HAPPY/SAD

It’s that time of year again.

The evenings are getting chilly, the combines are out foraging for food, trees are the dark green of late summer except where they have begun to slip into their autumn wardrobe, and kitchens smell like pickles.  The ditches have moved on from pastel pink Prairie Roses to the bold yellow of Goldenrod.  Out here in the country coyotes patrol yards with apple trees to cash in on the fruit that falls to the ground, and the hummingbirds are going crazy at the feeders on the deck to fuel up for their trip south.  I doubt that there will be any left by the end of next week.

Summer is a time of outside projects and I made the best of my time completing a garden improvement.  I now have two gardens with a rock walkway/edging in my front yard.  They look lovely but I’m pretty sure I don’t need to do that again.  Surely I can stay fit doing something a little less labour intensive.  I now have the extreme pleasure of having all that new garden space to fill with whatever plants that strike my fancy next spring.  Yes, I do realize this is an addiction, but it only hurts the bank account.

Two weeks ago I traded my rock mover hat for that of a navigator/entertainer/tactical advisor/resident conflict resolution expert.  That is to say Grandma was invited along on an adventure to see the dinosaurs at Drumheller: a day long drive with three children ages 8, 5 and 2, museums, hikes in the badlands, climbing hoodoos, cooling off in a splash park, looking for fossils, watching out for rattle snakes, and taking a coal train ride, all the while existing on fast food and snacks and sharing a hotel room. 

It was every bit as exhausting as it sounds, and yet it was great fun too.  The only thing I would do differently is go back without the kids and get the full adult experience of the museum.  Kids tend to ping pong themselves around the exhibits never giving enough time for an adult who actually wants to read the information that goes with them.  I’ve never been good at speed reading and having someone calling “Grandma!  Come and see this!” every two minutes does not help.

‘Road music’ usually refers to an upbeat play list from your phone but our trip home will always be etched into my memory  to the tune of ‘Found A Peanut’.

There was almost 24 hours to switch gears to a house full of company – all five Canadian grandchildren and a couple extras for a bit, a family supper (because why not?), four large dogs, and 57% of the fly population of Canada waiting on the deck to be let in by the afore mentioned kids and dogs.  It was five more days of fun.  The last of them left an hour ago; I’ve turned on the radio for some ambient noise and our dog is laid out on the trampoline.  He may not move again until next Tuesday.

But, even as we readjust back to the slower pace we usually keep around here it is a happy/sad time.  Yes, there is no way we could keep that up permanently, and the quiet is pleasant, it’s still a little sad when they go home.  I’m never in a big hurry to wipe the fingerprints off the windows and mirrors or return the Lego masterpieces to the toy closet.  Surprise balloons behind doors and random Hot Wheels cars under chairs are the leftovers of happy times.

With the dust of the last vehicle leaving the yard I turned to tidy up the house, shrink the table back to normal size, roll up the cord to the camper, and make a judgement call on what needed doing first – the lawn or the laundry I knew that the summer of 2019 was a thing of the past.  In only a few short days it will be the school bus heading down the road.

ACHIEVING SUPERWOMAN STATUS

There’s nothing like taking on an extremely physically demanding job to test your endurance level.   On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being a newborn kitten and 10 being the world title holder of the Ironman competition, my work this week puts me squarely at a 4.2.

I am only moderately strong for a woman of my age but I make up for it in sheer stubborn.  It’s my super power.

Although, there are those who would define it not so much as ‘stubborn’ but more like ‘crazy’.  If that’s the scale they want to work with, with 1 being absolutely, dead pan normal and 10 being totally bat s**t crazy, I may well be a solid 11.  Their judging means nothing to me – I have work to do.

What I decided to do was to install a sunken rock rim around my new flower bed.  The dimensions are approximately 120 feet around, two feet wide, and anywhere from 3 to 10 inches deep; depending on the rock I am trying to ‘plant’ at the time.  This is done on my hands and knees; digging the trench, sorting through the rocks for one that will fit the space I have prepared, and then hauling it over and installing it so it is more or less level with the one next to it, and then repeating the procedure over and over again until I run out of rocks.

Which, of course, means I have to go find more rocks from the pile dumped on the lawn?  I can do this part standing up which is just like taking a holiday after a couple hours of digging and placing.

I knew what I was getting into.  I’ve already done a similarly sized garden a few years ago – when I was much younger and ready to take on the world.  Newly retired and enthralled with all these hours to call my own, I took on this project I had been plotting for years.  I wanted a barrior to keep the grass out of the flower bed, but something low enough to be able to mow over it.  I had no idea that the grandkids would enjoy running along it so much, but that’s the part I love most about it now.

So, why not do it again?  Sure it’s been five years, but this one is on level ground.  It’ll be a piece of cake!

I began in May.  Off I went to the local rock market, right across the road in our pasture, and chose a bucket full of suitable stones.  Full of confidence, spring gardening fever, and sunshine-on-my-shoulders happiness I completed about 30 feet before I ran out of rocks.  I also had run out of steam, but no drugs or hospitalization was necessary so it was all good.

