Wild wort

This is millepertuis (St. John's wort) in its wild form. It grows everywhere along the edges of the vineyard roads and even among the vines themselves. The wort produces its bright yellow flowers all summer.

A clump of wild St. John's wort grows at the end of a row of grape vines.

We inherited a big plot of domesticated wort along the south side of our house. It also fills in a ditch along the road just outside our property. The flowers are much bigger than the those of wild variety, but they're the same bright yellow color. I've tried to get rid of it, but it's quite tenacious. I've since read that it's almost impossible to eliminate (without serious effort, digging, and chemicals) because of its extensive network of rhizomes beneath the soil.

Knapweed and something else

The bright purple flowers belong to the knapweed, but those rounder purplish globes without flowers look to be something else. I don't remember noticing them before, but I certainly am noticing them now.

Are they another plant, or just knapweed at a different stage?

Our little late summer heat wave is continuing. So far it's not anywhere near oppressive, but the next couple of days in the low 30sC (upper 80sF) could get a little uncomfortable for sleeping. Mostly because we're just not used to it. A cool-down is predicted toward the end of the week.

We'll always have Paris

I let this anniversary go by until Ken reminded me. Forty years ago last Thursday was 2 September 1981. I left New York for my first-ever trip to Paris to spend a school year learning French at the Alliance Française. The transportation was arranged by the college that sponsored the year abroad program. Students from all over the US were on their own to get to the flight, Icelandic Air Flight 204 out of JFK, an overnight flight with a re-fueling stop in Reykjavik, Iceland. The final destination was Luxembourg. Then we took a train to Paris.

As you can see, I still have the boarding pass. Both of them.

The flight cost US $470 round-trip back then. I thought it was a fortune. It was my first international flight, and probably my third or fourth flight ever. I took a train from home (upstate New York) to Grand Central in Manhattan and got a ride to JFK from a friend who lived in Brooklyn. The flight took off after dark and it was an hour or so late. The plane was likely a Douglas DC-8, based on the airline's fleet composition on Wikipedia. Icelandic Air was absorbed into the Icelandair group right around the time of our flight.

This trip was the biggest adventure of my young life up to that point. And, more significantly, when our train arrived at the Gare du Nord in Paris that night forty years ago, we students were met on the platform by the program's resident director, Ken B., who would later become my husband.

Shorts and tee-shirts

It's happening. Summer is back. Sun. Dry days. High temperatures in the 80sF. I grilled hamburgers for lunch on Friday. And I'm enjoying wearing shorts again. We'll see how long it lasts.

Grapes to the right, corn on the left (in the back). A recent sunrise.

Bert stayed out last night until almost three in the morning. I woke up around 23h30 thinking I felt him walk across my legs (which he does frequently). I must have been dreaming because he was not at all there. Then I tossed and turned and barely slept while I waited for him to come home. After he moseyed in, I continued to toss and turn until I got up just after six. What a wasted night.

It's not Vigeland...

The first thing I thought of when I saw this pile of grape vine trunks in one of the dug-up parcels out back this summer was the sculpture by Gustav Vigeland in Frogner Park, Oslo, Norway. A friend of mine (now deceased) visited Scandinavia when she was younger and had taken photos of that evocative sculpture. I've never visited Norway, so I've not seen the sculpture in person.

A pile of dead grape vine trunks in the vineyards behind our house.

We're enjoying the warm and, so far, dry weather. We may see a few rain showers today and maybe again tomorrow. In the meantime, I'm watering what's left of the vegetable garden by hand.

See what I mean? You be the judge.

Photo by Andrew Shiva, Wikipedia.

The (garden) party is over

Our 2021 vegetable garden is almost a memory. There are still zukes, kale, and chard growing (sort of). On Wednesday, I cut all the weeds down with the mower after piling up the pulled plants and some trimmings and tree branches (that were piled in the garden path). I'll get rid of those later.

Tasha "helps" with the garden cleanup.

The plot will have to be tilled up at some point and I'll probably have to mow it again before that happens. And, in accordance with the laws of the universe, the sun has been shining brightly over nice warm and dry days since I removed the soaker hose.

The last of the tomatoes

This year's tomato harvest is over, at least in our vegetable garden. I picked the last decent-looking toms on Monday and pulled the plants out of the ground. They (the tomatoes) will go into a meat sauce for today's pasta lunch, I think.

The last of the Mohicans tomatoes.

Yesterday I took down the trellis fence at the back of the garden plot. I planted climbing peas and beans there last spring but didn't have much luck with them. Quelle surprise. I also pulled the fence supports out of the ground and am re-thinking how I'll use the trellis next year. The last thing I did yesterday was to prune back the aggressive blackberry brambles that advance on the north-side fence each year. This year, of course, they're super aggressive because of the abundant spring and summer rains we had. After trimming, I ran the lawnmower along the outside of the fence.

It feels good to get out there and begin to take back control. We've been letting a lot of the yard work go in anticipation of the planned tree and shrub removal and the renovation of the garden path. It all looks a mess out there. The landscape contractor wrote yesterday that he's scheduled us for October 4. He has to reserve a small tractor rental for some of the extraction and renovation work. Another month to wait.