Thanks to all of you who asked about blog updates. Nice to know there are so many readers!
Yes, I will still be regularly updating my blog--though probably not as frequently in the past (lots of things going on).
Writer
Monday, July 28, 2008
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Snakes and Other Sounds
We get used to the strangest things.
The sound is barely audible, and very, very brief. But I hear it above all the cars, birds, dogs, planes, mowers, whatever is going on around the neighborhood—a garter snake escaping from under the garden’s black plastic as I approach. I can even tell which garden and the exact location of the snake, watching it slither quickly into the grass.
I start working the soil for a new plot, and I hear the low, quick sound of my neighbor’s horse quickly flapping his lips. From two hundred feet away, through several lines of densely packed evergreens, he knows I’m there. I know exactly where along the fence he is, too, although I can’t see him and I’m not sure how I can tell—nor how he can tell that yes, just this afternoon I bought a bag of carrots to share, still in the car…but he knows.
The neighbor’s dogs—on the other side, five hundred feet away---bark incessantly. They have eight dogs (they show them). I don’t even notice the sound, until my neighbor periodically yells at them to shut up. His barking is the annoyance, and it never works anyway, other than a second or two of silence before the dogs begin again.
Red-winged blackbirds tsk tsk continually. That does get irritating after a time. I know it won’t stop, however, nor can I get away from it, as the birds are telling others that I’m there and where I am. I watch them follow me as I move through the garden.
I check my strawberry patches---lots of berries, and many more on the way. Finally, fencing out rabbits and netting out birds has proven successful. I lift the net and pick the ripe berries—only to find that I’m now competing with ants and slugs for the fruit. Damn frustrating. I pick all the ripe berries before any more damage can be done. I’ll clearly have to stay on top of harvesting.
I check my broccoli---the largest plant is lying on its side, cut halfway through the stem at the ground. Rootworm. Great. Sigh.
I’m not fond of snakes. However, they don’t harm the plants, and they eat insects. They can stay.
And I don’t mind the sound anymore—I’m used to it.
Writer
The sound is barely audible, and very, very brief. But I hear it above all the cars, birds, dogs, planes, mowers, whatever is going on around the neighborhood—a garter snake escaping from under the garden’s black plastic as I approach. I can even tell which garden and the exact location of the snake, watching it slither quickly into the grass.
I start working the soil for a new plot, and I hear the low, quick sound of my neighbor’s horse quickly flapping his lips. From two hundred feet away, through several lines of densely packed evergreens, he knows I’m there. I know exactly where along the fence he is, too, although I can’t see him and I’m not sure how I can tell—nor how he can tell that yes, just this afternoon I bought a bag of carrots to share, still in the car…but he knows.
The neighbor’s dogs—on the other side, five hundred feet away---bark incessantly. They have eight dogs (they show them). I don’t even notice the sound, until my neighbor periodically yells at them to shut up. His barking is the annoyance, and it never works anyway, other than a second or two of silence before the dogs begin again.
Red-winged blackbirds tsk tsk continually. That does get irritating after a time. I know it won’t stop, however, nor can I get away from it, as the birds are telling others that I’m there and where I am. I watch them follow me as I move through the garden.
I check my strawberry patches---lots of berries, and many more on the way. Finally, fencing out rabbits and netting out birds has proven successful. I lift the net and pick the ripe berries—only to find that I’m now competing with ants and slugs for the fruit. Damn frustrating. I pick all the ripe berries before any more damage can be done. I’ll clearly have to stay on top of harvesting.
I check my broccoli---the largest plant is lying on its side, cut halfway through the stem at the ground. Rootworm. Great. Sigh.
I’m not fond of snakes. However, they don’t harm the plants, and they eat insects. They can stay.
And I don’t mind the sound anymore—I’m used to it.
Writer
Monday, June 2, 2008
The Saga Begins
I finally had to admit my old lawn mower was beyond even what duct tape, wire and gorilla glue could help, so I headed to the store for a replacement.
Emblazoned across the front and back of the 22” cut green beast, in bright yellow, appears its name: The Weed Eater. And all I could think of while cutting grass this morning was “I am the Weed Eater; where is the Key Master?”
As I cut along the edge of my property, my nearest neighbor had a different thought: “I am the horse; where is my apple?”
I rolled the mower back to the shed, accosted by Shanti: “I am your dog; why is the horse getting treats?”
As I opened my front door to get to indoor work, my cats greeted me with, “We are the cats; where is our lunch?”
The portal has been opened.
Writer
Emblazoned across the front and back of the 22” cut green beast, in bright yellow, appears its name: The Weed Eater. And all I could think of while cutting grass this morning was “I am the Weed Eater; where is the Key Master?”
As I cut along the edge of my property, my nearest neighbor had a different thought: “I am the horse; where is my apple?”
