Peppermint and Applemint . . .
Catnip (of course!) . . .
Italian parsley . . .
Apple Geranium . . .
And garlic chives and sage . . .
My plan is to be able to bring these in over the winter, plus a pot of regular curly parsley and one of oregano, and whatever else I plant. First, of course, I have to find a window with enough light . . . we shall see. In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy them this summer.
Leeks and onions, cabbage and broccoli and cauliflower . . .
Rhubarb and feverfew and fennel (and some strawberries) . . .
Potatoes! and the blackberries are loade with buds . . . 
Horseradish (and some more strawberries) . . . 
Mint (I don't know what kind, but it's not peppermint or spearmint. When I bought it a couple of years ago, it was one demure little plant labeled "julep mint" . . . now look at it! But it tastes very good indeed.) . . . 
Chives . . . 
I spent yesterday moving things—furniture, weeds—and now I'm paying for it. I am terribly out of shape (which, of course, begs the questions of whether I was ever in shape, but nevermind . . . ), and so stiff I can barely move. A hot shower this morning may be in order. A long hot shower. (John spent the day up in Leroy's pasture, cutting up next winter's heat. So I'm not the only one with sore muscles!)
I cleaned up the pit that the living room has become, now that the incubator is finished and installed (filled with turkey eggs and a couple of pheasant eggs, and we shall see what transpires) atop the oil stove (which we no longer use, the price of oil being what it is). That involved taking all the drying amaryllis pots out onto the back porch to finish drying out of my sight, as well as the paperwhites which have finished drying and are awaiting an empty pot to stick them into to see whether they'll bloom again next year; however, all the soon-to-be empty pots are currently full of amaryllis, so . . . I also picked up and disposed of a lot of trash that had accumulated on the [unused and in the way] sofa over the course of the past several weeks, moved a couple dozen boxes of canning jars waiting to be either stored (somewhere else) or used, vacuumed, moved a bunch of other stuff and decided that wasn't a good idea, so I moved it back . . . Living room is somewhat of a misnomer, as no one actually uses it for anything other than storage. The only reason anyone spends time in there is John's computer, there being nowhere else to put it. So far we have a freezer, a small refrigerator (cheesemaking may be imminent, as soon as someone finds time to actually do it), two incubators (one of is Leroy's, and will be going home soon, I hope), a tub of goat-related paraphernalia, three tubs of bee stuff, a dehydrator (which I hope to replace with an outside solar dryer this summer), all my tailgate things (except the jam, which is in the well house), two sets of faux-wrought-iron folded-up folding shelves, the aforementioned oil stove, the TV which no one watches and which is currently doing duty as a cat bed, a couple of chairs, the sofa (which I'd remove if there was anywhere else to put it), a folding screen (it did camouflage the wires at the back of John's computer, but had to be folded up when cats began to perch on top of it so it fell over), a filing cabinet with a pile of stuff-to-be-filed on top of it, and a giant pile of stuff in the corner (a pile which John has been promising to sort out for a couple of years now, but hasn't gotten around to yet. I just look the other way.).
At any rate, I finished in there, went to the post office and the grocery store, and decided to go out and pick violets for jelly, since they're blooming nicely in the front. However, in order to reach the violets, it was necessary to cut down all the old stalks that I'd left standing over the winter since the birds were eating seeds from them, which involved carrying the cut-off things to the compost pile . . . I never got any violets picked, but the flower beds look a lot better. Violets today, perhaps, if my back will allow it.
The rhubarb has bounced after the weekend's inch of rain; I can cut some soon. The leeks and onions look good, too, and the cabbage/broccoli/cauliflower plants. Since I wasn't accomplishing anything I'd started to do, I listened to the birds (mating time, and the air is full of birdsong all day long), watched hawks circling on the thermals (they began with five, then peeled off one at a time until there was only one left, crying all the time. Such eerie cries. . . I wonder what they think, looking down at the earth from so high? Or if they just surrender to the joy of flight?), moved the buckets of rocks and water that the bees drink out of (one over by the hives, one under the chestnut tree), and wandered down in the woods and took a couple of pictures.
