Category Archives: Off the (Gardening) Wall

Blogging pause

Friends and readers all,

You may have noticed that posts have been erratic in recent weeks. This makes it official: expect more of the same. Planning my sister’s memorial has taken most of my emotional energy, and working the gardens most of my time, to say nothing of my physical energy; between the two there’s not much left. Yesterday I arrived in Toronto, and tomorrow I start driving my parents to Maine for the gathering. I may not manage to post anything until after I return, in about two weeks.

I’ve also been a lousy blogging buddy recently, my visits to others’ blogs having dropped catastrophically. Don’t break out the champagne yet, though; I miss you all and promise I’ll be back to plague you in the near future.

Be well, and may your gardens thrive. See you all in a couple of weeks.

–Kate

Ups and Downs

PN visit A couple of weeks ago I stopped by Planet Natural* for some manure, and look what happened. The place is dangerous. (I did get the manure, but it was too heavy to haul onto the lawn for a photo.) The bamboo compost bucket (as seen on ComposterConnection!) was a gift from Eric, bless him, who kept pressing me to buy a bigger basket.

Him: It’s for a good cause!
Me: I don’t need a bigger basket.
Him: The proceeds buy eyeglasses for blind Indians in Arizona! Or something.
Me: Blind people don’t need eyeglasses, Eric.
Him: You know what I mean.
Me: I don’t need a bigger basket!
Him: Oh, all right.

As he went off he may have been muttering something about how I shouldn’t blame him if my conscience bothered me, but I wasn’t sure.

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BGMD In Praise of Seasons

   Pink and white carnations—one desires
    So much more than that.

            Wallace Stevens
            “The Poems of Our Climate”

        I.
Moving back
to Minnesota? say friends
in L.A., in New York.
They try not to sound rude,
but they fail;
their voices soar and drop
like ill-flown kites in spotty wind.
They think we are out of our minds.

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Belated birthday post

I just discovered that I never posted this. Oops. Got caught up in the contest stuff. Post your entries on the Pages in the right sidebar.

My birthday on Sunday was all one could wish for, thanks in part to all the good wishes from blogging buddies near and far. Thank you.

Now that I am one year older, I expect all of you to treat me with the respect due my advanced years. Respect, do you hear? QUIET DOWN AND—oh, never mind.

The day started around noon (as all should, in the opinion of this dedicated sleeper-inner) with waffles and all the trimmings: fresh strawberries, toasted pecans, whipped cream, and of course maple syrup. My parents most courteously waited until we were done before calling to sing Happy Birthday in harmony.

It takes a while to recover from a meal like that, but when I could breath again, I put in three hours in the greenhouse, where I’m trying to finish last autumn’s interrupted preparation of planting beds. All that heavy digging was perfect for clearing my arteries, which I knew were due for another cholesterol-ladden assault that evening.

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Contest Judges Held Hostage to Herman’s Hermits

The other two large  
Robins eating juniper berries. If you click on the picture, you'll be able to see the berry in the bottom bird's beak. Notice all that snow on the roof behind the upper bird.

There was supposed to be a post about contest rules yesterday, but there wasn’t. Such is life.

It was tax day. And there was all this snow, a foot of it since Tuesday. Also birds. It was necessary, therefore, to take photographs. And to go skiing.

(Actually, the judges were taken hostage by a crew of irate gardening fanatics wielding sharpened hoes, heavy hoses, and the Herman’s Hermits’ complete playlist. They have commandeered my study, locked the judges inside, and are demanding that the rules be expanded to allow a wider range of categories.

The cries of outrage and pain, audible even over “I’m ‘Enery the Eighth, I am,” have ceased, so I assume that progress is being made and that the finished rules will be slipped under the door shortly. I hope so, because I am getting very tired of “Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got a Lovely Daughter.”)

In the meantime, I will do what I can with earplugs and a woofer blasting the White Album.