Here’s the last of the summer cucumbers trained to climb up and around this singular post that seems to have the gigantic job of holding up most of the second story. Or it’s the third story, cos I can’t really figure out how this tri-level house works.
We had a HUGE thunder and lightening and rainstorm last night and my garden is SO happy. Fingers crossed this means we might have a rainy year and end the drought.
I’m writing this post from the dentist’s office where I’m waiting for the lidocaine to take effect. This time it’s merely to replace the temporary crowns with the permanent ones, but I have time to share a couple of photos from yesterday.
Look at this orange butterfly feasting on an orange zinnia!
I’ve never seen it before and I was so excited to learn this is a Gulf Fritillary or passion butterfly (Agraulisvanillae) They’re “longwing butterflies”, which have long, narrow wings compared to other butterflies. Gulf Fritillary is the only member of genus Agraulis. From Wiki.
An orange butterfly represents passion. An orange butterfly sighting can remind us to stay focused on or follow through with a plan or project until it’s complete.
The orange butterfly is associated with the sun, life, and consciousness. Spotting an orange colored butterfly can signify that a new dawn of healing and heart transformation is about to occur for someone who has been depressed or anxious.
Orange colored butterflies have also been associated with courtesy, friendliness, and liveliness.
Seeing an orange butterfly reminds us to stay positive.
Having an orange butterfly land on you or fly near you means that joy will soon come into your life in some unexpexted way.
An orange butterfly can also encourage us to be more socialble or outgoing, or seeing one can indicate that a visitor will soon arrive, or an invitation to a social event is coming–especially if the butterfly is flying inside or around the home.
Here’s an update regarding the ongoing saga of my injuries: my back and toe are much better, but I seem to have a stress fracture of one of the little bones on top of my foot. I admire my consistency, however, because all of this is on my LEFT side.
This time the stupidity was caused by my sad attempts to remember Swan Lake choreography and practice fouettes, which I haven’t done in FOREVER. I wasn’t wearing pointe shoes or even soft ballet shoes; I was barefoot on a hard tile floor. Like I said, STUPID.
Why Swan Lake? Well, the last time I saw my Angel Kids, we were in the car when Swan Lake came on the radio. I yelled out, ” That’s SWAN LAKE!” T asked me what that was and I explained the story of the dance to him while we were listening. When the music gets to the part where the court jester does those incredible gravity defying grand jetes and double split cabrioles, I told him that it takes a very athletic, very talented dancer to jump like that, and he was intrigued.
I promised I’d take him to see Swan Lake as soon as it came to town. When we got home, he said to Siri, “Play Swan Lake” and then he sat on the sofa and became lost in the beauty of Tchaikovsky.
Anyway, that’s how I hurt my foot.
I can’t really put any weight on it, so I’m once again reclining on the sofa with my everpresent ice pack on yet another part of my little body.
C’est la vie! No one to blame but myself. I am NOT and never was Margot Fonteyn lol (ballet snob reference).
Here’s a few photos from inside and outside as I hobble around.
I stopped to admire the sun shining brightly on these indoor plants. I couldn’t capture the whole wall in one photo, but there’s a matching cabinet to the right. It’s a very pretty room.
Meet my special bunny friend. He’s slightly lighter in color than the rest of the family and he comes out more during the day than the others. This was taken right outside my bedroom window. Good morning, brave little one!
Because of relentless RATS, I had to pick these strawberries just before they were 100% ripe to save them from being half eaten and discarded.
I am reminded of a starfish with this spider lily. What a perfectly lovely specimen!
Check this out; it’s not a ballet but it’s danced by the great danseur, Sergei Polunin, to Hozier’s “Take Me To Church”. Choreography by Jade Hale-Christofi. (In 2010, at the age of nineteen, Polunin became the Royal Ballet’s youngest ever principal dancer). He is truly amazing as an artist, but I read things about him PERSONALLY that aren’t all that savory in regards to some homophobic and sexist Instagram posts, so his invitation to perform in the Paris Opéra Ballet‘s performance of Swan Lake was revoked.
I thought these little guys would be HOT since they’re jalapenos, but they taste exactly like green peppers.
I wonder if it’s because I’ve nurtured this plant for more than five years, way longer than it was supposed to produce. They used to taste really spicy; only a little bit was needed for guacamole, but maybe capsaicin, the chemical that gives chiles their heat, decreases over time?
I sure have no idea, but they still taste fresh and juicy, and so cozy nestled in this little bamboo bowl.
This very tall yucca is my upper garden overlooking the path used by coyotes.
Did you know that most of the yucca plant is edible?
Some people are brave enough to eat that asparagus-looking stalk. Native American tribes used pretty much every part of the plant. They ate the flowers, stalks, and fruits, used the fibrous, spiky leaves for cordage, and mashed the pulpy root with water for soap and shampoo.
I haven’t tried any recipes with yucca flowers, but I bet it tastes something like squash blossoms.
Is it true? Is there no word that rhymes with orange? Here’s what I found…
“Orange has almost no perfect rhymes. The only word in the 20-volume historical Oxford English Dictionary that rhymes with orange is sporange, a very rare alternative form of sporangium (a botanical term for a part of a fern or similar plant).” Lexicohttps://www.lexico.com
Anyway, here’s an orange zinnia.
I had planted a whole row but my garden bunnies LOVE zinnia flowers. I watched them eat every single one EXCEPT for this plant.
Photos taken at different times of the day; intense color versus sort of washed out by the sun.
Zinnias, stout and stiff, Stand no nonsense: their colors Stare, their leaves Grow straight out, their petals Jut like clipped cardboard, Round, in neat flat rings.
Even cut and bunched, Arranged to please us In the house, in water, they Will hardly wilt—I know Someone like zinnias; I wish I were like zinnias.