Saying yes...

Guerrilla Tulips!!

Our yard is under attack this year, but by something stealthier than the usual thistle or Buckthorn. This year, we're experiencing random attacks by Tulips. Yes, you heard me, Tulips!
The one in the photo to the left seemed like a not-too-unusual surprise. It came up by a large Lilac bush that Grizzled had thinned this last summer.  There was a good chance it had been there all along and merely needed some sun and air to push forth. Or, maybe when digging up some of the roots, Grizzled loosened up the pre-existing bulb.
We have plenty of red tulips in the yard, some that came with the place, some that we planted. We admired this Tulips contributed and moved on...

Until... attack of Tulip #2... Tulip #2 wasn't even any of the colors of Tulips we had in our yard. This Tulip, as you can see, is more of a Chiclet purple... a color that looks intriguing and is fun and filled with promise and yet really doesn't look good on much other than a flower, Fruit Loops or the afore mentioned Chiclet. This baby showed up under a front bush where no other Tulips are planted. It's next to some Daffodils and the Bleeding Heart which looked fabulous this year. Maybe the Tulip just sensed a good time and wanted to join in.

The last guerrilla Tulip was sighted right in the middle of our swing set (please ignore all volunteer Buckthorns, Maples and Creeping Charlie... it's been busy and I haven't been able to go into full weed attack-mode yet). You can sit on the swings without stepping on it, but will swing right over it. There is no way, no how, that we would plant a Tulip in this spot. It would not be practical, but then maybe Tulips don't want to be practical, maybe we're the ones who are being too practical and the Tulips are showing us otherwise.

One thing I noticed is that the renegade Tulips showed up only in areas that had wood chips. The wood chips came from the village from the communal pile. Do you think there's a chance that some Tulip bulbs got mixed in and then were still covered enough to survive a wicked winter?

I'm guessing it might be a pesky squirrel. I'm guessing a pesky  squirrel probably broke into various neighbors' gardens and then buried the bulbs back in our "easy to dig in" wood chips which are located right next to our "easy to eat out of" bird feeders.

I've experienced plenty of volunteer flowers before and am hip to how they are spread, but I think this is the first year I've had volunteer Tulips. I'm guessing it was the squirrels and then the conditions were just right for the Tulips to survive. I'd like to think though that while we're asleep, Tulips are just running willy nilly through the neighborhood and when the sun shines and the people come out, they dive for cover wherever they might be.

Take a look at these babies!!

We always try to plant some sunflowers. They're fun, they're pretty. The squirrels always get to the seeds before we can, but I don't care. I love looking at them. We planted 3 different kinds this year, but the birds and squirrels got the freshly-planted seeds before most could take hold. Only one kind came up. The GIANTS!

Standing next to the sunflowers for scale is a 46" lamblet who is  sporting her frosty pink Scooby-Do sunglasses. I tried get her to stand closer, but she kept saying it was dark in there and something was moving!! She probably heard our weeds growing. The weeds are the second tallest thing in that portion of the garden. They are working on camouflaging the eggplants, tomatoes and the broccoli. 

Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the garden... The Snagradish LIVES!!!

Update photo at the bottom:

Grizzled was doing some much needed weeding this morning. Along with the weeds, he pulled out the few remaining radishes that had never been picked. They're waaaay beyond eating, but they needed to be taken out.

This is what he pulled out of the radish patch... Dear LORD! What has nature unleashed on us? Was not the first Snagradish imposing enough??? Looking back, that one must have been the Son of Snagradish... while this one was busy grumbling and snarling beneath the soil. I always wondered why our dog refused to walk past, instead scurrying to the other side of the path. I always wondered why the lamblets, when picking the radishes last time, refused to pick from this one section. Now I know why.

And I have absolutely NO IDEA what that lavender root thingie is... maybe a Snagradish Wannabe.

I have cleaned the mutant radishes and still have all fingers. Here is a photo of them with the majority of the dirt washed off and their stems removed.

As I look at them, I can't help wondering if purple radish 1 and purple radish 2 weren't twins, but one took all of the nutrients for itself...

