Gardener's Paradise

 Our main garden walk this year is Saturday, July 16.  As in this coming Saturday.  Oh boy.  I received an email from the organizer of the trip and the bus is full.  We're on pace for an 8:30AM visit of roughly fifty gardening enthusiasts from the Wausau area which is a good two and a half hours from us.

I did some reading on the tour's website and saw the write up for our garden:

Quarry Garden

In Seymour, WI is a garden marvel that was featured on Wisconsin Gardener by Shelley Ryan and written about in Our Wisconsin magazine. The main feature of the garden is a large quarry pond surrounded by over 500 varieties of hostas and planted with 2000 annuals tucked in with heirloom and native perennials. This is a private, "invitation only" garden so you will not want to miss this opportunity.

What a nice description; now I only hope we don't disappoint with the real thing when they arrive.  I'm not anxious about this tour, we've had so many people through here over the years, but I will say this marvel of ours has been busy producing an epic amount of weeds for their visit. Even though we haven't had much rain they are coming through the mulch on a daily basis.  But no matter, I'm on a mission to get 'em all.  (Yeah, right.)

Carl and I did a non-wabi-sabi walk two nights ago, critiquing everything.  I was going to bring along a notebook and make notes of the worst of the areas but after seeing the cold hard truth, I gave up on the idea.  I've simply started at the beginning again and must weed on.  It's going to be a hot one again today, high of 88 with humidity of 897%.  Ok, not that high, but wowza, do I sweat.

  A few years ago we opted to buy a gas powered Stihl weed trimmer, the big one with the handlebars and the harness.  For years we'd had a corded weed whacker, but in this yard the extension cords can't reach two acres (or up to my mother's house) so a gas powered machine was in order.  

We've tried eliminating most of the trimming by planting hostas as edging which works great, but along the roadside and the culverts there's no other way to handle the weeds.  
 

Weeds in the Walk Way, oh no.

Weeds in the bucket, yay!

Yesterday afternoon, with temperatures around 87 degrees and a dreadful dew point, I did battle with the string trimmer.  My vow was to only work on the chore until the trimmer ran out of line or the motor ran out of fuel.  Luckily for me, after an hour I did indeed have to stop since I ran out of line.  I was dripping wet with sweat, my heart was pounding in my ears (wearing ear plugs makes the sensation all the worse) and I didn't feel very well.  Stashing the trimmer back in the barn, I headed for the house and air-conditioning for a bottle of water.  

Carl is working on a lathe project in the basement and happened to come up just when I came in.  

"You look hot," he said. 

 I knew he didn't mean that in the 'Whoo baby, you're gorgeous!' sense.  My shirt was plastered to my back, my jeans were coated in grass clippings, and I had gravel in my hair.  (The weed whacker flings stones everywhere.) 

Weeds in the driveway

When the township repaved our road several years ago, they built up the sides with a great deal of gravel which was nice for the road, but bad for mowing lawn along the edge.  The only way to trim the lawn is with the whacker.  

This job unfortunately puts me in the public eye and all I can say is lucky for everyone, we don't get much traffic here.  The looks I get are hilarious.  I always stop mowing whenever a car does happen to come so I don't unwittingly fling rocks in their general direction.  Unfortunately, this gives me the appearance of simply standing on the side of the road looking like a maniac.

There I am, wearing neon green earplugs,  an Amish-looking straw hat perched on top of a full-face shield, long sleeved billowy shirt with a bright orange harness criss-crossing my torso, the handlebar weed trimmer, filthy blue jeans with red (and sometimes if I can't find a matching pair blue and green) knee pads and a pair of impossibly old Birkenstock gardening clogs.  

Boy, howdy, I do look hot.

 

I must say Ernie DOES look hot, doesn't he?  All decked out in pink.

After a ten minute break, I headed back outside to the weeds again.  When you weed for hours on end, especially alone, you have ample time to think. We attended a garden walk a few weeks ago and I was following along with two other tourists who were in front of me when I heard one of them chirp delightedly, "Oh, look, there's a WEED!"  She seemed so pleased with herself.  I looked at her and grimaced.

When I tour other people's gardens I don't seek out weeds, if you go looking for imperfection you're a jerk.   I'm always interested in the garden design and plant selections. But even beyond all of that, I have to admit my main reason for going on garden walks is just to know I'm not alone.  There are other people out there who toil in the soil for endless hours for no good reason.  I cling to the thought whenever the going gets tough around here.  

