Pollenatrix

I blinked and it's already August

This is the best part of summer... the plants are mature and need little tending, and there's nothing to do but kick back and enjoy the show. Oh, and water every night, but for me the opportunity to do something in the garden is such a pleasure that I'm gladly out there with the hose, morning and night. I spent a couple of hours today reclining in my chair, reading, enjoying the scent of sweet peas in the air. The heat crickets sang and in the background I heard the sound of children playing in the schoolyard below, every once in a while the crack of a ball hitting a bat. July 31st tomorrow. Is it my imagination or does July fly by faster than any of the other months?

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Whatever ya call it, it's funny looking

I'm happy to report that the cuttings I took last year from my dying Rick Rack Cactus are thriving, and have been transplanted to a bigger pot. I had a lovely one that I killed last summer in a hot window with not enough water. Bummed out, I half-heartedly took some cuttings before I threw my former pride and joy out. The Rick Rack, or St. Anthony's cactus, or Zig Zag cactus as it's also known (Cryptocereus anthonyanus), is a very interesting plant. It's extremely difficult to coax a bloom out it, but the leaves alone make it worth cultivating. They literally zig zag. It's a member of the night-blooming cereus family (a relative of my Queen of the Night), and it's easy to grow so long as you don't fry it the way I did. It's native to the jungles of the Chiapas region of Mexico, and prefers indirect light and slightly moist soil. Propogation couldn't be easier: Take a cutting, stick it in soil, and wait. 

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Raccoon Rant no. 164

Had a racoon visitation last night. I was watching tv when Jake started barking his head off, the kind of alarm he usually raises when Mousepad is tangling with another cat and lets loose a cry of distress. As designated cavalry, he and I raced down the back stairs and flung the door open, only to find Mousepad sitting on the deck, calmly observing two racoons in the tree beside him. One of the racoons was making an oinking sound, and the other something that I thought might have been a growl. I figured one was bullying and the other whining for mercy. I yelled at them to knock it off, and then ignored Mousepad's squawks of protest as I picked him up and brought him in the house. A quick Google search for "racoon sounds" revealed that they weren't bickering at all. The oinker was making "contented" vocalizations, and the other one was purring. How sweet, a lovefest in the trees. I went back to the balcony, where they were still carrying on, and grumpily hosed them in their perches in the tree. There was a lot of shuffling and shaking of leaves and branches, and then all was still. I went back in and went to bed. 

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Worms for breakfast

I ventured into the worm bins this morning to add some vegetable peels from last night's meal preparations. There certainly are a lot of worms in them -- red crawly wiggly worms. I was a bit taken aback to find a dozen or so clinging to the inside of the lid of one of the boxes, so that when I removed the lid a few of them fell on the floor. Ewwww. I picked them up and threw them back in, took a deep breath and reminded myself that they are my pets, that worm composting is good for the environment, that worm compost will make my flowers grow like crazy. Still, it was a bit more than I was ready to handle first thing in the morning. I was far more tentative about removing the lid of the second box. Once I regained my composure, I realized what the problem is. The material at the bottom of the bin was too soggy, and anaerobic. Most of the bedding has been transformed in to dark rich compost. I tore up strips of newspaper and threw them in; they'll soak up some of the liquid, and add much needed carbon to the mix. I stirred things around a bit with a trowel, hoping that I wasn't squishing too many worms in the process. There's still quite a bit of  plant material in them that still needs to decompose, but I can see that the time is nearly at hand to separate worms from worm poo. Now THAT will be an adventure. If my boundless enthusiasm has inspired you to try it for yourself, you can buy worms & supplies at Cathy's Crawly Composters in Bradford (she does travel to Toronto frequently), or Vermitech Systems at the far end of the Beach. # discuss

The Epic Adventures of the Garden Statuary

I'm a sucker for cement things and other assorted kinds of garden art. Knowing that, my loved ones have contributed to the population explosion of eccentric characters on my deck. I swear one night they'll come alive and attempt a coup d'etat. Better yet, they'll mobilize and stage a counter-attack when that pesky raccoon knocks one of them over one too many times....

