don't ask questions...

every life has a nemesis, and this is (one of) mine.

i can hear you wondering what kind of lunatic has a plant as a foe. me... that's who!

this is a leaf of the American Linden tree [Tilia americana... if you need the too-much-information version of the thing]. it is commonly used as a street/park tree in the Eastern half of Canada and the States... which is were my problem begins.

Lindens grow to be lovely, large trees that provide much-needed shade in urban areas. they bloom early in the Summer, sending out waves of jasmine-scented joy. who could be mad about that, right? me... that's who!

the pollen from this tree is near the top of the (ever-expanding) list of things that Nature seems to produce just to drive me nuts, and they were in full bloom this past week. my allergic reaction to all that pollen is so bad, i avoid entire areas of the city in early Summer.

we were walking in one of the lovely parks along the riverside one day last Summer, when i stopped suddenly and took a slow, panning, three-sixty look at my surroundings.

me: every single one of these trees here is a Linden.

so now i steer clear of that whole side of town when the Lindens are in bloom. not that doing so would make any real difference, because... naturally... there is a gigantic Linden directly across the street from our building, and a few more down the block. they are on every single block in our neighborhood, and there is also a park full of them just a street away. i would probably have to move to the West Coast to get away from the cursed things, but there is probably some other form of Nature waiting there for me. good times. 

you can easily identify a Linden in the wild... or—in this case—in the middle of my living room. [full disclosure: i took these photos last Summer, following a stormy night that left tree bits scattered all over the street. the Lindens had already bloomed, and they were starting to fruit at that point.]

they have asymmetrical, heart-shaped leaves.

they also have elongated, leaf-like bracts located about halfway between the true leaves and the clusters of tiny white flowers that later become small, spherical, seed-bearing fruit.

the clusters of the flowers/fruit usually dangle from the tree like this, and the leaves and fruit/seeds are supposedly edible... that is, according to borderline-lunatic survivalist types on the interwebs.

now, it should be noted that i only really hate this plant for a specific period of time out of the year. they are an otherwise welcomed bit of texture in a landscape that is mostly dominated by maple trees. plus, they are also a major source of nectar for bees, so all of my suffering will be rewarded later with delicious local honey.

speaking of which...

i had a thoroughly depressing experience recently that began with a bumblebee and ended with accepting that some things in life are best left unknown.

if you were here last Summer, you might recall my fascination with a fat little bumble bee. there was only ever one bee at a time hanging around, so i assumed it was the same one who kept coming back to my little garden. and, no... i did not attempt to hug him or pet him or squeeze him, but i did i name him George. so, i was extra-excited to see a fat bumble bee buzzing around the balcony one particularly grim afternoon [this was a couple-few days before we planted this year's garden.]

me: it has to be George. look how he's buzzing around the containers.
him: but they're covered.
me: i know, but it's like he knows they should be filled with plants. it's like he's been here before.
him: maybe it is George.
me: hmm... now i'm not sure. just how long does a bumble bee live?

that is where everything went sideways.

i tried to ignore that nagging question—especially, as i have a tendency to go from 'mildly curious' to 'way too much information' with very little provocation. still, curiosity was getting the best of me, so i made the horrible decision to ask the Internets.

i will give you the shortest version i can manage.

so...

in Spring, a Queen bumble bee emerges from her Winter hidey-hole, and goes searching for a place to make a hive. she lays some eggs, which develop into female worker bees, and they all work together to build a nest and forage for pollen and nectar to stock it with food.

sounds simple so far.

the Queen's efforts now turn to laying eggs that will become male bees and fertile future-Queens. these... uhm... libidinous young ones fly off to meet-and-mate... and that is where the story ends... sorta.

Summer is usually ending by this point, so each of these... uhm... enceinte future-Queens digs herself into a hole and goes into hibernation for the Winter...

and everybody else DIES!

me: so, that is definitely not my George. so. much. sadness.

then i just sulked for a while.

him: why are you so upset about a bee?
me: it was a metaphor for life. and now it's gone.
him: so now you have a new bumble bee.
me: it's not the same.

then i sulked some more.

i am assuming that the new fat bee bumbling around the balcony garden project this early in the season is probably a female... maybe even a foraging Queen.

and, yes... i will still call her George.

and the proverb of this pointless tale is a simple one: don't ask questions!