I am not insane.  I am not insane.  

There are Others.

Forgive me for my clumsy plagiarizing of Weird Al Yankovich's tune, but as I crawled along on the ground last night until dark with my trowel I worked up my own rendition of 'Amish Paradise'. (For those of you who are not familiar with the ditty, here's a link: Amish Paradise

Hey, you gotta do something to amuse yourself when your smartphone runs out of battery power.

  Cue the music:


As I walk through the garden where I planted my seeds
I take a look at my husband and see he doesn't wanna weed
And that's just awful for a gardener like me.
I could truly use some helpful company.

At 9:30 in the evening I'm still pulling weeds
Carl's locking up the chicken coop and Grandma needs her pills, fool.
And I've been planting and weeding so long
Even the neighbors think that my mind is gone.

I'm a landscaper of the garden, I'm into discipline
I've got a Felco in my holster and kneepads on my shins
But if I finish my chores and you finish yours
Then tonight we get to scrub the vinyl floors.

We've been spending most our lives
Weeding in a gardener's paradise.
We've hauled mulch more than twice 
Living in this gardener's paradise,
It's hard work and sacrifice
Living in a gardener's paradise
Not every plant survives,
Living in a gardener's paradise.

A tourist told me he saw a weed last week,
I just smiled at him and turned the other cheek.
I really don't care, in fact I didn't utter a vowel.
I was laughing my head off as I handed him a trowel.
I ain't never punched a tourist even if he deserved it,
A gardener with a 'tude, well, you know that's been heard of.

I never wear shorts but I got a cool hat
And my cronies agree I really look good in straw, fool.
If you come to visit you'll be bored to tears,
We haven't watched Netflix for half a year.
But we ain't really saints, so please don't stop and stare
We're just horticulturally impaired.

There's weed pails, trowels and shovels here
Not a single bed weed-free,
The quack grass is growing everywhere
As far as the eye can see.

We been spending most our lives 
Living in a Gardener's Paradise
We're just crazy plantophiles,
Living in a Gardener's Paradise.

There's no time for drinks on ice
Living in a Gardener's Paradise
We might fight and chainsaw twice
Living in a Gardener's Paradise.

Hitchin' up the trailer, edging all the borders,
Mowed my lawn on Monday, soon I'll mow another,
Think you're a master gardener,
Think you're really smart?
Well I can tell you I've planted a million annuals from the start.

I'm the gray haired gardener all the people don't wanna be like
On my knees day and night pulling weeds 'til my afterlife,
So don't be silly and plant a big garden 
Or you'll end up toiling in the soil with no pardon.

We've been spending most our lives
Living in a Gardener's Paradise
We're both crazy landscapers
Living in a Gardener's Paradise
If it don't rain
The pond goes low
Living in a Gardener's Paradise.
But those darn mosquitoes bite,
Living in a Gardener's paradise.

Ah, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhh.
Ah, ahhhh, ahhhh, ahhhh Yuck!

There won't be a video.


I promise.
  








 












 

A Rainy Afternoon

I got my wish, a nice slow, steady one-half inch of rain fell for about an hour this afternoon. There was no wind, no lightning, just rain.

Now I can truthfully answer my garden visitors when they ask, "Do you ever just sit and enjoy your garden?"

Today I did. 

Carl and I went shopping Wednesday afternoon on a whim.  The temperatures were in the upper 80's and the humidity was dreadful so I drove to Carl's workplace and we took my car on a little adventure. 

 First we had to stop at a welding shop for a bit and chat up the personnel about my new plasma cutter, but soon we found ourselves at a big box store cruising through the garden department. Everything is on sale right now and we were sorely tempted to bring everything home, but we stopped ourselves.  First find a place in the garden and THEN bring the plant home.  This is the first year we don't have dozens of pots behind the garage waiting for their turn to be planted.  We're so proud of ourselves.  

Coming back in from the garden department, we wandered through the outdoor living furniture.  For some reason these retro-looking chairs caught my eye.

 Introducing our new Sitting and Enjoying the Garden Chairs.

 I was tired and my feet hurt.  So old Graydilocks that I am, I timidly ventured into the display.  Just an aside here, I'm not a very brash person and I dislike causing a scene.  Now I realize that sitting on lawn furniture in a store does not constitute a riot, but for me, that's about as close as I come to civil disobedience.  I furtively glanced about, there was no one nearby to notice, so I carefully sat down.  