Of course I realize I'm going to have to taste this, if only a nibble. I want to see if this big, honkin' radish doesn't taste more like a turnip. Its flesh though, was definitely that of a radish and its aroma... oh my... it was a very pungent radish aroma. My glasses steamed, my hair frizzed, my eyebrows singed ever so slightly.  I'm also wondering if the little lavender Wannabe is going to taste lame or more like Wasabi... pale is not always a guarantee of mellow.

OK, I just dug out the old order. These radish seeds came from Henry Fields. The package of seeds we ordered were called, "Champion". They are described as "Always crisp and delightfully sweet, even at silver-dollar size! (It says nothing of tennis ball size.) Really red (red?? Are you sure??) really smooth, with a mild-flavored white flesh.

Hmmm, mild? We'll see.

 

I miss my Lettuce o' Love

Our backyard butts up against the long side of a backyard of a retired couple that lives around the corner. The two yards are divided by a waist-high fence and a straggly row of Mock Oranges. The retired gentleman, Charlie, is in his 70’s, suffers the damage done by a stroke, and yet is an extreme gardener. He’s usually out there all the time, keeping things in line. I have never seen a neater garden. Grizzled and I love to garden as well, but we usually run short on time and the weeds get the upper hand. We’re also big on letting volunteers grow. You never know what’s going to pop up. We’ve had the errant tomatoes, a volunteer celosia, a marigold that grew out of a crack between our driveway and our porch, just to name a few. I like seeing what botanical presents I might get. Charlie is not like this. If he didn’t plant it, it doesn’t stay. There are no weeds that my eye can discern in Charlie’s yard, there are no plants growing beyond their allotted space.

Since Charlie is often in his backyard and I am in mine, we chat over the fence. Sometimes this means meeting in the middle of the mock oranges, sometimes it means finding an open spot over the raspberries. He eyes our yard and you can pick up a little bit of disapproval. I mentioned one year that we were canning tomato sauce, a tradition from Grizzled’s youth, and he bellowed, “You can’t make sauce with Beefsteak tomatoes!!! You need plum tomatoes! Romas!” I reassured him that we knew this and were indeed canning the Romas. The other tomatoes were for eating off the vine.

One day Charlie showed up at my door with the gift of acorn squash. What he really wanted to do though was tell me that I was neglecting the raspberries that were growing on our side of the fence. He said technically they were his since they came from his plants and if I was not going to pick them, he would. I told him anytime he felt the urge to hop the fence, he was more than welcome. I truly hoped he was feeling that spry. I also told him that technically the ones he was referring to were ours since we had planted that bush and even if we hadn’t, they were now growing on our side of the property line.

Charlie means well though and I like him. Since we have moved in, he has bestowed upon me, many gifts of produce. He has given me peaches from his miniature peach tree. He has given me rhubarb plants that are now thriving in our yard. We’ve gotten raspberries before we had our own, and lots of wonderful fresh lettuce. Charlie liked to give me lettuce. It seems his wife only likes Iceberg lettuce. I’m not surprised. Charlie would grow all of this wonderful lettuce, but there was always too much to eat. He knew I liked it so I got plenty. It became apparent that Charlie not only liked lettuce, Charlie liked me.  He would whisper over the fence and motion for me to come over, always with a produce gift in hand and a gardening tip, maybe a recipe for the best way to serve something. Grizzled and I started referring to the gifts of lettuce as the “Lettuce O’ Love”! One day however, when Charlie and I were meeting in the overgrown Mock Oranges, he asked me if I would hold his hand. I didn’t hesitate. I grew up in a family full of hugs and hand-holdings, but as I held his hand, I noticed a distant look in his eyes. He didn’t appear to be all there. He then asked me for a kiss. I told him I was flattered, but that I was a married woman and out of respect for Grizzled would have to decline. He said we didn’t need to tell Grizzled. I told him, but I would know and that wouldn’t work. I got out of the garden as fast as I could and encouraged Grizzled to leave the Mock Oranges as unruly as they were.

