Fun in the overcast: Five things I learned in the garden this morning

1) "Leave them alone and they will come home" really works.  Particularly with gastropods.  Unfortunately, "home is where the heart is" and slugs just love my daylilies; snails are mad about my kale.

2) A slug is quite reminiscent of a leech - particularly when observed on one's bare calf.

3) Slugs and snails are bipartisan and apparently not racist.  They climb on each other's back with no regard for size, color, shell or lack thereof and form a great pile, then sit back and let the big grandmother (granddaddy?) climb up over the top of the slug holding chamber (it's a technical term).  I dare say our congress is good at the sitting back and letting the big guy do the work.  As to the rest, perhaps they could take note here.

4) The only humanitarian thing for me to do (for myself - if it were for the little mollusks, would it not be gastropoditarian?) is get a bigger, deeper slug holding chamber - with a lid.  Why, you ask? Because every time I return from a trip to the slug relocation location I tell myself "why not just squish the next one and get on to the next garden task?" but just as I think that my eye zones in on a little baby snail - or slug - and I think "why you?"

5) My gastropod eradication assistant, aka Yogi, my cat, is not as sweet and innocent and clumsy as he seems.  The third time I keeled over backwards and barely avoided landing on my ass this morning, something jarred loose in my memory banks and I thought of a video I saw on the innerweb of cats deliberately tripping up their comrades - knocking them off ladders, pushing them into tubs of water... you get the picture.  Ok, Yogi, I'm onto you now!

Bonus insight:  As it turns out, whilst gathering daylily seeds, it is not a good idear when one's hands are full to hang a pod from one's teeth to keep it separate from the others.  Why, yes, this did dawn on me as I pried a reluctant slug from atop a pod this morning.... ewwwww....

k then.


Check out Slug Queen Eugene

ON THE OTHER HAND...

The good thing about just wandering out to the garden to look at all the lovelies is that you don't have to get into your de-slugging attire (rubber gloves, rolled up sleeves, hair pinned back, bucket in hand).

The bad part is that you will surely become distracted - by slugs. Well, slugs and snails.  Let's just call them slugs this morning, for, uh... fun.

The good part is that you will get so much exercise making not one but - yeah, that's right, five trips to the secret slug re-location drop-off point, whilst, each trip, balancing a group of two to nine little monsters....er... slugs... on whatever tiny morsel of bark chip or such you managed to find handy.

The bad part is that the gnarliest, fattest, biggest slug of them all will in fact be the least sluggish and will awaken, become curious and crawl onto your hand en route to the aforementioned point.  Of course, on that particular trip, you will be carrying gastropod eradicator pods in each hand and you will thus be rendered helpless to thwart said slug's progress up your wrist.

Ah...... good morning!

10 GARDENING TIPS FROM A PRO

(What?  I am pro-gardening.  Everyone knows that.)

1) If the weather forecast predicts a low of 36 in your town, yes, your yard will frost over.  No, your neighbors' yards will not frost over.  No, no-one will believe you.  Yes, the worst area of frost will be where you recently planted the most expensive flowers.

2) If your irises are over-run with slugs, here is a foolproof method for saving them: Simply plant daylilies among them.  Problem solved.  

3) If your daylilies are over-run with slugs, simply plant celery among them.

4) If your celery is over-run with slugs, go buy some cause it is either poison that shit or post a full time slug patrol.

5) The best time to pull weeds in the Willamette Valley is constantly.

6) Cayenne pepper placed under tulips will keep the moles from eating them - until they are in mid-bloom.

7) Cats do not deter moles.  They are too busy lying in the plant pots.

8) Cats also enjoy lying on freshly planted beds.

9) Cats also lie in established beds......

10) Lying in wait to kill birds.

Waste Management

This week my garbage collector refused to pick up my recyclables.  He said that a wine bottle was clearly visible and that drinking alcoholic beverages is against his religion.  I asked what that had to do with my wine bottle and he said that he could not condone my drinking because then he would not be complying with God's will.  I said "Fine, can you take the rest of my recyclables?"  He said no, that I might have more materials in there which he could not, in good conscience handle.  After he left, I put all the recyclables into the garbage can.

Then my other garbage collector came.  He refused to pick up my trash.  He said that the wind had blown the lid open and he could see a cat food bag in there.  He said that he is a vegan and that as such, he can not condone the mass slaughter of animals for feeding cats who overpopulate our country and murder millions of birds annually.   I said "Fine, I will  take the cat food bag out, ok?"  Unlike the unreasonable guy above, this trash man agreed.  I pulled the bag out.  It brought with it the wrapper from the chicken sausage I had bought with my nephew when we made pizza together.  The guy took one look, shook his head and drove off.

Ok, this is just nuts.  How are we supposed to survive as a civilization when people refuse to do their jobs based on their own religious or moral beliefs?  I mean, ok, if the first guy does not believe in drinking alcohol, fine.  But if that is gonna influence his job performance, maybe he should think about a different career.  The same thing goes for the second guy.  Sheesh.  Now my garbage, which is overflowing is gonna be pretty damn ripe by next week.  And how am I gonna get them to take it then?  I may have to haul it to the dump myself.  I just hope the dump attendants are not as morally driven as these two.