Jultember: Mother Nature's candid camera...

[random aside: i am drinking ginger ale out of a wine glass, because i am fancy like that.]

with my favorite animator out of town, i have been forced to spend more time on the balcony than i am used to, as he handles most of the day-to-day care of the outdoor plants. why is that, you ask? because vertigo, i respond. pretty much.

i was harvesting some tomatoes this morning, when i noticed that the lemon balm had gotten a bit out of control again, so i decided to do another round of thinning it out so it does not overcrowd the peppers. problem was, that container is at the far corner of the balcony, meaning that i had to take more than one large step out of the door to reach it.

so, there i was, in full-blown panic mode, when i noticed some guy out on his balcony about half a block away, and he was leaning on the railing with what i presumed to be his phone in hand, looking in my direction. so now there would be an audience for when the panic peaks and i manage to injure myself in the resulting dis-orientation overload... and it would probably end up on You Tube.

his presence there only served to increase the panic i was already experiencing, so i hurriedly collected the lemon balm and double-checked that i had closed the anti-squirrel cages around the tomato plants before taking the few steps that would bring me back to the safety of the doors. naturally, he was still watching.

i wanted to wave hello at this point with a tomato in one hand and a bouquet of lemon balm in the other, but that would be a violation of my introverted curmudgeon code. so i just sat down in the doorway and took stock of my morning's harvest while waiting for that feeling like i was on three roller-coasters at once to go away.

vertigo is one of those things that you have to experience to be able to fully understand it. even then, it does not make sense. no exaggeration... i used to have to get rescued from not-tall trees all the time back when i was a very young lunatic. similarly, i used to sit on the park swing and rock back and forth a bit, but my feet never left the ground. even now there is a firm understanding in place in our home that should there ever be an emergency that requires us to exit via the fire escape, he will have to clobber me over the head till i black out, then drag/carry/shove me to safety, because there is no universe in which i am ever setting foot out on that contraption.

why then am i living four-and-a-half floors above ground level, you ask? because i like the view, i respond. seriously, we are at canopy-level with the big  trees, and it is breathtaking most days. there is an almost-forgotten world of activity in a treetop, and it is right there at eye-level. you could be standing there, sipping a hot beverage, and a hawk would go flying by so close that you feel like you could almost reach out and touch its wings... though i do not recommend giving that a try. and, while i genuinely wish the squirrels would stop invading my space, there is so much humor and even the occasional touch of awe to be found in their antics up in the treetops.

have you ever observed a squirrel as it prepares for a rainstorm? i have. they chomp through the end portion of small branches, then drag the tuft of leaves back to their nest-hole where they lay one tuft on top of another until they have a thick enough layer to keep out the rain... kinda like layering palm leaves atop a small hut. problem is, squirrels are just possibly the most inefficient builders in existence, and they usually end up dropping the vast majority of the leafy branches, which go sailing to the ground. it is like watching Mother Nature's candid camera when they are in storm-prep mode. if you ever walk or drive down a tree-lined street and see the leafy-ends of lots of branches strewn about on the ground, just know that there is a squirrel somewhere up above your head trying desperately to storm-proof.

i should add a bit of a post-script regarding my tomatoes yesterday. i think i may have started something. i was describing the process to my mom as i was making it, so she decided to make it with her tomatoes. then i showed the photos to my favorite animator (who is still at his parent's place), so he gave it a go today with some of the tomatoes from their garden. it was a hit all around.

guess where this little guy is gonna end up...!

Jultember: zero cicadas were harmed...

i am always threatening to punch a cicada in the face, as that noise they make drives me up a wall.  

you: what kind of lunatic threatens to punch an insect?
me: i do.

today i got my chance.

(s)he was climbing on the anti-squirrel barrier around one of the tomato plants. [that is a quarter-inch mesh grid, so you can tell that this is one big bug.]

i was moving in to try to get a better shot—with my camera, not my fists—when (s)he flew off. so i can truthfully state that zero cicadas were harmed in the making of this post.

and, speaking of tomatoes...

this was harvested from the balcony garden project over the course of about twenty-four hours.

want to know a little secret? i am not that big a fan of tomatoes.

i like growing them, but i am not usually bursting with joy when the time comes to actually eat them. those little guys will likely end up in tomorrow's dinner, and i am considering peeling and chopping the bigger ones so i can freeze them for later use.

sad part is... there are even more of the things waiting to be picked, which leaves me thinking that maybe i should just get a couple deck chairs and do what sane people do on their balconies come next Summer.

