Pleasing My Eyes

April 25, 2026 — Pat Bertram

The recent frost did more damage than I originally thought. Although the plum blossoms made it through that first night, they soon turned brown and dropped off the branches. It’s what I expected, but still, it’s a bit disappointing. The lily tree forest was also more damaged than it first seemed — more brown than was first apparent — but I still think there should be plenty of lily flowers come July.

I took a few photos when I was out watering this morning. These irises aren’t mine; they are growing in my next-door neighbor’s yard, though they might as well be mine since there’s no one else to see them. It amuses me to think that I spend so much time outside watering and grooming my yard, and his totally unkempt (well, not totally — he does mow the weeds a couple of times during the summer) and completely unwatered yard yields these majestic flowers.

Then there is this photo of a columbine that planted itself. On my phone, the picture was perfect, the color the lovely purple of the plant itself, but when I uploaded it to my computer, it turned blue. Must be the difference when the P3 wide gamut space on my phone was converted to the standard sRGP for web display. I have no idea what that means, but that’s the answer I got when I Googled, “Why is the color different when uploading a picture from my phone. So that’s why, instead of the original purple, you see a blue columbine. Or maybe you see a different color? Purple maybe? Or orchid?

Another photo I took doesn’t do justice to what I wanted to memorialize. I’d just finished watering the lilac bushes when I noticed water drops clinging to the denuded flower stems. In the morning sun, those long-past-their-prime lilacs glittered like crystal. It was an awesome sight!

This last photo was a surprise. I must have pushed the button as I was walking away from those lilacs toward my gazebo, because this photo showed up on my phone. I loved the colors, especially the blue of the sky, so I kept it. (In the interest of honesty, I have to admit I skewed the photo from the original slanted image to get this version, but otherwise, the phone did it all on its own.)

A lot of plants are showing their first shy blossom, such as the larkspur and the cottage pinks, so perhaps I’ll have different garden photos to show in a few days.

Until then, I have these photos to please my eyes, and perhaps yours, too.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

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How Does My Garden Grow

April 22, 2026 — Pat Bertram

A friend left a comment yesterday saying that the pictures of flowers I’ve been posting are inspiring her to plant more. I understand that — they’re inspiring me, too. Last year I had little interest in my yard. The work-to-result ratio just didn’t seem worth it, but this year, so far, the gardens are doing great, with bits of color popping up all over.

The freezes we had a couple of nights this week didn’t do much damage, just burned the edges of some leaves, but I don’t think it will affect the flowers this summer. Luckily, the snapdragons I planted late last spring turned out to be hardy enough to survive the winter as well as these freezes, so I’m much further ahead with that gardening area than expected. Look at all those buds!

Columbines are still going strong, and this self-seeder seems to be enjoying the companionship of other flowers.

A new volunteer has shown up — blue flax! They might have been in a package of wildflower seeds or been blown in, but the reason doesn’t matter, just the enjoyable fact that are here.

Oh, don’t let me forget the star of Bethlehem! They’re easy to forget because they don’t bloom until the afternoon around here, but so dainty and pristine!

The ice plants flowers are starting to bloom, adding more cheerful ground color to the garden.

The wild roses surrounding the raised garden seem to be waiting for May, when I can plant whatever it is I am going to put in that planter. Dwarf zinnia seeds, maybe?

Ah, May! The fifth of May, to be exact. That’s historically the last day of a possible frost around here, so that’s when I plan on getting petunias to plant in my containers and whatever catches my eye to fill in a few empty spots.

Until then, I’ll continue to appreciate my yard and try to find satisfaction in a job well done even if I don’t always enjoy the work.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

 

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Risky Behavior

April 21, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
When is the last time you took a risk? How did it work out?
View all responses

The risks I take nowadays are nothing I would have considered risky in my younger days. The most dangerous risk I took recently occurred a few months ago when I climbed a ladder to replace my smoke alarm batteries. The risks of such a venture for older folk are real. If you fall when you’re young, you get up, brush yourself off, and continue as if nothing happened. If you fall when you’re old, it could change your life since breaking a hip or some other body part makes living alone problematic.

