Rosemary for Remembrance

Ah, rosemary---bushes of it higher than a 6'man. So many uses, pesto, roasted potatoes, sticks for sausage. Rumor has it that much of Riverside was wild rosemary. The elders called it a rosemary bald meaning a sandy spot with rosemary bushes. Rosemary for remembrance says a crazed Ophelia. Now the docs are using alkaloids of rosemary to treat Alzheimers. Everything seems to come full circle.

Roselle Jam

They call it a Florida cranberry. It's flower resembles a hibiscus. The recipe for the jam is in Cross Creek Cookery, Majorie Kinnan Rawlings' wonderful book on Florida backwoods cuisine. The taste is fruity but the texture is a bit off putting rather slimy. Perhaps I simply didn't do it right.

The Queen Arrives

Reality is that I don't know her sex. She could be a he for all I know. I am just so happy to have her land on the property. It means there is biodiversity on my tiny plot, at least enough to support a red-tailed hawk.

Her wing span is as wide as the arch she sits on. I remember the power of the talons when Grecia would hit the leather hawking glove and dig in. To watch a hawk furl and drop, that is my idea of pure power and beauty.

Tea for Two or Ten

On cool, non-mosquito days, I crawl into the tea house and sip Earl Grey. I find it returns me to my childhood invisibility, the invisibility I thought I had high in Mimi's chinaberry tree.

The folks in the cul de sac right outside the tea house don't know I am there, so I hear interesting conversations. For some reason, lots of folks choose the cul de sac for romantic meetings and fiery break-ups. The dialogue is intriguing for my writer soul. I remember Steinbeck used to pay Mexican immigrants 50 cents a story. I get mine gratis.

Armadillo Attack

They're back. I put an entire cart of fill dirt in their little triangular holes. One of the holes was so deep I filled it with 11 calamondines because I ran out of fill dirt. I think Sox, the wonder cat, has given up. He seemed equal to the task of perimeter patrol, but has not been seen for two days. Robo thinks that he was traumatized by being locked in the garage. Hope not.

According to the web, nothing works---not moth balls, not predator urine, not high pitched noises----- nothing short of capture and relocate. I have one Havaheart trap and judging from the holes, I have about thirty armadillos. Let's see which month shall I devote to armadillo relocation? And, according to the pros, I have to take each one at least ten miles away.

Tea House Sans Mosquitoes

They are gone, the little buzzing devils. I can sit in the tea house and drink a pot of Peppermint delight without swatting anything. I always think of the wonderful supple woman in Japan who did a tea ceremony for us. She was the epitome of measured grace. I pass so many piles of bamboo and I take some of it and carry it home. It becomes the walls and the roof of the tea house. No charge for creativity.

Tiny Frozen Emeralds

Howard Garrett, the Dirt Doc, says pick the green tomatoes and then put them between layers on newspaper to ripen. I am trying that. It breaks my heart to see the little gems hanging on the limp limbs.

Someone else said cook Emeril Lagasse's Green Tomato soup. I did. Yum. But a bit too spicy for my tastebuds even though I cut out two of the three peppers. I think, folks from New Orleans can really bear more heat than the average Floridian.