I can see it now. The fountain fairies and dragonfly sundial will do aerial divebombing, the big sundial will used as advanced weaponry, the pig will charge, the windman will blow as hard as he can, and Inukshuk (made of bricks collected from the shores of Lake Ontario) will hold the territory and show the raccoon the way to the door. Deborah will pray for peace and Buddha will cheer our success. Mr Raccoon may think he's a cartoon action hero, but he's got nothing on my garden thingies. # discuss

Dinner-plate Hibiscus

I couldn't resist buying this monster-sized hibiscus at the corner flower and fruit stand yesterday -- only $14. But then, it was in a ridiculously small peat pot, so I bought a big clay one for $20, and a some annuals to fill in around the base for another $7. I guess it wasn't THAT much of a deal. But still, the flowers are stunning, about 8 inches across, and the plant is loaded with buds.

Ummm... finding room for it on the deck was a wee bit of a challenge!

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Racoon Rant no. 81

Another racoon encounter last night.... I was up late blogging, and heard a telltale "thump" coming from the back. I went out to the back porch, unlocked and opened the sliding door (I've learned my lesson there), and searched around. Nothing for a few seconds. Then a fat raccoon scurried past me, right beside the now open door. Fortunately, he didn't have the temerity to invite himself in - he scooted behind the bbq to hide. Ha! I smiled grimly, and grabbed the hose. "Get outta here you fat bastard!!! N O W!!!!" I yelled. Jake cowered in the kitchen, no doubt sympathetic to his furry cousin and relieved that HE wasn't the object of my rage. My neighbours were probably listening and wondering just who I was yelling at. I hosed him out of his hiding place, and he bolted for another corner. I blasted him again, soaking him to the skin. He made a break for the rainspout, and in an impressive feat of agility, he leaped over the railing, grabbed the slippery (and now very wet) metal gutter with both hands and feet. Then, to my surprise he slid headfirst all the way down to the ground. It was a creditable imitation of an upside down fireman's slide down a pole, and I was full of admiration as I continued blast him with water all the way down. It was an escape worthy of a cartoon action hero. # discuss

Balcony garden update

Images of my deck garden:

The tall plant in the back is Cyperus Alternifolius, in bloom. In front, a huge spider plant, boxes of herbs (mint, basic, catnip, thyme, oregano), and a mixed container featuring Monarda with a bad case of powdery mildew.

The snap peas are finished, replaced with sweet pea and morning glory. The eggplant and sweet red peppers are starting to fruit, and the nasturtium is a bit past it's prime and has had a haircut. It will pick up again once the cooler weather returns in the fall.

In the centre, a white climbing rose, a clematis, and morning glory are battling for air rights. Morning glory seems to be winning. To the right, a jungle of herbs, Johnny Jump-Up, tuberous begonia, sweet peas, some sweet potato vine (thanks to a couple of sprouting tubers that never quite made it to the dinner plate), and assorted houseplants fill the space.

Knee-high sweet peas suffered a bit during my two week vacation, but seem to be making a comeback. Wave petunias cascade over the side of the railing.

English ivy is starting to climb up the sundial, surrounded by some interesting Begonia Rex plants that I brought home from Vancouver, as well as some ferns, and double pink impatiens. Hanging above is a staghorn fern that has doubled in size since last year, and is thriving in the humid weather.

My $20 flea market find (a "greenhouse" sold by Lee Valley Tools for $60) has been put to good use as a secure, zipped up anti-racoon security zone at night. None of my orchids are doing well after a traumatic spring of cold weather and racoon vandalism, but there is new growth and I'd say they're making a comeback.

A heritage sweet pea, and bougainvillea.

Clematis, duking it out with morning glory.

The utility zone -- a bbq, recycling boxes, critter-proof garbage bins, and the hose are swallowed up by greenery, in a nice way. The Queen of the Night (though hard to see, it's against the wall beside the Cyperus) has two -- count 'em, two!! -- buds. Some orchids and smaller epiphyllums are hanging out of harm's way.

A gorgeous and very old orchid cactus, a favourite of Mrs. Brown's and now a treasured memory of her. Above, some impatiens, some very small orchids that you probably can't see, and behind, an asparagus fern.

