(More) Tales of a Reluctant Gardener

That shriek you heard all throughout the neighborhood on the afternoon

of Memorial Day was me being startled by a deer fawn which was very

close to our front door.  I am fairly sure it was as startled as I was. 

This was toward the end of a 60-minute weeding stint of our “mailbox garden”.  After shrieking briefly, grumpy old lady thoughts of “Youths, stay off my lawn!” entered my mind.

Actually I would love it if the human youth who showed up last week asking to be hired to mow our lawn would show up soon to plant some flahrs.

There are only 5 or 6
balloon flower plants left.

Last year at this time, this 4 x 4 plot was riotous with balloon flower plants.  There are hardly any this year.  I know that in spring and summer 2024 there was no gardening done in this household.  I was too busy trying to fight off autocracy / Project 2025 / whatever you want to call this Big Mistake America has entered into.    I still sob internally at the outcome of my efforts.   This is where my thoughts go on this Memorial Day – those who gave their lives for our country – is this what they fought for?

The plant on the upper right is 
definitely balloon flower.  Not so
sure about the other foliage.

I found it difficult to distinguish some plants.  The small leaves (on the left

in the photo) are being eaten by some insect, while the definite balloon

flower leaves (on the upper right) are not.

 

But maybe the ones on the left are just baby balloon flower leaves?  No

matter; those smaller plants are no more.  I pulled them all out.

I planted the bulbs from the teeny but tall daffodils-in-a-pot we bought at

Trader Joe’s in April.  In a fit of dubious gardening daring, I put them at

the foot of our Kwanzan cherry tree.  We will find out in a year if this too

is a Big Mistake.

Big Mistake?

We also went to our local county park.  And so did everyone else, although you can’t

tell from my photos.  It was a lovely day with perfect weather.

A family of ducks

A rare blue sky and perfect temperature

Remembering and honoring
those who died for our country.
May their sacrifice not be in vain.

More from the Reluctant Gardener:

Shallow Thoughts of the Reluctant Gardener (July 2013)

Perils in Suburbia (June 2010)

The Fake Isle of Suburbia (October 2008)

Weedy Thoughts

The so-called Hillside Garden

The Common Household Husband and I went outside on this day of uncommonly gorgeous weather.  We examined a part of our yard.  This particular plot is what we call “the hillside garden”, a short steep slope near the front of our yard, leading up to the neighbor’s yard. It may not merit being called a garden, as it has poor soil and is too steep to easily pull out weeds or plant new plants.  In the past 20+ years I constantly battled to grow anything beautiful there. Last year I gave up, and now it is overrun with grass, would-be green onions, large nasty-looking weeds, and evil-looking thorny thistlies.  

The same section of Hillside Garden in 2008.
There was columbine, azalea, phlox, and allium (unknown bulbs)

For some reason, this plot of land is deemed to be “my” garden.  I said to the CHH, “This part of my garden used to have phlox and day lilies and snow-in-summer.  Now look at it.  I think the guy who put the mulch on covered up all the good stuff.”

CHH:  I pulled out a lot of things yesterday.

Me: (eager to cast my gardening sins onto anybody else)  Did you pull out any phlox?  Do you even know what phlox looks like?  Nobody knows what phlox foliage looks like.

Phlox, 2011

It’s hard to face the truth, but verily, verily, the sorry state of this garden is not due to anything the landscaper did, nor to the actions of the CHH.

    

For the desire to do good gardening lies close at hand, but not the ability. For I have erred, and strayed from the ways of good gardening like lost earthworms. I have followed too much the devices and desires of my own heart, sitting around lazily reading novels and looking at cat memes on the internet. I have left undone the weeding which I ought to have done; And there is therefore no health in this garden.

- The Book of Exertions 7:18-20

Then we turned to examine the plot that CHH claims as “his” garden, which is on the eastern side of the house.  For this strip of garden, about two feet wide and running along the side of the house, a few years ago we brought in some excellent soil from elsewhere and started a new garden with fresh and bright new plants.

The Husband's Garden flourisheth.

CHH  Look how wonderful my garden is doing!

Me: Yes, it is.  

His garden is overflowing with healthy plants and many cheery yellow blooms that I don’t know the name of, and vibrant dianthus, which I do know the name of.  This plot requires almost no weeding, and there are no weeds evident now.   

I looked more closely at one spot. 

Photo credit: Common Household Husband.
He titles this photo "Suspicious Mounds".

Me: That’s an anthill right there.

CHH: No, it’s not.

Me:  It’s an anthill.

