Unintended Consequences

 The other day at lunch break, my co-workers and I were sitting around the table, chatting and chewing, and one of them asked me if I ever had a difficult time coming up with ideas to fill this space. Yes, I said, and swallowed. Because manners.

 I went on to explain that in the beginning, Over My Garden Gate was mostly a place where I could vent my frustration over elk damage, report all the various methods I had employed—and their failure rate. Spoiler alert: it was 100%. Eventually, OMGG became a saga of my desire to build a fence and all the steps it took to achieve it—approximately 862, if memory serves.

Anyway, in June of 2019 I finally achieved a fence! And, with the exception of two “break-ins”, I’ve been “elk free” ever since!

I’ve also been out of easy source material to compla—uh, out of ides of what to write about. The Law of Unintended Consequences has sneaked up behind me and taken a bite out of my hide. According to the internet—who would, of course, never lie to me—"The Law of Unintended Consequences occurs when an impulsive, emotional decision is made that unintentionally creates more problems than it solves. ( -Mark Manson.)

While my decision to build a fence was clearly an emotional one, I disagree that it created MORE problems than it solved. It did, however, help create a deficit of complaints, AKA Garden Gate Topics. Am I in fact, now complaining about not having enough to complain about? Yes, it would appear so.

Thankfully, there is still the weather. And this May and June have been the Best Ever. For complaining about. Because seriously, this is getting ridiculous. And I happen to live next to my own Personal Joneses, who don’t believe in letting a little rain stop them from getting work done. So now I have two complaints.

Things will probably work out, even with the Unintended Consequences Thing.

Welcome Back to Packwood

 Welcome to Packwood! Its that time of year again, so here’s your refresher:

 Memorial Day kicks off Visitors’ Season* in our tiny mountain town, high in the Washington Cascades. Please enjoy your visit. For your elucidation, I have put together a list of guidelines that will make your stay more pleasant--for me.

The Rules Governing Elk

1) Elk don’t follow rules.

 

The Rules Governing Visitors and Elk

1) Elk don’t follow rules.

2) Don’t be like Elk.

3) Please enjoy the spontaneous elk parades that will take place at random intervals. Elk will wander out into the highway so that you can stop and enjoy their majesty. Please do.

4) Please watch for elk that will dash out in front of oncoming vehicles. There is almost always more than one. It is not considered a parade.

5) No, the Elk are not trucked in by the Disney Company. They do not talk.

6) No, you should not try to pet them.

7) Or feed them. If you really want to feed elk, I suggest you buy an alfalfa truck and park it, fully loaded, in town. This is the traditional way of feeding elk. Google it.

Saved you the Google search. You're welcome.

 

8) Do not let them have your IPA. Elk are terrible drunks.  

9) Yes, you can take one home with you. In fact, every visitor is allowed to take home six elk, each. Per visit. Did I say allowed? I meant REQUIRED.

10) Please do not allow the elk to drive. Actually, don’t allow them in your vehicle as elk are terrible back seat drivers as well, and have been known to chew on the upholstery.

11) U-Haul trucks are available in town to transport your elk. Yes. That’s why they’re there.

12) Once you take the elk, they are yours. DO NOT TRY TO RETURN YOUR USED ELK.

The Rules Governing Locals, Elk and Visitors 

1) Elk don’t follow rules.

2) Visitors are learning the rules. Please back me up on these rules. Especially the six elk—each, thing. I really think it might work.

3) Deer Season starts early September. Permit required. Limit one.

4) Elk Season starts early November. Permit required. Limit one. Personally, I am campaigning to increase the limit. I’m thinking a half-dozen should be good.

5) Visitors’ Season* starts May 26. Please remember that no permits for visitors will be issued.

Garden Gate: The Origin Story

 

What do greedy elk, unhappy gardeners,  a busy editor (and alligators) have to do with creating Over My Garden Gate? A friend asked me the other day how I came to write Over My Garden Gate for the Highway Shopper.

What a good question, I’d be happy to tell you. (Apologies to TikTok content creator Elise Myers, but she lives in my head now. If you don't know her, go google her name and tacos, you'll be glad you did.)

Now where was I?

It all started in 2014, one beautiful July Friday when editor Dave Bunting was up to his elbows in alligators and wasn’t going to have time to write an extra column regarding preventing elk damage to local landscaping. He asked if somebody would be willing to write a couple hundred words on the various elk deterrent sprays.

