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Cheeky Chickadees

2/26/2021

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I want to share a secret with you.  I know a place where chickadees eat right out of your hand.  Not only do the chickadees land on your hand but sometimes nuthatches and tufted titmice join in on the feast.
For the past 18 years, I’ve made an annual visit in the dead of winter when the snow covered ground prevents the birds from finding enough sustenance. Black oil sunflower seeds are their favorite cuisine.    

The perfect time to go is on a sunny cold morning after a snowstorm.  Trudge in on snowshoes and carry lots of seeds in your pockets.  They are ravenous, and you become a human bird feeder as a steady procession of birds land on your hand.  It’s like Logan during the commuter rush on a Friday afternoon.  My nephew Mark lives nearby and visits often.  He once fed 105 birds in two hours.  

Despite the cold, I always take off my gloves so I can feel their little feet on my hands. The nuthatches and titmice feel heavy after a slew of chickadees. Birds, like people, have their own personalities.  Some are bolder than others and will sift through the seeds in my hand to find the perfect one.  Others have to make several flights near me before daring to quickly land, grab a seed, and dart off. I have been taking my grandchildren hereto feed the birds since they were toddlers. Even as tweens, they still love the experience. When the cold seeps in and icicles start to form on our noses, I suggest it’s time to go and get some hot chocolate.  I love it when they plead “Just one more bird.” 
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I’m sure there are other places where people can feed wild birds by hand but the only one I know of is in Topsfield, Massachusetts, at the Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary. It is about a 2-hour drive from Grantham so requires some time and commitment.  The sanctuary itself is beautiful and offers twelve miles of trails.  The land was molded by glaciers and includes a drumlin and an enormous esker that is fun to hike. A huge rockery sits near the beaver pond. The rockery was built in 1950 and has narrow passages and a cave.  Very cool.  
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To find info on sanctuary, go to
https://www.massaudubon.org/get-outdoors/wildlife-sanctuaries/ipswich-river/about   
 
This blog seems to have a life of its own and has gone off in many directions.  If you know of a special place, please send me a write up to share.  
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Meet the Member - Christine

2/19/2021

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Christine and George
​I think I have always known that digging in the dirt is good for your soul, but my soul limped along until I finally let gardening into my life. 
I too was exposed to gardens as a child. I grew up in a suburb of New York City in an old house with a lovely rose garden out back, tended by my mother.  But I never thought it was very interesting – not a place where you could play tag, and the thorns were a deterrent in hide and seek.   I did, however, play the role of a flower in my kindergarten class play. 
Through my adult years while I was going to school and then juggling a career at the National Institutes of Health and parenting two active boys, I can’t remember doing much of anything that would come close to establishing a relationship with plants – unless you count picking up lettuce and broccoli at the grocery store.  At one point, I did try to grow tomatoes in my back yard.  The problem was, we had chosen a back yard filled with trees.  The tomatoes didn’t like that very much.
When we moved to a new house (also with nothing but trees in the back yard) I hired someone to do the landscaping.  I had no confidence in my own ability to know what to plant or how to make plants thrive.  
Maybe we all become our parents when we get old.  While I was struggling to keep the occasional houseplant alive, my parents’ thumbs were green as could be.  Both were affiliated with Dartmouth-Hitchcock and lived in Etna, where they tended gardens with passion and skill. My mother spent hours in a greenhouse attached to her dining room. My father grew veggies and sweet peas.  When my parents moved to Kendal, my mother lovingly nurtured an orchid collection that she ultimately donated to Dartmouth (with one of her orchids displayed in the President’s office). (The picture below is of an orchid I sent her from Hawaii – one of those shoots they sell to tourists.  We were both amazed that it grew!)
I wish I had a picture to illustrate this next story about my mother, but it’s gone missing.  When my husband George and I were courting in our last years of college, he brought me a small geranium plant.  I kept it in my room where it was much admired by visitors until its leaves started to yellow and the original blooms disappeared never to return.  Desperate not to kill George’s gift, I took it to my mother.  Not surprisingly, it thrived under her care.  The problem was, the geranium soon had a companion.  It turned out that one of my visitors had planted a marijuana seed in the pot, and that had also thrived under my mother’s care.  She promptly dispatched the hitchhiker and over the years transformed the tiny geranium into a tree 5 feet tall and covered with blooms.
I think it was my mother’s plant prowess that kept the embers of gardening interest alive for me.  It took moving to Grantham to fan those embers into life. When we established our summer home on Winter Hill in 2010, I started growing things in containers.  Five years later, as a 65th birthday present, we  built a raised garden bed next to our driveway to accommodate the flowers, herbs, and veggies I wanted to grow.  After ignoring the landscaping at our house for many years, I finally began to experiment with new plants in other spaces around our property.
Currently, I’m retired but still working (unpaid) on issues that captured me during my professional life.  I’m a senior advisor to a scientific organization focused on understanding how the conditions in which people live, work and play affect their health and longevity, and how this helps us understand, and address, the massive differences in health among different groups in our county.  I’ve been running a mentoring program for young scientists, helping with strategic planning, and doing odd jobs for the organization. All this has helped to keep me engaged during the Pandemic, but it also gives me the flexibility to attend to my soul by digging in the dirt.  Joining the Garden Club last summer was inspired by admiration for my wonderful Grantham gardening friends, and an act of faith in myself, that maybe I am a gardener after all.
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Orchid from Hawaii
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Christine's mother's greenhouse
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Meet the Member - Liz - Part Four

