Mulberry Jam

I thought I’d write a bit about a new neighbor who’s taken up residence around here. Since April, Mark and I have noticed a young rabbit who moved into the garden and made himself at home. We’ve christened him with the not-too-original moniker of “Mr. Bun”. He’s clearly a youngster, and was tiny back in April. By this time he’s grown to nearly full size and filled out a lot, thanks to the rich crop of clover in our grass.  Thankfully, he hasn’t done much damage to my mesclun lettuce. Maybe the varieties I planted this spring are too bitter for his sensitive palate.  However he has turned out to be quite fond of my Siberian Iris, which now look like a weed-whacker has been at them.

I’m not sure why I have such a soft spot for the little guy; early exposure to Watership Down, I suppose. And he was pretty darn cute back in April. Now he’s more handsome than cute. His grown-up body is rangy rather than round, with a beautiful dappled brown coat. He’s quite unafraid of us, and seems very comfortable hanging out in a front corner of the vegetable garden to catch a few rays. He washes and grooms himself just like a cat, stretching out those long back toes to clean in between, and licking a front paw to clean behind the ears.

Years ago, I fell in love with a short cartoon from the comic strip “Mutts”. This is from a series the strip’s creator, Patrick McDonnell, developed about adopting animals from shelters:

From "Mutts", by Patrick McDonnell

A Mormon Cricket crosses the road. Photo from Reno Gazette-Journal and The Wall Street Journal.

Some of you may know that I have a deep dislike of crickets. I wouldn’t call it a phobia, that implies my dislike is unreasonable. No, I hate them for very good and rational reasons. Mostly my problem is that they jump. And they’re as likely to jump right at you as away.

It’s a good thing I don’t live in Nevada. I saw a story in The Wall Street Journal this week describing an actual plague of a species called the Mormon Cricket, famous for swarming in very large numbers in the springtime. The poor residents of small towns in the Nevada desert have quite a problem to contend with:

In flyspeck villages like Tuscarora, crickets are a serious matter. The critters hatch in April in the barren soil of northern Nevada, western Utah and other parts of the Great Basin, quickly growing into blood-red, ravenous insects more than 2 inches long.

Then they march. In columns that in peak years can be two miles long and a mile across, swarms move across the badlands in search of food. Starting in about May, they march through August or so, before stopping to lay eggs for next year and die.

In between, they make an awful mess. They destroy crops and lots of the other leafy vegetation. They crawl all over houses, and some get inside. “You’ll wake up and there’ll be one sitting on your forehead, looking at you,” says Ms. Moore.

They swarm on roads, where cars turn them into slicks that can cause accidents. So many dead ones piled up on a highway last year that Elko County, Nev., called in snowplows to scrape them off.

I’m quite sure I’d be moving out for the duration. At least our local insect plague of locusts only happens once every seventeen years! The Journal reports that insecticide is only intermittently effective against such numbers. The only thing that seems to really help is sound, specifically blasting heavy metal music at the critters to get them to move on. Seems they really don’t care for Led Zeppelin and AC/DC.

Hmm, does that mean I have something in common with a cricket? Perish the thought.

Okay, it’s been a while since I put any funny cat videos in. This one had me guffawing– my little Miss Thing used to be a master at this trick:

August was incredibly dry for us here in Falls Church. The only rain we’ve had in more than a month has been from tropical storm Fay and then on Saturday, Hannah. Hannah may have been a bit too much of a good thing, however. That was more than six inches of rain in six hours–my rain gauge filled up to overflowing so I don’t know exactly how much more.

We got through the day on Saturday with a few minor drips in the sun room from around our chimney flashing and were counting ourselves lucky. But all too soon. Sunday morning I stepped off the last step downstairs and the carpet was distinctly damp. Oh no, not again!

So we’re back on the all-too-familiar fan and dehumidifier drill, with the carpet pulled up at the edge. The good news is it wasn’t nearly as bad as the last flood in 2006 when we had 13 inches. Just a bit of seepage under the front wall of the house, so I think the new stone work outside helped. We’ve been through this before and the carpet is drying pretty quickly, so I guess we’ll live. But it’s a major pain in the patooty, nevertheless.