Plant Quest

Today was our garden day. We thought we’d drive to our Home Depot in Robinson to pick up two Roma plants, two basil, two banana peppers and two ferns. It’s our annual pilgrimage.

The back road to Robinson Township

We stopped to wash the dead bugs from the windshield and met a very sweet Baptist Minister, Jim Rhodes from Mercy Baptist in Weirton. He was a pleasure to chat with and didn’t mind at all that Better Half is agnostic. It would be fun to visit his church one Sunday.

A side detour to Iannetti’s was a “must do!” and we discovered some beautiful basil plants and a gorgeous petunia hanging basket for a phenomenally low price. Iannetti’s always has wonderful plants and employees.

We eventually landed at Home Depot in Robinson, PA, and were disappointed. They did not have any Boston ferns. We did find one Roma plant and made due with a cherry tomato plant. There weren’t any banana peppers. The trip would have been for nothing except that we wanted to price solar lights and pick up some indoor insect killer (it’s ant season).

Ianetti’s was already closed by the time we were on the road back to home. A quick stop at the Robinson Lowes proved useless as well, but we had better luck when we returned to Steubenville: banana peppers and Boston ferns.

Our back deck now hosts young veg in pots. We lost one hanging basket (newly planted basil) but I’m not too worried – we replanted them and put them on a plastic table; they are hardy plants and should bounce back again.

Tomorrow we’ll weed the front and back.  

Read more...

Snapshots

A new snapshots taken on the way home from Wheeling:

I finally remembered to pull over and photograph this sign.

Barges transport coal along the Ohio River. This one is headed south, towards Wheeling.

Mallards at the marina. I wonder what the female said to capture their attention.

Bridge. It's a theme out here.

Various fire departments were at the marina. We weren't sure if they were flushing out the tanks or conducting a burning river exercise. 

Forlorn and forsaken, a crumbling boat ramp's rusted sentinel.

Another view of the bridge.

There is always something to see even if only we take the time to look for it. 

Read more...

Lesser Angle-winged Katydid

One more for the back porch collection:
Lesser Angle-winged Katydid - Microcentrum retinerve

She paid us a visit the other night.






















This clip is from Youtube. It captures the courtship song (it sounds like “katy did, katy didn’t” at a distance, hence their name) as well as the method used to create the sound. (Turn off the blog music by clicking on the Playlist at the top of this page.)

Read more...

Snow Weasels

A glimpse of the snow weasels:

Read more...

Back East Ohio Snow | Day One

It is the kind of winter where clear and snowless days are a rarity to be marveled at. The most recent round of snow rolled in hours ago and every last thing outside my windows has been obscured by heavy silver and blue drapery carelessly tossed to the ground by an irresponsible giantess cloth monger.

The conquering flakes have invaded as swiftly and silently as a mythical army; even the tree branches bows towards the earth in humble protest of their combined weight. It is a siege and we are the hapless townsfolk.

________________________________________________

Captured images of my Weather Channel desktop.

________________________________________________

Nutmeg is far too big to be bothered by the light stuff. She runs into trouble around 10:30 PM, when the snow becomes think and difficult to transverse.

These views are important. The first is a glimpse out of the bathroom window. It is the beginning of the siege.

The freshly shoveled driveway

The same view, two hours later.

The snow is almost too deep for the small dogs. They bound around in it, looking like fuzzy snow weasels. Truffle, the Pomeranian, collect snow balls on her underside. She does not like them removed - she saves them for later, and snacks on them as they melt. Piper, the Chihuahua mix, loves the cold.

The bird feeder, groaning under the weight.

Read more...

Helen Carrocci

My Aunt, Helen Carrocci, passed away at 12:01 this morning after a lengthy battle with cancer. She endured several cancers during her lifetime, beginning with lung cancer nearly fifteen years ago and ending with liver cancer.

