none to say

dear reader,

today, the baron is thinking about how she's let you down, all 7 of you that regularly check this website. she's thinking about how she'd like to have something interesting to report, but - in fact - does not. she knows that not updating this chronicle isn't disappointing in the same way that "sorry, you don't qualify for this home loan" or "i'm sorry to tell you, the biopsy found evidence of cancer cells in your thyroid" are disappointing, but still - she's disappointed in herself, for having nothing to write, for having no interesting photographs to share, for spending all her free time on the couch, hand sewing a quilt THAT WILL NEVER BE DONE (and, yes, stitchworks, the baron KNOWS that a sewing machine will make it go faster, she KNOWS!!).

the root of her malaise has been hard to identify, but she suspects it's a conflation of many things. she's recently taken a new job, and reader, the shine is wearing off. the weather doesn't help - summer is ending, fall can't get here fast enough, but in the meantime the humidity is lingering about like an unemployed teenager. this weather also affects the dogs: they dance around the house wanting badly to be outside, but once there, they immediately want back into the air conditioning. her yard, too, troubles her - it's ghastly to look at, and there's no real chance things about that will change any time soon.

probably the most bothersome thing of all, though, is the absence of the husband. this week, or maybe just today, he's in atlanta, though this trip started in wilmington, and will probably end up somewhere like houston. this is only the most recent of many, many trips he's taken lately, and reader, the baron is tired of being left. home alone, from time to time, is a welcome respite from
the usual marital tasks (laundry and cooking being fore among them), but after six months of his almost constant travel, she's tired. she misses him. she also would not mind having someone around to split the dog-caring duties, if you know what she's saying.

in short, the baron would like you, reader, to know that she's whining. can't you hear her from where you are?

what does this mean for you, reader? nothing, really, but don't fret - fall is, after all, on its way, and she loves fall. see? things, they're looking up already.

cucumber

despite the excitement and happiness the baron felt earlier this year, with the first blush of spring, it's been a pretty underwhelming season for gardening. the reasons for this are numerous: staggering water bills, the husband's work and travel schedule, the baron's work schedule, and those goddamn squirrels who eat every effing thing not nailed down in the garden.

last year, the garden yielded green beans and tomatoes beyond counting, lettuce and okra for months, edamame, and even the odd brussel sprout. this season, not so much. the green beans were back, but the tomatoes, okra and brussel sprouts were a bust. the lettuce did well for awhile, but it's now gone to seed. see? kind of underwhelming.

but don't worry reader, the summer wasn't a total wash: there were a few bright spots. they did get some grapes, the husband's hops plant is growing like mad, a few pear tomatoes were harvested and the cucumber? a TOTAL and RANDOM delight - the baron didn't plant it, still doesn't know where it came from, but was glad to add it to her monday night salad. anyway, there's always next year.

outside living, mostly done

after three days work, the retaining wall/patio duo was nearly almost completely done - what's now missing are plants: ground cover between the paving stones and ferns along the perimeter (it is, after all, called fern valley).

but until then, reader, behold the following: new and improved outside living!





the baron would like to note here that outside living is hard work and not without some danger. during the construction of the new and improved fern valley, the baron backed sharply into one of the wall stones, hammered her left hand while trying to shape one of the wall stones, and tamped her left big toe while trying to ready the fill dirt for pavers. also, at one point the husband and the baron exchanged these words (while he was moving fill dirt into the patio area):

the husband: "dude, i think that's a bone."
the baron: "what? like an animal bone."
the husband: "no dude. like part of a leg bone."
the baron: "..."
the husband: "..."

outside living, more during

next, after digging the trench and lining it with rocks, the baron got down to laying the wall stones while the husband got to moving fill dirt into what would become the patio. (another nod to the husband's resourceful nature? three dump trucks full of fill dirt, gratis, were delivered to their yard. they used a portion of this dirt to level fern valley - score!) it turns out that wall building is a tedious job, requiring both patience and muscles. the baron has one of those things - and reader, it's to you to decide which one.


anyhoo, after the wall was established, the baron and the husband got to tamping down all that free fill dirt, readying it for the pavers.

above and below, the pavers get friendly, get crooked with the level.

outside living, during

so.

because their house is small, and because their yard is large, the baron and the husband recently decided to take on a yard project that would beautify fern valley: they would build a retaining wall (to handle the slope) and a patio (to handle the sinking-into-mulch problem).

first, the mulch had to be raked out, a task the husband took to with gusto. see the following two photos.




next, after settling on the shape of the wall, the baron got to digging a shallow trench, which she would later line with gravel (for drainage).


a closeup of the trench, pre-gravel - see how pretty!

outside living, before

the baron and the husband live in what the baron would call a very small house - it's just around 950 sq. feet. when all the dogs and all the humans are indoors, things can start to feel a bit close, due mostly to the fact that tucker and baron need to shadow the humans from room to room. it's not the size of the house per se - the baron and the husband are accustomed to small spaces. for instance, in san francisco, their apartment was teeny, tiny - but perfect for the two of them and dexter. it seems, though, that as their family has grown by leaps and bounds (now four dogs, two humans, and one foster cat), their housing hasn't.

because of the size of their house, the baron and the husband - weather permitting - spend lots of time outside. they actually bought their current house based on the size of the yard and all the outside time a yard of that size would permit.


above and below are two photos of the same area - one the husband calls fern valley. a chaise lounge, two chairs and dogirondack sit on a thick pile of mulch. it's a shady spot, an ideal place to sit on hot days. but. the baron has two issues with fern valley. one, the mulch is not-so-slowly decomposing; the legs of the chairs sink into it. two, the entire sitting area is sloped.

the shade of fern valley is ideal for mosquitoes, those summertime pests. below, candles to keep them at bay.

jinxy cat

it has been nearly impossible for the baron to get a good picture of this cat. not only is he black - and hard to photograph for that reason - he is also very, very slinky. sneaky. tumbly. running around everywhere-y.

so. this is the best she could do. he is a foster cat, one the baron and the husband have had for about 5 weeks now. he is friendly and dog-like... and, because they have two small black dogs, the baron and the husband often mistake him for a dog. the shelter staff, who caught and briefly cared for the cat, named him bravery, and called him avery. this induces eye rolling at the baron's house - even the dogs think that naming convention is kind of dumb. the husband and the baron have been calling him chester copperpot (for that half an ear, as an homage to 'the goonies') and also jinxy cat. so far, he answers to both names - all three names, really - and seems generally content and grateful to have a house full of playmates - even if they are of the canine variety.