And promptly fell in love.

"Oh, wow, Carl, sit down a minute," I said.

Carl and I are very much alike; he glanced around first and then took the other seat.  

"Ok, these are coming home with us," he said, noting they were on clearance.  "I wonder if they have any more in stock?" and before I realized where he was going, he was off to ask a clerk.

Soon the clerk returned and said, no, they had no more in the warehouse, but if we wanted, we could buy the display models.  Carl wasted no time getting a cart and off we went to the checkout with our new chairs.  We opted not to buy the table, though it was cute; budgetary concerns and all that, you know.

As soon as we left the comfort of the air-conditioned store another reality hit us.  In my quest for staying fit, we often park the car great distances from stores.  Yesterday was no exception; we'd parked at one store and walked over a quarter mile to get to the one we were currently stranded in front of with two new lawn chairs.  

"Guess what?" Carl said.  "The car is way over there somewhere," as he pointed off into the hazy distance.  

"Guess what?" I said, "Since it's my silly idea to walk everywhere, I'll go get the car and you stand guard on our chairs."

Off I went across the steaming parking lot in search of our sedan.  It took me awhile to locate it (of course I'm not going to hit the car alarm button, that would cause a scene) and finally I was on my way out to the service road and over to the store where Carl was waiting.  

Except he wasn't.

I circled the store twice, no husband with two red chairs.  C'mon, he can't be that hard to locate, I wasn't gone that long, was I?  Finally I found him halfway to the parking lot our car was originally parked in;  he'd figured out a way to carry the chairs and was on his way to meet me.  

Luckily we could fit our purchases into the backseat of the Pontiac and we headed back to Carl's work to pick up the Oldsmobile and the thirteen mile drive home.

When we got home we did our traditional wabi-sabi walk through the garden, the walk where we're not allowed to see anything needing work like weeds and sagging rock work, just take in the beauty of the moment.  We were hastened through our jaunt by the hordes of mosquitoes intent on making a meal of us, so it was high time to retreat to the screen porch.  Carl put the new chairs on the porch, grabbed a glass of root beer for himself and a glass of ice water for me and we sat and enjoyed the sunset. 

Sunset to our west, not last night, but last week.  But still, it's a sunset. 

This morning I grabbed Mom's medications and gassed up the lawnmower, intent on getting her lawn mowed before rain arrived.  I stopped in to visit with Mom after I was done in an hour or so, and suddenly noticed her east window was spotted with rain drops, oh, boy!  Grab the lawnmower and drive like the wind (ok, eight miles an hour) home in the pelting rain.  Though I was soaking wet by the time I had the mower in the shed, it felt so good to hear raining hitting the barn roof.

And where did I go right afterward?  

To the screen porch to sit on my new chair and watch Mother Nature's perfect irrigation system at work.

Perfection would have been Carl sitting in the other chair....

 A bunch of views from my porch perch just as the rain was increasing:

I often wonder if Impressionist painters saw a garden through a wet screen and decided to recreate it in oil?

Ann called me and we had a nice chat while it rained.  She said, "Now you can tell people that you do sometimes sit and look at the garden."

Yes, I can.  

But with these chairs around, I might have to be chased off the porch to work in the garden again.  

Carl may have created a monster.  

Looking for Karen?  You know where you'll find her.

Check the porch.

 

Blooming Away

Here we are into the first week of July already and the heat and humidity have arrived right on cue. Carl and I have finally gone through every bed on the place once and in some cases, three times in our never-ending quest for weedy invaders.

 We've had a very active weather pattern this summer, with storms blowing through almost every weekend.  Surprisingly we've not had much rain here and the garden is starting to suffer.  The lawn is starting to go dormant on the sand veins and makes a crunchy sound underfoot.  Last night I heard a little reluctant grumbling thunder and woke to see about a quarter inch of rain in the gauge.  Hopefully we'll see some nice, gentle rain later this week.  



 July is truly a jewel of a month in the garden with everything coming into bloom seemingly at once.  I wish I could slow everything down in order to savor all the color.

(Since I've acquired a smartphone I find myself taking many pictures while I'm on my knees weeding.  I prefer the 35mm camera much more, but unfortunately it's not always with me like my phone is.)

 I rescued the unknown pink Asiatic lilies from a yard waste facility compost pile a few years ago.  They've repaid me for my efforts many times over.

All too soon the petals will be lying on the ground.

