Feeble wave . . . hey, is that a yard sale? . . . Sunday, bloody Sunday . . .

Sometimes, Bessie just takes a bite--or two--out of my leg

 One way or another, it's been a tired time chez Aurora. I really don't care for heat, and I especially don't care for ninety degrees in mid-May. I don't like my chances as the effects of climate change become more dramatic. But I also recognize that my lot is pretty damned plush, and I've got the photos to prove it. 

 Last Saturday was the 2023 edition of West Seattle Garage Sale Day and we actually got up early(ish) to head out before it got too hot. As it happened, we never made it out of our immediate neighborhood, so plentiful were the sales (and, okay, so weak were we in the face of the wretched heat). It was nice, however, to talk with some people one block up who shared that they had collected some of the free tomato starts I set out a year or two back. (I'm not entirely clear on how they knew where we lived, but I try not to worry about such things.) Oh, sure, they didn't give me a deal on the absurd buttons I bought (not shown in photo because I forgot they were in my bag until some days later), but it was still nice. Scott was pleased because he didn't buy anything all day, while I was pleased to find something to buy most places. 

Garage Sale Day haul: that's window screen material in the lower right corner.

 The injury depicted in the photo that opens this fascinating post resulted from Bessie falling over, with a full basket, outside the grocery store on Sunday as I was fussing with my bag/helmet/gloves/god-knows-what. Her fall was slowed by a few of the teeth on her gear cluster sinking into my shin. It hurt, rather, but did not bleed immediately; the artistic single line of red developed on the ride home. No groceries were damaged, but I was rather cranky.

 

As a result, perhaps, I chose to spend some hours that afternoon in the Folly, appreciating the clematis and reading the trashy mystery (Death in a Deck Chair) I'd picked up at a sale the day before; it was ever so restorative.

The clematis is spreading across the top of the arch as we hoped.

It's not all lounging beneath arbors around here, however. The greens in the planter on the patio don't like the heat any more than I do so I've taken to shading them (with, as it happens, an umbrella purchased on a West Seattle yard sale day a few years back). It seems to be working:

There's just no photo of the re-transplanted tomato starts that I decided had to be moved to 4" pots this morning before I left for work. Somehow the life of the gentleman farmer looks a lot easier on "Downton Abbey." 

An ant's view of the Folly.

 

Ten (or More) Things to Post about Denver Before I'm Dead

Wedding venue (the aptly named Chandelier Barn)

 To paraphrase one of the bridesmaids' toasts, "We just flew in from Denver, and boy! are our arms tired." There was, obviously, a wedding to attend and quite lovely it was too. Scott declared the exchange of vows to be totes adorbs, what with the bride getting a bit choked up and all. It was a lovely--and blessedly brief--ceremony. Scott also reminds me that we learned, during the reception, that a flannel is a versatile garment. So an educational as well as a moving experience all in all.

 Since I'd never been to Denver before, the whole trip was educational for me. I learned that Colorado can be hella-hot the first week of May and that even my most comfortable pair of Fluevogs will have me cursing after a few hours of walking on city streets.

Shoes bad. Water nice.

 I learned that squirrels in Denver are quite cute,

Cute, but look at the size of those claws.

 and that the bus-riding population of Denver longs to be helpful and kind. I can now assure the imaginary reader that Lafayette is hell and gone from Denver Proper and that one cannot travel more than three blocks on Colfax Avenue without encountering another liquor store. I discovered, as we were walking through Pioneer Square in Seattle on the way home, that I truly am a Seattle coffee snob because, as we approached Zeitgeist I sighed with relief and suggested we could stop to have a decent coffee. (We did not, however, stop. I will add that the Einstein Bros Bagels at Denver International is perhaps one of the worst places in the country to get a latte.) Tattered Cover is a pretty nice bookstore whose staff is darned helpful and likeable. The croissants at La Fillette (located in a very unprepossessing strip mall in Denver's eastside neighborhood) really are as excellent as people say and it's well worth the effort (which, after all, is just catching a 15) to get them. As I had already sort of learned from working on Discovering Denver's Parks, Denver has a lot of nice parks, including my favorite of the visit, City Park, where many of the following photos were taken.

