Grand Garden Junk Junkie

 

"Lily"

I may have already mentioned that I am a garden junk junkie. I have all sorts of wonderful things tucked into my flower beds: bird houses, found objects, interesting pieces of driftwood, and chunks of marble, fantastic “flowers” -- constructed of China plates and bowls and vases. One of my favorite pieces of “junk” is a scrap metal dinosaur—or maybe it’s a dragon, I can’t really tell---that my oldest son welded together when he was nine years old and went on a “take your son to work day” with dad. The dragon-saurus is wonderful and deserves a name, but somehow has never acquired one. Nevertheless, it faithfully stands guard in my garden, once upon a time I used it to give maundering elk the evil eye.

Shark!!

There are all manner of steppingstones that my kids have made over the years. My favorites are the ones they made in Mr. Westerberg’s 3-4 grade class that include the handprint of the “artist” pressed into the back. It’s hard to believe my towering six-foot sons ever had hands that small, but I have the proof, imprinted in cement.

My gardens also seem to be a repository for forgotten toys. Every so often, when transplanting a seedling, I’ll unearth a long-lost Hot Wheel car or a Match Box bulldozer that was abandoned when the Worst Mother in the World made the construction crew come in and take a bath. And then there are the plastic animal figurines that wander around the edges of my garden. My grandkids enjoy wandering around the garden, helping me water and discover treasures their fathers and uncles have left behind and adding their own bits and pieces to my collection of precious “junk.”

Look what we found, Nana Sugar!

My newest edition, from Mexico

Unsolicited Advice

 I am one of those rare people who will offer you unsolicited advice. Wait—hear me out. Unsolicited advice is the best advice. 

Often, when we seek advice from others, we give careful consideration to whom we ask. For example, parents usually don’t seek parenting advice from their child-free friends. Although, when I hark back to my child-free days, I had plenty of opinions on proper parenting—it’s just that few people cared to hear them. I’m not saying that stopped me...but my friends with kids didn’t come knocking when they need to know how to deal with little Becky’s biting.

Guess which one of this adorable babies
is *not* my grandchild?
Hint: It's not the little girl...It's cousin
Wes Burbee and he's delicious.

  Anyway, I lost my point. Ah!  Here it is! My point is that unasked for advice is unbiased advice.

When I want to do something—say travel to Mexico-- I ask my adventure-oriented friends if I should go or not. If I were trying to avoid an upcoming trip south of the border, I’d ask my cozy, stay-at-home friends if I should go or just stay home? Staying home would most likely be their advice.

Unsolicited advice, on the other hand, comes to you free of biases. It’s spontaneous, it’s free, and it may contain encouragement you didn’t even know you needed.

Spontaneous advice can be closely related to “Wild Hair” advice, but you really shouldn’t over think either one. When someone approaches you and suggests, “You know what you ought to do...” don’t dismiss them out of hand. Hear them out. It can be good to open your horizons, stretch your wings, and kick over the boundaries fencing you in. Try saying “YES!” Book the trip, go bungee jumping, run with the bulls...

I mean, I’m not going to do that—it sounds dangerous and crazy. But I bet you’d have fun...

If you were wondering what any of these pictures have to do with this post, the answer is NOTHING. They are just bonus content of adorableness...You're welcome!

Christmas Traditions, a New Generation

 Christmas is a time of traditions, some old, some new, and this year-some come 'round again. When my children were little, my mom started buying wooden Brio train sets for her three grandsons. Every year, for Christmas and birthdays, she would purchase more track, or bridges, or battery powered engines. All during the year the boys would head to Grandma and Grandpa's, drag out the blue Rubbermaid tub, and set up lavish railroads; tracks and tunnels sprawling across the living room floor. Grandchildren and grandparents shared the adventure. It was hard to know who enjoyed it more.

But time flies. Eventually, the boys packed the tracks up in the blue Rubbermaid tub for what turned out to be the last time and moved on to other interests: sports and motorcycles, video games and girls. But Grandma held onto the tub, knowing that-- if you're patient, and lucky--sometimes things come around again.

John Shane contemplates the best box car line-up.

