After four months of bare walls, it was surprisingly easy to get John's photographs on the wall of the dining nook. A dash of impetus, five minutes to order, and a few days later just 30 minutes with a level and some poster tape. (Really more of an eyeball level than an actual level. Sorry, dad, no iPhone.) The added character made the nook much homier with a good source of satisfaction (silently attempting to make friends jealous of all the cool places we've been to recently). With Bangladesh on the "west" wall, and Hoath on the "east" wall, the Santa Cruz coast sits in the middle and ties it all together on the "north" wall. Pay no mind to that compass in your head. To give visual intrigue from both near and far, these were all vanishing point studies, attempting to enlarge the space (the nook is a bit tiny for modern standards). In a bit more scattered fashion, the fridge is now plastered with snapshots... assorted exciting things, as well as photos of Autumn and John from around the world (including abstract representations thereof, from relatively near locations).
The seeds that Autumn planted before the February of the Needed Rains received loving water, enough such that they become victims of other beings in desire of food; the squirrels and the jays, forever in a turf war along Everett Ave (back in 528-b as well), happily dug up our new shoots, which left us with barely a third of our original planting. We took stock, replanted, learned from our mistakes and bought plastic netting to cover everything that suggested it had seeds within. Unfortunately this leaves us now (after a rampage at Seeds of Change) in late Spring with several small flats of seeds, well watered and well covered, which have yet to fully sprout.
In a desire to promote some unifying theme in the backyard, John bought a large number of whisky-barrel-looking planters, which are now fully irrigated through discreet holes in the sides and stacked neatly within the existing planters on the patio. Three planters of basil will promise amazing amounts of spicy fresh pesto for our dinner table pastas. Two large planters of heritage tomatoes will deliver exciting green zebra and brandywine fruits to drizzle with Bariani's fresh-pressed green olive oil. One and a half planters of spearmint, peppermint, and chocolate mint will grace our mojitos on hot summer nights out on the patio while we reminisce of similar hot nights in Bangladesh. The other half planter, as well as small pots, include chives (in the same pot since 2005!), rosemary (a small bonsai that housed an ant colony until repotted), oregano, thyme, and marjoram. The seeds currently in flats, poking their small heads through the first layers of dirt as we speak, will likely go in the back garden (or edges of the patio), to some day grow into sugar pumpkins, lemon cucumbers, green and burgandy bush beans, french zucchini, and more heritage tomatoes. The back garden was indeed fully transformed from January's Jungle into Iron Garden America when John tilled the entire area with new soil and chicken manure, with the help of a large trip to Home Depot, half a dozen Coronas, and a full lime.
Of the things that we become thankful for in Quail Cottage, as summer increases, the patio becomes more a happy haven during evening. We took this to the extreme one (morning) during the previous Lyrid meteor shower, waking an hour before dawn and hustling out to the chilly, but dark and (very) close-to-home patio. (Sometimes, this beats driving half an hour out to Skyline.) Grabbing a few blankets and the bean bag chair, we dozed off catching a few brief shooting stars lighting up the dawn.
Other events from late winter included the departure of our duplex-mate and the preparatory painting done by our landlord's management. Surprised one day to come home and find our windows wrapped in plastic, and chips of old paint all along the garden beds, our annoyance at having no communication about the work being done around the house faded slowly into enjoying some new trim on the garage, fresh paint around the windows (to which John subsequently took a razor to, disturbing the dried paint that had fused them shut during a heat wave), and new mulch in the garden (which within the week became overcome, again, by the oxalis). The mulch helped highlight the rose bush by the patio gate, which in the course of a few days had suddenly sprouted hundreds of beautiful deep red roses. A few ladybugs to keep the aphids down, and they lasted a long time, just beginning to wilt now in the arriving heat of summer.
Let's drink to a successful winter: a new snowboard for John and dusting off Autumn's skis allowed four weekend trips to Tahoe and Bear Valley with good friends; redeeming a gift certificate from Mom to take lessons on how to make a molten chocolate lava cake; photography class and knitting class for Autumn, culminating in an intricate cable hat for John (just in time for summer). Time moves on; friends move to the city, new bonds with old friends form on the peninsula, and a home becomes well established in the heart of Palo Alto. With mead in the cubby and seeds sprouting on the patio, it should be a full summer. Cheers!