This Week in Gardening: It’s Raining Slugs

 

Attack of the Slug Ninjas.

 

Look how skillfully he avoids the slug bait on the soil! 

It was a busy week in the garden last week, I hardly know where to start. I killed approximately 286 slugs, but still lost nearly every marigold I had in the process. I finally decided to dig up my remaining plant “stubs” and relocate them to the Plant Protection Program-- AKA the top of my patio table—when nothing else seemed to work. The previous week of rain, rain, and more rain overwhelmed my “slug bait” and it was Mardi Gras for Slugs, 24/7. Maybe living at table-top height will give my plants a chance to grow instead of being slimed back to dirt level. Every. Dang. Day.

The slugs also ate ALL of my zucchini starts and I have mixed feelings about that. On one hand WHY ON EARTH did I plant an entire PACKET of zucchini seeds? And on the other hand, it’s semi-bemusing that I have--inadvertently--found a cure for too much zucchini, one that doesn’t involve ding-dong-ditch. On the third hand (which I don’t have, but really could use) it’s kind of embarrassing to admit one is incapable of growing—of all things! —zucchini..

A garden pest of the cuddly sort

All but two of my dahlias from The Dahlia Guy rotted during our wet spring. If the dahlias did manage to sprout, they were promptly eaten back to ground level by the slug onslaught. I warned TDG when I acquired the tubers that I was not a safe space for dahlias, but even I thought I’d be able to manage one season of growth. Sadly, the slugs were not content to wait that long. 

Marigolds are DELICIOUS

Slugs have even eaten my Ghost Pepper plant out in my straw bale garden. I would have thought that since the fruit of the Ghost Pepper is super-hot, some of that zesty nature would have made its way to the leaves, but either this is not the case, or my local slug population has developed quite the sophisticated palate. Either way, Ghost Pepper has now been un-baled and added to the PPP/Patio Table.

Judging by this week’s forecast, I’d say the Slug Hay Day had reached its zenith. Sun, sun, and more sun ought to keep the little slimy munchers at bay.

How it started

How it's going

Zero Significance

Birthday flowers and The Boom Box 

I recently celebrated a milestone birthday—not 16, or 18, or 21—but one of those birthdays that end in zero. A big, fat, significant zero—and I don’t mean the one with the four in front of it, although God bless you for even thinking that was the birthday in question. (Also, you should probably make an appointment to get your eyes checked, but God bless, all the same.) 

No, I’m talking about an existential zero.

Dinner at a civilized hour, I swear

This birthday is the birthday that makes me eligible for certain discounts, and apparently-- my pockets stuffed with coupons--likely to tip over at any moment. And now, at this advanced age, I will no longer spring back to my feet like a female Willy Wonka, but will be surrounded by anxiously solicitous people, inquiring as to the solidity of my hip bones. Now when I get a bit hungry late in the afternoon, the meal I eat will not be presumed to be a late lunch, but rather the tell-tale “Early Bird Dinner.” Dare I eat a peach? Wear white linen trousers, walk upon the beach? 

Oh sure, I’ve seen the chiropractor twice in two weeks, but that’s not because I’m “older”—it’s because I’m “active.” And my grandkids are HEAVY... 

 They say you’re as young as you feel, and I say I feel like—oh, 37. I feel like a bona fide adult--mostly—unless I gather with my friends from high school. Then we go from bona fide adult, to wanna-be bon vivant, to bonehead--- faster than you can say “I know you are, but what am I?” 

Mark has his doubts

Because this birthday was of such significance, I celebrated early, and often—with multiple cakes. Lemon cake, and Rhubarb Custard—which I suppose isn’t technically a cake, but it was cake adjacent. And also delicious. There was carrot cake, and coconut cake. And a perfectly adorable chocolate cake that wished me a “Happy 21(sic) Birthday.” I seem to be on track to have one cake per decade...And since I’m an adult, I didn’t have to eat my peas first. Which will come in very handy as I still have one cake to go.