Sure, I said. How hard could it be, I said. Leave it to me, I said.

30 minutes later I still hadn’t found an opening paragraph that didn’t make me sleepy, or worse—cringey.

I walked back to his office and asked if I could just have fun with it, while still imparting the information he needed. 

“Sure,” he replied, fending off another alligator, “go right ahead.”

When alligators escape the sewers.
Alligators in offices may appear larger.

 

 I wrote 290 words--some words about chasing elk, clad only in a bath towel—me, not the elk. The elk wasn’t wearing anything but a smile, and a cheek full of petunias. Some of the other words I wrote even mentioned the defensive sprays…

While it probably wasn’t what Dave thought he was agreeing to, I enjoyed it. In fact, I enjoyed it so much I campaigned to write a weekly column-- and Over My Garden Gate was born. Seven years and approximately 357 printed columns--slightly fewer blog entries (287) because lazy-- later I still have lots of opinions to share and unsolicited advice to offer. Thank you, Gentle Reader, for coming along on this adventure with me, and happy 46th Anniversary to the Highway Shopper!

Welcome to Packwood, Memorial Day Elk Rules Edition

 Welcome to Packwood! Memorial Day kicks off Visitors’ Season* in our tiny mountain town, high in the Washington Cascades. Please enjoy your visit. For your elucidation, I have put together a list of guidelines that will make your stay more pleasant. 

For me.

The Rules Governing Elk

1) Elk don’t follow rules. 

The Rules Governing Visitors and Elk

1) Elk don’t follow rules.

2) Don’t be like Elk.

3) Please enjoy the spontaneous elk parades that will take place at random intervals. Elk will wander out into the highway so that you can stop and enjoy their majesty. Please do.

4) Please watch for elk that will dash out in front of oncoming vehicles. There is almost always more than one. It is not considered a parade. Consider it a threat.

5) No, the Elk are not trucked in by the Disney Company. They do not talk.

6) No, you should not try to pet them.

7) Or feed them. If you really want to feed elk, I suggest you buy an alfalfa truck and park it, fully loaded, in town. This is the traditional way of feeding elk. Google it.

Googled it for you

8) Do not let them have your IPA. Elk are terrible drunks.  

9) Yes, you can take one home with you. In fact, every visitor is allowed to take home six elk, each. Per visit. Did I say allowed? I meant REQUIRED.

10) Please do not allow the elk to drive. Actually, don’t allow them in your vehicle as elk are terrible back seat drivers as well, and have been known to chew on the upholstery.

11) U-Haul trucks are available in town to transport your elk. Yes. That’s why they’re there.

12) Once you take the elk, they are yours. DO NOT TRY TO RETURN YOUR USED ELK.

The Rules Governing Locals, Elk and Visitors 

1) Elk don’t follow rules.

2) Visitors are leaning the rules. Please back me up on these rules. Especially the six elk/each, thing. I really think it might work.

3) Deer Season starts September 1. Permit required. Limit one.

4) Elk Season starts November 6. Permit required. Limit one.

5) Visitors’ Season* starts May 26. Please remember that no permits for hunting visitors will be issued.

Garden Q & A, Part Two of a Zillion

 Last week Sue answered some questions that new gardeners--or gardeners new to our area--often ask.

 Don’t ask me why she’s referring to herself in the third person. No one knows. Perhaps she thinks it sounds more professional?

Q: What about planting “stinky” plants, like lilies, or lilacs, or lavendar?

A: Sometimes it works--elk will avoid highly fragrant flowers. Sometimes an elk comes along that has gone “nose blind” to the smell and then it’s bye-bye to your lovely lilies—even though they were in full bloom.

Q: What about bulbs in a container close to the house?

A: That’s an excellent way to try to minimize elk damage to your plants. It also helps if that plant/container isn’t already on their route to and from their favorite salad bar. Spray Invisible Fencing around and try playing talk radio near your container. Elk have a heck of a learning curve-- but sometimes double/tripling up on your defenses can stymie them. For a while.

Q: What can I do to keep elk out of my garden? I’ve heard good things about Invisible Fence/ Plantskyyd/ stinky rotten egg and garlic spray/ eye of newt and toe of frog*/ Irish Spring soap-on-a-rope/ hair from my hair brush/ a barking dog/a  playing radio all night/ if my kids pees on my plants? Will that keep elk away from my gardens?                                                                                                            

Day one: look at all the flowers!

A: I have tried all those methods—except the frog/newt one—and they all work!