My mom is gone now, my children grown-becoming fathers themselves---that girl thing having worked itself out admirably. When my grandchildren visit Nana Sugar's, we dust off the old blue Rubbermaid tub and sort out the pieces. Dads and uncles turn into little boys again, and we all---young and not so young--turn the pieces of the track, this way, and that way, figuring out the best path around the room.

Oh no, there goes Toyko...here comes Lane!

My Amazon cart is full of presents for Christmases Yet to Come: suspension bridges, curves and elevation blocks, straight tracks and small couplers; an old tradition, come 'round again. 

Please excuse the anti scratch tape on the furniture
We have some Very Bad Catz

The completed track with bonus siding

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. 

May Flowers

 May is an excellent month for gardening. And by gardening, I mean buying flowers. Lots and lots of flowers. 

Besides all of my usual flower buying sources, May is the month of Gardening Groups Plant Sales and student horticulturist sales. If you play your cards right and plan your route carefully, you can make a single weekend into a plant-buying bonanza. Or so I hear.

It is also possible to tack on a little plant buying onto whatever activity you have scheduled. Need a new spark plug for your mower? Bet there’s a garden center where they sell spark plugs. On a family weekend away to the beach? Bet there are at least three nurseries that you’ll drive by on the way home...couldn’t hurt to stop in and see what they have to offer.

In addition to my flower buying habit, I have recently started vegetable gardening. The addition—finally-- of an electric fence to keep the elk out has made vegetable garden a lot less frustrating. Strawbale gardening has made it easy to grow tomatoes and cucumbers, beans and peas, zucchini, and pumpkins. To be honest—the zucchini and pumpkins grew a little too well; so much so that occasionally I would hack the vines back to keep their quest for neighborhood domination in check.

Tim Kelly brought his tiller over last week and smoothed out my future corn patch. I aspire to grow a bumper crop of corn this year. Last summer I planted about ten hills of corn as an experiment and it was promising. I harvested about 6 ears total, until there was the unfortunate incident of the Elk that ATE EVERYTHING. All because I left my fence unplugged when I went away for the weekend...stupid dang elk.

My garden would be a lot further along if it weren’t for the lawn that needs constant mowing, and the grandbabies that need kissing, and all those good books won’t read themselves. I don’t let any of those things discourage me from buying more flowers though, anytime the opportunity to crosses my path.

Garden Q & A, Part One of a Zillion

Welcome to Over My Garden Gate—a gardening column/blog in which I make jokes, talk about my grandkids, complain about elk—and the weather—occasionally politics—sometimes I might manage to complain about all three simultaneously-- but usually I like to keep my complaints more organize into separate bones of contention... Where was I? Oh, yes—sometimes I even talk about gardening, the pleasures--and perils-- thereof. 

 Recently, I was “doing some on-line research/relationship building”—AKA hanging out on Facebook with a local gardening group—when I realized two things: 1) I had just written about 300 words on FB about gardening challenges specific to elk and 2) I have a column due. Now. 

Because I am an excellent problem solver, I instantly decided to plagiarize myself. Below is a sample of the kinds of questions that are on local gardeners’ minds: 

Q: What plants won’t elk eat? 

A: No one knows. Elk might not “like” it—but that doesn’t mean they won’t eat/otherwise destroy it. There are some excellent lists out there for “low risk plants” —although your mileage may vary wildly. Elk taste is ever evolving. Something they avoid one season they can’t seem to get enough of in another. Sometimes it seems that taste is geographical. Cline Road elk may not eat the same things High Valley elk adore. My rule of thumb for the likelihood of elk eating it is: 
1)How much do you love it or
2)How much did you pay—because that proportionally increases the likelihood that they will *love* it too. 

Q: What about native plants? 

A: Good choice! if the elk find it boring they might not destroy. They might head right for that exotic, Blue Himalayan Poppy next door. Then again, they might view native plants as comfort food and chow down on your Rhodes that taste just like the one’s their mom used to nibble on. 

Check back later* when Sue answers even more questions, like what about stinky spray? 

* Unless her grandkids have done something incredibly cute—odds are good they might-- or the weather has done something extra egregious—let’s hope it doesn’t. Then she’ll undoubtably talk about that.

SPOILER ALERT:

Grandkids ALWAYS do something cute!

John holds "his baby," Lane

John cooks with Nana Sugar

Aiden entertains at breakfast