   This weekend is the start of many garden walks all over the state and Carl and I are hoping to attend at least three of them if all goes well.  I love to tour gardens, it's nice to know other people are as crazy as we are. 

We've had two small garden groups tour here in the past week, all very nice people.  I like small groups the best, much easier to talk to everyone and answer questions.

One thing I have been guilty of doing a few times when we have large garden walks is blending in with the groups as they go through the yard.  We most often hear compliments from people, which is nice, to be sure. However, you do learn what people really think when they don't realize you're the Chick in Charge.   And, for the most part, they oftentimes regret having said what they think once they realize who I am.  But that's ok, people are entitled to their opinions. 

I've heard everything from, 'There's too many rocks here, I don't care for that look, what were they thinking?' to 'It's just a hosta garden, everybody knows hostas don't take any work'.  

I know in the past I've written about my very first garden visitor on our first formal open garden walk circa sometime around 1996.   (Have we really had people traipsing through the yard for twenty years?  Wow, even I'm amazed.)  But anyway, back to my First Guest.  She was the rudest person I've ever encountered before or since, thank goodness.  She really set the bar high, or maybe low?   I often wonder who she was.  I know she was totally startled to find out she was trash talking to the Chick in Charge.  

To this day I do not know how she could have mistaken me for a fellow garden tourist; I was coiling up a hose when she walked up to deliver her scathing review of our efforts.  

"Did you see the daylilies aren't deadheaded?  Did you see the ugly colors of annuals (annuals??  Snicker!) they've planted together?  Ugh, who uses orange in the garden?  You'd think they'd spend some money on the house since they can afford all those stupid annuals, wouldn't you?  How long are you going to stay here?  Are you going on to the next garden?  Do you know how to get there?  If you do I'll follow you since I get lost easily.  What?  You're staying here?  Why?  What could possibly interest you here, there's nothing to see, I was bored the minute I walked in the driveway.  Gravel, by the way, ugh."

"No, I'm not leaving," I said.

"Why?"

"Because I live here."

Cue the mortified look.   On both of our faces; mine because this was our first garden walk and my tender gardener feelings were wounded to the core; I wanted to run and hide.  (After quashing the urge to throttle her with the hose.)  This is what it's like to open your garden to the general public?  I didn't like it, not one little bit.

The Vexed Visitor simply stared at me in disbelief; I mean, really?  How can you recover from that?  'Oh, just kidding!' doesn't cut it.  If I would have been in her shoes, I would have run for my life, but to her credit (or incredible stupidity) she stayed with the group and stole frightened looks at me as I answered questions from the rest of the people.  

In one of the last garden groups I could tell there was dissension in the ranks, my gardening 'skills' were being questioned once again.  Now I'm twenty years older and a bonafide member of the Red Hat Ladies which surely must entitle me the right to plant red geraniums with purple petunias if I so choose, right?  I no longer cower when people ask me questions, I face them and tell them the truth:  I plant what I love.

One of the ladies a few weeks ago said,

"I'm amazed at how you have everything intermixed in your garden.  I always keep things in one place, hostas in one bed, daylilies in another, you know?  But you have everything planted together.  I've never thought of doing that."

 I looked at my garden through her eyes at that point and realized she was right, I do have a hodge-podge of botanical specimens intermingled with each other, don't I?  

I wasn't sure if my visitor was pleased with the disorganization or not, but in my goofy mind I took it as a compliment.  I explained my GADS affliction and how I can start out planting a hosta only to end up cutting down a tree which lets more light in and then, well, since there's more light, a lily would do well here too, and wait, how about some annuals for when the perennials are done, and yes, before I know it, there's disorganized chaos reigning supreme once again.

But, I'm not going to sweat it.

 Everyone has different gardening tastes.  

Some are orderly.   And some are mine.

No need to pout.

There's room in the horticultural world for all kinds of gardens.  

 If two clematis vines can coexist on one light pole,

  There's room for all kinds of gardeners, too.  How boring if every garden was the same.  We've made some wonderful friends through the tours here; people who come back year after year (and bring their friends.)  It's like a reunion some times, and when we can give a little joy to an elderly person in a wheelchair, well, then that makes this all worthwhile.  :-)



And off to another random thought, does anyone else see something in this rock?

 From the side I either see a man sitting on a stool (milking a cow?) or depending how you view it, a face in profile.

And from the front:

I believe I see a gorilla!  

Ok, maybe it's time for some sleep.