MLK monument at City Park

We were particularly intrigued by this commemorative plaque that commemorated Starbucks giving of the plaque:

"This plaque is presented to the citizens of Denver . . . "

But perhaps the most striking discovery was that, apparently, cormorants go to Denver to nest and raise their young. Can that be right?

Island of cormorant nests (City Park by the zoo)

  Keeping a fairly prudent distance from Cormorant Island was this charming little snowy egret, here keeping its remarkable feet discreetly hidden in the water:

(All photos courtesy of the cell phone that periodically suggests the lens needs cleaning)

The airbnb that Scott found was tres charmant, but I'm limiting myself to just one (or maybe two . . .) photos from there:

Bathroom reflections

As I've said, the wedding venue (in Lafayette) was some distance from Denver's Capitol Hill district so we Lyfted there (with the world's most chatty driver; I do hope she and her sister work things out), allowing me the opportunity to take this charming photo of Scott holding our gift for the happy couple as we waited for our ride:

Our rental is the wee house behind this house

And now, just tossing a handful of shots up as I hear the sound of the shaker calling to me:

Denver airport from its (very convenient) light rail station

Night-time shadows of some fencing

Daytime shadows of some window art

Fencing that would cast a lovely shadow but it overlooks water

 and there were no shadows being cast

The fox caught my eye, but it's the creature dreaming of pie that I'm now noticing

The bride with her handler, pre-event

Happy Earth Day, 2023 edition

Shockingly, it did not rain all day. I didn't manage a bike ride, but I did finally shift the mower out of the garage and get the grass cut for the first time this year. I was pleasantly surprised to find that shifting a push mower through slightly wet grass, some of it pretty damned long, wasn't as impossible as I expected. The front yard seems to be less thick with moss this year; I'm not sure why that should be, but it made for a much easier first mow. 

After that bit of labor (and some raking and sweeping because the magnolia and the camellias are dropping a lot of petals), Scott made me a small pot of tea which I carried out to the Folly where I sat for some hours with my book and my camera. Alas, the very gold goldfinches did not pose for me, but some other very attractive birds stopped by. 

Black-capped chickadee in the magnolia (not all the petals have dropped)

Very handsome white-crowned sparrow, first appearance

Plum blossoms, sadly not being visited by any mason bees

Steller's jay coming up the path to pay a visit

Tulips in the hillside block. A passing dogwalker declared them to be a kaleidoscope of color.

White-crowned sparrow with, I'm thinking, a very fresh white crown

Molting goldfinch

Taking the scenic route home

Arty still from the accidental video; 20-second video below

 

It wasn't raining and, in fact, there was blue sky when I emerged from work this evening so I opted to take the right towards Alki rather than riding up Avalon, and that made all the difference. The turnstones were out in force and making a bit of a racket. (Honestly, who would live anywhere else?)

Nap all day. Sleep all night

 I'm just so damned tired these days, and I don't know why which is vexing--or would be if I weren't too tired to care. But I hate to have no record of anything so I'm throwing up a handful of unretouched photos in no particular order as today's installment in the Waving/Drowning/Who Cares series and calling it good.

Some goose prints on Harbor Island pavement a few weeks ago

The Greenman and bits of the patio from across the yard

The sign alerting this year's mason bees (see below) to the location of this year's mud

Mason bees were ready to get out of that damned tube as soon as we installed their house.

A less-than-entirely-successful panorama of the backyard a week or two ago

My motto and my life's aspiration on the back of a Suzuki

Space Needle! From the night we went to see Seattle Shakespeare's "Drum and Colours," aka abridged Henry IV

The Spring Equinox Greenman while his new hair was still fresh and green.

Seeing what would sprout from slightly outdated tomato and pea seeds (a lot, as it happens)

A portion of the tulips on the hillside block with bonus grape hyacinth under the Japanese maple

Slightly out of order pea starts (from last year's saved peas because I'm just that Little House

That day they had baby goats at the West Seattle Farmers Market (I did not bring Jubilee home.)