Luckily, I managed to change the batteries without mishap. Will I try to change the batteries again? I don’t know. Most people I know who would help are as old as I am or even older, and those I know who can still climb ladders are people I’m uneasy about having in my house. I’m not scheduled to change the batteries again for a few months, so maybe I’ll meet someone young enough or tall enough who will do it for me.

Other risky behavior is not something I can avoid by having someone else do it. Getting out of bed in the morning, for example. Sounds silly, doesn’t it? But the truth is, many older people stand up too quickly, get dizzy, and end up falling. Or they are awakened by their alarm clock, get disoriented, and get up without pausing to orient themselves. Such silly things to be so dangerous! I’ve gotten in the habit of sitting on the side of the bed for a minute before rising, which does mitigate the danger, but still, it’s a very real risk.

Even sillier, though perhaps not as dangerous, is staying in bed. Gravity works to pull joints out of whack, loosens ligaments, and does other nefarious things. I never had problems with my knees until I got up one day a few years ago and could barely walk. It took months of rest, ice, heat, and the proper exercises to get me walking again. I’m still not back to where I was. Even though I’m careful when I’m awake and careful about how I position myself in bed, I can’t control what happens when I am asleep.

I’m not even going to get into the whole shower thing, which is perhaps the most dangerous activity people can do. I’ve minimized the risk with a step-in shower and railings, which help. And so will the bath chair I can see in my future.

I suppose working in my garden could be classified as a risk because the last couple of times I’ve fallen have been when I was outside working. Somehow, garden work doesn’t seem to be as dangerous as the risky behavior listed above, but being outside, especially when I’m concentrating on something other than where I place my feet, has its perils.

Life sure does narrow when one gets older! Still, we all take risks anyway because there’s no other choice. The best we can do is to be careful and to pay attention to what we are doing.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in Adventure, dealing with old age, gardening, life. Tags: , , , , , , . 7 Comments »

Treasure Hunt

April 18, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I went hunting this morning. I even took a few shots! Camera shots, that is. And the game I was hunting? Treasure!

Although right now there aren’t many flowers in my yard in comparison to the size of the lot, when I looked at each treasure for itself rather than a piece of the whole, I found a whole lot of color.

The most surprising to me was the flower on the vinca. When I moved here, there were a few plants in the way of my soon-to-be sidewalk, so I transplanted them. It seemed as if they all died, so I eventually planted other flowers. Then, of course, the vinca decided to grow. So I moved it to another location, but it didn’t like the new place and pined away. And then the original transplanted vinca came back. I just left it alone and this year, it seems to be taking over that garden spot. I suppose I’ll leave it, especially now, after seven years of being barren, that it’s decided to flower.

The plum trees have blossomed the past couple of years, but so far only a couple of those blossoms managed to grow into plums. Maybe this year there will be more than a couple greengage plums for me to savor.

Unfortunately, there was a frost last night, so who knows what will happen. Meantime, the blossoms still are cheerful!

A few columbines are now flowering.

The wallflowers provide a colorful backdrop for one of the columbine plants.

The wild roses are just coming into bloom. Too bad they have such a short bloom season, but the vibrant color makes any bloom season a joy.

Lilacs, of course, are always a joy. This year, I’ve had a longer lilac season than normal because the white lilacs didn’t start blooming until the purple ones faded.

The garden today was such a delightful place. So many treasures!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

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Gift of Companionship

April 17, 2026 — Pat Bertram

Yesterday was one of those special days that can’t be planned. Well, I suppose it could be planned, but the logistics of arranging such a day and making it all come out to perfection would take more energy than I have. Besides, part of the perfection was the unexpectedness, the way everything that happened coalesced into something special.

When I was outside watering my lawn, a neighbor stopped by to visit. We chatted a bit, then I asked him if he was still strong enough to wield a hammer. (Maybe not a tactful question, but it’s something I am aware of, both for myself and other not-young folk.) One corner of my raised garden planter was pulling away from the rest of the boards, and though I tried, I couldn’t hammer a nail through that thick, two-inch board. It turns out that he could do the hammering, but unfortunately, the support post was all but rotten. Anyway, he worked on that planter for quite a while and finally was able to strengthen that corner so the weight of the soil wouldn’t keep pulling it out of whack.