I was a bit alarmed because of past unpleasant gardening encounters with stinging ants.

CHH:  How do you know?  Are you an epitologist?

Me:  (I paused to try and understand this new field of study)... Umm, what? That’s an anthill, for sure.

CHH:  Are you an epidemiologist?  I mean are you an epistemologist?  How do you know this is an anthill?

Current weeds at the top of the Hillside Garden.
Capitalizing it makes it seem like it should
be in a novel.  Those green onions
could have been ornamental onions, 
but instead, they are a mess.

At that moment, my weedy thoughts had paralyzed my brain’s vocabulary synapses.  I wanted to correct these second and third fields of study that had been introduced in the conversation, but at that moment I could not think of the word “entomologist”.  So instead I studied the anthill more closely, hoping that I had the right glasses, ones that would enable me to see if there were any ants.  A lot of my life these days consists of not having the right glasses on, and not being able to remember the right word.

Me:  Look. There’s one ant, two, three, and another one.  It’s hard to count them because they are moving around.  This anthill is very close to the house.  (A horrible thought occurs to me.)  The ants are probably crawling up inside the wall of the house at this moment!  We’ll have to notify Netflix next time they come out.    Wait, not Netflix…

CHH:  We have to notify The Culligan Man.

Me:  Terminix!  We have to notify Terminix. 

A quick glance at Dr. Google reveals that ants are mostly good for the garden and yard, helping to protect plants against other harmful insects, and also aerating the soil.  These ant mounds are quite close to the house, though, so we have a decision to make.  The likely outcome is that Ant Inertia will move in, and the formicidae will be left alone.

Phlox and hyacinths growing in the
Hillside Garden, 2019

Baking, Listening, Digging, Talking, Painting, Standing

While I am not experiencing a lot of despair due to personal reasons, I’m in quite a bit of despair about the world, the country, the state.   In the next post, I’ll give details about that, but first I wanted to try to stay positive, and remind myself of the ways that I have been keeping total despair at bay.

  1.  Bake a pie. 

I made this pie partly because I knew my son would be coming home at some point, and he likes pie.  But I also made it because making pie is therapeutic. 

I took this...

And made this.

I did not have shortening in the house, so I had to use butter for the crust.  I know it is possible to make a great crust using butter, but it is not in my skill set.  So the crust was not optimal.  I will have to bake another pie soon.

Blueberry pie filling looks kind of wicked when
 it is raw.  And then you bake the hell right
out of it.  So it's great for fending off
the feeling that the world is going to hell
in a handbasket.

Rolling out the crust, I thought, this looks like Australia.  But it turns out it looks more like the Big Island of Hawaii, the one where the goddess Pele is exploding with rage at the current state of the world. 

As I rolled this crust out, I thought it looked
 rather like Australia.  But I was wrong.

 2.  Go to a concert.

We had the great fortune to receive the gift of tickets to this concert.  I never in my life thought I would have the chance to hear Yo-yo Ma in person.  It was a wonderful concert.  Yo-yo Ma is the sort of person who exudes hope. 

3.  Dig in the dirt

I was not optimistic at all that I would find time to plant the six flowers I bought at the farmer’s market.  But digging in the dirt, working alongside Younger Daughter, was balm for the soul.  We planted snapdragons and these yellow flowers that I don’t know the name of.

4.  Talk to a friend

I was so agitated on Thursday that I completely neglected an appointment to meet a friend.  I was so looking forward to this!  But I was consumed with anger, shame, and dismay at my country.  I am grateful that my friend was forgiving. We had a good chat on the phone.  She kindly suggested that I spend some time looking for the helpers.  They are everywhere, and you can see them if only you look.

5.   Make protest signs

In the past few weeks, I’ve painted a lot of protest signs.     

I bought more blue paint.  Also added an "e" before taking this
sign to the protest.

 6.  Protest

I know I don't have to stand out on the street, but that is indeed one option.  It's one I like to do in solidarity with others.

Shadows of protesters outside our
Congressman's office.  

English Stumpery and other delights

In the hopes of calming myself down, and maybe you too, I bring you these delights from the Franklin Park Conservatory and Botanical Gardens in Columbus, Ohio.

Helpful sign explaining English Stumpery

The sign says:
English Stumpery
Originating in the Victorian period in the 19th century, a stumpery is a garden whose structure is based on the organic form of tree stumps.  Traditionally made from fallen trees or trees removed to make way for farmland, stumperies create an environment where moss and ferns intermingle with spring flowering perennials and lush green vegetation.

