I’m going on vacation today, and one of the things I’m most excited about is that I’ll have free time over the next few days to write, and to play with my blog(s). Before heading out of town, I opened my laptop to add my other sites to the menu here on Butterfly Mind, and as I added them, I realized I have five blogs. Five.
If you’re interested in sailing, gardening, words, or American literature, I’ve got blogs for you! While Butterfly Mind is the place where I share whatever thoughts alight on my screen or notebook pages, these other blogs chronicle journeys on the water, on the land, and in books:
Andrea Sails: these are the logs of our adventures on the water. The entries help me keep track of what I’m learning as I venture into this new-to-me world of wind- and human-powered boating.
Andrea’s Gardening Blog: this site is often the result of me blogging with dirt on my hands, from my phone, in the garden, right after I’ve put plants in the ground. I love having a searchable record as each month comes around where I can take a look to see what the garden was doing this time last year: what was blooming? How has everything grown since then? When did I sow those seeds?
Andrea’s Lexicon: these are words I collect that I think are cool. Sometimes I hear them in conversation, sometimes I find them in books. Most of them appeal to me because they’re fun to say. Haberdasher! See what I mean?
Andrea Reads America: this is the chronicle of my journey through the US in literature in three books per state. The three books must be set in the state and be written by an author who is from the state or who has lived in the state. For each state I am reading men, women, and non-Caucasian authors. I’m going in alphabetical order. I’m reading Michigan now, though I still need to write up my Massachusetts reads.
Alright, time for me to hit the road. I’m going to have a hard time deciding which one(s) of these to write for while I’m gone.
It’s that time of year again, when I get to sit under the dogwood tree and soak up the garden. I am amazed by how much is already happening out here from perennials we planted last year. They are thriving after having a year to get established, and many things are flowering that didn’t flower last year: all of the thymes — creeping, lemon, and regular old — , the rosemary, and the lavender is about to burst into bloom. Blueberries have formed, and the rue is already bushy, covered in yellow flowers, and crawling with caterpillars. It’s not even June.
Caterpillar on rue
Lavender buds
Blueberries forming
A breeze blows on the back of my neck and rustles the dogwood leaves above me. The morning sun is hot on my arm. I need to apply sunscreen. I’m on butterfly and bird watch.
It may be too windy for butterflies, or may be too early in the year, but we’ve got treats for them when their ready. I never appreciated the advantages of perennials, that they come back each year without me having to do anything. In Florida, we didn’t have winter to kill everything back. In Florida, gardening was a year round endeavor. I’m not sure perennial had meaning there.
I never knew how glorious they could be — a one time investment of work for a lifetime of beauty! The yarrow and indigo Salvia are already bonkers with blooms. The Echinacea and blanket flower have plump buds, the cat mint and Russian sage and Guara and columbine wave pink and purple flowers in the breeze.
Yarrow and bird bath
Blanket flower buds
Bee and indigo salvia
Guara
Echinacea
Columbine
I decided to put even more perennials in since they come back so full and vibrant each year — and because I can divide them and get free plants out of them — but I’ve also reserved a swath in front of my dogwood roost for annuals. I like to be able to try something new each year, and this year I went with yellows, reds, and oranges, with some white to break it all up. All butterfly flowers of course: scarlet sage, orange Cuphea, white Pentas, yellow, orange and pink zinnias, yellow Lantana.
The zinnias I planted from seed, and spent some time yesterday moving around to space the seedlings out. They’re doing well, but I am impatient for them to grow and bloom. That’s what money buys you in the gardening world: time. The more you spend, the less time you have to wait. I spent about $1.50 on a seed packet, and six weeks later I have about 50 zinnia seedlings 2-3 inches tall. I don’t know how much longer I’ll need to wait for them to blossom, but at blooming time I can guarantee I wouldn’t be able to buy even one flowering zinnia for $1.50.
I’m eager for the Lantana to fill out and cover the ground in front of the bird bath our daughter made me for Mother’s Day. I’ve put stones in it so butterflies can use it, too, and have a place to rest while they sip. So far I haven’t seen any birds or butterflies bathing or drinking, but I keep the water fresh anyway.