I took time out to recuperate (switched from planting rocks to planting vegetables) and by the time I wanted to get back at the job there was a herd of cattle in the pasture – I’m pretty okay with cows and calves, not so with bulls.  His presence upgraded the job to needing a two man team to get more rocks; I wasn’t going out there by myself.  It took a while to motivate a team but eventually I got a senior citizen and an 8 year old boy to go fetch me more building material.  Don’t judge me harshly – the boy told me this morning that getting the rocks was the easy part.  He knows.

I’m closing in on the end.  I figure I have six more feet to go, but although there are plenty of rocks to work with they are the poorer choices.  I’ve had to go raid the shop for a big hammer so I could bash them down to size; it’s even worked a time or two.  And, I don’t think I’ll have a bruise where that rock chip hit me.  I’m not so sure about the finger that stayed a millisecond longer than it needed to when one rock fell against another.  From his reaction I think the dog understands profanity, but he’s a good guy and has already forgiven me.  So far my toes have stayed out of the way.

And, as mighty as accomplishing this job has been, I had to take my Superwoman status to an even higher level today.  Farm wives have to know a lot of things but if they are smart they steer clear of ever having any knowledge of sewer pumps except to tell their husbands when they are not working right.  That only helps when the husband is there to tell.  Sometimes their husbands are at their daughter’s place when the sewer pump decides to not work properly.

But if that is the case when you have been hauling and placing rocks in the August heat you need to shower.  And that can only happen if the sewer pump is working.  I pulled up my big girl panties, tied on my Superwoman cape, and got the job done.

A completed rock ring around my garden AND fixing my own sewer pump: I guess I have more than one super power.  Nothing can stop me now.

 

TIPPING POINT

I belong to a Face book group called Gardening in Saskatchewan, a place where we addicts get together to discuss how many more plants we could have if money/space/time/energy didn’t hold us back.  We also help each other out identifying mystery plants (friend or foe) and spend time that should probably be spent weeding complaining about the number/variety/persistence of the weeds we have.  All around it’s a great place to hang out comparing gardens in the coolness of our living rooms when it’s 32 degrees outside.

For the most part it’s a safe and friendly Internet environment.  We try to help each other out with the experience we have gained over the years; things like how to pollinate pumpkins when the bees are busy elsewhere and how often a person should fertilize their planters to keep them blooming all summer long.  You never know what you’re going to get Online – there are some nasty people out there who will judge you for not knowing the difference between ragweed and rhubarb, but either we gardeners are just too nice to offer anything but clarification, or the managers of the site patrol the comments and those with malicious intent are scrubbed from the forum.  Even the most novice of gardeners can feel safe to show their naïveté.

The other thing that we do is post photos of our work; there are some gorgeous gardens out there. 

Throughout the winter just like the plants we all love go into dormancy, so do we.  The only posts that come up during that time are the odd houseplant in bloom, or some poor soul going through withdrawal digs out pictures of summer just to be able to hang on until she can start her petunias. 

Around the beginning of March we start to see posts of trays of seedlings in people’s picture windows – all leaning toward the sunlight.  This is never a healthy thing for the plants but is a strikingly good analogy of how we all feel about spring.

About the time I finally get my baby seedlings moved into their next bigger trays the over achievers are displaying they already have tomatoes in bloom – but they have pictures to prove it.

The photo content picks up as soon as the gardeners get outside.  They show the first signs of life in their gardens, the first things to bloom, and the heartbreak a late frost can cause.  The farther into summer we go the more the pictures and posts proliferate.  Scrolling through the site can get to be a full time job (or hobby, depending).  I have posted a few photos of my favorite things and have been amazed how many people respond.  I had over 500 people ‘like’ my peony this spring.  I mean it’s pretty, and I’m proud of it, but who knew there would be so much interest in a single plant?

Just recently I noticed that Gardening in Saskatchewan had listed several categories in their membership by the type of posts they offer – I can’t remember what they all were because I got stuck on the one they put me in ... visual storyteller!  I’ve never been more thrilled with a label. 

But it’s not all fun and games.  I discovered yesterday that there’s a line that can’t be crossed.  Apparently there is zero tolerance for any mention that summer might be on the wane. 

All I had done was post a picture of my morning glories.  This year I must have done something right and they are FABULOUS.  In my storytelling mode I had mentioned that they are September’s flower.  Although I had many folks ooh and awe over how pretty they are, I was sternly asked by three of them to refrain from using any language that referred to summer not lasting forever.  I will be more careful from now on ... on that website.

But just between you and me somewhere between Tuesday’s crazy heat and Wednesday morning’s blessed coolness there was a tipping point.  The sun feels different.  The air smells different.  The crops are ripening.  The crickets are calling.  Cucumbers are coming faster than we can eat them.  The hummingbirds are fueling up for their trip south. 

We are about to step into fall.  I’m going to have to post some pictures of how wonderful a season it is, I just think maybe I will not mention September again until it is September.