I hate to say it, but I would go out less and less when I saw Charlie out there. His stroke had not only changed his walking and his face, it had changed his mind. He seemed to have lost certain filters and I just didn’t feel like putting myself or him in the position of awkwardness again. But the gifts of produce kept coming. Charlie would send Grizzled in with lettuce or raspberries for me and would tell him that they were specifically for me and that he was to make me close my eyes and open my mouth, that he had a gift from Charlie. Grizzled was usually laughing, but I was kind of creeped out.

This past year, something happened to Charlie that has him confined to a wheelchair. He has some undiagnosable pain that won't allow him to stand for more than a minute. His grandson is doing the majority of the work out in the yard, his garden is still superb, but Charlie is not. At first I was kind of relieved knowing I would not hear him calling to me from the Mock Oranges, but as the summer has progressed, it makes me sad. That man was his garden. His garden was what kept him going. It has got to be torture to not be able to get in it and get dirty.

This year there have been no gifts of raspberries or peaches… no Lettuce o’ Love. I never thought I’d say it, but I miss it. I miss seeing Charlie outside dancing with his yard and I miss my gifts of produce from a man who probably misses his mind and his body. I miss my Lettuce o’ Love.

Behold! The Snagradish!!!

Today my youngest lamblet was pulling out the last of the radishes. The radish seeds went into the ground pretty late and we were lax when it came to plucking them so I know these babies are going to be HOT! They're not horseradishes, but still... I think they're a radish even James Wolcott would be proud of.

Today, my youngest lamblet pulled out a number of root vegetables that looked like radishes... and then she pulled out this! This was no mere radish... Grizzled said it was most likely a radish that had not be properly hybridized. He then launched off on the history of hybridization and its roots. Well, apparently one of its roots looks like THAT!

I had a feeling what it was. A turnip you ask? No... Not even a beet. It could only be one thing... A Snagradish!!! A radish for the man who can eat anything AND DOES!

I've often wondered about the legitimacy of the Snagradish, tempted to lump it in with unicorns and ogres, but now I've seen it. My eyes have beheld the Snagradish and there's no going back.

Now... now, I just have one more question... will it be delicious or disgusting???

Feee-ES-ssstaaaaah!!

It's summer flower time. I love summer flowers. I love all summer flowers, but must admit I'm particularly fond of hot summer colors. I love bright zinnias, love black-eyed susans. I love the clashing of complimentary colors. A couple of weeks ago I filled a bunch of our flower pots. The combo of bright colors with the glowy blues and purples was enough to make my eyes go crazy. I kept calling them Fiesta!!! I told Grizzled that every time he walked past he had to pounce, put his hands out in semi-jazz hand fashion and say, "Feeee-ES-staaaaahhhh!!!" He humored me and did it.

These fleurs are new though... they're just going to get more outrageous as the summer progresses.

Two things that are already outrageous are our clematis and our hostas. The clematis is not the usual purple one, but is instead a garnet/burgundy color. Only half of its flowers are open, but as you can see, it's already loaded.

To the right of the clematis are two of the monster hostas. They no doubt need to be split, but they're kind of fun the way they are. There are more monsters in the front.

Every year I think they look trampled enough and dead enough that there's no way they can come back and yet in a matter of a couple of weeks, they are enormous and are places for the bunnies to hide.

Planting Seeds

Updated below

The holidays are over so that can only mean one thing- the mass arrival of seed and plant catalogs.

I look outside and see snow and ice, but the catalogs have me dreaming of summer... of gardens past and future.

It's hard to imagine it's almost time to think of what we would like to grow outside. The birds are still busy eating the remaining seeds from last year's garden.

My gardens are sleeping, but I'm guessing they're dreaming of things to come as well.

A number of people have asked me either via email or comments if the image on the left was a painting of mine. Yes, it is. It's a close-up of a larger piece. I suppose I should have identified it from the get-go.

The actual painting is a 24x48 vertical. There is one particular spot in one garden bed that I like to layer and layer with flowers. It always looks filled with atmosphere, like something is going on in each shadow. I was attempting to capture some of that here. Even though the painting is more or less finished, there are still parts that frustrate me... I may go back and work on them or I may just leave them alone... or I may just start over this year when the new flowers bloom.

Thanks for all of the kind comments.

