The color of this grass says it all, doesn't it? This is not an exotic "ornamental," but four clumps of the distinctive native grass called Lindheimer's Muhly, native to Texas, first recognized (and named for) the botanist Ferdinand Lindheimer, who settled in New Braufels in the 1840s and went about the task of identifying "new" species. Muhly is a tough, adaptive grass, much loved by cows and horses, that flourishes along creek banks and seeps in calcareous soils, here in the Hill Country. Meadow Knoll was part of a huge a ranch through the early 1970s, and much overgrazed. When Bill came here, he fenced out the cows. When we settled here, we found the muhly and encouraged it by careful trimming. The color you see here is it's normal October/November, post-freeze color, indicating high plant stress--and when the muhly is stressed, you can believe that everything else is even more stressed. You can also see several other brown trees in the background, and if you could look down the creek (dry now for 12 months, a record here), you'd see that all the little trees and shrubs are brown.
We got some rain on Thursday (.8"), just enough to green up the grass a little, temporarily reduce the fire danger, and cool the air a bit. We're very grateful. However, that relief doesn't change the fact that July, 2009, was the hottest month on record, since records have been kept in Austin TX. Not the hottest July, but the hottest month (an honor usually reserved for August). Here in the country, we used to be a few degrees cooler, but the soil temperatures are now as high as the asphalt temperatures in the paved-over city, so our temps here have been just as high as the 104s and 106s recorded in Austin.
The Dahlias are blooming. I'm starting Chapter 2 today, after fiddling for several days with the voice. I'll have more about that later this week. I want to answer a reader's question about place ("Why Alabama?") by posting about setting.
The garden is keeping on keeping on, with the summer plants (what's left of them--I've been ruthless, because I don't want to waste water) doing their summer thing. The eggplants and watermelons are producing, the corn is struggling (too hot, too windy), and the sweet potatoes look pretty good, although I have no idea what's going on with them underground. They hide their secrets until the day I dig them up. I don't know what's going on with the peanuts, either: this is the first time I've grown them. Maybe they're waiting for cooler weather to put out their peanut-producing runners? I've cut my Irish potatoes and have them ready to go into the ground this week--the cut sides need to dry for a few days. This week, I'll also be putting in some fall beans, spinach, and peas, for harvesting in September/October. We're building some new beds, so I'll have more space for experiments.
If you haven't seen the trailer for my new memoir, Together, Alone: A Memoir of Marriage and Place, please do take a look. It's beautiful. I love it.
Reading note. How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you--you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences--like rags and shreds of your very life.--Katherine Mansfield