Skip to content

Diary 8-22-16

August 22, 2016

Dear Diary – I’ve neglected you terribly. Even more than Hillary. I haven’t told you about Paris, or the Columbian River gorge, or how dry it has been here, or the blue plums, yellow plums, geraniums.

The geraniums on the upper deck are plants that wintered-over, and barely made it (although we never saw frost). So they have long, scraggly stems with tufts of small leaves. But their blossoms are big bursts, from dark deep reddish blue to bright light bluish pink. The hummingbirds can not stay away from them.

Near those, there’s a squash vine in a pot. It doesn’t get very big, but its orangish-yellow blossoms are wonderful, and it has one light yellow squash expanding.

I haven’t let the hop vines climb to the deck this year, so I have more room for plants in pots; but the result is that the hops overrun every space below the deck. It seems that the more I cut them back, the faster they grow. I think they know that they are going to run out of time for what they are driven to do. The force that through the green hops…. is with me too, just below deck.

Looking down from the deck is like looking into a lush, dark green sky with streaks of shocking chartreuse stars shooting out across it, from nearby big splashes to small distant trail blazers. Of course the illusion works best when I’m not wearing my glasses, so I can’t see the stems. I know they’re there, though, from pulling on them.

Splashes reminds me of how dry it has been. Counter-legendary. Since I don’t have an underground irrigation system, and I hesitate to use scarce water anyway, the drought, especially these last few summers, has made it obvious which plants on my backyard “cliff” are native. They’re the only one’s that do well. With one exception: there’s an invasive vine that does especially well—too well, because it doesn’t like to live with anybody else.

Well I promise, yet again, some memories of Paris. I’ll just mention that on our way to the Col Riv gorge, H and I stopped at a small “Parisian” restaurant in Portland, qui s’appelle “Maurice.” Menu, quality of food, décor, all as good (not better, but as good—at least to my taste) as anything I experienced “over there.”

From → diary, Uncategorized

Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: