MAYBE THIS TIME

I’m so excited.  Well, I’m also a little wary, but still pretty excited.  Holding my breath.  Fingers crossed.  On the edge of my seat.

One of the primary benefits of living out in the country is the wildlife feature.  Oh sure, it would be nice to have pavement right to the yard, a store just a few blocks away, and if sewer and water problems develop they are someone else’s problem, but these are more than balanced out with the tranquillity of being miles from your closest neighbor, the endless green space we are surrounded by, and sharing the whole setup with wildlife.

There have been beaver and moose wandering right through the front yard, fox and coyote that keep our evenings alive with their wild music, and in the next month the yard will be twinkling with fireflies at dusk.  There are also white tailed deer that hang around but I’m not too happy about that right now.  They like my apple trees more than I like them at the moment.

At this time of the year though, it’s the birds that are the most fun.  Throughout April and May, as each warmer day follows another, birds of all shapes, colors, and sizes arrive back to declare spring is here.  The crows squawk it first, then great flying wedges of geese honk their greetings, followed closely by the robins.  Each of these harbingers of spring making us happier than the last.

Then the wait begins for the rest ... the morning doves, the meadow larks, the wood peckers, the little junkos and wrens, the noisy reunion of redheaded blackbirds on the slough north of the house.  I’m also always glad to see our blue heron back, and hear the strange sound of the slough pump (egret); it means that we have all made another trip safely around the sun.

I don’t know if they are the last to arrive – maybe I quit paying attention once I spot hummingbirds at the feeders – but their arrival gives me the biggest sigh of relief.  So good to see them “home” again!  In the thirty plus years that they’ve been summering here we’ve had as many as four nesting pairs at a time.  It makes for some crazy bird watching (and ducking) by mid August when the juveniles come to feed too.  They are like tiny Samurai warriors defending their territory; dipping, weaving, diving and chattering threats at each other.  It’s quite the show.

Almost at the same time as they arrive, the orioles do too.  I don’t know if they are travel buddies or that that they just know to follow the hummingbirds to where the sugar water feeders are, but sure enough they are a package deal.  Almost.  The hummingbirds stay, the orioles fuel up and move on. 

I want them to stay so badly, but they don’t.  I know they like oranges so I slice the fruit and set it out; they dine and leave.  I’ve tried grape jelly too; no dice.  It makes me so sad.

But this year (and I hope I’m not jinxing this by talking about it) it’s beginning to look like we have a couple of keepers.  We’ve been through seven oranges and they are still coming back for more.  It’s been more than a week – that’s never happened before.  The part that makes me the most hopeful is that the last two days it’s only been the male eating the oranges.  If my guess is right, the little lady is sitting on some eggs.  I am so excited!

AS PERENNIAL AS THE GRASS

Nothing makes me happier than the time I spend cutting grass.

I know that may sound weird to those who consider it a chore, but that’s not how I feel about it at all.  To me it’s a time of meditation and fresh air accompanied by one of my favourite scents – fresh cut grass.  What’s not to love?

I know what you’re thinking.  You are thinking that I must have a big, beautiful zero turn mower, and you are right about that, but I also have a push mower and I don’t mind doing the job that way either.  Although, with the size of our yard I would never get done if I had to do it all by hand, still the smell is the same, and the finished look it gives makes my heart happy.

The year’s mowing season has started off a little rocky.  There hasn’t been a really good rain to wash off the accumulated dust and mould, or to spur on lush green growth.  It left the yard looking shaggy and unkempt.  You know, that awkward stage when the quack grass hasn’t quite got the jump on the dandelions yet?  Only about 47% of the lawn needed to be cut but what did need it needed it badly. 

And then, the day I decided it was time to do something about the shaggy mess out there the battery on the mower was dead.  This kind of set back doesn’t stop me anymore.  I possess competent battery charger skills and I had that baby ready to go for the next day.  The trouble was that Day 1 had been a beautiful, sunny, warm, wind-free day and Day 2 there was a bit of a hurricane blowing (or as we say in Saskatchewan – there was a ‘slight’ breeze).  It’s been a week and I am still cleaning dirt out of my ears and eyes.