Bird bath, yarrow, and zinnia patch
Despite my impatience for things to grow and bloom, I think this is my favorite time of year in Appalachia: the time when I can sit in the garden and steep in the growth that’s happening all around. It still boggles my mind that a kernel as tiny as a sesame seed can become a knee-, or waist-, or chest-high organism with broad green leaves, bright flower petals, pistils and stamens and complex mechanisms for fertilization, and a renewable food source for other organisms. Life is miraculous to me. A kernal to a bush, an acorn to a tree.
Our yard is not a wilderness. A manicured garden is not the first thing that comes to mind when I think “nature.” But our garden is alive. And our intention with it is to attract more life. I want bees and butterflies, wasps and worms, spiders and sparrows, monarchs and moths. I can’t get enough of watching the world around me interact, of soaking it all in and wondering at the marvel of our existence.
This is my entry for the Daily Post prompt, Infuse.
All day I’ve waited for a storm. The forecast showed thunder and lightning today. Our new meadow garden at the top of the long hill, where the hose doesn’t reach, could use some water.
In the cool of morning, I went out in the front garden, where the hose does reach, and drenched the new plantings: Bananarama Lantana, Becky Shasta daisies, zinnias from seed, butterfly white Pentas, orange firecracker Cuphea, scarlet sage, purple sizzle sage, Franz Schubert phlox, Pink Showers guara, blazing stars, violet-flowered catmint and Russian sage and Beardtongue, Genovese basil, Italian parsley.
Out back, though. Out back is a bother. I can move the front hose back there, but it’s a slithering behemoth and a heavy pain to move. I can use the short hose that lives out back, but that requires spraying over a long distance to get to the new plantings — cone flowers, bee balm, luscious berry Lantana, Joe Pye weed. Instead, I thought, The storm will quench their thirst.
In the hot sun I filled pots with soil, soaked them with fresh water, and snipped cuttings from rue and yarrow to try to root them. I cut fresh growth with sharp scissors just below a leaf node and dipped the wound in rooting hormone. With the point of a pencil, I poked holes in the wet potted soil. I stuck the powdered stems in the dirt and tamped the soil to close the pencil dab.
The sky blackened over the mountains. The storm will water out back.
I took a cool shower, pulled on a sleeveless summer dress, painted my fingernails and toenails a pale pink, and pulled the windows down in case the storm blew through while I was out. I had a lunch date with my husband — falafel wraps and curly fries with cherry Coke — in downtown Blacksburg. We sat outside at a mesh wrought iron table and the wind blew our napkins into the street. We commiserated about the cats waking us up in the middle of the night, like our children did when they were babies. The table’s umbrella kept the sun out of our eyes, and I watched couples lunch at other restaurant tables along the sidewalk. My fingers were sticky after the baklava. Still no storm.
On my way home, I watched thunderheads build over the green mountains. The cloud tops bloomed an ominous gray with brilliant white highlights against the leaden depths behind them. Wind buffeted grasses on the hillsides, pressing swathes of thigh-high blades almost to the ground before they climbed up and got knocked down again. The hills undulated in grassy waves. Dirt and pollen gusted across the road in large yellow eddies, and bursts of wind thumped the side of the car.
Here it comes, I thought. Tree tops whipped in the wild wind. I drove over to the nursery to see if there was anything else our garden couldn’t live without. When I stepped out of the car, the blast was fresh and cool, and an elderly pair sat on a bench outside the shop watching it blow. Potted shoots bent in the breeze, and planted pots toppled off the outdoor tables with each gust. The light was dim; there was no sun at this point. I got back in the car and drove home, hoping to beat the rain.
Inside, I opened the windows and let the wind blow through the house. I photographed the cats while my coffee steeped, and settled into the lounge chair by the window, listening to thunder while I read The Bell Jar. I found myself getting more and more horizontal, until finally I was lying next to the cats, book on the floor, glasses in the window sill, napping.
When I woke, the world outside was yellow and bright. The driveway was dry. The mulch was dry. The sun shone happily. I hear wind — I hear it rustling oak leaves out back — but the sky is blue with white wisps of clouds.
The butler passed Coverly a cocktail on a tray. He had never drunk a martini cocktail before and to conceal his inexperience he raised the glass to his lips and drained it. He didn’t cough and sputter but his eyes swam with tears, the gin felt like fire and some oscillation or defense mechanism in his larynx began to palpitate in such a way that he found himself unable to speak. He settled down to a paroxysm of swallowing.
