Concrete Raised Vegetable Bed

We have a concrete theme going on around our house.   

We've made concrete flower beds

and entry walls.

 We've stamped concrete 

and carved concrete

and this weekend Lyle was back at his concrete mixer once more.

The wood around his raised vegetable beds was falling apart, so in his quest for something sturdier, concrete fit the bill.  He first made forms

and then lined the forms with crinkled tin foil

and then hired the kids for some manual labor.

When the concrete had set for a while, Lyle stuck in some copper receivers so that he could put in tubing later to train some vertical growers if the urge strikes him.

The girls crinkled tin foil to press on the top.

and while it hardened up a bit, a cute kid ran down and posed for a picture 

(not necessary for this project, but a nice addition),

And they waited and waited.

The forms came off, and we did some carving with rebar,

And Voila!  

We have a raised concrete bed.

Only about 10 more to go.

Oh, the Places He'll Go

Despite the indignity of the pink and purple bike, 

someone's feeling pretty pleased with himself.

Last night we took off his training wheels and let him loose on a local track

where there are no hills or obstacles,

and a grassy area to roll onto in case of trouble.

But there was no trouble.  

In typical XiXi fashion, 

he just jumped on in and accomplished his goal.

Mark my words.

This kid's going places.

Progress on the Franklin Front

He's nine months old. 

And will still happily de-stuff the kid's stuffed animals.

Or dig up a newly planted garden bed.

Or chew and destroy various household items.

BUT, do you see what I see here?

That's Cholita walking Franklin.

Cholita, who weighs about as much as a beach ball.

Do you notice how Franklin's actually walking behind her?

Not dragging her down the street.

Not chasing after a stray cat.

He's following!

And that, my friends, is progress!

Look What the Dog Drug In

My first thought was, 

Umm, has anyone checked on the goats recently?

But nope, all goats present and accounted for.

The mysterious skull was soaked in bleach so as to examine it further.

And we do not have a clue.

Something tiny, yet horned.

Indigenous to the Pacific Northwest.

Unfortunate.

I don't believe our golden retriever killed the mystery animal.

Franklin's too slow,

too mellow,

too inexperienced in the thrill of the hunt.

But he sure did seem proud to have found it.

Along with prehistoric-looking skulls, 

the Spring weather has also brought out the modern-day equivalent to cave painting:

Driveway chalk graffiti

XiXi got tired of making rays on his sunshine and gave up, leaving an amoeba-ish blob that 

I find very modern art.

Cholita chronicled her Dad's journey, on bike, in Sunday clothes, to deliver eggs to our neighbors......with Franklin following along.

Cholita has a new name for her older brother.

We have no idea how she came up with it,

But for whatever reason,

to her, he is now "Jelly Bean Man".

And what do you get when you have a colorful chalk driveway?

Well, a colorful, headhunting golden retriever,

of course.

A colorful, headhunting golden retriever

who's been in trouble about

oh......5 times today.

And it's just past lunchtime.

Love our Little Piano Gal

Sorry for the low video quality, but how sweet is our Cholita?  

Don't You Dare Call It Green

It's chartreuse. 

And on a rainy northwest morning, it sparkles against the backdrop of evergreens.

This Japanese maple (plain old Acer palmatum) is one of my favorite things in the garden.

I have to restrain myself with the chartreuse, because as much as I love it,

I think it's more of an accent than the main show.  

You can see the chartreuse repeated in the red wing euphorbia and sedum Angelina.

And even the adorable puffs of new growth on this cute little nest spruce.

In June it will be three years since we removed this patch of weedy grass and installed plants, which looked far too wimpy to fill in the area.

Instead, I've had to take things out!

Can you believe the growth?

Do you see the tiny euphorbia?

and the barely-there sedum? (which have been divided and replanted)

and the little stalks of the Helen Von Stein lamb's ears? (ditto the sedum)

The barberry was moved to an area where the dogs liked to dig.

The lavender, which didn't thrive, was replaced with nepeta "Walker's Low"

The jasmine that was on the arbor met with the shovel as well.

The drip line has long since been abandoned and the plants are on their own.

Can you spot the porch trellis with the circle "window" that Lyle added when we were in China?  

The old picture looks so plain without it.

And without the wisteria walkway beyond it.

And Olaf.

I certainly spotted him.

Oh, do we miss Olaf.

Rainy or sunny, I hope you're having a beautiful spring morning.

Home Again, Home Again

Riggidy Jig.

And I bet you didn't even know we were gone.

But oh, we were gone.

We were way gone.

Just Rose and me.

About as far away as we could go and still be in the U.S.

On a rainy day in a park.

A very big park.

In a very big city.

Where Rose got tired of being my one and only model.

We saw buildings so high,

that as we walked through the streets,

we couldn't crane our necks enough to see the tops.

Sandwiched between them, we saw gorgeous old churches,

and brand new memorials,

and the construction of a building that will be higher than the ones that fell,

on a day 10 years ago when sweet Rose was just a three month old baby.

We stood on historic ground.

Important ground.

Busy ground.

Glitzy ground.

We saw what our ancestors saw,

over 100 years ago,

when they stepped off of a boat and walked into this massive building,

speaking a foreign language,

carrying all their belongings,

and hoping to to make a new life,

in a new country,

where they would live out the rest of their time on earth,

and where one day,

a great-great-great granddaughter,

would stand at her grave.

And as hard as that ancestor's life was,

working in a factory,

giving birth to 10 children,

and burying many,

at this cemetery,

where another ancestor was supposedly buried,

we were told that the poor immigrants,

from the tenements,

rarely could afford headstones,

but are anonymously buried somewhere on the grounds,

in the shadow of the city.

But the best part of the visit.

By far.

Was seeing a brother I hadn't seen in

way too many years.

As a matter of fact, 

the last time I saw him he was a teenager,

and I was a young mother with two tiny children.

He's the baby of our family,

the only one with red hair,

and the one with all the height,

which made him mercifully easy to spot in city crowds,

and on the jumbo-tron in Times Square.

And funny enough,

I'm just noticing now that we were there with Elmo.

My brother is a a red head,

but not that red.

He sent me a text as I was boarding the plane for home:

"See you when I'm 47."

But we will get him to the west coast

before he's eligible for 

retirement benefits.

Because Rose has a new favorite uncle 

(Hugh and Dan need to up their game),

and we need to feed him

as well as

he 

fed

us.

Goodbye New York.

We'll miss you.

But it's good to be home.