I would love to post some recent photographs of her, especially those from Christmas. Our desktop has a “program nervous breakdown” yesterday and I can’t access any of my files. Aunt Helen always hated profile pictures; she thought her nose looked terrible. I happened to have thought her face, profile or not, was an interesting study. None-the-less, she fussed at Linda (her daughter) and I on Christmas night and then posed primly on the couch to help us capture her “good side”. I must admit, the pictures did turn out cute.

I am certain that her obituary will contain all of the marvelous things that she has done over the years. She was a hellion, a fighter, a crusader, and often a pain in the ass. Please don’t think that I am being at all disrespectful - she described herself in this way and I couldn’t agree more.

She spent most of her final time on earth sleeping. Better Half and I visited the day before yesterday and she was wide awake for a change. I hugged her, held her hand, and cried a bit as I told her how happy I was to see her awake. Better Half and I teased her a little, and she gave us guff back (just like old times) before she finally shooed us with a sassed, “you people!”

Aunt Helen gave me a look as we were taking our leave. It seemed to say, This is it, kid. I almost didn’t turn back. Aunt Paul was almost blocking the way (unintentionally, as she was merely standing there.) Something said, Go and so I turned around and gave her a warm hug and a kiss, receiving a hug and kiss in return.

My last memory of Helen Carrocci is one of animated spirit and humor. That single afternoon washed away all the sad memories of a pale and gaunt woman lying upon a cold deathbed.

I do not know what the new family paradigm shall be. I have no idea what insane fallout will occur between myself and my cousins. With the exception of a few, most are aloof and never bother to call. I honestly do not care.

I hold on to the precious knowledge that my Aunt no longer suffers; she is at rest.

Cousin Nikki's wedding

From L to R: Aunt Pauline (Katzfey, Helen's oldest sister),

Teresa Blackburn (Helen's granddaughter),

Linda Blackburn (Helen's daughter),

Aunt Helen, me, Noreen Carrocci (Helen's daughter)

My mother, Lu Mininni-Totin, was unable to make the trip.

Read more...

Steubenville Natural Springs

These are some pictures from the natural springs around Highway 22. The first group was photographed from the highway. The second group was photographed off of John Scott. The last two are of the shallow pond at “The Manor”, the hospice/senior center where my aunt is currently residing due to terminal cancer.

I will do an Ohio Geology entry at some point. It sounds uninteresting (no large dinosaurs or volcanic explosions) but it’s actually enticing in a seriously glacial way.

For those who will ask:
Springs occur where groundwater flows from rock or soil material to the land surface. These springs seep from natural crevice openings, an example of which is below. We have these “cake slices” all around this area (they are not all man-made and are, in fact, glacially-caused in some sections.)

Late 1800's photograph

The water moving downward through permeable limestone or dolomite encounters less-permeable shale and is shunted laterally, finding openings to the land surface along the wall. Great blocks of ice can form during the winter. I find them to be rather beautiful.

I have not dared to taste the water. God knows I’d probably glow in the dark courtesy of the steel mill.

~*~

Highway 22 scenes of natural springs

Same photograph, zoomed in

Thawed and graceful next to frozen and pristine

~*~

Natural Springs on Johns Scott

More of the same

Ice and snow, then ice again. Beautiful but deadly

Better Half waits in the car while I enjoy my

ice photography activities today.

~*~

The Manor fountain at entrance

Read more...

A Look at Family History (Italian)

My Nonna (grandmother) came to this country when she was six. She settled in Steubenville, where she met my Tatone (grandfather), who was also an immigrant.

A very long time ago, my Nonna gave my Mum a picture of herself. It was a postcard depicting her as a child. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, postcards were a popular format for communicating with family abroad. A photographer could be rather costly so, when one came to town, people eagerly paid to have their picture taken. These pictures were then reproduced onto postcard stock. (I have several from the Steubenville area, including one of our Country Club.)

My Mum was wondering if I had that postcard handy. It was for a personal reason that I scrounged around for it and located it tucked into a closet. I had taken it down from our family wall due to my aunt complaining that the women in the picture were not family. They are.