Meantime, to my delight, a friend who I haven’t seen in ages stopped by to visit. She followed me around while I finished my watering and admired my flowers.

By then, the neighbor had finished doing what he could, so the three of us hung out in my gazebo to chat awhile. After he left, my friend stayed a couple of more hours, so we were able to get caught up. Such a joy that was!

After she left, I spoke a bit with a different neighbor. Then later I had a long text conversation with my sister. It was good to get caught up with her, too.

For sure, yesterday was a special day, and it wasn’t just the company after a long stretch of aloneness that made the day a good one, but the people themselves.

Today, I’m back to my normal hermit-y self, but I still am feeling the glow of friendship from yesterday. Maybe the remembrance of the day will make me more conscientious about keeping up with friendships, but who knows. Sometimes overcoming the inertia of aloneness to make plans seems insurmountable, which makes yesterday’s gift of companionship even more special.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

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Satiation

April 15, 2026 — Pat Bertram

I used to like trees, but after digging up hundreds of sprouts from seeds blown into my yard from neighbors’ trees, I’ve become wary of them. The harsh winds occasionally blow branches into my yard, but at least those are easy to get rid of, especially if the owner of those branches hauls them away. But it’s the seedlings that cause the most work for me.

One next-door neighbor has locust trees, and those trees sure are prolific. Every year I find dozens of new baby trees to dig up. So far, the seedlings seem to be evenly distributed over the years, so I know what I’m getting into. Too bad that’s not the worst of it.

About three years ago, my other next-door neighbor’s ash tree had what is called a mast year — a year when it dropped a flood of seeds. I woke up one morning to find my entire yard a pale green. All the rocks around the house, the grass, the pathways, the garden areas were covered in ash seeds. I raked them, swept them, blew them, picked them up by the handfuls. I thought I’d gotten most of them, but two years later, I found hundreds of ash seedlings. That year, I felt almost kindly toward weeds — at least they were easy to pull up. Those seedlings? Not so much. They’d had an entire year to develop deep roots, and so each had to be dug up, not just pulled up. A not so fun year! I’m still finding seedlings, but now they’ve had an extra year to develop, and are harder to dig up because of that well-developed root system.

This year, Siberian elm trees belonging to both of my neighbors are having a mast year. A few days ago, the ground was almost completely covered in those tiny saucer-shaped seeds. The heavy winds we’ve been having do not blow those seeds out of my yard, only into it, so I get double my share of seeds no matter which way the wind is blowing. There have always been elm seedling for me to dig up because the normal amount seems to have a huge rate of germination, but I sure dread the work when this massive proliferation of seeds starts to sprout.

A mast year is also called “predator satiation.” Sometimes this satiation is cyclical, sometimes it’s an answer to a dry winter, and sometimes, I think, the trees just want to torment me. The satiation, of course, is to make sure that there will still be seeds left to become trees even after predators have eaten their fill. If I were out in the country, I wouldn’t care. If I didn’t spend so much time on my yard, I wouldn’t care, or at least not much. But as it is, I’ve come to dislike trees. None of my neighbors’ trees benefit me. I just get the mess and the work. And boy, talk about satiation! I’ve sure had my fill of trees trying to take over my yard.

Oh, well. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. And sometimes that “another” isn’t a bad thing. A couple of years ago, a columbine seeded itself into my hen and chicks garden, and I hesitated to pick it. It doesn’t belong there, but it’s not a weed, either, and it didn’t seem to be a problem, so I just let it grow. I’m glad I did. It’s not like any of my other columbines, which are the more traditional bluish purple and white as well as a couple of bright yellow plants.

This creamy columbine is a small thing to offset the dread of the seedling invasion, but it’s an important thing since it reminds me of the unexpected beauty a garden can bring.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

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Gardening Season

April 14, 2026 — Pat Bertram

In less than a month, it will be spring planting time. I won’t have to buy as many plants as usual because several that usually die off made it through the winter. Out here, where the heat is blistering and the cold is frigid, many perennials, such as snapdragons, that survive in less harsh climates are grown as annuals. Snapdragons reseed themselves, so they might as well be perennials, though the seeding is sporadic at times. This year, though, the snapdragons managed to stay green all winter, so I am much further ahead than I expected. Mostly, I want to see if I can find a few more colors of snapdragons since all I could find last year were yellow ones. If so, then one problem garden will take care of itself. After that, all I’ll have to do is get petunias for my container gardens and hanging plants and then plant seeds in the raised garden. It’s shaping up to be so much less work than previous years.