— John Cheever, The Wapshot Chronicle
😂 I think this is probably the passage that won The Wapshot Chronicle the National Book Award. It brings me great joy. I’ve shared my love of martinis with first-timers who inevetibly, after the first sip, and the watering eyes and the involuntary grimaces, ask, “Jesus, are they always this awful?” Cheever captures that first time brilliantly here.
We woke Sunday to chilly temperatures and strong winds: awesome weather for a ferry ride to the Statue of Liberty. We bundled up (though not warmly enough) and rode the subway to the southern tip of Manhattan to catch the first ferry of the day. Our tickets were for 9AM, but we were through security by 8:20 and were underway on a boat that wasn’t even half full by 8:30. Cold wind whipped hair into my eyes on the upper deck of the ferry, but it was worth shivering to have an unobstructed view of the statue as we approached.
Statue of Liberty and Manhattan skylineWe were the first to the island, and therefore had it mostly to ourselves. As the later ferries began arriving, filled to capacity with tour groups, school groups, family groups, church groups, and large groups of all sorts, we were glad we had that first half hour or so alone with only 10 or 12 other folks to enjoy the quiet and open spaces of Liberty Island before the masses arrived.
Lady LibertyFrom Liberty Island we rode the ferry to Ellis Island and witnessed the Great Hall where immigrants were processed upon entry to the U.S., along with the 750-bed hospital complex — the United States’ first public health hospital — for quarantine and infectious diseases.
Great Hall at Ellis IslandBy this time I was quite cold, and the sky darkened with spitting clouds. We made our way from the southern tip of Manhattan up to the 9/11 memorial, which was a sobering sight: two city-block-sized holes in the ground, the footprints of the twin towers, now pools with water that falls forever into unknowable, unseeable depths. From the memorial pools, I looked up to see the new, One World Trade Center
9/11 Memorial Pool One World Trade CenterThese were heavy to behold, and we spent time in quiet to absorb them before moving on. We were cold and hungry after a morning on the windy water and under clouded skies, and we both wanted a hot lunch. We had no real agenda after the Statue of Liberty and the 9/11 Memorial, except that we both wanted to visit Little Italy, so we started walking away from Ground Zero towards where we thought we could find the subway that would take us near Little Italy. It was these wanderings that were often my favorite parts of our trip because we happened upon unexpected wonders, like the intricate, decadent Woolworth Building, when we did so.
Woolworth BuildingWe arrived in Little Italy and sought refuge in one of the first restaurants we came to, where it was snug and warm. I ate a plate of lasagna, and my mom had eggplant parmesan, and I was toasty and content. The small, cozy restaurant, the hot food, the warm Italian staff were exactly what I wanted. We stopped next in a pastry shop where I ordered a cappuccino and ate amaretti cookies while we waited out the rain that started as soon as we dipped into the cafe. Finally, we were exhausted after our big and somber morning, and after our full first day on Saturday, so we walked back to our hotel, stopping off in a couple of Italian cheese shops, and accidentally happening into Chinatown on our journey.
Cheese, meats, breads in Little ItalyI snuggled under the blankets to get warm, and we both napped in the quiet of our room. We had nothing else planned, and once we were rested, we both thought it would be fun to close out our trip with Times Square.
Immediately on exiting the platform, we knew were in the liveliest of all the subway stations we had been to. We heard music — trumpet and trombone and drums — and it was toe-tapping and good. These guys blew beat up brass and played plastic bucket drums, and the lack of fancy instruments did not stop them from producing fine boogie woogie music. They played with heart, with fun, and with passion.
Buskers in Times Square subway stationThese street performers were the perfect introduction to Times Square: vibrant and high-stimulous. When we exited the station onto the street, we were assaulted with the visual loudness of it all.
Snapchat ad, Times Square Crumbs Bake Shop, Times Square
Times Square Ball DropTimes Square, and a walk over to the Empire State Building, were the perfect way to close out our NYC touristing. We headed back to Soho for a taco dinner, and went to bed early, exhausted from our two big days. This morning, we said goodbye with a great delight of the city: there’s always an excellent coffee shop nearby. One block away from our hotel, I enjoyed a final cup of coffee, and a surprise doughnut (the shop looked too small to have treats, but they had an amazing, if tiny, selection of doughnuts and pastries — my mom selected a delicious ham and brie croissant).
