April 15 is on the horizon and that means the tax man cometh. My brain is tired and overtaxed. Not only that, my body is confused. The calendar shows it's springtime in the Rockies, but the weather feels like winter. I don't know if I should break out in a sweat or goosebumps.
I have a bad case of weather worries. I told The Mr. that I don't have any clothes to wear. The reality is, I don't know which clothes to wear: winter, spring or summer.
It's enough to tax a person's brain. There's that awful word again: tax. The Mr. and I generally don't procrastinate, but when it comes to paying taxes, we usually wait until the last bell is rung.
On one of our warmer days this week I found myself standing on the deck surveying the backyard landscape. Birds were flying among the evergreens, obviously looking around at their empty bird feeders.
I spoke with one of our family members in South Dakota, lamenting about my feathered friends having to fend for themselves and the fact that I was feeling a bit guilty about not trudging around in the winter debris to fill their feeders.
She said perhaps I should not only fill the feeders but also knit tiny mufflers to keep their necks warm! People sometimes seem to have flippant attidues about these sorts of things.
Today our neighborhood is buzzing with activity as trees are being replaced, lawns aerated and garages cleaned out. The Mr. and I have learned to wait awhile before getting to excited about planting annuals. The rule of thumb in the Rockies is to wait until after Mother's Day before planting your posies.
The warmer weather has me envisioning a lush lawn and colorful blooms in my flower beds. Of course, the reality is that there's a lot of work to be done before the yard will look anything like the vision in my head.
The Mr. keeps telling me 'there's no room in the inn' for more flowers, shrubs, trees, etc. that's a taxing issue with me. For me, where there is hope, there is a way to make more room; just one more hole to be dug for one more plant.
Yesterday I was suffering from sore shouldes and a bad hitch in my get-along. My aching back was screaming for me to stop digging and I hadn't even begun to plant one new thing!
You know how it goes. It's called yard maintenance. I had to whack off dead ends and rake dead leaves from flower beds. Plus, the evergreens had to be trimmed. One thing led to another. But now, all is ready for the new plants that will be purchased to enhance the ones ready to burst into bloom.
Perhaps by the time we get around to paying our taxes this year, our yard will be in great shape. I'm not sure about me, though. It seems harder each year to get down on the old knees and scratch around in the dirt. My body screams, but my mind just keeps thinking in terms of early adulthood.
I suppose we could hire someone to do the dirty work, but what the heck, taxing our bodies is just part of the dues we pay for wanting a beautiful lawn and flower beds.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
The Humorous Happy Gardner
Grubby hands and dirty feet defined who I was during my childhood. No matter how hard my mother tried, she just couldn't make a 'lady' out of me. I was born with a free spirit and it drove her crazy. I knew my parameters but I was always pushing the envelope. Gardening was a lifesaver for me. I could get my hands in the dirt, get my feet dirty, carry dead worms in the pockets of my pinafores. For those of you who are wondering what the heck a pinafore is, let me explain: That's what they called sleeveless dresses--or sundresses--when I was a young girl.
My science teacher taught my class how different chemicals in the soil could change a plant, so I decided to experiment to see if it was true.
When I got home that afternon, I took my dad's toolbox to the north side of the house where my mother grew her prized blue hydrangeas. Then I took a few rusty nails and pounded them into the ground around the plants.
That spring, instead of beautiful blue hydrangeas, she had beautiful delicate pink hydrangeas. She never figured out what happened to her blue flowers. I knew, but I wasn't telling. The rust in the nails changed the acid in the soil, which changed the color of the flowers.
It really doesn't take much to grow something beautiful and/or tasty. No special skills are necessary. Just choose some seeds, dig the soil, add fertilizer, plant, water and wait. Waiting is probably the hardest part of the growing process.
A few years ago I decided to start my seeds early for my summer garden. I bought the seeds, the little seed starter cups, soil and fertilizer. The Mr. even bought me a large baker's cooling rack on wheels. I rolled the cart out of the basement so the plants could get some fresh air and sunshine on the warmer days of spring.
Things were going great. I planted, fertilized and water them regularly. They rewarded me by sprouting and growing bigger each day--until one day something went horribly wrong.
I rolled them out into the warm, sunny spot in the driveway and watered them. I even picked up one of the spray bottles and spritzed the tender leaves to encourage their growth. Much to my surprise, the next day I had a whole cart of seedlings with droopy heads. I couldn't imagine what had happened to them. The following day, they were more than droopy. They had turned yellow and were obviously on their deathbed.
It was then that The Mr. discovered I had spritzed them with the bottle containing the fabric-shrink solution he uses in upholstering furniture instead of water. Bummer!! We dumped the entire cart of seedlings out and made a trip to the local garden center to purchase our garden plants that year.
I'm looking forward to my spring garden again this year. In fact, I began my seedlings this week. You can bet I'll carefully mark the contents on each spray bottle. I don't want any free-spirited seedlings drooping their heads this year. I've discovered that a sense of humor is necessary to being a happy gardner.
My science teacher taught my class how different chemicals in the soil could change a plant, so I decided to experiment to see if it was true.
When I got home that afternon, I took my dad's toolbox to the north side of the house where my mother grew her prized blue hydrangeas. Then I took a few rusty nails and pounded them into the ground around the plants.
That spring, instead of beautiful blue hydrangeas, she had beautiful delicate pink hydrangeas. She never figured out what happened to her blue flowers. I knew, but I wasn't telling. The rust in the nails changed the acid in the soil, which changed the color of the flowers.
It really doesn't take much to grow something beautiful and/or tasty. No special skills are necessary. Just choose some seeds, dig the soil, add fertilizer, plant, water and wait. Waiting is probably the hardest part of the growing process.