2/12/2021

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The final episode in this saga has been my major retirement project. In Wales, the cottage has expanded over the years and in 2003 I took advantage of having builders with machines around to clear out much of the vegetation that had appeared over thirty years of neglect. Now I could design a garden. My plan used the old vegetable garden area which is sunken below the surrounding hillside, and so protected from the constant wind. Shrubs and flowers fill the banks and a lawn is broken up by curved stone walls and a semi-circular vegetable garden. The climate is fairly wet and windy but very mild so that I can grow plants from many different parts of the world, from agapanthus and watsonia, to huge euphorbias – and all my old favorites from gardening in New England. Plants that thrive in Zone 4… or even up to Zone 9 … will grow for me there. Vegetables on the other hand, can be more tricky. Summers are cool and so many squash, eggplant, and even tomatoes, won’t grow fast enough to ripen by the time I leave in the fall. (I do grow tomatoes in a greenhouse.) But reliable and boring brassicas will grow right through the winter.
A final note on gardening on two sides of the Atlantic during a pandemic… This past year, our son and daughter who live in London rushed their families down to the Welsh cottage as soon as a lockdown was threatened.  Four adults and four small girls, aged from 11 to 2.  The “lockdown commune” was very busy, handling virtual schooling, juggling work and children,… and of course, looking after Granny Liz’s garden! There were many gardening projects for the little girls and our son was particularly proud of his seedlings. When we finally made it to Wales in July, we found a few things looked a little different from usual. The lawn was a beautiful wild-flower meadow – and the vegetable garden had been much tended. Their great pride was the crop of lettuces, ready to eat.  Hundreds of seeds had been sown. Dozens of seedlings had germinated.  And every single one had been cherished and planted out – at the same time!  So we arrived to find at least 75 perfect lettuce plants, ready to be eaten immediately!
​One thing I’ve learned from my various garden moves is a kind of acceptance. Gardens have an ephemeral life of their own.  We can encourage them to cooperate with us for as long as we are there to pay attention to them, but no garden is forever.  Just as our gardens evolve with us, they will evolve after us.  So let’s accept the vagaries of nature and simply enjoy each garden day.
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Meet the Member - Liz - Part Three