That’s my favorite thing about New York City: the happy little surprises.
My mom and I are spending the weekend in New York, one of the places on her bucket list to visit. She’s never been, and I’d only been briefly for work, so we are here as full-on tourists these two days. I didn’t bring my laptop, but here’s a quick photo tour of our first day from my phone.
We started our Saturday with a walk east from our hotel in Soho to Katz’s deli near East Village. Mom wanted a NY bagel with lox; I wanted blintzes like my friend’s mom used to make when we had sleepovers at their house.
Katz’s deliCheese and blueberry blintzesMom sent home a salami from Katz’sWe walked north through East Village before embarking on my Mom’s first NYC subway ride. We both love all the fire escapes in this part of the city, though I didn’t get a great picture of them.
From the subway, we crossed Park Avenue, then Madison Avenue, then Fifth Avenue to arrive at the Museum of Modern Art. Once inside, I found a docent and said, “I’d like to see the Warhols and any Rothkos you might have. Do you have a Rothko?”
He tapped some things into his computer and smiled up at me. “We’ve got two Andy Warhols on the fourth floor, and Rothko is on the fifth. We’ve only got one Rothko, though.”
I was giddy. “One is enough.”
Rothko at MoMA Warhol’s Campbell’s soup cans at MoMA Marilyn Monroe by Andy Warhol
We stopped at the fourth floor first, then the fifth floor for the Rothko. I had no idea the treats that awaited us there. At the top of the escalator was Wyeth’s Christina’s World. Then the Jackson Pollock painting everyone knows. Then Dalí’s melting clocks, Monet’s three-wall wide Water Lilies, Mondrian’s New York inspired Broadway Boogie Woogie, Picasso’s Three Musicians. Whole rooms of Picasso. And then, to my great surprise, van Gogh’s Starry Night.
Starry Night. I had no idea it was here.
From MoMA, which I adored, we walked north up Fifth Avenue towards South Central Park and our next stop for the day: afternoon tea at The Plaza hotel.
Roses in The Plaza; their scent filled the entry Tea menu, The Palm Court
The ceiling in The Palm Court The New Yorker tea
Tea at The Plaza was our great splurge, our Mother’s Day gift to each other. Mom drank champagne and I sipped the best Gin Sling I’ve ever tasted. Crystal chandeliers glittered above us, and we took our time savoring the sandwiches, scones, clotted cream and lemon curd, hot tea, tiny desserts, the clinking of porcelain tea cups, and the atmosphere of luxury.
After filling our stomachs to bursting, we walked and metroed again (accidentally taking the express towards the Bronx, and having to hop out far beyond our destination so we could get on the right train to go back), this time to Central Park West and W. 72nd Street for another item on my mom’s bucket list: the John Lennon memorial.
“There are three things I remember exactly where I was when they happened: JFK’s assassination, September 11th, and when John Lennon was shot,” she told me.
We came up onto the street from the subway and there was The Dakota, where John Lennon lived and where he was killed. We wandered around Central Park trying to find Strawberry Fields. In its center we would find the memorial. We walked and walked, having turned the wrong way when we first entered the park, but we knew we were close when we heard a guitar strumming and a voice singing Beatles songs.
John Lennon memorial, Strawberry Fields, Central Park West
We sat for some time there, watching the pilgrims and listening to the man on the bench singing John Lennon.
Still full after our tea, we rested in our room for a while. We skipped dinner and drank cocktails and ate sweet potato fries back in Soho instead.
“I really want to go back to that book store in Greenwich Village and see if they have the book I want,” I said.
It’s a John Cheever book, The Wapshot Chronicle, for my Massachusetts reading project. Our library doesn’t have it, and I can’t find it for my Nook either. I didn’t have high hopes that this little book store would have it either, but neither of us was ready to go back to the room, so we walked over to bookbook after drinks, just for fun.
My book from Greenwich Village
They had it! I’m pretty excited about my single take-home purchase, my souvenir from New York.
Once back in our room, we set our alarms for another big day in the city, and then we slept the deep sleep of the weary.
Butterfly Mind 
