I love the smell of mulch in the morning. And the afternoon.

Weeding? Sort of check.

Mulch? Check.

This latter item has me feeling slightly more confident that my going away for a few days will not mean I return to find a garden of weeds and dried out plants. (We will most likely have someone stop by to give the thirstier customers a drink while we're gone, as well.) It is a curious concept, this drive thru soil and mulch pick-up business. Drive right up and through is easier said than done when one's vehicle is beastly and minivan-shaped. Mulch is beautiful, though, right? It smells like a lush, warm forest. I want to work in a garden centre. I want to plant trees in British Columbia. Dang, I love mulch.

I've begun what I hope will be a life-long effort to make use of the compost bin we inherited when we bought our house. Sure, I have to traverse a great jungle filled with blood-suckers - (and now, having arrived in what seems to be a bumper crop, what we call around these here parts "June bugs") - to get to it, but you say it's green and good for the soil and plants? I'm in.

Finally, we are departing tomorrow on a road trip bound for Gatineau. The Royal Botanical Gardens and Montreal Botanical Gardens feature prominently on our itinerary. My laptop is tagging along with me, so I may post as we go, or the yellow monster that keeps me connected to the outside world may sit neglected in my bag for the whole six days. Time will tell.

like a boss

the zucchini, today's MVPs

Happy Canada Day!

I celebrated our nation's 144th birthday by putting some work into the beautification of the very minute percentage of her I have on loan. For the most part, this involved a great deal of weeding. Funny thing about weeds, I have a rather unorthodox policy when it comes to dealing with them. That is, if they are pretty and look as though they might serve as a parasol (or midnight snack) for beings with wings and/or pointy appendages, they get to stay. (I have always been of the opinion that dandelions are underrated.)

Case in point:

yellow oxalis

Another maintenance item I was able to take care of today was the staking of the tomato plants.

Tomato plant B (on the right) is still suffering from a case of droopy leaves. Yet, it has actual tomatoes growing on it, while plant A does not. Curious. Henrik the gnome is giving them both the thumbs up, anyhow.

I picked up the stakes at Walmart, as well as five new moss plants - Scotch, this time, to replace the Irish, which was starting to look dry and beige at the roots and just not spreading at all. I'll have to take more care with this stuff - make sure not to over-water and all that. Scott asked if I plan to feed it whiskey, and, really, that's not all that bad of an idea. Desperate times, desperate measures.

Kidding.

Oh, and these are some wild mulberries growing between our neighbour's fence and ours. Isn't it nifty how nature just does its own thing? Respect.

In conclusion, I leave you with these few parting thoughts/lessons:

1. Dear Pale Woman, No amount of diligent application and re-application of sunscreen will keep us from you. Accept that a tan and likely some sunspots are in your future. You say you have SPF 40 and a hat with a wide brim? Ha ha. It is to laugh. Sincerely, The (UV) Rays.


2. When spraying oneself with insect repellent, take great care not to neglect the bum cheeks. It should come as no surprise to know that mosquitoes have no sense of personal space. ("Oh, excuse me there. I'm famished. Might I have a drink of your blood, please?") They will not hesitate to fly up your shorts.


3. The first thing to do before driving a shovel into the ground is to check for buried power cords. (No shocks, thankfully, but a definite whoops! moment.)

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.