2/5/2021

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Gardens in Meriden
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​Meanwhile, we had moved back east, and back to where my American life had begun, to the Upper Valley where Tim was now Headmaster at Kimball Union Academy.  Once again, we were living in a beautiful school-owned house, this time at the top of the hill in Meriden, in a lovely Greek-revival building.  The children were now older (our youngest was 8 when we arrived in 1989) and I was working full-time as Communications Director, as well as doing the standard head’s wife business of entertaining.   My gardening time was very early in the mornings or at weekends.  But with a lovely old stone wall leading up to the front of the house, there were such opportunities for a long perennial border.  How could I resist?  It was a chance to try color patterns, to create a long bed with bloom throughout the seasons.  As our house was again a place for entertaining, I focused flowering times especially on graduation in the spring and the return of students in late summer.  Receptions took place by my garden and I learned to grit my teeth and say nothing when photographers told the graduates and their families to stand in the middle of a flower bed for that perfect picture!
The son of a friend had learned stone-wall building in Scotland, and he created herb beds in a semi-circle by the house.  With an urn in the middle of the radiating beds, I coated the stones with thyme, lined the edges with chives and filled the centers with taller herbs like oregano, parsley and tarragon.  Silver foliage herbs like the curry plant gave variety and the effect was somehow a raised version of a 17th century kitchen garden.  My second New Hampshire garden was definitely more ambitious than my first!
Fourteen years later we retired to Grantham, where we planned to spend our fall and winter months.  Our plan was to go to Wales for the spring and summer. But somehow there still had to be some garden around our Eastman house – there were so many plants in Meriden that could be divided and brought with us.  A sunny strip down by Mill Pond below the house was the perfect place, so another bed took shape.  And, of course, since then areas nearer the house itself have needed some planting…  Luckily I had found a friend in Cindy Heath who promised to spend a day or two keeping the worst of the weeds at bay when I was abroad.  So I have now become an expert at knowing which plants will thrive in this area, but not take over completely when they are seriously neglected for much of the growing season!
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View of Mill Pond from Liz's Grantham home
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Meet the Member - Liz - Part Two

1/29/2021

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Our Hacienda at the Fountain Valley School in Colorado
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Last Friday we learned about Liz's father's garden on the spot where a bomb had landed in London during the Blitz and her grandmother's garden and rockery.  Liz then wrote about her garden in Southern New Hampshire and its surprisingly short growing season.  Today is the second part of her story.  Lucky for us, there are even more to come over the new two weeks.  
My next major garden project turned out to be in Colorado, where Tim had his first headship at the Fountain Valley School.  We lived in a magnificent Hacienda, designed by Addison Mizner, the Palm Beach architect, and my courtyard garden was surrounded on three sides by cloistered walks and a tower.  Although later I realised I should have been ecological, growing cactuses and native desert plants, at the time I revelled in everything that loved sunshine – iris, dahlias, lavenders and annuals.  Some plants, like phlox, had trouble with powdery mildew because of the dry air, but many old English favorites did well. I grew honeysuckle over an arched gate, climbing roses and clematis on the cloister pillars, and espaliered apples on the cloister walls. Teaching theatre and running the Arts Department, I also had many roles as a headmaster’s wife, but with three small children to keep an eye on, my favorite activity was creating a small fertile world in that courtyard.  Luckily, it was also a place used for school receptions, so my efforts were appreciated by the grounds crew – they didn’t have to worry about looking after it – but they did mow the lawn!
Early in our marriage, Tim and I had bought a small cottage on the south west coast of Wales.  This had been a 40-acre smallholding, a self-sustaining farm with about 15 dairy cows and a vegetable garden.  We only owned two acres, and much of the land was on the steep edges of a valley running down to the sea a mile away.  But from the start that original vegetable plot was useful.  My parents loved to come down from London in the spring and plant things for us to harvest when we arrived from the USA in the summers – and in no time it contained rhubarb, raspberries, gooseberries, currants, loganberries and blackberries… (though as the lane down to the cottage was covered in wild blackberries, these last were rather redundant.)  There were often potatoes waiting for us (wonderful for children to discover!) though the local rabbits probably ate more of the above-ground vegetables than we did.  We did manage to have a few flowers, but with nobody living there much of the time the survivors were shrubs like spireas and hydrangeas, or roses, clambering in the hedges.  For bright blossom, our mainstay was a hanging basket by the front door, bought as soon as we arrived.  To be surrounded by a real garden, Little Mountain would have to wait until we retired.
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Our Little Mountain in Wales
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Primrose
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Liz and Tim's cottage
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Meet the Member - Liz - Part One