Of course, when the plants are available for sale, all bets are off. I’ll probably splurge on a few untried plants and see what happens.

Meantime, there are a few tulips still hanging around, but those were the flowers that got afternoon shade.

Most of the rest, the ones that get the burning afternoon sun, fizzled out before they flowered.

Still, there is a bit of color in the yard. The Siberian wallflower is doing well. It’s one of my favorite early spring flowers — so cheery! Unfortunately, it’s a two-year biennial. The first year there are a few small plants, the second year they are mini bushes, and the third year, the poor things are kaput unless they’ve reseeded themselves.

The lilacs did well this year. Lots of blooms!

I’m hoping for a good gardening weather so that plants (and the grass) don’t fry in the summer sun, but the hope is all that’s in my control. What the weather does is something else again.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

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100 Days

April 10, 2026 — Pat Bertram

January seemed to pass so slowly, I was relieved to turn the calendar to February. If nothing else, it was proof that January wasn’t going to be the permanent fixture it felt like. Now suddenly, here we are, 100 days into the year. I haven’t kept track of the days and probably wouldn’t even have noticed how much time has passed, but I got a notification yesterday that I was on a 99-day blog streak. So today is not only the 100th day of the year, but also the 100th day of daily blogging.

That’s amazing to me, to have written so much this year. To be completely honest, I haven’t been able to write every day, but since some days I wrote an extra blog or two, I have been able to post every day, which counts as daily blogging, and certainly counts as part of the “streak.”

It’s funny how this blog seems to change. At the beginning, it was all about writing, then about promoting authors. Then, after Jeff died, it was all about grief. Once I bought my house, this became something of a gardening blog. Now it seems to be mostly a book blog, though I doubt that will last long. I’m still reading, of course, but I’m only reading the books in my own miniscule library, which means rereading and re-rereading the same books. Every once in a while, I think I should go to the library and pick out something different, but the thought of looking at those same shelves for the 1000th time changes my mind. (That number isn’t hyperbole. In the seven years since I’ve been here, I’ve gone to the library about 12 times a month. That’s a lot of library visits!) I’m sure someday I’ll return, but I can’t force myself to go back quite yet.

I look for books to buy, of course, but I want them to be in the mythological epic series category, where there’s depth and meaning not available on the first, second, or even third reading, and those books are hard to find. Some such books I enjoyed the first couple of times, especially when I was young, like the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, but those stories got old. As did Harry Potter. Still, I continue to look.

The point I’m trying to make is that you can’t have a book blog without books, so I’m open to a new blog path to follow. Luckily, spring is coming. Oops. Spring is already here!! We are far from January!

Now that spring is here, I can go back to writing about gardening, assuming I can find a way to engage myself in the process rather than just going through the motions as I did last year. (I’ve already been doing a lot of work, such as weeding, digging up Bermuda grass, and watering, but nothing worth rhapsodizing about.)

Or I can continue to do what I’ve always done when it comes to blogging — just wing it. Write whatever comes to mind, and if the posts end up fitting in a category, that’s fine and dandy. If not, well, they still fit in a category — me. Ultimately, whatever the subject, it comes down to my thoughts and my life, even if my life is contained in the few thousand square feet of land I occupy.

But that’s all for the future. Today I am celebrating 100 days!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

 

Posted in blogging, books, gardening, life, writing. Tags: , , , , . 6 Comments »

Creating a Peaceful Place

February 26, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Describe the most ambitious DIY project you’ve ever taken on.
View all responses

The most ambitious DIY project I’ve ever taken on? That’s easy. Landscaping my yard.

When I moved here, the yard was dirt and weeds. It looked okay because the weeds had been cut down to make the house look good when it was put on the market, but still, just weeds. I hadn’t planned on doing anything to improve the property because I didn’t want to have to take care of a yard, but there were things that needed to be done, such as rocks laid around the house to protect the foundation. Then, when I found out I was tripping on all the holes and rocks among the weeds, I decided I needed walking paths of crushed rock to keep from falling and breaking my neck. Or a hip, anyway.