Regardless the benefits of being out there on my mower far outweigh the drawbacks.  Like I said earlier, mower time is a time for meditation and contemplation.  The job itself doesn’t require a lot of brain power – it’s pretty much just driving back and forth across the yard avoiding obstacles and trying not to be stabbed by branches when doing the tree line.  On the other hand, it’s important not to get too deep into thought – or I can end up too deep in the literal sense.  Our yard is prone to water hazards.

I also have had to become quite proficient at my self-towing skills.

So, keeping in mind that there are things I have to watch out for, this is when I contemplate Life’s problems – work related, marriage related, kid related.  Even when I worked full time and had very few hours to call my own I would always claim the mowing time – it’s not as if anyone interrupts what you’re doing when you are out in the yard on a noisy machine.  It may have been a loud solitude, but it was still solitude.

The job has developed a new nuance over the past decade or so, though.  There was a time when it was just a case of lawn care, but now there is more to think about than just how pretty your yard looks.  These days we are being asked to think about planet care.  People are experimenting with lawns of clover – low growing, green and lush, no maintenance yards.  We are encouraged to leave the dandelions for the bees and to plant more flowers for the butterflies and hummingbirds.  It is also wise to grow at least some of our own food – not only does it provide fresh, safe vegetables but it gives us all a better understanding of how Mother Nature works: small, grass-roots steps that can only do us all good as a species.

It was these very things I spent my first mowing session in 2019 thinking about.  The yard is unreasonably large to mow, and yet too small to farm.  I already have a huge garden so I won’t be expanding that; it looks like I will continue to mow this much grass.

On the other hand, there are a lot of dandelions out there.  Clover too; the flowering kind – very bee friendly. 

And as I whizz around the yard on my big, fancy zero turn mower this spring nothing makes me happier than seeing the butterflies are smart enough to get out of the way.  I’ve always had the kind of dandelions that are smart enough to duck the mower blades so they’re never going to run out of food

SLOW WALKING SPRING

I don’t know what’s wrong with me this year. 

Normally, by this time of May I am impatiently waiting for my garden to be tilled so that I can get some seeds in the ground.  That is if I haven’t taken it upon myself to get the tractor and tiller out and go do it myself.   While all the patient types talk about letting the soil warm up, or waiting for the last full moon before June or some other such nonsense, I’m always the one out there chomping at the bit, just dying to get dirt under my fingernails.

Oh, I know it’s been a chilly spring, but that’s never held me back before.  I love planting potatoes so much that some years I plant them twice – once to rot in the ground or freeze as soon as they stick their heads out, and another time a few weeks later when they are liable to grow and survive.  It keeps me busy.

By Mother’s Day in a normal year I am usually at a fever pitch to get seeds in the ground.  In my head I’ve come up with at least two dozen seeding plans and know full well that these plans will continue to evolve until I actually drop the seeds into the rows and cover them.  But this year there seems to be no hurry at all.  At the moment the tractor and tiller aren’t even here and I’m okay with that for a bit longer.  I don’t really want to plant seeds until the weatherman says we might get a rain to get them growing.  My weather app says that’s most likely to happen more than a week down the road and for some weird reason in 2019 I’m fine with that.

Maybe I’m just finally getting the hang of this being retired?  For most of my life I had to squeeze all my work into 24 hours per day when what I really needed was 30.  Now that my whole day is my own maybe I have managed to gear down?  Subconsciously I now accept that there will be enough time for everything? I don’t know.  It just seems bizarre that I don’t have a row of lettuce tucked in somewhere by now.

Oh wait.  I do.  I filled a planter with dirt and planted lettuce and radishes just to see how early possessing a greenhouse would provide me with a spring salad. 

But, other than that, my spring planting schedule is very relaxed.  At least once a day I wander my garden/orchard space.  My raspberries are coming like crazy, the saskatoons are leafing out, the rhubarb is up, and we’ll be eating asparagus by the end of the week.  Also, out on the big hill to the east there is plenty of room for the giant pumpkins, zucchini, and spaghetti squash, not to mention the cantaloupe and cucumbers – they need to be far apart so they don’t cross pollinate. 

Come to think of it, they need more space already – they are taking over the greenhouse.  I should go move them all outside for the day so they get ‘toughened up’ for their permanent transition to the real world.

This strange lackadaisical no-hurry-here attitude I’ve sprouted in 2019 is not an indication of a waning interest in gardening.  In fact, I have a whole new flowerbed all mapped out.  If I can get the rototiller fired up this afternoon I will ‘break ground’ today.  Heaven knows one whole side of the greenhouse is packed with perennials that will soon call it home.

And the next thing I’ll need to do is fill all my deck planters.  And plant all the gladioli that are soaking in the greenhouse. 

I’ve also decided where the tomatoes are going this year, but they’re not quite big enough for outside yet.

But, like I said, I just don’t feel the usual urgency to get out there and garden this year.  I can just take my time to get started this spring. 

It’s really weird.

GREENHOUSE INTERUPTED

And there I was; enjoying the space and sunshine out in my lovely new greenhouse with all my precious green babies when Mother Nature did a U turn and headed us back into winter.

It’s not like she doesn’t do such things on a semi-regular basis so I’ve been keeping a careful watch on what my weather app on my phone tells me.  Ever since I moved the tiny seedlings out to their own accommodations I’ve been mindful of how cold the nights are.  Their first night out I only had a small heater going – even though the thermometer said it was still a few degrees above zero in the morning I can tell you the watermelons and morning glories were NOT pleased with the situation.  From that point on they were tucked in with a much larger heater and a heat bulb for good measure to get them through the nights.  All was going well.

Until, of course, Mother Nature’s manic episode last weekend.

As I said, I keep an eye on such things so I knew it was coming.  There was lots of time to plan so I think it was Wednesday night’s insomnia stretch (my typical 2:30 to 4:15 stint) that I spent devising how to keep those babies warm.  After all, if you’re not going to sleep anyway, you may as well put the time to good use.  A person can only solve all the world’s problems so many times before the satisfaction gets stale.

I decided that I would move them all to the floor of the greenhouse, drape a plastic curtain over the area and stick the heater in the tent with them.  Same size heater, much smaller space: had to work.  I did the work and the temps dropped to -3 that first night.  Nothing died but they neither did they look happy.  Did you know that pumpkins can pout?  They do when they’re cold.

My weather app told me that things were going to get worse before they got better; obviously this was going to call for a Plan ‘B’.

There were options – like more heaters, which meant more extension cords from other outlets because of the fear of them tripping a breaker.  And even then, at minus 8 or 10, was that going to be enough?  The snow was starting to fall as I made the executive decision to haul everything back inside and wait out the bad weather with my living room looking like a jungle once more.

The plants seem to be doing fine with this turn of events, but whereas a week ago I was all gung-ho on all the gardening things I had to do, this week my momentum is all messed up.  I have transplanting that needs done but I would really like to keep that mess out in the greenhouse so I put it off.  There are some outside jobs to get done but I would really rather work in the greenhouse, out of the wind.  I have this urge to haul all my planters over and fill them with dirt but it’s too early for that.  I’ve wandered my garden umpteen times; Mother Nature froze off my three little asparagus tips that had emerged – she really isn’t in my good books at the moment.

If everything had gone according to plan - My Plan! - I would be happily transplanting nemophilia and lobelia this morning, and maybe starting my gladioli, basking in the warmth that a greenhouse offers.  Instead I’m doing laundry and vacuuming.  Any other month of the year I would consider this productive work.  My weather app tells me to ‘chill out’, Mother Nature is giving us the cold shoulder until the middle of next week.  I might take up pouting with my pumpkins.

SLIPPERY SLOPE

Who didn’t see this coming?

A month ago my husband gifted me with a small greenhouse.  Basically he was bored out of his tree waiting for spring to get here so this all started out as a make work project for him ... which he has turned over to me so that I too can make more work.

I’m not complaining, mind you.  I actually think of it as my ‘playhouse’.  It has quickly become my favorite place to hang out – so toasty warm, so many green babies, so full of potential.

You must understand; this is not a commercial enterprise.  I think it was built out of sympathy for the dog, who last spring could not stand and stare out of the picture window for a full month because there were multiple shelves full of plants in his way.  Building a greenhouse gave the man something to do, gave the dog his window back, and gave the woman the opportunity to increase her plant addiction by about 1000%.

Win.  Win.   Win.

Of course I realized the danger immediately.  I told myself that I would not change my planting habits just because I had a little more space.  There would only be tomatoes and peppers and giant pumpkins for the grandkids, plus a few planter fillers just to see what would grow for me.  Just like when I was limited to my picture window.

But with only these few things it looked bare in there so I thought I would branch out a little bit.  I planted watermelons and cantaloupe and morning glories so I could enjoy them for a longer season.  I happened to have a couple seed packets from last year so I thought I should plant them too – columbines and nemophilia and asters and phlox.  Then I realized I always use lobelia in my deck planters so I should start some of that too.

About that time I remembered that I had stored a bunch of begonia tubers in the crawl space so I hauled them out.  They were starting to sprout so they needed dirt to grow in too.  I went to town and bought another bag.  And since I had more dirt and a stack of bigger pots I decided to see if I could ‘hurry up’ some dahlia tubers as well.  Are any of you familiar with the meaning of being on a ‘slippery slope’?

By this time I have moved the seedling trays in and out of the watering trays so many times that the labels don’t match up with the plants.  Luckily I have been keeping a journal of what is planted on which day so I will likely be able to figure it all out at some point.  Don’t tell my kids – they all harbour a deep resentment for me as a keeper of records.  Not one of their baby books gets past their first tooth, but here I am, noting germination times for Four O’clocks.

I am at the point where I have to stop planting more seeds.  All the babies will need to be transplanted to bigger trays so I will soon be running out of room.  The greenhouse that looked pretty big in the Quonset and then just the right size once it was settled in the back yard, now seems a smidge smallish in the harsh light of my addiction.

I’m thinking we will need to install hooks on the rafters so I can start my hanging planters.  And yesterday I was struck with the inspiration to fill one of my deck planters with dirt and plant some super early lettuce and radishes – you know, just to see what happens.  I can set it outside during the day and just keep them in where it’s warmer at night.

Once a person has lost their footing on a slippery slope, they just keep rolling down the hill ...

I’m going to need a bale of peat moss before I can go any farther.

But on a happier note, the dog is enjoying his unrestricted view.

SERENDIPITY

Many years ago I attended a seminar that had to do with recognizing personality traits unique to each individual and learning to use them to the best advantage.   So much of the discussion of those two days has stuck with me and proved useful in understanding the human dynamics of so many situations. 

I wish I had saved the course literature to refer back to but suffice it to say that we covered an in-depth look at the kinds of personality differences humans have and how we need them all: leaders, followers, speakers, listeners, dreamers, doers, observers, modifiers.

The whole experience was very interesting, but with me being a typical human what stands out in my memory the clearest after all these years is what I learned about me.  There were people there who were natural born leaders.  There were master negotiators.  There were people who excelled at efficiency and others who felt most comfortable as simple ‘worker bees’.  My super power seemed to be that I always saw the big picture.  In a room of maybe fifty of us I was one of only two people whose perspective was from farther back than everyone else’s. 

Up until that point in my life I had looked upon this as a personality flaw.  While other people can see life issues in black and white, my perspective always seemed to be from back far enough all I saw were shades of grey.  I was cursed to see both sides of any argument and know that seldom was neither of them was completely right.  Just ask my eldest son who spent his youth railing at this defect of mine only to realize in adulthood that he is similarly afflicted.

A much shorter way to explain this would have been to remind Sesame Street watchers of 30 years ago about a song they sang - “where you put your eyes”.  Given just a tail, an ear, a foot, and a trunk no one could figure out what was in front of them until they moved way back and saw it was an elephant.  I always see the whole elephant.

Yesterday’s elephant was serendipity. 

It’s one of my favorite words: serendipity, when good things just fall into place through no planning what-so-ever.

I happened to be in a neighboring town yesterday.  It’s not that I wanted to be there, there was just no way around it.  My brand new car had an engineering defect and had to have warranty work done so I got to spend an entire afternoon killing time there when I would much rather have been at home doing yard work.  The appointment had been made weeks in advance and I had only randomly picked yesterday because a previous appointment for that afternoon had been moved to another day.

I was told when I dropped the car off that I probably had 4 hours to kill.  I had nothing to shop for but I very slowly strolled through all the stores they had to offer.  After what I felt had been a very long time I checked my phone and discovered I still had 2 ½ to go.  A short debate took place in my head: I had two choices – a very long walk to Timmie’s for a calorie free coffee or a slightly shorter walk to DQ for a much less healthy choice of treat.  The ice cream won.

As I approached the building I noticed a woman just seating herself in the front sunroom part of the restaurant and thought to myself that looked like a nice place to sit.  So, after buying my oreo blizzard I made my way there too.  Although I hadn’t planned to sit with her I was happy to accept her invitation – the time would go by much faster with conversation.