 

Until they don’t.

 

Several years ago we were holding a wedding in the back yard and I was alternating spraying Invisible Fencing (smells of garlic and rotten eggs) and Plantskyyd (made up of what looks to be powdered blood—and smells like fetid carnivore breath) I was alternating them every week—which is a more frequent application than the packaging calls for but I was taking no chances. We managed to get to and thru the late July Big Day with only some minor damage to some outlying wildflower beds. The following week, however, was a different story. Even if your garden survives most of the summer —late summer is when elk turn in to ravenous demon spawn—all bets are off, all items are on the menu. 

Day Two: Look at all the nubs!
Elk damage over night
after a successful summer of keeping them out.
Nothing will stop elk when they have the fall munchies.

Fried Green Tomatoes Part 1

 I planted way too many tomato plants this year. And because I planted way too many, they all preformed admirable. I was looking at a harvest of epic proportions—I could make salsa, and sauce, and paste, and juice, and—well what all can you make from tomatoes? 

 I was almost at the stage of scouring the internet for tomato recipes when the universe decided to have a little fun at my expense. While I was away for my son’s wedding, elk breached my electric fence and partied in and amongst my plants. (Full disclosure: I had unplugged my fence because I was afraid a wind-blown limb might short out my fence and start a fire. Remember fire? When it was so hot and dry we were afraid to shuffle our feet on a shag carpet, lest we spark a blaze that could take out Smokey’s mother? With the absolute deluge we’ve had the past few days it seems far fetched that I unplugged my fence out of safety concerns and not out of my usual “Oh crap. I forgot to plug it back in” forgetfulness, but I swear, this is the case. Safety first.)

Elk being what they are—in this instance, big and insatiable— ate my tomatoes, plants and all. All they left were some green tomatoes, and a couple of red ones with big, old bites out of them. Stupid dang elk.

I had hoped we might get enough of a lingering summer to ripen all the green ones that were left, but such has not been the case. And considering the fire danger we were facing, it’s probably just as well. So just ahead of the downpour I picked all my nearly ripe tomatoes and placed them on newspaper in a cool, dark to ripen. That still left a lot of very green tomatoes—what to do, what to do?

Next week: You’ll never guess...or maybe you will, who knows!

PRE Post-Apocalypse

I’ve always been a reader; books have long been my drug of choice. I enjoy a good dystopian, post-apocalyptic tale-- probably more than most. Lately, though—I’ve come to reconsider my preferences.

 We seeming to be living in that awkward period right before the apocalypse kicks in; a period I hadn’t ever considered before. The entire west coast seems to be on fire and what isn’t, seems to be poised on the brink of immolation. Add to that mix the crazy winds that gust, and swirl, and switch direction. It’s so bad I’ve begun to even question my apparel choice: This outfit isn’t too reflective, or frictional is it? I would hate to cause the spark that sets my neighborhood ablaze. 

 I was away from home most of last week, and in my absence I decided the only responsible thing to do was to disconnect my fence. I was worried that the wind might drop a branch across my electric wires and spark a conflagration worthy of Mrs. O’Leary’s cow. A little fame is nice, but I don’t want to be cow famous. Besides, elk have really left my fence alone. They’ve probably forgotten all about my flowers. I’m sure it will be fine. Probably fine? Hopefully fine? Responsibly fine, anyway. 

  Narrator: you can stop reading if you’ve already guessed how this tale ends, but here we go: It was not fine.

     Sometime on Saturday, a couple of greedy little juvenile delinquents climbed through the no-longer-hot-safety-first wire and did what elk do. When I left my garden last week I had way more tomatoes than any sane person needs, pumpkin vines so vigorous I was afraid to stand near them, green beans, a modest amount of corn, and “some” zucchinis. By Sunday afternoon I had—had I planted tomatoes?? My corn was trampled, tossed and torn. The beans were cropped and chopped. The broccoli was bitten, the pumpkins smitten—well, there were a few pumpkins that didn’t have teeth marks in them, but many had been nibbled and/or stomped...they had even eaten every leaf off my two baby cherry trees.

Huh. Whatever could have done this?

Wanna know what DOES survive the apocalypse--besides cockroaches? And Zombies?

Zucchini.

Got Shots?

Hunting season has pretty much come and gone but I still want to talk about shots---flu shots, specifically. I had the flu once, back in the mid 80’s and it was an experience I swore never to repeat. UGH. So, every year, like clockwork, I get my flu shot.