Birthday Loot and the interior of The Boom Box

Perfect for the Keeper of Memory. Thanks Cee for organizing 

all the goofballs into action. Like herding cats, I suppose.

As young as you feel, right?

In-laws, Outlaws, Bus, Part Two

 

Once upon a time, I used to describe a painful time in my life as “getting hit by a bus.” Disaster Bus had hit me. My life was busted open, its contents strewn about. All was painful and messy, and it seemed unlikely that all would ever be well again. Eventually, of course, life went on but ever since then “hit by a bus” has been my go-to phrase for emotional disaster.

I was reminded last week of how much things have changed, and how some things are never what you think they might be. Turns out, being hit by a bus isn’t all that bad.

One of my fellow Nanas and I were tag team spoiling our shared grandson last week and we stood in the driveway for a moment, catching up on the latest events in our lives—AFTER we spent 20 minutes agreeing how amazing/perfect/smart/beautiful our Aiden is. Eventually, the conversation turned talk of his sister’s eventual arrival and the preparations for a “baby sprinkle” in her honor. (Side note: if, like me, you thought a Baby Sprinkle was another name for baptism, prepare to be enlightened. In this context “Baby Sprinkle” is what you call a Baby Shower for a second baby. Sort of like “Baby Shower Lite.”)

Nana Judy invited me—Nana Sugar—to ride with her to Nana Lisa’s house for the Baby Sprinkle. Of course, I said yes. Then Judy reminded me that the last time we carpooled to a family event, we got hit by a bus.

Yes. A literal bus. And it wasn’t even our fault. Nor was it at all like I had imagined—it was more of a gentle bump, really. Let me explain.

The Bus

Remember the ice/snowstorm of ’17? When Portland got hit really hard with multiple inches of ice and snow on the same weekend we were headed into the city to go wedding dress shopping? You all had that on your calendars, right? Anyway—icy roads, city bus, bridge, stopped traffic, not our fault—use your imagination. Except—bump.

Since the Baby Sprinkle is in June—a month not known for its snowfall, and the Sprinkle will be held to the north, not in Portland, and the fact that Nana Judy is excellent company—I said yes. What could possibly go wrong? Besides—her SUV has enough room to fit the pony I bought...AND the receipt.

In-laws, Outlaws or Help, Help, I’ve been Hit by a Bus

I’ve been thinking a lot about family lately. The Circle of Life adds and subtracts members from our midst. The subtracting part really sucks. Sometimes it’s easy to let my mind linger there, counting my losses.

But counting my losses is not helpful, and eventually, I turn my mind to counting my blessings. I am so thankful to have had those loved ones as long as I did, so thankful for the million and one memories of them.

I’m thankful for the additions Life has brought. I am thankful that my sons have such amazing women in their lives, and that their families are growing. Grandchildren are pretty freaking amazing inventions and I highly recommend acquiring them.

 One of the best things about the Circle of Life has been something I hadn’t even thought about prior to its occurrence. When my sons married, they married into families that then became a part of our family-- and those additions have been a boon. I highly recommend acquiring in-laws as well.

 The other day I was “out town” babysitting my grandson Aiden, and as I was leaving, I met another set of his grandparents in the driveway. Aiden is a very lucky boy, he has three set of Grands that love him beyond measure. Occasionally, we have overlapping shifts when it comes to Spoiling Duty, and when that happens we like to compare notes. During our conversation the topic of his sister’s pending arrival was discussed.

Now, I don’t talk much about Baby Girl Sume’s expected August arrival. Yes, I’ve seen the sonogram and yes, they all tell me “she’s a girl!” But there is some small part of me that doesn’t quite believe it. There is a part of me that expects this is all some sort of long game on my children’s part and the moment I break down and buy something pink, they’re all going to spring out and me and say “GOTCHA! We were just punking you, OF COURSE it’s a boy. What are you, daft? Sumes only come in Boy.” And then they laugh and laugh, and I have to search thru the bottom of my purse for the gift receipt. 

Funny, you might be thinking, but what, pray tell, does that have to do with a bus? I promise to tell you. Next time.