And what a conversation it was.  I suppose that given our similar ages and rural life experiences it only stood to reason we would have a lot in common, but it went much deeper than that.  We began with telling each other of our families but the subject matter led to much more personal and poignant revelations, not the usual topics that one would discuss with strangers but were setbacks and crises we had both experienced.  Our time together was a good thing.

Serendipity.  My car appointment could have been any day, but it was yesterday.  Her income tax appointment could have been any day, but it was yesterday.  I could have shopped longer, or decided that coffee was better for me than ice cream.  Would I have chosen the sunroom if I hadn’t seen her sitting down as I walked up?

People whose view of the world is close up would likely call it a coincidence that we were at the same place at the same time. 

My perspective is from farther back; so many unrelated things had to fall into place for that conversation to take place it can only be called Serendipity.

SCRATCHING THAT SPRING ITCH

The winter boots have been stowed away downstairs and my trusty old rubber boots have their first mile on them for 2019.  Well, possibly more than a mile – I’ve wandered the yard numerous times these past few days looking for anything green.  I have this itch to go out and play in the dirt.  I’m all ready to  garden.  The Christmas lights are all packed away and Mother Nature needs to get busy providing any color other than ‘dirty snow’ gray and ‘last year’s lawn’ brown.

Of course it’s way too early to actually garden.  The snow isn’t completely gone yet and there is only cold mud, not warm dirt.  And yet I, and many others, are infected with this persistent condition I have named Spring Itch.  Not the kind of itch that affects your skin, mind you, but the kind that won’t leave your soul alone.

It’s not a life or death thing.  At least I don’t think anyone has ever died of the condition.

But neither is it a mild disease that can be ignored.  The symptoms start as early as January and are probably brought on by the lack of sunlight experienced at that time of the year.  The way to ‘scratch that itch’ in January and February is to pour over seed and nursery catalogues until you’ve worn out the pages.  One must be careful with this remedy though.  Just as prescription painkillers lead to opioid addiction, so too can placing a ‘small’ order lead to a VISA bill your husband must never see.

 This action is no cure though.  The itch continues to fester and as the daylight lengthens out in March those of us infected turn to store-bought dirt and plastic gardens placed on any horizontal surface close to a window.  We tell ourselves we ‘will only plant a few tomatoes and peppers’ but then go into some sort of trance and end the day with several trays of watermelons, giant pumpkins and five kinds of flowers – just because the seeds were there.  By the end of the day we find ourselves amazed that we’ve jumped the gun yet again and try to console ourselves that it will take a week or two for these babies to germinate. 

Which, of course is a lie.  And when the first pumpkin seed erupts an instant plant out of the dirt in less than four days you rejoice over the miracle – even though you know keeping it healthy and strong until it can safely put outside will be next to impossible.

It’s April now and we are up to the wandering-the-yard stage of the disease.  I have managed to find two green things out there ... soapwort and dianthus, coming out of the last snow banks hardy and strong.  Well, actually, there is a third and even more hardy plant out there, but quack grass doesn’t count.

So far I’ve checked my tulips seventeen times in the last two days ... nada.  I’ve paced out where I want my brand new greenhouse to be placed.  I am told that the strawberries came through the winter with flying colors but it’s so muddy over there I will take his word for it.  My umpteenth effort to get hollyhocks to survive is still unproven, but I visit their bed several times a day just in case there’s something to see. 

I long to clean off the asparagus patch so I can commence waiting for it too.

There are some who say that sunshine is the cure for this condition.  It is true that the more time a person spends outside the less anxious they are.  Truth to tell, I am never more at peace with myself than about the middle of June: the transplanting is done, the potatoes are all popping out of the ground, strawberries and lettuce are ready to eat.  That’s the only time of the year when the itch has been sufficiently scratched.  The next stage takes a nasty turn.

During the next three months another condition called ‘exhaustion’ sets in. When a person is up to their armpits in beans to can, raspberries to jam, weeds to pull, potatoes to dig, cucumbers to pickle, and tomatoes to deal with they mistakenly feel cured of ever wanting to plant anything ever again.  This is simply just another stage of the original condition – a kind of faux remission that never lasts past New Year’s day.

Trust me, I know.

It’s been two hours - I wonder if my hollyhocks are up yet?  I should go check.