a casualty

A giant in shark sandals squashed my strawberry this morning. Only the well-meaning look on his sweet face and the fact that my blood runs through his veins saved him from exile from the kingdom. No, it was an accident. He is two years old. Sometimes, when he is trying to help me, he mistakes the green pepper plants for weeds and yanks at their leaves. I won't lie, though, and say that I didn't experience feelings of disappointment and frustration as I tossed the pulverized berry out to the grass for some lucky bird. It was not my finest hour. Perhaps some Moroccan floor pillows and sunset meditation are in order?

getting to know you: yucca filamentosa

Allow me to open by saying that I can take no credit for this angel, nor can I take credit for her sisters in the backyard. They came with the house; I just took the pictures. Nevertheless, my hope with this project is to better familiarize myself with all the components of my home landscape, as well as to expand my gardening knowledge in general. What kind of gardener can't name the plants in her own yard? Some quick work with Google ("tall plant with bell-shaped white flowers") tells me that what I have here is yucca filamentosa. I am a fan, I must say. I enjoy the incongruity - long spikes at the bottom, soft white blooms at the top - and the way the epic shoot culminating in such bright flowers essentially makes yucca filamentosa the floral equivalent of an orgasm. A pleasure to meet you, darling.

a gramophone in the greenhouse

My seventh grade science experiment posited the question, "Does music affect the growth of plants?" Our teacher suggested we use mung beans, saying they would grow quickly and easily - both important qualities given our timeline. Thus, my long-suffering mother drove me to Bulk Barn, where we picked up what we understood to be mung beans. Whether they were mung beans or something else entirely will remain a mystery for the ages, but know that they did not grow even one bit, even after vigorous doses of August & Everything After and Much Dance Mix '93. (My beans, it seemed, did not agree with the assessment that rhythm is a dancer, and they certainly were not in the mood to jump around.) My science partner and I had to resort to established plants. One was exposed to music, and one was not. As I recall, we noted no significant difference between the growth of the two. Astonishing! Somehow, I still went on to win the science award in eighth grade, most likely for my groundbreaking comparison of the effectiveness of various laundry detergents. I expect that Nobel prize nomination to happen any day now. Anyhow, this is a whole lot of preamble leading up to a realization I made this morning on my daily garden visit: one of my tomato plants (sweet 100 hybrid tomato) is sad, and I need a hero. A hypothesis based on oh-so-reliable empirical evidence viewed by my twelve year old self that would suggest this fella is indifferent to The Beatles means that the Internet will probably have to suffice.

Symptom: drooping leaves at the very top of the plant. The bottom three quarters are healthy, and I even spotted fruit - (yes, keeping with the "scientific" theme of this post, I am putting tomatoes in the "fruit" category).

Theories:

1. blossom-end rot
2. over-watering
3. some sort of nutrient imbalance in the soil

Thoughts: Further observation is required to determine whether #1 is the problem. I have not seen any of the lesions described on the referenced page on any of the leaves. Mostly, the leaves just look depressed or tired, like they have had a rough go of things and need a cocktail or two and a Gossip Girl marathon. #2 and #3 seem unlikely, given that both tomato plants have received the same treatment, and only one is struggling.

Here's the plan: Switch from a daily to a once or twice a week watering schedule. Administer milk and water solution via spray bottle weekly. Research, bookmark, wait, and watch.

A more cheerful customer in region 1 is my strawberry plant.

Finally, I went on a mission to Home Depot the other night to obtain a shepherd's hook and hanging basket for the still far too bare spot at the front of our house (where a giant bug-magnet of a shrub once stood). My secret fear of being impaled by large unsecured objects whilst driving was alive and well as I transported my purchases to the gym and then home, but I am happy to report that there were no freak accidents. Yes, I am still as unhole-y as ever.

impatiens, my friends.

tiny new addition and other dreams

fairy garden toadstool, $1.50 (local dollar store)

This blog is intended to be not only a chronicle of my adventures in the world of gardening, but of my love affair with the little green space that has given me leave to tend to it and enjoy its beauty on a daily basis. Our backyard is straight out of Terabithia. When my husband and I were looking to move out of our apartment and into a house, it was the backyard of our present residence that wooed me first and last.