The picture above is my Nonna and her grandmother (my great great Grandmother) in Italy. My Mum could not recall her name. My Nonna, Lily (Gualtiere) Mininni, was born to Teresa (unknown maiden name) Gualtiere. Teresa is this woman’s daughter-in-law. Some more pictures are below.

My Mum held by her Nonna,

downtown Steubenville 1936

Mum's dog, Prim

Mum, classmates and their nun,

May Crowing Day

My Tatone Frank Mininni with my Mum

outside of their home on Spring Ave,

Mum's First Communion (?)

Nonna, my Mum and (I think)

my Aunt Helen

Read more...

My Obsidian Antagonist

My obsidian antagonist, my nemesis of spring, he who eats $150 worth of plants in a single go, the Black Rabbit of Cuchulainn has taken up residency on my front porch.

I’m a rabbit person. I love the way they nibble the clover in the spring. I find their twitching noses adorable. A fat buck is perfectly capable of ripping a cat to shreds (my apologies to cat fanciers). They do have a rabbity intelligence that seems to steer them clear of tight spots and pitfalls.

Many moons ago the Black Rabbit of Cuchulainn was a sweet little pet bunny named Onyx. He had a sweet little hutch and a sweet little girl who fed him carrots and doted on him.

“There’s more to life than this, as surely as I’m a black rabbit in a hutch, which I am,” said the rabbit.

He escaped and become the neighborhood rabbit. We have all sorts of wild animals out here: deer, rabbits, mice, chipmunks (or shitmunks, as I call them), squirrels, and Things Which Howl in the Copse Down the Way. We have prowling cats, loose dogs, heavily trafficked roads and a plethora of curious children. The Black Rabbit, a fixture here prior to our arrival in 2005, has evaded them all.

Our yard is set up as a habitat for animals and the majority of animals respect it. They don’t shred the sheltering plants nor do they greedily suck down every last bit of clover. They are content to munch on the crab grass.

The Demon Rabbit eats the grass rather than the crab grass. He destroys the sheltering plants by parking his humongous body smack in the middle of them (he’s larger than a house cat, outweighing my Italian Greyhound by quite a few pounds. Should we ever need to take him for a ride in the country, he’ll require, by Ohio law, a toddler’s booster seat.)

We fight every spring and summer. I’ll arrive home from an errand and there he is, chewing his pellets and staring at me. “Laissez-faire, toots. I do as a please.”

On one momentous occasion, I marched right across that yard with the intention of spooking him off. He doesn’t spook easily. He never broke into so much as a hop. Rabbits do walk, you see, and walk he did.

“Get – out – of – my – garden – you – bastard!”

‘Round and ‘round the maple we went, the gimpy chick and The Black Rabbit, until I caught up with his posterior and gave him such a whack on his ample rump that we didn’t see even so much as a whisker for several weeks straight.

“Ah, I’m done with him,” I smirked one fine morning as I sat out on my porch and sipped my ice tea.

He returned that day. He might have crouched under the holly for hours just to hear me utter those works. Surely the bastard wouldn’t hesitate to engage in a little illegal wire-tapping? Regardless, I went inside to fill up my glass and as I came back out, I saw his fat little body squashing my beautiful hosta flat.

Hoses have no effect on a wild-yet-domestic rabbit. “Thanks for the bath, madam,” and he waves one ear as he lopes away.

Critter-Ridder, a brutal capsaicin mixture, is a waste of time: apparently he has a poor sense of smell due to his age.

Dynamite might work but it would mess up my garden.

Yet here we are, The Black Rabbit and I. He squats on my porch and respectfully confines his potty habits to the yard. We have a temporary truce between us. Better Half feeds him carrots. I purchased some alfalfa blocks and pellets and leave those out for him. He allows Better Half to pet him and to pick him up. I certainly will put my foot down to any of Better Half’s pleas regarding a hutch or him (or worse, bringing him indoors.) He has become a fixture here.

Until next spring. Then it’s war.

Read more...