Over the weekend, Liz decided to begin her front garden project. The edge of the narrow front yard, terminating in a mailbox and pipeline marker, looked very inelegant. And I agreed with her assessment. I hate that ugly marker.
But, there isn’t much I can do about its mere existence. I imagine removing it would be in violation of some statute regarding the easement, and since the BP contractors have so far been very reasonable with us, I’m opting to not jeopardize our tenuous non-aggression pact. So, the pole stays. Other than that, the only restriction was to not plant trees on the easement. But we got an official okay for anything bush size or smaller.
16 tons…
I’m no stranger to removing sod, but this was the hardest yet. I swear the roots were a foot deep. It may not have been virgin prairie, but I’m pretty sure this grass was here since the 60s. The soil also has just enough clay that the roots wouldn’t pull free–rather they had to be cut. Ultimately we had to dig up the sod with a shovel, then shear off the dirt and bottom roots with a stirrup hoe. An hour into the project, Liz rethought the garden’s size. It did give me an excuse to segue into a discussion about how pioneers on the Great Plains constructed houses out of sod though.
In the end, tenacity won out, and garden we had. Now filled with acquisitions from the perennial sale, and some annuals from the indoor grow light experiment, we have enhanced the aesthetics of the front yard, and hopefully, detracted from the glaring prominence of that stupid pole.
If I grew a vine on it, it might look like decoration
Henceforth, it shall be know as the Easter garden.
Work continues on the rain garden–a project whose purpose is ever-more apparent with the recent downpour. With the ugly gravel pit juxtaposed to the greening lawn, and the last frost date looming, I completed some preliminary additions.
I’m assuming that the garden’s flood/drought cycle will make it perfect for succulents, and as they were already bursting at the seams of their peat pots, I indulged their eagerness and buried the pots in the stone. Also, I relocated some volunteer tiger lilies, which were wedged against the house’s foundation, predicting that they were hardy candidates for repeated flood cycles. Now, again I wait.
When we moved out of the rental and bought a house, I compiled a list. In anticipation of the chores to come, I knew I’d need a reminder as to why we left (and gave up free maintenance). One of the entries on this list pertained to the garden. A garden is a very personal project–it betrays much about its creator, being infinitely customizable. And it is because of this customization that no two people can agree on a garden’s layout.
But it’s a comparatively minor issue to have marital bickering over a layout. When the property is a rental, however, the owner, and by extension the management, gets final say. And often, they exercise this executive power by giving a hired landscaping company carte blanche, without ever consulting the tenants. My first experience with this involved the empty pot of dirt by the front door. Our unit shared the walkway to the model (the unit that’s way nicer than anything they rent out), so it was maintained better than the collapsing structures which comprised the rest of the compound. But for whatever reason, this pot sat unused. I let it remain this way for the entire first year.
On year two, however, it was impossible to overlook the eyesore, and I invoked eminent domain. Its location was on the south side of the building, upon concrete and brick–it was a hot and dry pot of dirt. I concluded that this would make an excellent herb garden. When early spring came the following year, I started seed in anticipation. After last frost, I topped the pot off with a good potting soil (the pot’s contents had long since compacted to a crusty and barren dust), and planted my seedlings.
The landscapers promptly came through, ripped out my herbs, and planted petunias. Enraged, I grabbed a bucket and retrieved from the pot the potting soil I had purchased, and re-used it in the back garden. The petunias, not only uprooted but now exposed to the unrelenting sun, and going without water because apparently management didn’t assign garden watering duties to anyone, withered and died, leaving a fallow vessel of dirt once again for the remainder of the year.
A couple years later, I had a similar non-verbal disagreement with the landscapers when I planted morning glories along the back fence. I constructed a zigzag trellis of fishing line so that the plants could make a pretty cover as they grew up the invisible wire. Then, as the plants were nearing the top, the landscapers reached over the fence and ripped out the plants, along with the fishing line. I stewed over this transgression for a long time thereafter.
For years I grew morning glories in a pot in the center of the patio–far away from the murderous hands of hired thugs. Then one year, I noticed that I started getting volunteers. I let them grow, and they turned out to be far more invasive than store-purchased seed. Ultimately I concluded that they had cross-pollinated with bindweed, as they bore similar characteristics. I dubbed these “Evil Morning Glories”, as their voracity rivaled kudzu.
Ipomea Diaboli
Bitterly remembering the cruelty of prior years, when this batch of morning glories went to seed, I saved some. But this would turn out to be unnecessary, as once upon the earth, these plants would prove to be ruthless. The following year, they exploded upon the fence with unholy fervor. And despite their physical removal and chemical applications (once again at the hands of the landscapers), they could not be eradicated. This is my gift to the apartment complex–the ultimate landscaping nemesis, a reminder for all eternity!
But when you dance with the devil…okay that’s a little dramatic. I took seed with me, and against better judgement, planted it at the house. Come spring, the devil’s progeny will once again plague the land, yet evil always accompanies beauty.
Over the weekend we visited a nursery. The nursery was running a sale on perennials, and with the new house’s yard begging to finally receive some attention, it was an easy decision to pick some things out. As we were doing so, I reviewed my calendar for planting times. In the past, I always aimed to start seeds for the vegetable garden 4 weeks prior to the average last frost date–which would have been last Wednesday. Crap! I had forgotten to mark my calendar.
But a few days’ wait wouldn’t majorly impact the schedule. And I already had the supplies and seeds (courtesy of the seed vault), stocked. And there was plenty of room under the grow lights, so no big deal. Consulting the spreadsheet I had complied months ago (when we had already argued over what to plant), I simply dropped the seeds into the peat pellets and placed the tray.
It was then that I took some time to poke around under the grow lights and see how things were doing. The lights had long-since been adjusted to maximum height, and the cosmos were growing into the fixture itself. I pulled the stems out of the lights, and behold!
There were multiple blooms, and I had completely overlooked them as they were stuck in the light. So, cosmos do really well indoors. Also, the moonflower finally germinated, the beans are growing although no more flowers, the poinsettia is hanging on, thyme is taking over, and the mint (despite my wife cutting half of it off for use in flavored water) is sending out multiple shoots.
I was down in the basement, watering the indoor garden and performing a general inspection of which plants are tolerating their work conditions and which are going on strike (flax still has unreasonable requests (I think he’s going to unionize (I should terminate him now))). The pole bean, winding his way up the outside of the structure, also appears to be getting mad, now that he’s reached the top and is realizing that there’s no light up there.
But the bush bean had flowered last week. I viewed this as a bittersweet success, for the flowers were pretty and indicative of adequate growing conditions (I’ll have him pull the flax aside for some coaching), but I knew that it was a wasted effort on his part, for who would pollinate these flowers? In the past, I’ve seen many a bumblebee take on this task, but thankfully I don’t have any bees in my basement. It was still too cold to put the plant outside, so I resigned myself to just enjoying the flowers for what they were–pretty.
But then, this week I noticed something:
I see you!
Now how did that happen? Asking family, the theories ranged from spiders to self-pollination. If the latter is true, this bean plant is a real go-getter: shows initiative, able to work on his own, proven ability to handle multiple tasks in a fast-paced environment. I think I’m going to promote him to garden foreman.
But when you dance with the devil…okay that’s a little dramatic. I took seed with me, and against better judgement, planted it at the house. Come spring, the devil’s progeny will once again plague the land, yet evil always accompanies beauty.