I rolled the mower back to the shed, accosted by Shanti: “I am your dog; why is the horse getting treats?”
As I opened my front door to get to indoor work, my cats greeted me with, “We are the cats; where is our lunch?”
The portal has been opened.
Writer
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Michael
Last night I came home, sat down with my dog, and watched the stars come out.
I used to do this all the time, and sat thinking about how and why I would ever stop. Bit by bit, I suppose, the intrusions accumulate. A firefly shines. Michael.
Michael was my best friend since I was two. His family rented the second floor of the house, my parents the first floor. We were inseparable. We even became blood brothers—and understood what we were doing (never underestimate children). Although we were born just six weeks apart, we straddled opposite lines of the school rules, so I set off for kindergarten at age four, while Michael had to wait a year. So it was at home that we cemented our friendship.
Michael had a collection of empty bottles—or so they appeared. We would walk across the field, and Michael would point out the sparkling lights that were fairies. His bottles, in fact, contained several of these fairies, each in the form of cartoon characters—Donald Duck, Mighty Mouse, Bugs Bunny and many more. I couldn’t see them of course, but I had Michael to describe them.
Simpler times.
Writer
I used to do this all the time, and sat thinking about how and why I would ever stop. Bit by bit, I suppose, the intrusions accumulate. A firefly shines. Michael.
Michael was my best friend since I was two. His family rented the second floor of the house, my parents the first floor. We were inseparable. We even became blood brothers—and understood what we were doing (never underestimate children). Although we were born just six weeks apart, we straddled opposite lines of the school rules, so I set off for kindergarten at age four, while Michael had to wait a year. So it was at home that we cemented our friendship.
Michael had a collection of empty bottles—or so they appeared. We would walk across the field, and Michael would point out the sparkling lights that were fairies. His bottles, in fact, contained several of these fairies, each in the form of cartoon characters—Donald Duck, Mighty Mouse, Bugs Bunny and many more. I couldn’t see them of course, but I had Michael to describe them.
Simpler times.
Writer
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Fate of a Cardboard Box
Any large odd-sized cardboard box—the one from the new ‘fridge, washing machine, television, etc.—proposes a unique challenge. What to do? I faced this dilemma with the 4 x 4 inch x 6 foot box used for shipping my trees.
Some might try to crumple, fold, compact, and then attempt to force it into the recycling bin. Others might try to fit it into a burning barrel along with other trash. Still others might take out a box cutter and reduce it to a flat sheet—a solution that only perpetuates the issue. Does the box now go to the compactor? The barrel? The recycling bin? My dad, an amateur mechanic, would probably save it to lie on while working on his back under the car.
I, however, fortuitously hit upon an elegant solution. After a brief attempt to extricate the trees by lifting them out, I realized I’d have to open the bottom and pull them out roots first. Once this was accomplished, and the trees safety housed in a five gallon bucket, I considered what to do with the leftover shipping container. Then it hit me.
Cat toy. Two cats and a 4 x4 6 foot tunnel. Even better—a ping pong ball, two cats and a tunnel (one of my cats can follow the ball through the tunnel as fast as I can roll it. I pity the mouse that attracts THIS cat’s interest.).
Cue commercial music. An assortment of trees—insert current cost. Expedited interstate shipping—include average cost. A cardboard box for two cats? Priceless.
Until they decide they’d rather sit on it.
Writer
Some might try to crumple, fold, compact, and then attempt to force it into the recycling bin. Others might try to fit it into a burning barrel along with other trash. Still others might take out a box cutter and reduce it to a flat sheet—a solution that only perpetuates the issue. Does the box now go to the compactor? The barrel? The recycling bin? My dad, an amateur mechanic, would probably save it to lie on while working on his back under the car.
I, however, fortuitously hit upon an elegant solution. After a brief attempt to extricate the trees by lifting them out, I realized I’d have to open the bottom and pull them out roots first. Once this was accomplished, and the trees safety housed in a five gallon bucket, I considered what to do with the leftover shipping container. Then it hit me.
Cat toy. Two cats and a 4 x4 6 foot tunnel. Even better—a ping pong ball, two cats and a tunnel (one of my cats can follow the ball through the tunnel as fast as I can roll it. I pity the mouse that attracts THIS cat’s interest.).
Cue commercial music. An assortment of trees—insert current cost. Expedited interstate shipping—include average cost. A cardboard box for two cats? Priceless.
Until they decide they’d rather sit on it.
Writer
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Days of Trees and--Nuts
A month ago I decided to expand my orchard to include nuts and some more fruits, so from an outfit in Wisconsin, I ordered Japanese Walnuts (I have Black Walnut), some Chestnuts, Hazelnuts, Pecans (I love pecans), Peanuts (I know, not a tree), Golden Apricot (My one apricot tree is lonely), along with Kiwi and three varieties of grapes (Again, yes, not trees). Just for the hell of it, because you can never have too many of these, I also ordered a handful of tomato and broccoli seeds.