I am gonna write my congressman about this.  Something has to be done.  Our entire country could be overrun with vermin at this rate.  Think of the disease spread we are talking about if our waste disposal comes to a screeching halt.

Fortunately, my congressman, Senator Ron Wyden, is a reasonable and responsive man, unlike these elected reps I keep hearing about who would probably side with my waste disposal guys.  I mean, let's see:   We have legislation constantly being proposed which allows health care to be denied to women should their employer find said care to conflict with his or her moral or religious beliefs.  As for people refusing to perform their job based on their religious beliefs, we have one guy on the Science Committee who has proclaimed scientific theory to be "straight from the pit of hell".  I doubt those congressmen (dare I say "and women"?) are gonna be much help dealing with this garbage situation.

Fortunately, it is coming up on election time.  Everyone better vote for reasonable representatives in government so that we can have some serious waste management in effect.

Obviously, I made up that stuff about my trash and recycling.  I am serious, tho, about the other messy situation.

Funny how the reps who refuse to vote on the Jobs Bill, who refuse to do anything really, except legislate women's choices are the ones crying out that we need to "cut government waste".

Vote!  It is time to take out the garbage.

Life Cycling

I ride my bike every day that I can - that is, every day it is not icy out or dumping rain - and as long as my feet and legs and hips and back and shoulders are willing.  I do it cause I would rather pedal around than fire up a gasoline engine and navigate roads in a strictly by the book fashion.  Because I very much dislike waiting in line (say, at traffic signals), particularly whilst pouring fossil fuel emissions into the air, the land, and indirectly, the water.

So - yeah, I am not a fitness nut (clearly).  I am actually lazy - and to me, it is easier, more free-flowing, to toodle around on wheels than to walk (fer heaven's sake), or to (see above)

So, about that part where I said I dislike going strictly by the book, waiting in line....  Ok, I admit, on my bike, I cut a few corners - literally.  I try not to do anything blatantly illegal or dangerous, but I do exercise (see, I knew exercise was gonna find its way into this discussion) some poetic license.  Also, I am 57 years old and not quite as sharp as I once was.  Add the fact that I spent most of my life quite near sighted and refusing to wear glasses, and so, developed a habit of not seeing some stuff the way others do.  Yeah, I wear them now, but a lifetime habit shadows my perceptions (so if you pass me on the street and I do not say hi, just know that I may not have 'seen' you).

Miraculously, despite my intentional transgressions and unintentional blunders, most people are friendly to me out in the world of mostly cars and trucks and a few bicycles and even fewer pedestrians where I "cruise".  Some, in fact, are overly considerate and slow down for me, inviting me to "go" when it is not my turn at an intersection (despite the 13 cars behind and around them whose drivers do not share the same sentiments - no, I do not "go").  These people piss off everyone but I am pretty sure cyclists in general and I in particular are the recipients of that anger.   I could digress here into a discussion of how my timing is often thrown off by fossil fueled well wishers but hey, it's a give and take - I forgive their misplaced kindness and many forgive my blunders and mildly aggressive maneuverings.

The other day, this was not the case.  Kevin and I rode bikes to the mail drop box, hoping to catch the mailman because it was too late to make it to the post office with my ebay packages.  Kevin cut the corner through an empty  parking lot at the signal, trailer full of packages and all but I chose not to because the cliff of a drop at the driveway is too fierce to navigate for me if I don't have to.  Anyway, I could see the signal would work for me so I took the "highway".  At the signal, which was green, I turned right (onto a one way street) and then changed lanes into the left lane (with no traffic coming from any side) and then went up onto the sidewalk (because it is legal on that block and the signal was gonna change and the traffic is fierce at rush hour) and rode a block on the sidewalk to where Kevin was waiting at the mailbox.  As I almost reached Kevin, a man on a dirt bike rode up, stopped in the road, with traffic blasting by, and proceeded to yell at me:  "That's the way, just go on, never thinking about those of us out here who are DRIVING these roads.  You are such a fucking DUMB ASS".  Then he revved up his bike and blasted off.

The weird thing is, I have no idea how I could have offended him.  I turned with the signal, no oncoming traffic, no one behind me.  I got off the road almost immediately, not that I was required to, and I had time to casually ride my bike an entire block before he caught up to me.  Whatever I did, I was totally unaware of and Kevin could also not figure out my "crime".

I imagine the biker did not realize I was with Kevin because a lot of times a man who would go off on me alone would not dream of it when I am with another man.  Yeah, this is the world I live in - most men are kind and gracious but not all and yes, sexism is real.

The mad irony floored me even as I was being blasted.  Here was a guy on a dirt bike - proclaiming that he was a member of that elite group "us people who are DRIVING these roads" - after all, is that not the complaint so many drivers of encapsulated vehicles have about dirt bikers?  And did this guy not stop in the lane of a busy main thoroughfare to rant at me, thus creating a traffic hazard?

