Back so soon with thoughts on motherhood

An amphithoe rubricata, courtesy of Woods Holes via Wikicommons

 (and, as it happens, now part of the University of Washington's Freshwater and Marine Image Bank)

  I have no children of my own, you see, but this still struck a chord. I call it "Motherhood of an Amphithoë."

As her young become ready for independent life, the mother shows impatience to be rid of the swarm in her nest. Using claws and antennae, she pushes them to the rim and with shoves and nudges tries to expel them. The young cling with hooked and bristled claws to the walls and doorway of the familiar nursery. When finally thrust out they are likely to linger nearby; when the mother incautiously emerges, they leap to attach themselves to her body and so be drawn again into the security of their accustomed nest, until maternal impatience once more becomes strong. 

Even the young just out of the brood-sac build their own nests and enlarge them as their growth requires. But the young seem to spend less time than the adults do inside their nests, and to creep about more freely over the weeds. It is common to see several tiny nests built close to the home of a large amphipod; perhaps the young like to stay close to the mother even after they have been ejected from her nest. 

--from pages 94 – 95 of The Edge of the Sea by Rachel Carson

Of shoes and ships and sealing wax

Fog on Hobbit Beach, Oregon Coast

 If I were ever to write a gardening memoir (which I won't), I'd likely title it "The Accidental Gardener." I've realized that what I like most about gardening is the accidental surprises. Last year's mighty sunflowers that I certainly didn't plant that were simply amazing for months on end, for example: they took over a corner of the vegetable bed in a not entirely convenient way, but they were just so gobsmacking. This year it has been the California poppies that, in truth, have been a bit of an issue since I do want some space for my tomatoes, but the bees love them so and I don't have the heart--or the will, really--to tear them out. 

  This morning I tried to beat the heat by heading out to the driveway planters before having even a cup of tea in order to plant the basil starts I bought yesterday. Those planters were pretty much given over to wildflower seeds and whatever self-sowed itself and, by late July, they're not looking too great. I tore out a lot of dead brown stuff and then started to dig a hole for the first basil only to find . . . potatoes! 

They're not gigantic--and it's way too hot to even think about cooking potatoes--but still, it's like manna from heaven, thinking you're just making space for a new plant only to find an unexpected bit of magic in your crummy old soil.

This will be, I've realized, my only July post this year so I'm thinking it will be a catch-all of random bits and pieces. We went to the Oregon Coast last week. It was as windy as it has ever been there, in my experience, and a bit cooler than I'd have liked, though I think back on it longingly now that I'm in Seattle for its first serious heatwave of the year. We walked on beaches and did some short hikes and had time with friends (we played Wingspan! I didn't win, but my red-shouldered hawk ate many birds of less than 120cm) and I got presents and cake so, really, a pretty good time. Some photos, in no particular order, because I am just flummoxed by Blogger's way with photos these days:

So many whimbrels on this visit--or maybe the same two to three dozen shadowing us. What do I know about the ways of whimbrels?

The tidepooling wasn't brilliant for us, which meant I had to appreciate things like anemones more than I usually do. Not a bad thing.

I think that the murres are supposed to be elsewhere by late July, but some thousands at Yaquina Head did not get the memo this year.

We devoted one day to connected short hikes; this little pond was in the woods across 101 from the trail down to Hobbit Beach.

A shot for Alex: the light of the Heceta Head Lighthouse from about eye level on the Heceta Head Lighthouse Trail (the left fork at the Hobbit Beach trailhead).

We encountered the guy in the center shortly before he finished this bit of temporary beach art at Agate Beach; he had started with his rake six hours earlier. It was pretty impressive.

We didn't see anything particularly spectacular on this little hike--though Scott spotted a discarded snake skin--but the light was nice. 

 

 

 

 

The cake Scott ordered from My Petite Sweet in Newport was beyond fabulous. It was also gigantic (this photo fails to fully capture either its beauty or its size) and must have weighed about eight pounds. We just finished it off last night (and it was still delicious)--and that was after giving more than half of it away.

Such a lovely cake!

 In non-Oregon-related news, I admit that I'm not doing particularly well with book bingo. The last two books I've read can't even be crammed into any of the squares which is, yes, a little disappointing and also not in the least surprising. Then again, one of the tangential characters in Just Like You is a nurse; does that it make "health or healthcare workers"? Only in the sketchiest of universes . . .

But in no universe can I post without at least a photo of young Grace--this one from back in the day (aka June) when a nice sunspot was a welcome bright spot in the living room, and not something to be barricaded against.