Blooming cactus

When we left for Utah, our Christmas cactus was budding, for the first time in a few years, and we hoped that we wouldn't miss the blooms.  No fear, they were just ready to open when we walked back into our home several days later.  Most of the blossoms were facing into the light of the window, so we rotated it out.

We had left a paper bag with some last pears in it on the porch to be picked up by a friend, who completely forgot.  They were still there, patiently waiting, when we came home.  A few last windfalls were inside, carefully set out, that I judged would ripen and still be good in the amount of time we would be gone.

So we had cactus blooms and pears to enjoy.

Oh, those pears are good!  When they're ripe, the flavor is so intense that I understand why my father disdains Bartletts.  But when conditions aren't right (here) and you don't know better, you can be disappointed in the result.  Next year, I will know a little better how long to give them on the tree, and what to do with them.  Meanwhile, I cooked down the rest of them into spiced pear sauce, divided some out without sugar for Hubby, and I'm eating them thus.  They are truly swoon-worthy.  I can hardly wait for next summer.

The Christmas cactus had been in a spot next to a window, but not in the direct sunlight in the other house.  It had not done much of anything for a while, though it had bloomed beautifully once, and sparsely at least one other time.  Apparently its conditions hadn't been right, either.  We had not taken down to the dark basement (which was one suggestion) and brought it out later to respond from dormancy to brightness, we had just watered it sparingly and let it be.  Vague hope did not produce blooming.

Here, in the nook which ended up not being the spot for the little (24x28 inch) table that matches the counters because we had to move the fridge, it sits in a window with the full changes of sun and season, and it seems to have said, oh, I know what to do now, and it has bloomed.

The nook still brings light into the room, even partly blocked

The shelves hold my cookbooks, the corner on the left has the old plant stand, minus the side pieces, the fridge is on the right and the nook goes along behind the far side of it, with another window at right angles.  The apple tree's bare branches are visible over the curtains--the distance from the back wall of our house to the fence is only twelve feet, and  that tree is next door.  The top pot is a red begonia* which has stopped flowering, so undoubtedly it needs some attention, the flowers below are an annual, three colors (the white isn't showing) that I brought in from the front door to see if it would survive if it wasn't outside.  The little pot on the window sill is a pineapple thyme, my first foray into fresh herbs, and the plant disappearing into the right is actually over thirty years old, and goes wildly down the other end, in the sun of the facing window.  The other side of that white wall on the left is the back entry, with the bathroom door on its left.

The space has been repurposed to fit our needs, and though that sunny little corner was inviting as a spot to sit, it matters more to be able to actually use space on the opposite corner.  Having the refrigerator across the room is much less trouble than not having a spot by the stove to put things down or prep food on.  The result is a spot that still brightens up the room, and has color.

It all works when you learn what it needs to make it work, and a lot of life is like that.  There are resources and counsel all around, if we just pay attention and take the cautions seriously.  "By guess and by gosh" is never a good substitute for study and preparation.  Before all else fails, follow the directions.  Things come out better that way.

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*the begonia started out on the counter in front of the long kitchen window, and has grown crazy.

On my 16-inch deep marbelized red counter

(With the white walls and ceilings, white and almond painted pine cupboards, we need those sparks of color.)