Admittedly, I didn’t do any of the rock labor, but the finished work gave me a sort of yard pride that seemed to demand further work. So gradually, I planted a few bushes, a few flowers, filled in some of the gardens that were created by the walkways, and things escalated from there.

I had a lawn mower, so I put in a bit of a lawn since I didn’t want the mower to go to waste (a silly reason for a lawn, I know, but it’s the truth). I had sod put in, but when that all died (the people I hired put in the wrong grass), I dug it up and planted a more heat-resistant strain of grass.

And so it goes . . .

What makes this DIY project so ambitious is that there doesn’t seem to be an end to it. There’s a lot of work just involved in maintenance, so that keeps me outside for a couple of hours each day, which makes me see how much more I can improve. I can see spots that need to be filled in or bits of color that will improve the looks of one of the gardens. And then there are container gardens and hanging pots to be replanted every year.

Yep, an unending project when in fact, what I had wanted was a yard that took no work.

Oh, well, there are worse things than a garden demands attention. And truly, I can’t think of a better use of my time than creating this peaceful place.

Besides, there all are the surprises I find, like this morning. Look! Crocuses!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in gardening, home, house, life. Tags: , , , , , , , . 8 Comments »

Dreaming up a Home

February 11, 2026 — Pat Bertram
Daily writing prompt
Write about your dream home.
View all responses

I’m sitting here with a smile on my face, thinking about my dream home. For me, my dream home isn’t a fantasy, it’s a reality. It’s the very house I am now sitting in. What makes it a dream home is that I dreamed it up.

Years ago, I went through a huge change in my life. My life mate/soul mate of thirty-four years, Jeff, died, leaving me stranded here in this world without a home (he was my home) and with a single responsibility left to me — to go and help care for my aged father. I also was left with a sense that somewhere after the dark present, there would be a brighter future for me. During those long years of grief, I held to that thought. After my father died, I was adrift again, becoming a serial nomad — renting rooms and taking long trips.

I never thought of owning a house. It seemed too far from reality to even dream of it — just the thought of the upkeep seemed burdensome to say nothing of all the financial obligations a house engendered.

I spent years trying to figure out what to do, then when a relative suggested buying a house, it hit a chord. I had a bit of savings, but nowhere near enough to buy a house, or so I thought. Except, there was one corner of the world where house costs were still unbelievably low. I visited the area, and it was okay — way out on the plains, far from any major city, but I didn’t care. I just needed a place to live out my years.

A realtor took me around, and though I didn’t find a house I liked or could afford or that was still on the market a day or two after it was listed, I made friends with the real estate agent. Then I went home, thought about all I’d seen, and I dreamed.

I dreamed of a house with a new galley kitchen, a bathroom that would still be accessible no matter what old age brought, a living room with lots of screened windows,

an office with a day bed for reading and working/playing on the computer. Oh, I dreamed and dreamed, dreaming every single detail of what I would like into existence.

Then one day I got an email from Zillow though I’d never signed into that real estate site and certainly never signed up for emails. The email showed a simple house and said I might like it. I checked out the photos of the inside and gasped in disbelief. There it was — exactly what I’d dreamed up.

It wasn’t so much the looks of the house that got to me but the inside since I live in rooms and don’t spend a lot of time looking at the outside of where I live. I immediately called the realtor. She went to look at it, told me what she found, arranged for an inspector, and when I asked her to arrange the sale, she panicked and had me sign an affidavit that it was my choice to buy the house unseen. But I knew it would work out okay. After all, it was my house.

Three things were not in the dream — 1) the town itself because at that point I didn’t really care where I lived, I just wanted not to have to worry; 2) friends because I moved for the house and my future; the friends I’ve made have been a true blessing; 3) a landscaped yard because I didn’t want to have to take care of a lawn or a garden, and yet, over the years, I’ve created a beautiful outdoor space for myself.

So here I am, sixteen years after Jeff’s death, seven years after the Zillow email, living in that brighter future I’d believed would come. Living in the very house I dreamed up.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One.

Posted in dealing with old age, gardening, grief, home, life. Tags: , , , , . 17 Comments »
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