Two weeks ago, I received a small box in the mail—my tomato and broccoli seeds. All else was backordered. Deep sigh.
*Ring—ring—ring* Not many people I know are morning people, so the early phone call on a Saturday yesterday morning was a surprise. *Hello?”
“Hi! This is Doug at the Post Office.” In a small town, we all know each other. “Hey, I’ve got a tree here that’s not gonna fit in the carrier’s vehicle. Can you pick it up?” I sighed. Yesterday I was home all day, a nice sunny day. Saturday I had a rehearsal and a concert out of town—not a day I could plant. Oh well. “Sure—be right down.”
He had two cardboard boxes, one 4 x 4 inches x 6 feet, the other 2 x 4 x 24 inches. Both had labels from the Wisconsin Department of Agriculture. Apparently, my supplier had the trees shipped directly to me. I opened the tops just to see what had come. I pulled out an invoice.
Everything. Huh? I looked down. I expected roots wrapped in plastic with cord or rubber bands. Nope. Pots. Pots! Those “cardboard” nursery type, half filled with soil—as nothing secured the plants from moving about nor the soil from falling out as the package was handled. Cheese heads have different ideas about shipping plants than we do in New York, I guess—the box wasn’t even labeled “This end up” – just a small felt pen marking, “Please rush—planting materials.”
Well almost everything—they shipped the female kiwi plant, but backordered the male kiwi. I opened the small “planting materials” box—and found the male kiwi. I looked at my watch and headed for the hardware store to pick up the stakes I’ll need before I would have to leave to rehearsal.—the hardware stores would be closed on Sunday, and EVERYTHING planted must immediately be fenced,, or the rabbits will eat it right down to the ground. (They even eat the needles off my Austrian Pines! It’s a running battle—I’ve become Mr. McGregor.)
So today is the day for the digging of holes and planting, fencing and watering of trees. Probably tomorrow too. Rain or shine.
Maybe I should pick up some extra ibuprofen…
Writer
Two weeks ago, I received a small box in the mail—my tomato and broccoli seeds. All else was backordered. Deep sigh.
*Ring—ring—ring* Not many people I know are morning people, so the early phone call on a Saturday yesterday morning was a surprise. *Hello?”
“Hi! This is Doug at the Post Office.” In a small town, we all know each other. “Hey, I’ve got a tree here that’s not gonna fit in the carrier’s vehicle. Can you pick it up?” I sighed. Yesterday I was home all day, a nice sunny day. Saturday I had a rehearsal and a concert out of town—not a day I could plant. Oh well. “Sure—be right down.”
He had two cardboard boxes, one 4 x 4 inches x 6 feet, the other 2 x 4 x 24 inches. Both had labels from the Wisconsin Department of Agriculture. Apparently, my supplier had the trees shipped directly to me. I opened the tops just to see what had come. I pulled out an invoice.
Everything. Huh? I looked down. I expected roots wrapped in plastic with cord or rubber bands. Nope. Pots. Pots! Those “cardboard” nursery type, half filled with soil—as nothing secured the plants from moving about nor the soil from falling out as the package was handled. Cheese heads have different ideas about shipping plants than we do in New York, I guess—the box wasn’t even labeled “This end up” – just a small felt pen marking, “Please rush—planting materials.”
Well almost everything—they shipped the female kiwi plant, but backordered the male kiwi. I opened the small “planting materials” box—and found the male kiwi. I looked at my watch and headed for the hardware store to pick up the stakes I’ll need before I would have to leave to rehearsal.—the hardware stores would be closed on Sunday, and EVERYTHING planted must immediately be fenced,, or the rabbits will eat it right down to the ground. (They even eat the needles off my Austrian Pines! It’s a running battle—I’ve become Mr. McGregor.)
So today is the day for the digging of holes and planting, fencing and watering of trees. Probably tomorrow too. Rain or shine.
Maybe I should pick up some extra ibuprofen…
Writer
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Grading Papers on a Spring Term Evening
Whose words these are indeed I know;
His seat is by the window, though—
He will not see me sitting here
To read his essay, filled with snow.
My little house must think it queer
To stop with other work so near;
The only sound I hear’s the creep
Of anxious dog (the cats—asleep).
My plans are many, lovely, deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And piles to grade before I sleep,
And piles to grade before I sleep.
Writer
His seat is by the window, though—
He will not see me sitting here
To read his essay, filled with snow.
My little house must think it queer
To stop with other work so near;
The only sound I hear’s the creep
Of anxious dog (the cats—asleep).
My plans are many, lovely, deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And piles to grade before I sleep,
And piles to grade before I sleep.
Writer
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