on and usually supports a pile of pumpkins to tempt the javalinas. We've discovered that the pumpkins must be soaked in gasoline to repel those thieves. Come Independence Day, the stars and stripes on the gate welcome in visitors. For Christmas, the gate is dressed in giant red velvet bows. So far, the javalinas haven't developed a taste for fabric, plastic, marigolds or zinnias.

High desert chaparral survives frequent droughts in a brown state and the pop of green livens things up around here. We've talked of a new-fangled solar operated gate for ease of opening but I predict the green gate will win out. I would favor two or three more panels to support the trumpet vines which began to wow us after only sixteen years!

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Hey, it's me again, up her, in the knothole, keeping an eye on things. And that Amazon green gate sure stands out. As it turns out, green is a most appropriate color for Badboulder. Green is no longer the name of a soothing color; the word green has become the touch stone identity of a global movement to save the planet. To more or less borrow the words of George Jones and Barbara Mandrell who sang about being country before country was cool, Badboulderlady and I were also country before country was cool, but getting to the point, we were green before green was cool. We grew up in the Ozarks where material things were not plentiful. The mantra we lived by in the Ozarks was "use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without." School dresses were made of feed sack cloth, clothing was patched to increase its useful life, food was grown at home, we shopped locally, soda bottles were returned to the store to be used again, worn out shoes went to the repair shop, to point out a few examples of living green growing up. We have some ownership in the green movement. When Badboulderlady and I went away to the university of Missouri in Columbia, MO, a popular campus hangout was called the
Green Door. Although we were not frequent patrons of the Green Door where beer and greasy food were served, the place was so unique that it has come to exemplify the overall college experience. So, you see, it is little wonder that green came to mind when choosing a fitting color for the Badboulder entrance gate.

a parting shot from bbman: go west, young man. These words were first penned in 1851 by an Indiana newspaper writer named John Soule, but popularized by Horace Greeley, a newspaper editor. The well-known words became the mantra of nineteenth century american migration westward to the pacific. "Go West, Young Man" was also the name of a 1936 comedy movie starring Mae West. Seems not much has changed. Men are still drawn to new frontiers and well endowed women.