1/22/2021

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Young Liz sitting in her Grandmother's rockery in London
Well, as this is being written for the Grantham Garden Club, maybe it makes sense to focus on my connection with gardens?    I’ve lived in quite a few places, so to describe the history of my gardening is rather a long story.   Apologies to those of you who have seen images of the Welsh garden before.
To begin at the beginning…. I grew up in suburban north London, where houses had medium sized gardens and it always seemed to me that everyone liked to work with plants.  I was one of five children so our own garden was fairly functional, though there were always flowers and apple trees and berries. 
But across the road my father had developed an “allotment” on a bomb site.  I was born in 1943 and in the late ‘40s and ‘50s London there were many patches of ground where bombs had obliterated houses and left behind bare earth.  Our allotment grew every imaginable vegetable and was surrounded by steep banks where blackberries, raspberries and loganberries were trained.  My father loved to work there early in the mornings before going up to Whitehall where he had his real job.  We often played and climbed trees there and were always co-opted into picking fruit when it was in season.
My grandmother lived nearby and had a large garden of perhaps half an acre.  This contained everything from lawns and perennial borders to an extensive rockery, vegetables, a bluebell orchard and a hill covered in daffodils in the spring.  All this was surrounded by shrubs and trees that contained magical paths and hiding places.  Perhaps this background can give you an impression of why I grew up assuming that wherever I lived I would have some kind of a garden?
After school and university (my undergraduate degree was in English Literature and my MA in Social Anthropology) I acted for a while and also taught.  There were months in film studios in Rome and acting stints in London theatres.  This was not exactly a life with much time for gardening.  But in my mid-twenties I came to the USA and taught at the Woodstock Country School (now defunct) in S. Woodstock, Vermont.  A year in the USA turned into two years and I was teaching at the Dalton School in NYC when I met my husband, Tim…. who owned an old cape in southern NH.  That house, with a view of Mount Monadnock in the distance, was my first real garden.  A weekend gardener, I learned about the short New England season, with plants like blood root and wildflowers like trailing arbutus in the lawn and discovered that here one has to honor the climate and accept that some plants will simply not thrive.  My forsythia only flowered on the lower branches that had been buried in snow, and an attempt at wisteria flourished – but never blossomed.  Roses somehow never seemed to do well.  But I grew asparagus from seed brought over from a family garden and grew the fattest stalks you could imagine!  Gardening was always an exciting adventure.
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This was taken from the 3rd floor of my grandmother's house.  It is sadly browned out but gives some idea of the space and the vegetable area behind the flower borders.  

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Garden Gnomes/Dwarfs Part 2

1/15/2021

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A brilliant use of gnomes was devised by the Orange Alternative, an anti-government movement in Poland in the 1980’s. Armed with spray paint, the group peacefully protested the government’s censorship of free speech and public gatherings during the period of martial law by defacing communist propaganda with paintings of mischievous little gnomes. “It was a terrible, dangerous time. You couldn’t go out on the streets at night and there were tanks and soldiers in the main square,” reported a Polish journalist. “The dwarfs gave us something to laugh at, and that was the whole idea: to show how absurd the situation was and encourage people not to be afraid.”   The Orange Alternative organized a gathering in 1988, also known as the Revolution of Dwarfs which attracted more than 10,000 people who marched through the city center in Wrocław wearing orange dwarf hats.  A number of marchers were arrested and the press had a field day capitalizing on the humor of policemen arresting dwarfs which brought national attention to their cause.  Who’s to say if these gnomes had anything to do with the final demise of the communist government but it sounds to me as if they certainly had a hand in it, albeit a little one.
Fast forward to the new millennia.  The city of Wroclaw had a gnome statue erected to honor the legacy of the Orange Alternative.  The statue proved so popular that in 2005 the city commissioned a local artist to create more gnomes.  Enterprising local businesses quickly got in on it and contracted other artists to produce even more.  Very quickly gnome statues proliferated around the city and now number more than 400.  They have proven to be quite a tourist draw which has boosted the town’s economy.
My final tale about these creatures concerns the quaint fad of taking gnome statues on trips and posing them in front of iconic scenes like the Great Wall of China and the Taj Mahal. The concept of the traveling gnome started fifty years ago when an Australian photographed his own garden gnomes, Harry and Charlie, while he was traveling around Antarctica.  It reminds me of the Flat Stanley I took with me on vacation for my great-nephew.  Ideas often spark other ideas. The vacation gnome devolved into the not so quaint practice of swiping a gnome statue, taking it on a trip, and returning it with a photo album of his vacation. The earliest prank involving a traveling gnome also comes from the Australia.  The Sydney Morning Herald reported in 1986 that a suburban gnome-owner was distressed when she discovered her gnome had been stolen.  A note was found in its place: 'Dear Mum, couldn't stand the solitude any longer. Gone off to see the world. Don't be worried, I'll be back soon. Love Bilbo xxx.”
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A special thanks to gnome-owners Janie Clark and Linda Douville :-)
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Garden Gnomes/Dwarfs Part I