Except for this year. Because I was “busy.” And I was going to “get around to it.” Eventually.

Spoiler Alert: instead of a flu shot, I got the flu. And before I could kick the flu to the curb, I got pneumonia, and a trip to the ER to get rehydrated and pumped full of antibiotics. Three weeks of feeling crappy before I’m beginning to kick this thing. Triple UGH.

So, if you haven’t gotten your flu shot yet—please stop reading this AND GO GET ONE. Seriously—I’ll wait. It’s not too late in the flu season to go get your self some protection. Bonus feel good opportunity—by getting a flu shot you can also help provide “herd immunity” to those whose immune systems won’t handle a flu shot. Another bonus? You will have fewer people like me in your life going on and on about how sick they were, the importance of hydration and a good support system, blah-blah-blah. Trust me, I have enough self-awareness to know that graphic descriptions of the many ways the flu can mess you up is not enjoyable listening.

You promise to go get a flu shot and I promise not to go into detail. Deal?

Tis the—Which Season Now?

Tis the season, once again—and you know what that means.  

Wait—which season? It’s WAAAAAAY too early for Christmas, so it’s not that season, step back from the tinsel, put down the twinkle lights—your day is coming. Just not today.

It’s not Chicken Poo season, still a wee bit early to add chicken poo to the flower beds. Let Mother Nature cool off a little bit first or you will encourage new growth, only to see it nipped in the bud. Literally. And it’s still too early to dig up dahlias—or at least it is at my house. I like to dig my dahlias at the last possible second before they turn to slime.

Is it hunting season? Kind of, I guess, but not FULL ON SHOOT ELK season, so no—that’s not it. Elk for Everybody season starts locally next month. Good luck and be safe.

The frost is on the pumpkin--- so it’s Pumpkin Spice Everything Season? Well, technically yes, but that’s not the season I’m referring to. And—full disclosure here—the only things I like that are pumpkin spice are candles and pumpkin bread. Which allows me to simultaneously mock the “PUMPKIN SPICE EVERYTHING!!” people while looking forward the scent of pumpkin spice. Win/win, really. I have stocked up on pumpkin spice coffee creamer, because BEST MOM EVER.

The season I’m referencing is---drum roll please-- Rotate the Air in Your Tires Season! Truly. It is time to take the summer air out of your tires and put in winter air. Frankly, I’m surprised I even have to mention this. Now with temperatures dropping into the 30’s, summer air just won’t cut it. Go immediately to the nearest air compressor—I prefer the kind with an attendant attached, shout out to Packwood Chevron. Oh, sure I have my OWN air compressor but I prefer the professionally applied air—and add the necessary amount of winter air to bring your tires up to winter driving requirements.

Meme courtesy of the internet. And probably Al Gore.

Next week: Sue discusses blinker fluid levels. Probably.

It's Fall, Y'all!

Welcome to October---the most beautiful month of fall. Trees are trying on their fall finery, color blazing from every leaf; one last exhibition of exuberant extroversion before the quiet, inner contemplation of winter sets in. There was frost on my grass on the morning of October 1, and visible snow on the mountains two mornings before that. Frost in the morning means that soon zucchini season will come to an end—thank God-- and we can all go back to leaving our car doors unlocked when visiting friends with vegetable gardens.

I spent the middle of September in NYC, where summer was not going down with out a fight. The days were hot, the nights were warm and the humidity was---well, in a word, YUCKY. Fortunately, the showrooms where I spent most of my days were air-conditioned. We could crank the AC to “Arctic” and shiver. Which, as it turns out, was quite fitting for my assigned duties. Chief among them, hanging Christmas stockings and wrangling sheep.

Look at those faces!

Serta Sheep when not properly wrangled

When I returned home, fall had come to the Pacific Northwest. My grass was green, my marigolds were spectacular and THERE WAS NO ELK DAMAGE---HUZZAH!!! My neighbor sent me a welcome home text that included the message that I had missed the 100 elk herd that passed thru the neighborhood. Hah! I texted back, they missed me! I love my fence!

Hubris, I haz it.

Friday afternoon another neighbor sent me a picture text of my fence---in pieces.

The best defense?

Stupid dang elk. (Full disclosure: that’s not what I actually said) Fortunately, while they had managed to dismantle an entire corner and 50 feet or so of fencing, the actual damage was only one broken strand and a whole lot of tangling. A friend and I were able to fix the fence in under an hour.

Stupid dang elk.