I think "stumpery" is an excellent word.

And here is an actual stumpery!

The Conservatory also had a room full of fairy gardens.

Fairy Garden tea party.

We will now take a pause from our visit to the Conservatory, to bring you two photos of that time my darling daughter served our served our extended family a tea party consisting of various rocks, mosses, grass, and dirt.

An uncle helping himself to a bit of delicious moss and a stone.

Grass cupcakes, with muddy water tea (in a wine glass, of course)

Now back to the Conservatory fairy gardens.  Please please click to embiggen.

Fairy farm stand.  Note the adorable little pie.

Fairy hedgehog campground.  In a Coleman cooler.

Fairy home scene.  The fairy swing is hanging from a bonzai tree.

Fairy readers' paradise

No Conservatory is complete without a butterfly room and Chihuly glass.  

There are butterflies on this glass sculpture.  Trust me.

Follow the butterflies.

All the photos were taken with my cell phone.  That's my excuse.

You may ask, why do I need to calm down?  Well, because of all the usual atrocious things going on in the wide world, plus these:  I have a cold.  Not just that, but I told my mother that I have a cold.  It was unavoidable, as she called when I was still in the mouth-breathing, congested beyond belief stage.  Not just that, but Passover starts on Monday and I haven't made the chicken soup yet.  You would think that since I have a cold I would have made the chicken soup already.  Not just that, but I just went to the optometrist and ordered my first pair of progressive lenses.  That's trifocals, people.

I said to my daughter, "You know you are getting old when you have to get progressive lenses."  She said, "Mom.  Actually, you know you are getting old when you find you are wearing two different pairs of glasses at the same time."  I have done this numerous times lately (for the past five years).

In sum, nothing is wrong here, but there is a greater tendency for agitation.

Carry on, lads!  Off to the English Stumpery.

Common Household Book Preferences: Teen Version

I had this discussion with Younger Daughter today, on the way to the farmer’s market.

YD:  When I get home I’m going to get back to my Grisham book.

Me:  What?  You shouldn’t be reading John Grisham!

YD:  Why not?

Me (bemoaning the loss of innocence of my youngest child): My baby should not be reading about rogue lawyers and such.  She should be reading about lollipops and moonbeams.

YD:  Mom!  I am not a spring bonnet!

Me:  When I was sixteen, I was reading…. I can’t remember.  I guess I was reading Jane Eyre.  And poetry.  Stuff like that.  Jane Eyre doesn’t have gruesome things in it.  It has… well, it has governesses and proper things like that.

YD:   Mom, you do not know much about teenagers these days. I don’t want to read about governesses.

Me:  Well, I guess it did have a madwoman in the attic.  And potential bigamy.  But I didn’t realize that when I was sixteen.   By the way, did you start that book you borrowed from my library book pile?

(That would be Practical Magic, by Alice Hoffman.) 

YD:  Yes.  It’s pretty good so far.

Me:  DON’T tell me anything!  I hate spoilers.  I can’t even read the book jacket of books any more.  They always tell some surprising thing that happens about a hundred pages in.  I want to discover it when the author reveals it, not from the book jacket.

YD:  Mom. A hundred pages is not that far into the book.  And besides, the stuff they reveal in the book jacket is always obvious to everybody.

Me:  Not to me!  When we had to read The Scarlet Letter in ninth grade, everybody in the class knew who the father was except for me.

YD:  Who was the father?

Me:  Didn’t you read it?

YD:  Yes, but I can’t remember. And I am not going to read it again just to find out who the father was.

Me:  Okay. No one should have to read The Scarlet Letter twice.

YD:  John Grisham writes page turners.

Me:  Yes, he does.  I think I read one John Grisham book. It was called The Runaway Jury.  It was good. It was a page turner, all right.  I think it had cigarettes in it.

YD:  John Grisham books tend to have racy things in them.

Me:  Cigarettes are not exactly racy.

YD: I mean things that sixteen year olds aren’t supposed to have experience with, like cigarettes.

Luckily for her, we arrived at the farmer’s market just then, so I couldn’t question her about racy things that she is not supposed to have experience with.  Nor could I admonish her that she needs to be studying for finals instead of reading John Grisham.  Instead, we argued about whether I was buying too many flowers to reasonably plant in the next few days.  Of course I bought too many flowers!

One whole flat of flowers.  What, am I crazy?

Dusty miller - a new plant for me.  I wonder how long it will
take for me to kill it.

 Dear readers, do you remember what sorts of books you liked to read when you were sixteen years old?