A few years ago I decided to start my seeds early for my summer garden. I bought the seeds, the little seed starter cups, soil and fertilizer. The Mr. even bought me a large baker's cooling rack on wheels. I rolled the cart out of the basement so the plants could get some fresh air and sunshine on the warmer days of spring.
Things were going great. I planted, fertilized and water them regularly. They rewarded me by sprouting and growing bigger each day--until one day something went horribly wrong.
I rolled them out into the warm, sunny spot in the driveway and watered them. I even picked up one of the spray bottles and spritzed the tender leaves to encourage their growth. Much to my surprise, the next day I had a whole cart of seedlings with droopy heads. I couldn't imagine what had happened to them. The following day, they were more than droopy. They had turned yellow and were obviously on their deathbed.
It was then that The Mr. discovered I had spritzed them with the bottle containing the fabric-shrink solution he uses in upholstering furniture instead of water. Bummer!! We dumped the entire cart of seedlings out and made a trip to the local garden center to purchase our garden plants that year.
I'm looking forward to my spring garden again this year. In fact, I began my seedlings this week. You can bet I'll carefully mark the contents on each spray bottle. I don't want any free-spirited seedlings drooping their heads this year. I've discovered that a sense of humor is necessary to being a happy gardner.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Ladybugs--Love Beyond Life
"Ladybug, ladybug; Fly away home; your house is on fire and your children are gone."
It was a beautiful, warm, sunny morning as I opened the French Doors in my kitchen and spied a ladybug resting on the doorsill. Every spring I buy more ladybugs for my yard. Not only do they eat aphids and other garden killers, but they also symbolize that love goes beyond life. They are always there to let me know that love doesn't go away.
Springtime in the Rockies is an adventure. One morning we wake up to winter with 20 degree temperatures. Then, by afternoon it feels like sprng with temperatures in the 60's. No wonder everyone has the crud. We don't know if we should wear winter togs or summer flip-flops.
My bulbs are peeking their heads up through the mulch. I noticed my irises are also poking their heads upward. Even with the harbinger of spring, I just know I'll have to cover their fragile heads a few times before spring really comes to stay. I'm so ready for spring this year. It's a season of hope and new beginnings. That fact is comforting to me. After the dark, cold days of winter, I need a new beginning. Someone once told me that politics and women's fashions may change, but one can always count on springtime in the Rockies to remain the same year after year.
As I plan my garden for this year I once again realize that my yard doesn't lend itself to growing a large garden. I'll probably grow more in containers that I have placed on my deck and along the south fence. I just hope I can keep the raccoons away this year. The little scamps made off with one of my garden gloves last year.
While planting my garden I am reminded of the Victory Gardens that grew in my hometown, usually along the railroad tracks. Many people planted those gardens during WWII to feed their families and share with others.
Some locales set aside plts of land within the city boundaries and rented them for as little as $5 a year. Anyone willing to spend the time and energy to grow a garden could rent one of those plots and receive water for it a half price. I'm not sure anything could ever replace the Victory Garden. The people who grew them did so with such pride. They felt it was something they could do to support the country's war effort while remaining at home.
I remember having ladybugs in my garden. Dad and I didn't use insecticides. We relied on nature to take care of the bad bugs in our garden. Today my garden doesn't look anything like the one my dad and I grew. Mine is more compact, but the memories it brings to mind are priceless.
My parents were married on March 3, 1928--84 years ago. I wish they were here to see the lady bugs in my garden. They remind me that my parents' love is still with me, just as it was when they taught me the joy of growing a garden and living a joy filled life.
"Ladybug, ladybug: Fly away home.
It was a beautiful, warm, sunny morning as I opened the French Doors in my kitchen and spied a ladybug resting on the doorsill. Every spring I buy more ladybugs for my yard. Not only do they eat aphids and other garden killers, but they also symbolize that love goes beyond life. They are always there to let me know that love doesn't go away.
Springtime in the Rockies is an adventure. One morning we wake up to winter with 20 degree temperatures. Then, by afternoon it feels like sprng with temperatures in the 60's. No wonder everyone has the crud. We don't know if we should wear winter togs or summer flip-flops.
My bulbs are peeking their heads up through the mulch. I noticed my irises are also poking their heads upward. Even with the harbinger of spring, I just know I'll have to cover their fragile heads a few times before spring really comes to stay. I'm so ready for spring this year. It's a season of hope and new beginnings. That fact is comforting to me. After the dark, cold days of winter, I need a new beginning. Someone once told me that politics and women's fashions may change, but one can always count on springtime in the Rockies to remain the same year after year.
As I plan my garden for this year I once again realize that my yard doesn't lend itself to growing a large garden. I'll probably grow more in containers that I have placed on my deck and along the south fence. I just hope I can keep the raccoons away this year. The little scamps made off with one of my garden gloves last year.
While planting my garden I am reminded of the Victory Gardens that grew in my hometown, usually along the railroad tracks. Many people planted those gardens during WWII to feed their families and share with others.
Some locales set aside plts of land within the city boundaries and rented them for as little as $5 a year. Anyone willing to spend the time and energy to grow a garden could rent one of those plots and receive water for it a half price. I'm not sure anything could ever replace the Victory Garden. The people who grew them did so with such pride. They felt it was something they could do to support the country's war effort while remaining at home.
I remember having ladybugs in my garden. Dad and I didn't use insecticides. We relied on nature to take care of the bad bugs in our garden. Today my garden doesn't look anything like the one my dad and I grew. Mine is more compact, but the memories it brings to mind are priceless.
My parents were married on March 3, 1928--84 years ago. I wish they were here to see the lady bugs in my garden. They remind me that my parents' love is still with me, just as it was when they taught me the joy of growing a garden and living a joy filled life.
"Ladybug, ladybug: Fly away home.
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