Cause and effect

Once upon a time I had hostas in all of my flower beds.  They're the perfect plant for me to cultivate because the work involved goes like this:

ME:  Hmmm -- looks like the hostas are thriving all on their own for yet another summer.  Well.  Time for more coffee!

But for whatever reason, just in the past couple of years the deer have really taken a liking to the delicious, salad-like goodness of the hostas that are planted all over my yard -- along with any other delicious garden treats they can lay their delicate muzzles on.  This little lady has just bitten the tops off of all the remaining daylilies in my side bed (a palate cleanser), and now she is preparing to jump the neighbors' fence.  Their squash and zucchini blossoms look so tasty!  So --

-- this is what my hostas look like now.  Not quite the desired effect, is it?

 Looks like someone just discovered the (up until now) pristine plant at the base of the mailbox.  The blossoms are now history; any bets as to how much longer those leaves will last?

Cicada song

When you listen to the sound in this short little video that I recorded in my front yard, I want you to realize that the steady thrum in the background is the sound of millions of cicadas.  We live smack in the middle of the seventeen-year cicada Brood II emergence.  It's quite an event!  The eerie, echoing song is enough to drive some people nuts (one of my friends noted that he feels like his morning coffee is enjoyed to the soundtrack to a 1960's sci-fi movie).

Others are creeped out by how many, many cicadas have emerged.  It is impossible to overstate their everywhere-ness.  We sweep them off the porch every morning; we brush them out of our hair before we get into the car; the dogs either chase them or bark at them or stop with a jolt every time one buzzes by an inquisitive nose.  In this part of the country one can find on-line guides to planning a wedding around the cicada emergence.  Tip for the cicada-savvy:  skip the gazebo wedding if you plan to marry this summer.

I am fascinated more than grossed out.  I find their life cycle oddly compelling and even (am I weird?) endearing.  The males will serenade their lady friends throughout May and June, and then we will say good-bye to them for another seventeen years.  So -- don't be hating on the homely cicadas!  Their visits are so infrequent and so brief, and all they're looking for is a little romance!

All character, no plot: garden

 

These are leftover herbs from last year's garden pots.  Theme = resilient.

 

The sage is out of control.

The lemony-smelling something that I can't name but love to smell has taken over its pot, but the rosemary has found a way to lean way over to the side so it can get some sunshine.

We have wild strawberries everywhere.

It looks like I planted a pot of little pansies that are now thriving, but really I bought a pot and plunked it in this larger ceramic pot, thinking I would transplant it later.  That never happened, so the pansies just soldiered on without me.

This pot also came from the grocery store (just like the pansies).  I plunked it down beside my mailbox three years ago, because I thought it was festive:  it had daisies, and something red that died almost immediately, and a cabbage-looking something that was green and purple and that lasted through the first season.  The daisies do this every spring, and then burst into bloom at the end of the summer.

And I don't do a thing. 

Heavyhanded metaphor

So I've been neglecting my garden, which isn't surprising to anyone who knows me.  My poor hydrangeas were left to fend for themselves over the winter, and here the hydrangea metaphor or symbol or meaningful image or whatever you want to call it can be understood to stand in for any old thing you can think of:  my blog; my marriage; my laundry; my health; my friendships; my stack of books to be read; my kids -- and that's just what I can think of off the top of my head.

Some heavy-duty shit has gone down around these parts in the past months, but I won't babble on about it again because there's a long list, and I've talked about some of it before and I don't want to bore you, and some of it is not just my own shit and would be an invasion of another person's privacy, and some of it is just that I am a pain in my own ass sometimes and need to shake off my winter blahs so I can blossom again -- just like my hydrangeas.

And see how I did that?  Brought it right back around again like a boss!  Who said my English major was useless?

The Tomato Follies: Here we go again!

So you remember my pathetic tomatoes from last year, right? This sad, sad picture was taken in August 2009, when my plant should have been groaning under the weight of all those warm, ripe, glowing red tomatoes.

People, I despaired.

But this weekend we planted a new crop of tomatoes and basil -- and I am ready to begin anew.

I may be delusional but I think I can already taste the perfect B.L.T. -- made with tomatoes from my own garden. Don't be a hater; it could happen!