I’m spending an inordinate amount of time trying to outsmart my cats. Oh sure, I expected them to be sorta naughty, but dear dang dog, Mister Kitty especially is H-O-R-R-I-B-L-E, and that’s with the French pronunciation. He’s not mean horrible, mind you, but super duper curious horrible. It’s such a paradox, so sweet and affectionate with us, and so contemptuous of everything else.
Does anyone else get nervous when November rolls around. In theory, I love the going-into-winter season. But it seems once we hit that 1st day in November, the rest of it comes thundering through faster than you can shake a hot toddy at it. That doesn’t even count tasks left to do in the garden. I did manage to get outside yesterday, with box of kleenex in hand. I curse you: sore throat, runny nose, and insistent cough.
It’s taken me a while to get that I’m challenged when trying to talk, observe, and photograph in unison. This is not entirely new to my, uhm, imaginative brain style. But since my concussion, I’m further along on the continuum. Recently, one of my brain therapist said, “well, when you have a really disorganized brain style…”
Say what! I don’t think she meant that as compliment. I mean, who decided that straight-line thinking is the right way, and a more firework fanciful way of thinking is the wrong way. Hmmph.
Every time I take the drive south from Portland on Interstate 5, I’m reminded in living technicolor, that I really do live in the Willamette Valley. You see vast stretches of pastureland, mountains, sheep with requisite guard Llama–and a veritable menagerie of birds. Hawks perch on fence posts all along the highway, eagles soar overhead, egrets and all manner of flocking birds fill the open fields. (more…)
I know they’re numbered, but in these last decent days of fall, there are some fine looking plants in the garden.
The shaded brick planter on the north side of our house has exceeded all expectations. It’s under the eaves, and needs to be watered year round, but I’m up to the challenge with stellar performers like these.
The great thing about walking the neighborhood is you see things you might miss from the car. I’d noticed this particular garden because it has the most exquisitely pruned Sambucus. And truth be told, I’ve been hoping to catch the pruner in the act–so I can offer to clear some of the pruned bits. Rumor has it that it’s easy plant to propagate. And I’m ready to give it a try.
My birthday is the Ides of March. So perchance you’ll forgive my proclivity to ignore warnings. Have you ever fallen head over heels with a plant despite other gardeners’ cautions? Tis indeed the case with Fen’s Ruby Cypress Spurge. I’ve got it bad for this little guy. But honestly, this is no Bishop’s Weed. I have never had anything but gushing admiration. It looks fabulous almost year round, adds lush texture, and it provides such a great counterpoint to the other plants. And in the unlikely occasion it wears out its welcome, it yanks with alacrity. (more…)
Do you ever get a wrong idea stuck in your head? For instance, I decided when I bought this plant that is was an Ernygium. Megan said, “this is a fabulus Acanthus. You should buy it.” Which, of course, I did with all due haste. Because my kids don’t ever steer me wrong. They know stuff, Megan and Elliot, the little upstarts. So, the label clearly stated Acanthus sennii, and I read “Acanthus.” But even then, my first thought was “Eryngium.” Now every time see it in the yard, same thing: Eryngium. Does anyone else do this, conflate plant names? It strikes me as a bit nutty. And I’m the one doing it. (Wonder if this inclination is confounded by my pesky 2-year-and-counting concussion? I’ll tell ya, concussions are good for nothin’!) (more…)
Ever so often, I ask my gardening pals about sod removal. What are their favorite techniques. Should I try this? Should I try that? How about the lasagne method–that’s a thing, right? Is there an easier way than stripping sod and hauling it away? Etc. Ad nauseum. I do most sincerely apologize for being Patricia the Pest. But I need to know these things. I love knowledge. Plus we inherited a lot of lawn with Flamingo Park.
The big winter weather joke around the Pacific Northwest is a forecast calling for “snow on the valley floor.” That’s the Willamette Valley we talking about, and we hardly ever get snow, at least on the northern end. Those of us who grew up here are always rooting for the white stuff. It creates a magical world that we rarely see. Some even have a strict snow policy, and I’m all for it. People who move here from snowier parts of the country often have trouble letting us enjoy our fleeting glimpse of snowflakes. We’re glad to have you, especially if you garden. But if it’s not too much to ask, might you please refrain from spoiling our brief snowy good times.