Secrets and Gardens

I have a secret, and it’s too delicious not to share. However, it seems that I may have promised not to share it—not yet anyway. So as difficult as it is for me to keep it to myself—I shall attempt to do just that.

Gosh, I really don’t know what else to talk about...Secrets can be marvelous, keeping them can be a full-time job. I suppose I could give you a garden update, tell you how my Straw Bale Garden is growing.

My SBG is growing like a weed. And it is growing weeds—despite all the assurances to the contrary, it had sprouted so many green shoots it looked like a shaggy green Cousin It. Every time I walk by it I grab a hand full and yank.

It is also growing veggies. My potatoes plants are leafy green, my tomatoes have blossoms, my radish crop has come to fruition. It was so exciting to pluck that first radish! To marvel at its lovely color, to rub it clean on my pant leg and then crunch it right up. First fruits always taste best when eaten right there in the garden. Who needs Farm to Table when you can just skip the table part?

After the third harvest of radishes I noticed that my “sweet radish” radishes seemed to be getting progressively spicy. I also remembered that I’m not a big fan of radishes to begin with.

My lettuce crop seemed to go from sprout, to baby tender—I know, because I picked a leaf and ate it—to looks like we have salad for days, to holy cow somebody grab the machete.

The peas are being temperamental, but the beans are taking off, the carrots should probably be referred to as THE Carrot---I don’t know what happened there. The Cinderella pumpkin is already setting fruit and appears set on world domination. I’ve been afraid to look at the zucchini plant—what if I’m the only person in the history of zucchini who can’t grow them? After all the unkind things I’ve said about zuke prolific-ness, I’d hate to have to eat my words.

Come to think of it—my words might taste better than veggies. I look at my vegetable garden and I’m starting to get overwhelmed at the thought of eating all that. Do I even like green beans? Oh sure, with enough bacon in them—but how healthy is that?

Luckily for me, the pheasant seems to like radishes more that I do so I guess it won’t hurt me to share with him.

Field Notes

Yesterday I got a call from a co-worker (Hi Haze!) asking me where I filed this week’s Garden Gate because she couldn’t find it.

Uh, well....

It’s because I forgot, uh I’m lazy, er-- I’m too busy playing with my grandkids over the weekend, I’m babysitting, I’m shopping for plants, BUY ALL THE PLANTS, “It’s because I’m doing field research,” I told her. “I’ve been out doing extensive field research on local nurseries. And as soon as I get home and review my ‘field notes’,  I’ll write up my Garden Gate and send it right along.”

Because Haze is a nice person, she laughed and pretended to believe me. Or, maybe she pretended to laugh, and actually believed me; either way-- as I’ve said-- nice.

It’s true I did have a busy weekend, and a short stint Monday morning of Essential Work/Babysitting Aiden. It is also true that I may have stopped at every nursery on the way home. It is also true that I may have purchased new plants. It’s really not my fault.

When even the neighbors dog is judging you...

I mean—I know I don’t technically need any plants—but I didn’t have a petunia in that particular shade. Then of course I had to buy some companion plants for it because I can’t just put it in a pot all by its lonesome, now can I. Note to self: buy more pots.

Then there was the beautiful patio rose called “Mango Veranda” in the most glorious shades of, well, mango, and HOW COULD I NOT?!

It’s not my fault that DeGoedes is on my route home. It is also not my fault that they have excellent prices, and healthy plants, and oh my gosh would you look at how cool---

Anyway, I maxed out my car’s capacity, and I have a bunch of plants to plant, and if you think I’m going to review my “field notes”—AKA credit card receipts—you have another think coming. NEVER LEAVE A PAPER TRAIL is my mantra. So if you’ll excuse me, the dirt is calling my name...