1/8/2021

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This blog is a little unusual so let me tell you of its evolution.  While waiting for 'Meet the Member' stories from the GGC crowd, I went through my garden photos looking for inspiration and was thrilled with where it led me.   I had taken lot of pictures of whimsical garden statues including this jolly guy who guards Janie Clark's garden 24/7.  I started to do a little research about garden gnomes and dwarfs which resulted in so much strange and interesting information that I have written my first two-part blog. 
The allure of having quiet helpers in the garden dates back to the second century AD when the Roman emperor Hadrian had hermits living throughout his villa’s garden. This idea caught on again in 18th-century England when wealthy landowners would hire a person to be an “ornamental hermit” in their garden.  They were required to live in rustic outbuildings (or hermitages), wear disheveled clothes and grow beards. Having a hermit living in your garden became fashionable in Georgian England. Some historians believe that this garden hermit fad paved the road for garden gnome popularity in Britain.
Once the hermitages and their hermits fell out of favor, ceramic garden gnomes were offered as a less expensive and more humane garden décor.  As early as the 1600s, garden statuary in Europe had evolved to include a key figure known as gobbi which isItalian for “dwarf.” In 19th-century Germany, these diminutive men with pointed hats, round bellies, and white beards became known as Gartenzwerge (garden gnomes).
In 1847 English baronet Sir Charles Edmund Isham bought twenty-one terra cotta garden gnomes from a German manufacturer to decorate his rockery.  After Sir Charles passed away, his ungrateful daughters had all of them removed.  One gnome was in a secluded spot and managed to elude his captors. He wasn’t found until 1940 when he became famous as the oldest garden gnome in the world.  He was nicknamed Lampy after the luxurious Lamport Hall where he now lives indoors given his age and value.  He is insured for £1 million.
Next Friday's blog also includes a story about living dwarfs--stay tuned....
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Lampy
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Clive, my very own gnome
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Ending the Year on a Sweet Note