Yeah, that hurt my feelings.  It turns out we had missed the mailman but I would not ride to the post office to try and catch a late arriving mailman and ask him to take our loot.  I was too shaken up to ride through rush hour traffic.  I actually broke down crying.  And the next day - when I had to go alone to mail my stuff, I was afraid that guy would come along.... and the next....

Reflections

     I woke up this morning feeling dreadful.  That is, I felt dread when I faced my morning routine.  I was pretty sure I would be making my own coffee - after my usual "de-slug the garden" ritual - another dread inspiring endeavor.  First, I dawdled a bit on my computer, thus reducing any slug/snail gathering I might manage, gastropods being the nocturnal creatures they are.
     So... eventually, I went out and did my garden slug plucking.  Then I came in and faced the kitchen.  Whoa, pretty messy in there.  Normally, Kevin cleans up a bit before bed but last night, the Olympics held our focus firmly.  So... I began the kitchen drudgery.  As I warshed stuff and wiped surfaces and put things away, it became more clear with each shuffling that a great many of these mess modules were my own doing.  It must be a daunting task for Kevin to navigate my: bowl of clay/coconut oil, herbal tincture, bowl of herbal tincture, 8 or 9 bowls of daylily pollen, columbine seeds which need to be packed and stored, onions I pulled, lime I partially used, candle jar I froze and pulled the wax out of but which still needs warshed, citronella oil I got out but did not put back, vases- one with a dead bouquet hanging on, another empty but unrinsed.
     While I was at it, I washed the fruit bowl and tossed the dirty paper liner, wiped all the counters, put away the clean dishes, trimmed and rearranged the latest vase of flowers... about this time.... after all of the above, the second time the tea kettle whistled and as I was beginning to pour the water through the coffee.... I had a flash of how very blessed I am to have my little kitchen to putter in - to gather pollen and herbs, to cook, to make tinctures and potions and lotions, to grind coffee, and yes, to wash dishes....  I remembered a time when I was, yeah, actually homeless - when I longed for a roof and a floor, for walls and warmth and shelter... and oh yeah, how I longed for an oven and a sink and a counter, a fridge...
     Suddenly, I was not wiping the counter.  I was caressing it.  The dread had all evaporated, transformed - into joy and contentment.  Magically.
     Now.  Where is my coffee?

Life 401, k?

I had what might be considered a traumatic childhood - in some ways. At least there are times when I have considered it so.  From there, I advanced into a traumatic early adulthood.

I think we all look at our own lives, our own situations and bemoan the tragedy, the inequity. But we do not look enough at the lives of those around us. In fact, I am certain that doing just that - considering others - is the key to serenity and contentment. As long as it is the "me" story, nothing is enough, nothing is fair, nothing is as it should be. But once we look outside ourselves and begin giving, helping, sharing, joy abounds.

One thing I think I got out of living in so many different families as a child (11, depending on how long is living with someone and how long is staying with someone. Where do you draw that line?) is the ability to see things from different viewpoints. To be less certain that my way is the only way, that there is only one path to success, to God, to righteousness...

Now to argue the other side..

Coming out of this strange childhood and early adulthood, I think I clung to certain rituals I had learned in my life as "the only way" to do certain tasks. In the kitchen, particularly, I had some pretty hard lines drawn about procedures. For instance, sorting beans must be done by a painstaking and tedious method of laying a small pile out, then hand sorting each one with no more than, say three at a time in your hand and after careful and thorough examination, these are dropped into the pot.

As a young mother, I found myself living in a very large hippie commune, The Farm, and living and working in one of it's larger households.  

 One woman I lived and worked with, Patricia, was desperately trying to have a baby. At first I could not stand her. She completely rubbed me the wrong way. She was bedridden trying not to miscarry for the third or fourth time. Part of the reason I could not stand her was I was her personal servant . Dumping her chamber pot, fetching tea.  She had a shrill, whiny voice - to me she was quite demanding and acted entitled.

After her seemingly inevitable miscarriage, Patricia and I worked together in the kitchen.  I was horrified and dismayed by the cavalier attitudes of my co-workers.   I was certain that my way was the only correct way to do these food preparations and surely we would all perish if, for instance, we did not sort the beans properly.  One woman, Kathleen, whilst summarily dumping beans directly into the pot, rocks and all, basically told me that my ways were slow and ineffective and that we had a lot of people to feed and had to do it their way so shut up and just do it.   I carried on, envisioning broken teeth and feeling oppressed and misunderstood.

But Patricia was kind. She explained to me that we all have our ways that are like our family history and that we cling to certain rituals for comfort and security. But that the thing to focus on here was that we were really so blessed to have each other to be bumping butts with in the kitchen. This changed everything for me - the kitchen experience, my attitude toward Patricia. To this day, I see everything differently.

 In today's mad America - with good people taking hard stances on various sides (yes, there are more than two sides) of the Affordable Care Act issue, I am reminded of these things I am writing about here. Of the basic human need to cling to that which is familiar. To distrust change. And also, I am reminded that we must be grateful to have each other to muck through the quagmire with. To sort out what is best for America, for our people. Ah, if we could just work together in harmony and joy and peace.

 Patricia? I believe you are needed here.