My yard is sleeping...

It's a balmy 58 degrees outside, but my yard is fast asleep. It is still beautiful... still full of intrigue. The once lush plants are now a tangle of angles, a labyrinth of lines. We don't clear everything out come fall, but instead leave a good portion of the depleted plants for the remaining critters that use our yard.

Our yard at this time of year reminds me of a hibernating mother bear... asleep yet still tending to those that need her. Birds still pluck seeds from dilapidated zinnias and rabbits still find shelter in a tangle of tomato vines. They are still serving a purpose.

I also like to see the shapes that the wizened plants produce. They are no longer obvious representations of what they once were, but now take on abstract forms. They become armatures for the snow, which even though it is 58, will be here soon.

My yard is sleeping and I still find it infinitely interesting.

The Thistle Whisperer

Early this summer I started my usual battle against thistles. Thistle Watch ’06 officially started in late May. Thistles, as most people know, are not pleasant to walk on and they reproduce like rabbits. I would yank them whenever I saw one, trying to remove as much of the taproot as I could, There were many I didn’t spot until they were at least 2-3ft tall and had bursting seed pods. My husband and I don’t use any chemical lawn services. We have pets, kids, we don’t mind clover and I always like to see the volunteers that show up in funky places, but other weeds generally must be pulled out. I kept after them the best I could, but thistles are sly and just when I thought I had gotten them all I would find a really big, burly one disguised as a sunflower. I’m not certain, but I think I also heard it snickering.

I’m not exactly sure at which point things changed, but somewhere during the summer, I had a revelation. What if “what you resist, persists” was true and the more I fought the thistles, the more prevalent they became? I suddenly felt as though I had been acting like a crusader trying to change my yard to the religion of my choice. What if I worked with the thistles? What if I became the Thistle Whisperer? Surely I could earn the love and respect of the thistles and we could live together in harmony! I would allow the thistles part of the land and in doing this, they would leave places where I needed to walk or grow things, alone.

It was beautiful while the harmony lasted… we had more goldfinches than I ever remember. We always have goldfinches, they love to rip apart our zinnias before swooping off in that goofy scallop-flight pattern they have, but we had a gazillion. I did a tally one day and the calculator said, “Gazillion”. They were everywhere. We even had different kinds of thistles! We generally have the thistles with yellow flowers (can't find its proper name), but in leaving them alone, I discovered a 4 ft purple beauty. Yes, it was a Bull… the spiniest of thistles. The big kahuna. It is said it should only be handled with gloves, but that is only for amateurs and I was, after all, the Thistle Whisperer. I could watch Mr. Bull develop daily since he was hiding next to our front window, behind our vertically hung flag… the flag which is symbolically placed to the left of the big bush…

As I said, it was beautiful while it lasted, but what I didn’t realize is that thistles don’t really give a crap about what my rules, plans, or desires are. They are like partiers finding out someone’s parents are gone and the liquor cabinet is unlocked. Before I could say, “You’re welcome any time Mr. Bull!” I noticed the ENTIRE FRONT YARD WAS PEPPERED WITH THISTLES! I cringed when I thought of the taproot network that must exist under my yard, when I thought of how many “beautiful little seedpods” must have erupted during my revelry over the past few weeks. Yes, the harmony was over and even Grizzled who opts for natural declared… “We need Weed N’ Feed and we need it now!”

The thistle invitation has been rescinded (sorry Goldfinches, but you are still welcome to my zinnias) and I am doing my best to uproot any stragglers I can find. It’s almost kind of scary how fast a person can go from live and let live to thistle-milk lust. I am no longer complimenting them on their artsy staggering of leaves, but am now yanking them out with abandon… the sounds of maniacal laughter wafting from my yard. Now instead of watching them grow, I am enjoying my trophies. I revel in filling up my limit of lawn bags. I'm not composting these babies... I'm not sure my compost gets hot enough and I don't want to take any chances at spreading even more seeds than I already have. I even have this 25 pointer mounted on my garage door… a reminder for any thistles, charming Mr. Bull or not, that might think this is a nice place to stay…

Yours truly,

The Thistle Bellower