I missed most of the bloodroot, but here are a few blooms:
(See those strappy leaves to the right of the bloodroot? Ramps! Spring comes to the mountains! I'm not picking mine; I'm leaving them to spread. We did stop at Kings Produce on the way home from somewhere on Friday, though, simply because they had fresh ramps—then we had ramps and fried potatoes for supper.)
Trilliums getting ready to bloom:
Sweet woodruff coming up in the rock garden. (Which reminds me, I have a bleeding heart and some lilies of the valley that I need to get planted down there . . . )
Grape hyacinths among the daylillies in one of the front beds
And cowslips just below them
What's left of my forsythia after a tree fell on it last year . . . 
Blue-eyed grass
And Maggie on the back steps . . .
Now, about that hot shower . . .
The bush cherries at the end of the garden are in bloom:
And the weeping cherry near the house is just beginning to blossom:
In just a few days it will be covered with flowers. (And bees, I hope!) The display will last a week or so, and then it will be just another smallish tree for the rest of the year. But what a glorious week!
Daylillies coming up—and some ground ivy, unfortunately.
Cowslips—they were under the evergreen that fell last year, and I had to move them. This spot is really not shady enough, nor wet enough, but I can see them here. These are the old-fashioned yellow bells—and more ground ivy. Apparently I'm going to have to get out here and pull up the stuff before too long.
Rhubarb sprouting. A few strawberry plants off to the left, and a clump of feverfew at the head of the row.
Onions, garlic, leeks (those are the green sticks), a few shallots, more onions, and cabbage/broccoli/cauliflower plants.
More cabbage/broccoli/cauliflower plants, and mustard seed in the lower tilled bed. The upper one is where we'll plant lettuce and so on, as soon as I get to the fabri store for some cheap muslin to make a bed cover. (Note: since I took this picture—yesterday—there are several fewer plants, thanks to a marauding turkey. Drat! Another trip to Berry's Feed & Seed will be in order next week . . . ) We have a bushel of seed potatoes to plant, too, as soon as it's the dark of the moon again—and as soon as the tiller is fixed.
All this was planted in the last couple of days; today it's been raining all day, a nice slow rain to settle things in nicely.
And the paramount sign of spring—little goats! Thor, Fig and Holly, eyeing me with suspicion . . . I don't have anything to eat in my hand, so I must have evil intentions. 
Daffodils! and something else . . . see that little green plant in front of the fake turtle? I'm sure I planted it last year, but I haven't the faintest idea what it is. This was a bed full of experiments, and I thought most of them were annuals. I guess not.
I planted pansies last fall, after which it immediately got cold and wet and they never bloomed. This spring, perhaps? This is one of three in bloom now. (And, of course, the forecast is for winter ick for the next couple of days—rain, freezing drizzle, possibly sleet—the dreaded wintry mix.)
The Lenten roses are blooming, and have even spread a bit. The new little ones aren't large enough to bloom this year; maybe next.
And, alas, the guineas are out and about also. These are part of the Gang of Five, or Sometimes Six—they fly out of the lot, over the house, and into the side yard every morning. From here they progress across the drive to Rita's field, glean whatever's there at the edge of the trees, and then come back across the drive and through the yard to a spot in the back yard, beneath the bird feeders, where they eat and converse loudly and sun if the sun's out. Sometimes Sam lies in the middle of them, watching; they pay no attention whatsoever to him. When John comes out to feed the chickens, they all fly back over the house and into the lot to eat; then it's back to a wild free life outside! They all roost high up in a maple tree near the garden, and loudly announce any movement below—all night long. John will have to catch them and clip their wings before it gets warm and people have their windows open all night . . .