Mousepad, my very talkative and very loveable cat who thinks he's a dog. I now know just how hard it is to photograph a black cat, let alone a black cat that won't stand still.

Peering through the fence....

The High Park Community Garden has to be the mother of all community gardens in this city. It's nestled in the middle of this 500 acre park, a short distance from the famous Dog Hill and the outdoor stage for Shakespeare in the Park. The gardens takes up several acres, and are in an idyllic setting surrounded by oak forest.

It's next to impossible to acquire a plot in these gardens -- believe me, I've tried. People hang on to them tenaciously from year to year, and the few that do become available are subject to a ferocious phone battle on one morning every February. So, I continue to visit, and admire, and look longingly through the fence. To me, there is nothing more beautiful than the creativity and diversity of these gardens, the riot of colour, the bent backs of people of every nationality and age carefully tending their charges. If Monet were still with us, no doubt he would have painted it.

My summer holidays -- and -- I saw my teacher on tv

Growing season is in full swing and it's hard to sit indoors in front of computer when I could be outdoors playing in the dirt. So goes my rationale for the long delay in posting.

I spent two glorious weeks at a cottage on 35 acres just outside of Minden, Ontario (just south of Algonquin Park). No TV, no radio, no computer -- but what it lacked in technology it more than made up for with perks that were good for my soul: Privacy, silence, a working woodstove, cool nights and hot days, fireflies, stars, the smell of fresh-cut hay, a happy dog splashing after his frisbee in the pond, bullfrogs, friendly neighbours, bold hummingbirds, good company, and lazy afternoons watching clouds drift by. And bugs. Teeth with wings, actually. More than once poor Jake returned dripping from the pond with a frisbee hanging out of his mouth and his muzzle covered in deerflies and blood. Thanks to Jake's frozen border collie crouch, he became known to bloodsucking creatures as "fast food on four legs". When the bugs needed more of a challenge, they came after me. The little tubes of "AfterBite" were woefully inadequate to head off the evening itchfests. Something along the size of a roll-on antiperspirant would have been better suited for the task.

I spent my days reading, one of them The Story of Gardening by famed British garden expert Penelope Hobhouse. Written in a plummy and haughty upper class voice, it was tough going, but enough to eventually drive me out of my comfortable chair to do some guerrilla gardening of my own. No self-respecting gardener can sit for very long reading about something they'd much rather be doing. So, I dug up some iris' from around the edge of a huge patch of bulbs in the lawn (survivors of some long-abandoned garden, no doubt), and replanted them in a small bed along the side of the house. Then I edged the bed, and and managed to liberate a patchwork stone border from the encroaching grass. A hot day in July is of course not the best time to transplant perennials, but Gary the lawn mower guy would have sliced them off to oblivion anyway. Mother Nature co-operated with a good solid rain shower later that night. I was too late to rescue some blooming peonies from our friendly neighbour Ian the farmer and his tractor on the day the hay was cut.

Wildflowers were just coming into their peak during my stay, and I was sorely tempted to collect the buds of St. John's Wort to make into a tincture. Tinctures are simple to make, requiring no more than a sterilized baby food jar, some vodka, plant material, and time. I hesitated only because I was extraordinarly lazy, and couldn't rouse myself to find a suitable bottle - neither empty, nor full of vodka. I learned about healing herbs several years ago through a series of workshops with Heather Bakazias of the Northern Light Centre in Singhampton, Ontario (near Collingwood). After learning from Heather how to identify and use healing herbs, I had a near-religious conversion over ordinary weeds, seeing them in an entirely new light. As a matter of fact, before taking my first workshop I had been toying with the idea of sneaking into my neighbour's yard and yanking out a weed that was growing on their side of the fence. I'm sure they thought I was insane when I returned home from a workshop and prattled on excitedly about this weed and how it was St. John's Wort and how much tinctures cost and how you could make it yourself and for heaven's sake don't pull that it's not a weed!!!! Anyway, I was delighted when I turned on the TV one night recently to see Heather sharing her wisdom, knowledge and warmth on an episode of "Recreating Eden" on Home and Garden Television. She is a magnificent lady and her gardens definitely meet my criteria for heaven on earth.