My new favorite spot in the back yard: Scott's Folly

 There should be some sort of finale photo here but, well, there's not. If I could rearrange to end with the sloth I would but I lack that level of ambition. See also, so damned tired. Oh wait: 

Happy Springtime!

.

All its knowledge of sunlight and depth

Back to my usual form of posting something that I want to save without much/anything in the way of explanation, a sentence from my nice new Persephone Books publication:

The afternoon was grey and dull, a sky hiding under its neutral grey all its knowledge of sunlight and depth of wild scurrying clouds and white clouds that drifted across the blue as peacefully as a dream; a sky content to be a lid across the world.

--from page 64 of There Were No Windows by Norah Hoult

The book is about an eighty-ish-old-woman who has dementia, though her mind seems to be fairly decent, she just doesn't remember anything she is told and behaves a bit childishly much of the time. Her bedclothes and nightgown are something quite shocking, according to her one remaining servant. I like this line about the sky because it seems quite descriptive of the Seattle sky that I've found so oppressive this winter.

Mid-February Adventures in West Seattle (Yes, Bessie stars)

 Two posts in two days? What the hell?!

Scott coerced me into going for a bike ride today though I was feeling particularly lazy and cranky--or maybe because I was a bit cranky. We started out into a heavy mist and I was cold and the world seemed even blearier and grayer than it was because my glasses were rapidly covered in droplets. I said we'd go towards Alki because that would get us a few miles and we'd have the option of throwing the bikes on a bus if it was too miserable by then.

  And it stayed pretty gray, but I warmed up a bit and there were birds on the water. Before we reached Alki I'd stopped for the first photo op of the day: cormorants on pilings against the gray that seemed so thick that it blotted out the downtown skyline. That turns out not to be absolutely true now that I look at the photo: it's just that my glasses were so damned covered in water themselves. 

There's a ferry as well as faint skyline in the background.

I started thinking about Sunfish on Alki soon after the cormorants for some of my crankiness likely came from being hungry and I like to eat a lot of fish in the run-up to Lent. Happily, Scott was agreeable and they were open so we stopped for some quite excellent fish and chips. While we were gorging, the clouds broke up a little and there were tiny hints of sun by the time we emerged. We continued the great circle route, pausing along Constellation Park to admire what I assume were one male and three female  harlequin ducks. I suggested it might be called Harem Island, but Scott thought it was three sisters and their younger brother. Not a great photo, but I so seldom see harlequins this close.

Possibly Anne, Emily, Charlotte, and Branwell

The next pause was at the northern end of the approach to Lincoln Park's beach. It's our normal route, but I've never noticed this fine garage door before so I think it may be fairly recent. Or I may just be unobservant; I didn't recognize the selkie immediately and Scott had to point out the gull above the owl. 

There were still a number of birds out on the water, but the path is a bit tricky with a lot of gravel so I was mostly watching where Bessie and I were going along the beach. Once we got up into the forestesque park above I was able to coast a bit more, listening to birdsong but seeing only a few juncos and, eventually, a robin. I paused to pose Bessie by a few of the quite enchanting trees.

The north side of the tree was indeed, quite mossy. So were all the other sides; that's the way of Seattle trees.

This madrone has certainly seen better days but it was quite gobsmacking nonetheless.

I've felt a particular fondness for Pacific Madrones since working on Cascadia Field Guide, in part because I so love Elizabeth Bradfield's poem, "Succession."

Here and below, the Pacific Madrone pages of Cascadia Field Guide, looking a bit wavy because that's what happens when you try to prop open a 400-page book with a glass candlestick.

So, a close-up of that tree's fine bark:

While at Sunfish, I asked the owner (who had been on vacation the last couple of months) somewhat wistfully if he'd been any place warm during his break because this year Seattle's winter has felt particularly dispiriting. But, truly, I would not live anywhere else.