This is, you may recall, the King of Trees, (as of yesterday).

He is, and has been for some time, in need of a tire swing. He told me so himself.

I have visions of the evergreens that line the berm along the fence lit up with colour come December. Required for this task would be an exceptionally long and sturdy ladder, a gazillion strands of outdoor lights, a power source (or maybe just the mother of extension cords), and an individual (or several individuals) with not an ounce of acrophobia. Anybody know any firefighters?

On a less whimsical note, I need to step it up when it comes to the weekly weeding. Weeds weeds weeds. They are everywhere, and they are infinite. They break up through the rocks and under the zucchini leaves. When we are all dead and long gone, weeds will remain. Consider that for a moment the next time you catch yourself sneering at the crabgrass.

small victories: cilantro

easy butter chicken

Upon second glance at this recipe, I noticed that it read "coriander" and not "cilantro". As it turns out, they are essentially the same thing, with coriander referring to "the dried seed of the cilantro". As the accompanying photograph to the recipe would indicate, it was the author's intention that the leafy cilantro be used by us home cooks rather than the seed. Learn something new every day, you do.

one toe into summer

The little prince went away, to look again at the roses.

"You are not at all like my rose," he said. "As yet you are nothing. No one has tamed you, and you have tamed no one. You are like my fox when I first knew him. He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world."

And the roses were very much embarrassed.

"You are beautiful, but you are empty," he went on. "One could not die for you. To be sure, an ordinary passerby would think that my rose looked just like you--the rose that belongs to me. But in herself alone she is more important than all the hundreds of you other roses: because it is she that I have watered; because it is she that I have put under the glass globe; because it is she that I have sheltered behind the screen; because it is for her that I have killed the caterpillars (except the two or three that we saved to become butterflies); because it is she that I have listened to, when she grumbled, or boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing. Because she is my rose.

And he went back to meet the fox.

"Goodbye," he said.
"Goodbye," said the fox. "And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
"It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important."
"It is the time I have wasted for my rose--" said the little prince, so that he would be sure to remember.
"Men have forgotten this truth," said the fox. "But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed. You are responsible for your rose . . ."
"I am responsible for my rose," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember. (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince)

Now that I am a little over a month into this experiment, I thought I would do a quick progress report. Playing in the garden has been a positive experience thus far, aided in part by my attempt at practicing an easy-going, optimistic attitude. For every misadventure, there is a lesson learned.

Misadventures

• The Case of the Melting Peony


• broken/bent stems on the behemoth, one celosia plant, the remaining un-chomped rose bloom. I am uncertain as to the cause of the breaks, but I have a list of suspects: recent heavy rainfall and winds; the local fauna holding careless aerobic sessions in my backyard; our long, unusually harsh winter (in the case of the JFK rose bush only). My salvage mission consisted of extracting the broken out-of-place sunflower and laying it to rest in a yard waste bin, staking the bent celosia (as well as the other as yet upright and healthy sunflowers), and saying a prayer to Chloris for my roses. Also, Miracle Gro (c/o Mumsie, yet again).


• the Irish moss' failure to flourish. The moss seems to be stuck in Garden Limbo - neither perishing nor spreading like the carpet for faery feet that I hoped it would. I am still hoping this problem is merely a result of transplant shock and will resolve itself in time. Until then, a little magic blue dust + water never hurt anyone.

Looking Forward

• Next week: The cilantro is going places! First stop, easy butter chicken.


• I am longing to see the lavender in bloom.


• July garden tour!

more fun with macro function: lilies c/o mumsie

My mother is a robo-gardener. An alpha. One day I will take some photos of her garden, but, until then, know that I will most likely only ever aspire to have the green thumb that she does. Case in point: being blessed with an overabundance of lilies, she offered me some to transplant to my own garden when I commented on how lovely I thought they were. I planted them in the front yard, as these ladies desire and deserve an audience. I sure hope they like it here! Thanks, Mom. ♥