Okay, I'm finally ready to emerge from my gardening-induced stupor. So, hi again! I'm afraid my new bad habit of intermittent / once or twice weekly blogging is here to stay for a few weeks...unless anyone wants to work on my novel revisions for me. Anyone? Please? Anyway, my already-limited creative cesspool will be feeding the book overhaul, so unless I witness a parade of naked celebrities marching down my street while a brass band plays 76 Trombones or a loved one confesses to being anally probed by aliens between now and August first, this blog may suck harder than it does now.
Alternately, I may blog even more because I'll be looking for new, non-gardening ways to procrastinate. So you never know.
And here are the garden photos. When I look at them in pixelated form I think, "Huh. Doesn't look like too much work." But people, believe me. I have the mosquito bites (and probably West Nile virus) and unsightly sock tan to prove it was indeed an assload of hard work.
So let's start with some close-ups. Below is the "butterfly" section of the garden. Just a few plants are blooming now, but I'll post updates if anything exciting happens. Like me not killing anything.
And here are two close-ups of the "shady" part of the garden, where the mosquitos nearly drained me. Note the garden markers identifying individual plants. J wants me to remove them, but don't you think it's just plain good manners to leave some sort of advance commemoration for when the plants are eventually eaten by slugs? I like to think of them as plant headstones.
Above, Echinacea, or purple coneflower. In case I want a cold remedy that may or may not work. Below, a "panoramic" shot of the entire bastard. The cars in the background add a real classy touch. Oh, and that skeletal-looking bush in the second shot? It was once a rangy, overgrown, 15-foot wide, smothering-everything-in-its-path, man-eating bridal wreath bush. We chopped the shit out of it. It'll grow back, but in the meantime, it looks alot like Charlie Brown's Christmas tree before the Peanuts gang did the wavy-thing over it with their hands. See all those flowers around it? Before the foliar surgery, that space was nothing but hard dirt, sticks, rock, and dandelions. I also found an ancient, crusty three-tined fork in the soil. In case anyone from the Victorian era wanted to go eat worms all day, maybe.
The shadows are being cast by my fleet of bird feeders. I TOLD you I was an octogenarian trapped in the body of a Gen X refugee.
Below, another view of the "shady woodland" garden. Again, too soon for much to bloom. Note the gnarly Lord of the Rings tree on the left. I will tell our future children that fairies live in it, but they turn into trolls if children misbehave.
I saved the best for last. Look closely at what's circling the top of the green birdfeeder. It looks like a halo, right? Well, it IS! It's the "Magic Sparrow Halo!" Because sparrows are greedy jerks and playground bullies. They are the Wal-Mart of birds. I also bought this contraption because I'm a sucker for anything gimmicky. Oh, and because I'm a huge geek, I actually tied on the dangly wire things, too. And let me tell you. This fucker works. I haven't seen a single sparrow touch that feeder since I put up the halo. Which, I'm sure, was sent directly from angels.
Here's where I tell you about the cowsucker. This was a term my Dad would use to refer to any jerry-rigged, half-assed, goofy as hell "invention" I'd make as a kid. I don't know where the word came from, but it stuck. A fishing pole fashioned from a stick, a piece of twine, a paper clip, and a plastic spoon? Cowsucker. Anything put on the market by Ronco? Cowsuckers all. Including, but not limited to, the "Inside-the-Egg-Scrambler." I'd bet my next paycheck that my Dad would call the Magic Sparrow Halo a cowsucker. But you can't argue with results. Plus, this birdfeeder gets the best TV reception in eastern Wisconsin.