a is for aaargh?

Words are my livelihood. So imagine how ashamed I am to admit this: My plants can’t read.

Their tags are quite specific about what soil they like, how tall and wide they’re to grow, how much cold and sun they tolerate — all the essentials. They simply don’t comprehend.  

When I leave the recommended space between them, they stay their original size forever (or die). (This tricolor sage was supposed to be a pretty 24″-32″ accent in front of the fence. It’s still 6″ tall, same as the day I planted it, 6 weeks ago.)
When I crowd things, desperate to replace brown mulch with green leaves, the results are never quite as expected. (This hosta was supposed to grow to nestle in a lovely bed of sweet woodruff. The woodruff is winning.)
Frick and Frack the hydrangea brothers have stayed the same size (about 18”) for 2 years. No blooms.
Note how the hunk of hosta I got from my neighbor 2 months ago is already gaining on Frack.
When I plan a bed around “dwarf” shrubs that are supposed to stay a tidy size, they grow like mad, leaving the poor saps behind them yelling, “Hey, down in front!” (This variegated dwarf (3’x3′) weigela planted a year and a half ago is now easily 5′ tall and growing.)

When I plant 2 whole flats of ground cover (spaced according to their preferences), two years later I get 2 whole flats of ground cover (spaced according to their preferences). (This pachysandra is a little taller, at least.)
When I purposely plant “vigorous growers” or even (gasp) “invasives” out of the sheer desperation of seeing plants instead of mulch or dirt, I get nominal spreading at best, 3 years later. (The dreaded Bishop’s Weed — playing nicely with the daylilies in a lousy spot.)
Unless of course, someone else plants the invasive (probably unknowingly). Then it grows EVERYWHERE, in sun or shade, in cracks in the asphalt, wherever. (Lemon balm growing out of rubble.)
Oh, and there’s Godzilla the azalea (who came with the house). I’ve never grown one of these beyond 3 or 4 feet, and never in full sun. This one is easily 5′ tall, 8′ wide, and 4′ deep — and it’s hanging over most of the end of the deck, blocking the view of the yard and wasting precious deck space. But we can’t seem to justify digging out a healthy shrub that blooms its heart out every spring (though not my favorite color). Nor do we have another spot for this behemoth, assuming it could survive a move. But still, I could plant 10 perennials in this prime sunny spot — one of the few in our mostly shady back yard. (Opinions? Should we yank it?)

So, I’m thinking of starting a little remedial reading program for the green team. They only have to learn to read a few lines on a small tag. We’ll start with the basics…”b is for bloom”…”f is for foliage”…”g is for grow-already” (though not, evidently, “green thumb”).

I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught. 
                                                                ~ Winston Churchill

How green is too green?

I was thinking about how to comment on this Post-Gazette article I read online this morning and Pitt Girl beat me to it. If you don’t know, Pitt Girl is an anonymous Pittsburgher who writes a VERY popular blog called The Burgh Blog. I read it for a laugh every now and then, though it’s not family fare; it’s often crude. But often really funny.

So, this wins my vote for TOO GREEN! (I would love to know the “x women out of 10” number that do not find this type of recycling repulsive. And, as one of Pitt Girl’s commenters wrote, can you imagine how her KIDS feel, with this publicity all over the paper?)

We are, however, trying to be more green. I compost my kitchen scraps — though have yet to yield any compost. I’ve been recycling paper (junk mail, the reams I generate in my office, magazines, newspaper) because giant paper recycling dumpsters have popped up everywhere, several that are convenient to me, and my sister put me onto them. I now keep seeing dumpsters (errr, drop-off containers) for shoes and clothes too. I wonder where these donations go? 

We also just purchased a rain barrel. Apparently these are one of the hottest products on the market — the decorative ones are astronomically expensive or already sold out. I’m told you can make your own for a few dollars, but we opted for a ready-made one (someone else’s DIY industriousness) from eBay.

And naturally, for the first time all year, we are not likely to get rain for the next 10 days. So much for saving water this summer. (Maybe we’ll actually get it installed before it rains again.)

I’m very intrigued by the idea of “gray water” systems that use relatively clean wastewater from showering, washing dishes, and laundry so that it can be reused to water the garden and such. Seems like a really worthwhile thing to look into if you build a new house, although I’m sure, like all these good ideas (solar, wind), actually doing it is prohibitively expensive.

Now, this brings to mind something I had totally forgotten. When I was little, I remember my mother actually saving the rinse water from the wash to reuse again to wash the next load. Not just from her wringer washer, but even after she got an automatic. I remember her bailing it out of the laundry tubs and back into the washer. I was appalled. Also appalled when she would rinse out the spaghetti sauce jar or the ketchup bottle or the soup can or whatever to get out every drop. Drove me crazy! Now I do the same thing (the jar rinsing, not the water bailing).

I tell ya, those Depression folks INVENTED reduce, reuse, recycle. (It was called being poor and not wasting anything.) I shudder to think how I (or any of us) would survive if we had to go back to those true DIY times. Kill a chicken, skin a rabbit, grow a garden from seed, “put up” fruits and vegetables, make soap — we likely wouldn’t survive. 

One of my favorite books I read over and over as a child was My Side of the Mountain, about a boy who goes off into the wilderness to live on his own. Between this book and endless readings of Laura Ingalls Wilder, Lois Lenski (Strawberry Girl), Caddie Woodlawn, and many others, I was convinced I could be a pioneer girl (or maybe “Aimish”) and in fact probably was one in a previous life.

Now look at me. Grossed out by a little homespun Kotex and Charmin. Pioneer stock my a… (No pun intended, until I realized it.)

Waste not, want not.

Bright spot

We inherited a garden shed with the house — not a charming, shingled oh-how-cute shed, but a standard, vinyl HD/Lowe’s shed. And like every other project completed by previous owners, it has issues — a shoddy foundation and, consequently, a rotting-away floor. But it does provide much-needed storage, so we’re happy to have it anyway (until we have to replace the floor, that is).

A few weeks ago, we got the bright idea to spruce it up a bit (a classic “honey, what if we…?” project).

The trusty car jack helped us level it (for now). Four cans of spray paint gave it a happy face. And some leftover wood from the dismantled swing set and salvaged bricks from the driveway pier demo added a cute little stoop.

Now the yard has a little peek of color in the back corner, and we can scout out chatchkes to hang on the outside. (Loved some of the rustic garden art at the local arts festival last week, but $42 for something to hang on the shed isn’t in the budget. A few dollars for some old gardening tools and such is more like it.) Let the search begin.

Low cost, high impact, and quick turnaround — the perfect little summer spruce-up.

Small deeds done are better than
great deeds planned. 
                         ~ Peter Marshall

 

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