Jul 2, 2011 by Naomi.

The air seemed to hold its breath in the mid-day heat. I had picked the fruit of the apricot tree, meager as it was. The crop consisted of four - yes - 4 apricots. A tasty crop. The high leaves haughtily took in the sun and I can vouch for the intensity of the heat. The leaves took turns holding steady then dancing furiously with each new burst of air. Last spring frost hit my backyard at the time the blossoms were ready for pollen to settle and work on making fruit. I was aware of the catastrophe at the time so the appearance of any fruit was surprising. I ate them right there under the hot sun, appreciating the fresh flavor, knowing those I might buy in a store would never taste as good. My sun room is a haven from the suns rays, and insects too, but I keep the windows open to the screens. Not that I’ve seen many insects. A ladybug settled on my arm puzzled that she couldn’t find any aphids. I went on an ant killing spree yesterday and I expect the poison took the lives of insects within in the target spray. There will be no more apricots until next year but another generation of insects will show up next week. The insect crop isn’t limited to a week in spring.

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Jul 2, 2011 by Naomi.

As compelling as my desire to cut the dead tree trunks short enough to fit into my yard waste bin, I pushed beyond good sense, now paying the price in soreness of muscles that were long unused. It would have taken the same amount of energy to do the job whether I spent it all on one time block or not. I pushed to finish. Those trunks have lain there for years and now the city will remove the evidence and I can concentrate on a neater space I view from my west window. My shoulders ache as does my right hand, although aching hands is not new. The ring fingers on both hands have ached for years, at times more so than others. The amount of stress I put on my hands - that is when I form a fist - has little to do with the ache. Or so I believe. I can always fall back on the fact that my hands have worked for me more than eight decades and the ache is a reminder for the faithful service of those muscles. It will be many years before there is another tree trunk to obliterate, remove, cut up.

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Jul 1, 2011 by Naomi.

So much for trying to write when full of beer. I did a fabulous article about the last several days and poof it went the way of a wrong key stroke. So shall I try to reconstruct it? I finished my commitment to Kamiakin Science Week on Wednesday with a talk to those summer school kids about evolution and then a nature walk on Thursday to gather leaves for a rubbing session and identification. There were fifteen boys and two girls in the group that had fun exploring along the mile trail in Zintel canyon. Back to the beer. I raked in my back yard this morning, preparing for the community service group coming to weed my chip rock driveway. The leaves from Wade’s cottonwood tree and the needles and cones from my own Douglas Fir had piled against our line fence. I pulled those out. I trimmed my quince and forsythia bushes back where they had encroached on Wade’s yard. There were more young shoots than I wanted to nurture with constant watering so they went the way of the yard waste bin. I have periwinkle along the west fence line. It sends out runners that take root and establish a nice green cover, a real nuisance to weed and rake. Tiny blue flowers come out in early spring. I plan to root forsythia cuttings and plant as a border around my front lawn. Suffice it to say, that physical effort in this wonderful summer sun brought out the need for relaxing with a cool drink. But since that was really more alcohol than I’ve had for days, it left me woozy. Then I staggered into my sun room and pondered. Eventually I did write as you can read.

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