Pink Can Be Cool Sometimes

Pink, but very cool

I really like the wide variety of trees to be found throughout Bainbridge.  Since my arrival, I’ve been exposed to many new and differing species versus what seemed native to Chicago and the Midwest.

I’ve especially come to enjoy the spring Cherry blossoms.  Perhaps they are my favorite.

I’m no arborist, and I certainly cannot tell you much about these blossoms - other than I think they look really cool this time of year (although ironically I find them to be very ugly during the winter).



Maybe these tress were easily spotted in Chicago and I simply did not take notice.  If so, shame on me.  But now that I’ve acquired a fondness, it seems that these days I’m spotting the pink beauties sprinkled throughout the island when I least expect. 

At the risk of sounding hokey … when passing, I do catch myself slowing just a bit, taking pause to examine the tree.  As I study the structure, I find myself wondering how long this particular tree has been standing.  I want to know how did it take its shape, and whether or not this particular tree will later produce tasty fruit.   

All questions of interest, but I concede, not necessarily of importance or relevance.

Before shattering my brief respite, I try to make mental notes, trusting that I’ll remember where the best trees are positioned.  Gullibly, I tell myself I’ll be back for another visit later this summer, albeit this time to inspect for and pick a mid-afternoon snack.

I’ll see about that.  Maybe I’ll add such task my list.

Anyway, I first took notice to the spring Cherry blossoms while jogging last year.  My Sunday morning running group maintains a regular route through the Grand Forest.  En route, we almost always pass a farm offering the most spectacular stretch of blossoms.  In actuality, it was a parade of blossoms next this farm that first gripped my attention.

Yesterday, I took a moment to snap a few pictures of the farm blossoms, ensuring that I capture the beauty before the pink fades, transitioning to a less magnificent, white foliage.

Next to the farm

I’m not alone in my spring blossom appreciation. Kelly also likes the blooms, but for distinctively different reasons.  She likes the smell.   I concur; the scent is delectable.  


Lucky for us, there are an abundance of Cherry blossoms to be found within close proximity of our house.  


This being the case, Kelly has ample opportunity to emulate Murphy, sniffing her way around the block, while Murphy, uninterested in the blossoms, retains focus on more important canine-related duties.

Looking towards our house

Close-up 

By the way, it’s worth noting that one might deduce that Kelly is experiencing respiratory failure during these walks, however, such conclusion would be incorrect.  This not easily forgotten performance is Kelly simply ‘maximizing’ her opportunity to enjoy the sweet-smelling journey to be had whilst circling the block.
 

I know…but you must appreciate that it’s these peculiar and idiosyncratic mannerisms I love about Kelly.

Let There Be Water

It goes without saying that Kelly and I have taken to gardening with kid-like enthusiasm.  As a couple of city folks seeking to bolster our green thumb credentials, we have expanded our garden this season with aim to amplify our yields.

On the one-hand excited about the additional garden space, we have been shouldering exhaustive trepidations towards the prospect of irrigating these very same beds.  Hose in hand, last year Kelly and I spent far too much time watering our precious crops; delivering this essential clear liquid atop thirsty soils.

Tranquil as this endeavor might sound, the cruel reality is that the process generally proves to be a pain in the ass.

Getting water to the garden itself is merely the first hurdle.  Hoses suck, especially when faced with many obstructions all too effective at snagging and kinking the hose lines.

Finally, once the hoses are settled, Kelly and I must then subject ourselves to what seems like hours of standing around, spaying the beds.

BTW – don’t even get me started on sprinklers.  Anyone having taken time to scratch beyond the the obvious solutions knows that sprinklers carelessly and needlessly waste water.  Nope, sprinklers for our garden beds are not an option.

Still stuck at square one, we had to find an alternate method of getting water into the beds.

Water Witch?  Nah, I’ve got no patience for superstitions, less the voodoo “art” of locating water.  Something about relying upon some guy, white-knuckle clinching his trusted fork stick dowsing for water, simply doesn’t espouse the confidence I seek.

Staring down the barrel of responsibility for nearly double the garden space, we simply had to ascertain a better solution.

Faced with these realities, and armed with confidence of a chain-smoking poker player, we’ve decided to double down on a drip irrigation system.

 

The trench, hosting the hose from the house to the garden 

Out two days of work and about $150 less in my wallet, Kelly and I are betting that our decision to implement an irrigation system will effectively transport precious water to the crops, without either of us clumsily fighting the lengthy and bulky hose in and out of the equally pitiful deer fence (expanded to contain growing garden footprint).

 Command central for all the hose lines

Truth be told, early reaction to the drip system is just that … drip. 

It’s hard to determine if the process will in fact work.  Regardless, Kelly and I are nervously holding our collective breathes before passing any definitive judgment.

 

Not the best looking, but I believe in function over fashion

Ultimately, time will tell if our bet on drip irrigation will payback big, or leave us holding a worthless set of cards.

In the end, if we do in fact fold our hand, I suppose Kelly and I can always revisit prior decisions … hose in hand.

 

Murphy supervising the project activities

The Murph

Kelly and I have had Murphy for a long time, the better part of thirteen years to be specific.

I suspect that much like any long-time dog owner, Kelly and I have fully integrated Murphy into our lives, perhaps too much some would say. What started off as a spur-of-the-moment visit to a pet shop has gelled into a long lasting affair with the dog we often times love to hate.

But we love her regardless.

Sure, as a puppy Murphy was adorable; her long and soft ears often proving a formidable obstacle even she was not able to fully navigate. It was then, these quirks made me smile.

Of course Kelly found this simply adorable.

Over time, Murphy provided cause for me to be evicted from my apartment. Apparently my landlord was serious about “no pets”.

Throughout the years Murphy has proved to be a worthy ambassador, opening the doors of introduction for what have become many long-standing friendships for Kelly and me … less that little kid who failed to keep his ice cream cone at safe distance.

It would appear that Murphy does take pleasure in ice-cream atop a sugar cone. Who knew? Lucky for Kelly and me, the kid’s parents found the entire episode endearing.

I cannot help but wonder if that kid has made his peace with dogs yet.

Recently, our vet suggested that Murphy transition to a diet for elderly canines.  Apparently her kidneys lack the full digestive power of her youth.  Yikes, where did all the years go? Daddy’s little puppy suddenly is grown.

The vet simply states the obvious; these days Murphy’s old age cannot be disputed. She reminds me of my grandpa in his late years. She to seems to be slowing, the spring in her step less sprightly than in years past, her hearing loss is obvious, and she’s become increasing ornery.

An old curmudgeon is what she’s really become.

But we love her regardless.

I like to think that our recent relocation to a more rural setting has been good for Murphy in her golden years.

She really appears to enjoy our big yard and is always keen to locate potential bread scraps the birds might have overlooked. She likes to walk the Grand Forest trails where infinite aromas are abundant - a lottery of sorts satisfying her incessant sense of smell and endless searches to discover something akin to her version of lotto.

Also, did I mention that Murphy is trending towards increasing levels of stubbornness? Sometimes I want to leave her in the forest.

Alas, we love her regardless. Unconditionally.

Me

I am Dave Burns, husband, and along with my wife, owner of one dog (Murphy)
and one cat (Moo-Moo).

Having spent the better part of 13 years living in Chicago, my wife and I recently relocated to our current home on Bainbridge Island, WA in hopes of chasing better weather and an environment more slanted towards outdoor living.

We've been here now for just over a year and think that life on the island is pretty good.