And the bees are out, too; I saw one in a daffodil, but wasn't quick enough to get a picture. They're working in the crocuses, too. And drinking . . . somehow it never occurred to me that bees drink. Much, anyway; I've seen them in the cat water bowl sometimes in the summer, but look at this:
We have these buckets of rocks sitting in the driveway (I got them from a creek on John's friend Bob's property a couple of years ago, and I'm planning to do something with them. Sometime. Stop laughing!), and they have water in them from the last few rains, and the bees found them . . . isn't that just the neatest thing you've ever seen?
We're gathering in the produce these past weeks . . . 
(The sweet potato didn't come from the garden, and I see that it is sprouting, so I shall have to Do Something With It posthaste. Perhaps I'll just suspend it in a jar of water—remember how you used to do that?—and let it grow over the winter.) We'll be digging the rest of the potatoes this next week.
This is (these are?) the last of the tomatoes.
Basil . . . in the dehydrator even as we speak. I still need to dry some oregano and some more mint.
Banana squash (which also make good pumpkin butter) . . .
and Lakota squash, something new this year.
And plenty of dried beans and rice.
I love fall and winter. I like knowing that we have plenty of food stored up, and plenty of wood in the woodpile (and a couple of extra boxes of cat litter!), and many bales of hay in the shed . . . well, we don't have the hay yet, but I have the money put back to buy it, and we're working on it. We aren't feeding ourselves completely out of the garden by any means (for one thing, we're both too arthritic to do that kind of intensive gardening), but we've made a substantial dent in the year's food supply, and we're buying the rest locally as much as we can. It feels good.
Remember that passage in The Wind in the Willows about Badger's house, where he had storerooms piled with food, and hams hanging from the rafters? He's my role model, so far as winter eating goes. And also, possibly so far as winter napping goes, too. . .
And, by the way—I have also made buttermilk! No big achievement, really . . . you just put 6-8 ounces of in-date commercial buttermilk in a quart jar with 3 cups of milk (I used organic whole milk) and let it sit out for 24 hours or so. . . and there you are! Buttermilk! I use a fair amount baking (especially in winter; we eat a lot of cornbread and biscuits, and cornbread and biscuits made with sweet milk are just not right), and I'm always running out . . . and we drink a lot of milk anyway . . . so this will save me a trip or three to the grocery store.
Besides, it makes me feel all accomplished and pioneer-like . . .
Now I must retire to the kitchen: we are not only doing the tailgate tomorrow, but a new festival in Swannanoa . . . which means we'll leave here at 7:30 tomorrow morning and get back about seven tomorrow night. And then die . . .
So I'm baking twice as much as usual. The bread is all done and in the freezer; I'll thaw it out this afternoon and label/price it. Today I'm gathering up extra jars of jam to take in hopes that we'll sell enough to need them, and baking gingersnaps and toll house cookies, and gingerbread . . . and possibly some scones late this evening. I have a recipe and a jar of dried strawberries . . .
These are Jerusalem artichokes, also known as girasoles. I prefer that name, since they have nothing to do with Jerusalem, so far as I know, and they aren't artichokes. They don't even taste very good, in my not-terribly-humble opinion . . . they're edible, but that's about it.
But, oh, aren't they beautiful on a foggy morning like this one? Late summer gold . . .
Here's a closeup. I'm amazed that such simple flowers make such a lovely display.
We had (have) a row of them in back of the house, but they're not bloomed in the five years I've been here. They've gotten shaded out by the maples and wild cherries, and they just get leggier every year. I'd been meaning to dig some of them up and set them out in the garden, in a no-very-much used spot, but I'd never quite gotten around to it (like so many other things . . . ).
This year, however, they have transfered themselves to the front bed somehow. This is the bed where the big evergreen came down, and where we are planning to plant some peach seedlings (which have spent the summer in a big pot, apparently happy as clams). Now, however, we have a row of girasoles and a single black raspberry bramble . . . which will stay right there just as long as it pleases, since the ones we planted in the garden all died . . . this one had berries on it in the spring, and they were good. I ate them, every one.
The goldenrod is beginning to bloom!
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