12/31/2020

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Northern Paper Wasp on Goldenrod
In October I wrote about the most well-known pollinator—the honey bee--with the intention of writing about some of the other pollinators before the year was over.  So here goes:
Honey bees are credited with 39% of pollinations with bumble bees, butterflies, wasps, flies, hummingbirds, and bats, accounting for most of the rest of the job. I photographed some of these other pollinators and am going to get into the weeds about the whole pollination process.  (Warning—Parental discretion advised) 
Most plants need to be cross-pollinated. The pollen from one flower’s stamen (the male part) ends up on the stigma (the female part) of another but same type of flower. The stigma sits at the very center of the flower at the end of a tube which runs down into the ovule. The ovule contains the eggs that will grow into seeds.  A pollinator is attracted by smell or color that promises them a sweet treat.  Pollen is the (usually yellow) powdery substance that contains protein, along with fat and other nutrients pollinators need while nectar contains sugars, vitamins, salts, oils, and additional nutrients that together offer a high energy food source.  Nectar is produced in plant glands called nectarines located inside the flower at the bottom. 
Pollinators have evolved over the years along with the plants they favor and are mutually beneficial to one another.  I was amazed at length of the proboscis on some of the butterflies, moths, and skippers I saw.   Here’s a cool story.  In 1863 Charles Darwin examined an orchid that grew in Madagascar. Since the nectar spur was longer than any known Madagascan insect’s proboscis, clever Mr. Darwin predicted that there must be a theretofore undiscovered pollinator with an 11-inch-long proboscis.  Forty years later in 1903, the Xanthopan morgannii moth was found with a proboscis three times its bottle length. 
Pollination is crucial to the reproduction of flowers but also necessary for the reproduction of countless fruit and vegetable crops including blueberries, pumpkin, apples, tomatoes, and chocolate.  If you like chocolate as much as I do, you might be interested to learn that midge flies (Forcipomyia) are the sole pollinators of the cocoa tree.  No midges—no chocolate (gasp).  The males do most of the pollinating while the female are off biting people and animals because, like their relative the mosquito, the mothers need blood in order to lay eggs.  Those nasty girls are notorious for ruining many a summer day especially the infamous Highland midge swarms in Scotland. According to her diary, Queen Victoria was half-devoured by these little ladies whilst at a picnic in Sutherland woodland in 1872.  I googled up midge swarms in Scotland and found a ton of sites giving information on how to have a midge-free vacation in Scotland.  I read that midges are one of the reasons for the relatively low population of the Scottish Highlands, and help keep the wildernesses wild.  That’s impressive power for such tiny critters. 
But back to the nice pollinators. Imagine zillions of these critters dedicating most of their lives to collecting nectar and pollen in minute amounts each time they visit a flower.  As a byproduct of their industry, we get to enjoy beautiful flowers and life sustaining food.  We truly live in an amazing world.  
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Skippers are members of the Lepidoptera family that do not fit the cookie mold for either butterflies or moths. They are usually small and have a rapid, fluttering, 'skipping' flight style that is difficult to follow. They are classed in the family Hesperiidae and are not actually considered true butterflies, but they are more closely related to them than they are moths. Notice this skipper’s long proboscis.
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A butterfly with a pollen coated proboscis
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A Hummingbird Clearwing Moth drinking nectar from a petunia
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Epalpus signifer, a species of fly
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The bumblebees fuzzy body helps pollen to stick to them.
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I hope you can see the tiny yellow pollen that I was thrilled to see that I had captured.
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Wishing you all a happy, healthy 2021  
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Meet the Member - Sue

12/25/2020

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Blue-Eyed Grass and Bluets
​When I moved to Grantham full-time in the summer of 2011, we started going to the neighborhood social events. There we met Peggy and Rolf Hammer, who recommended two immediate activities to join - the water aerobics group and the Grantham Garden Club. Several of the swimmers were dedicated Garden Club members, and they assured me it was the way to meet people in Grantham. So that was how I joined a garden club, something I had never imagined doing!
I am the fourth of five children, with two brothers and two sisters, and I grew up in Easton, PA, and Upper Saddle River, NJ. Instead of attending senior year in high school, I went on a year exchange to live with a family in Germany on the AFS program. When I returned, I went to Smith College because my brother was at Dartmouth. (Trivia: I never actually graduated from high school.) There I met my future husband, Jim, a friend of my brother's. I went back to Germany for my junior year, then got married six days after graduation.  I didn’t know what I wanted to do in life, but I knew I never wanted to be a mother or a teacher! I ended up doing both, having three children and teaching foreign students how to speak English (ESL).
I grew up with casual gardening experience and continued that way in later life. I’m really more interested in trees and wildflowers than showy blooms. Also, we’ve always lived in the shade, which makes gardening more challenging. I love to mix in a few annuals with native perennials, and I plant small beds of annuals here and there around the edges of my yard, so I have color to see out every window all summer long.
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Solomon Seal
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