A Reckoning to Be Reckoned

A couple a weeks ago I made some rather bold statements about my hair. I said “When you shelter at home—who is going to see the whole hair mess anyway? Not to mention the later addition of masks—GENIUS! No haircut, no mascara—no problem! Put on a mask when you go out in public and voila! No one can recognize you!  It’s like putting glasses on Superman—no one knew who he was! Secret Identity! Also, she stopped wearing contacts and only wore glasses—so exactly like Superman! Maybe she IS Superman!”

I completely forgot to consider that acquiring food requires going out in public—and that can entail social distancing--standing in line six feet behind another person, for an extended period of time. Or in this case, six feet IN Front of someone.

Last week I was standing in my socially approved line at the grocery store when a male voice behind me said “I really like your hair.”

 Thank you, I replied, with a quick glance of acknowledgment over my shoulder, a smile under my mask.

“Did you know?” the voice continued, “Many of the Ladies’ Hair Salons are now back open for business.”

Uh. Thank you, I guess?

Clark, possibly Clark Kent--
more likely Clark Grisswald.

He then proceeded to tell me exactly which salons in five block radius were open. Bless his little darling heart. I suppose I should be thankful he didn’t offer to call and make an appointment for me, then and there—as though I were on some sort of hidden camera Hair Intervention show. The kind where they accost people, just minding their own, and hijack them into a beauty salon that specializes in lost causes and hopeless cases. Six hours later they reveal the New and Improved You to your disbelieving circle of family and friends.

Superman never had to put up with that crap—but Clark Kent did. In my rush to embrace my secret identity, I had completely forgotten all the comments Mr. Clark had to endure. Hashtag Super Hero Problems.

As my friend Philip would say, “It ain’t easy.”

Soothing The Savage Beast

When last we saw our heroine, she had lost her pluck, her happy thoughts, and a great deal of her shine. Everything sucked. She was bored. She hated rain. She hated work now that work was only comprised of All the Worst Things and none of The Good Things.

Now work was taking turns in the office, instead of hanging out together. Work was stupid. If our heroine had to put on pants and leave the house, she dang sure wanted to have her co-workers and lunch hour waiting for her. AS A REWARD. BECAUSE PANTS. Stupid Pandemic. Stupid Dam Panic*. Stupid Rain. Stupid Pants. Stupid Everything.

So, there was stomping, some muttering. Perhaps some threats were made—a few crayons lost their structural integrity. Perhaps an ill-tempered beast stomped around; a fit was pitched--perhaps it was more of an impassioned plea to the Universe—I can’t really say. But at the end of it, our heroine felt a little bit better. She took a bubble-bath and got a good night’s sleep and in the morning, when the stupid work from home computer locked her out did she get mad and cry? No, she did not. Cry, anyway. She put on her plucky, and her pants. She packed up the computer and headed in to work before the start of office hours. She could work from work before anyone else was slated to show, fix her problem and be gone—because plucky! While wearing pants! Superman, probably. Except. Now that I think about it—he didn’t wear pants...

Superman? Or Brave Little Toaster?
You be the judge.

Anyway, the point is--  she was taking action. She was pro-active! Sure, in her heart of hearts she was still anti-pants—but if that’s what society required of her, the robe could stay home. She is a brave little toaster, in pants. With too many curls and a mask. It’s an interesting look, I’ll admit that.

Grands are GRAND:
Aiden Allen & John Shane

Now, I’m not saying that our heroine reacquiring her pluck is what turned the tide. I’m not saying that the epic fit she pitched swayed the Universe to her side, all I’m saying is, that when our heroine recovered her pluck and went to work on solving her problem—magic happened. Suddenly, and without any forewarning, her county was granted Phase Two status, effectively immediately. People could get haircuts again! Or sit at outdoor cafés, in small groups, social distancing from other small groups—at up to 50% occupancy! It was exactly like that scene in a Fairytale when the Princess wakes up and the world suddenly goes back to technicolor!

What I am saying is---you’re welcome.

*Also—I stole the “Dam Panic” spoonerism from artist Susan Branch. The internet is fun!