Jultember: ruined riparian relaxation...

we decided to celebrate the end of the week yesterday by spending a bit of time in one of the many riverside parks we are fortunate enough to have access to here in Montreal. so we each packed a small bag of necessary items, and off we went.

his bag contained a sketchbook and an assortment of colored pencils and pens, as he planned to make an art exercise out of the trip. meanwhile, i had grabbed the first in-progress knitting project i could find, along with my camera and a book of assorted puzzles. he wanted a challenge as an artist, while i wanted to relax extra-hard.

it was clear that this trip was going to be a disaster from the moment we got into the car.

the skies began to darken ominously, and it looked like something out of a horror movie when we arrived at our destination a short while later. there were exactly two other vehicles in the parking lot, meaning that everyone else had gotten the hint and taken off. at least, that is what we assumed at this point. still, we thought, it might not be too bad if we stuck close to the car so that we could get back in when it began to rain.

we were right on the river's edge and i was busy trying to convince my (still malfunctioning) lens to focus on the scene across the way.

then it hit me... literally. then another one. and another one.

one by one, my body was being pelted by flying bugs. i looked up to realize that i was in the midst of a massive, dense swarm of flying things.

i had to make a concerted effort to hang on to my camera as i sprinted the short distance back to the car. he was also making the same discovery at the same time, and it was beyond comical to see the two of us fumbling to get back into our vehicle. there was a couple parked a short distance from us, and they were dying laughing at the spectacle. i do not blame them one bit because i would have been falling over laughing if i saw a scene like that one.

worst part was, quite a few of the bugs had snuck into the car during the brief time when the doors were open, so there we were trying to get them out without letting even more of them in.

it... was... insane!

no exaggeration, it looked like something out of a movie about killer bugs. he started listing all the movies it reminded him of—as he is the master of such things—in between laughing his butt off. meanwhile, i was having a minor panic attack.

i make regular passing references to my being allergic to just about everything, and that really is no joke. most of those things would end in a fever and lots of scratching for a day or two. however, there is a short list of things that i avoid like the proverbial plague—because i do not want to risk ending up in the emergency room—and venomous creatures are on that short list.

i had no idea what those bugs were, but the warning signal inside my head was going off on full blast. it took a couple-few minutes of deep-breathing for my heart to stop pounding like crazy. and he... he was still laughing extra-hard.

this is when i remembered the camera in my hand. each of those tiny black specks is an airborne bug, and the whole area around us looked the same way.

i am (still) not sure what kind of insect it was, but my best guess so far is something related to a stonefly. that would make sense, as stoneflies are usually found near fresh-water, and we were standing on the edge Montreal, which is a small island in the middle of the St. Lawrence River.

i am not sure what prompted this swarming behavior, but we did notice a lot of smaller insects in between the maybe-stoneflies all over our car. see the little one at the top there?

we guessed that those little guys were probably their own youths [random aside: i feel a strong need to re-watch "My Cousin Vinny" every time i use that word], and that the swarm was part of some sort of seasonal reproductive behavior. either that... or the little ones were lunch!

whatever the reason, they were EVERYWHERE as far as the eye could see, and the sight of all of those bugs set off the "bugs crawling all over me" feeling that tends to pop up when my allergies are particularly bad. it was magical.

it began to rain.. and they just continued to swarm. we had hoped that the rain would scare them away so that we might be able to resume our ruined riparian relaxation.

nope!

it continued to rain... and they continued to swarm.

this is when we gave up and drove off... lowering the windows every now and then to dislodge the hitchhikers clinging to the car, like this lot.

it is a day later, and i am still expecting to see a few stowaways flying around our place, the very thought of which gets that "bugs crawling all over me" feeling going again. good times.

we did manage to salvage something enjoyable out of the trip, but i will save that bit for tomorrow.