Pollenatrix

Back to school with Barking Frogs?

I was out watering the plants tonight and felt it in the air: Fall. The hot and sweaty nights have suddenly slipped away, and the the breath of the night air is distinctly cool, even though the days are still very warm. Cues are everywhere...the CNE, the airshow this weekend, the green grass along the Gardiner Expressway has turned harvest gold, and "back to school" advertisements are inescapable. I'm feeling the "back to school" tug too. I learned about this permaculture course via an email listserve I belong to. I've been interested in permaculture ever since I first heard about it at a workshop held at High Park last summer. At first glance, a fully online course (and they seem to have their act together in organizing distance education via the internet) sounds perfect. A convenient way to learn without ever having to leave my desk all though the blustery days of winter. I'd even be certified by a respected and well-known permaculture organization -- respected and well-known, at least, to those who know what permaculture is. But then.... would I really like coming home, after a day behind a computer at the office, to spend more time behind a computer in the evenings? It's expensive... if I want to go after a certificate. Does that matter? Part of me rejects spending all that time learning about the subject to come out the other end with no certificate to show for it. Maybe someone would actually be impressed by that certificate someday, who knows?? The other, saner, part of me realizes how ridiculous that is. The whole point of the exercise is the learning, not a piece of paper. When did learning become more about external recognition than the internal shifts it brings about? Who do I know who would offer any more than a puzzled look by my permaculture training?? Oi. Maybe only me.  :-) It's fall, and change is in the air. I'm off to Vancouver for a week, and I'm sure I'll know my mind when I come back.

...evil labors with vast power

...evil labors with vast power and perpetual success - in vain: preparing always the soil for unexpected good to sprout in.                                                                           J.R.R. Tolkien                                                                   April 1944

A closer look

Here's a closer look at some of my jungle:

Red morning glories screen the roof of the revue theatre next door, and stop the wind from blasting across the deck.

Along the south-east corner of the deck, a nice crop of jalapeno peppers, red peppers and eggplant (not shown), and a bright mixture of nasturtiums. They're doing extremely well, dying back when the weather get hot, and then perking right back up again when it turns cool.

Speaking of peppers, my neighbour gave me two "Scotch Bonnet" hot peppers plants. His mother brought them over for him from Trinidad, but he thought I could give them a much better home than he could.  After an iffy start (I didn't plant them immediately and they spent a day exposed to the hot sun in a little plastic bag) they now seem to be established in their new home. My neighbour tells me that Scotch Bonnet peppers are about as hot as peppers can get.

The old rose seedling that I collected from that old pioneer graveyard in Burlington has done very well this year, lots of new growth and no sign of disease. No sign of flowers either, but it's still a young'un. I'm fretting a bit over what to do with this rose over the winter, because I don't think it will survive in the container -- the roots will freeze solid. I may ask my friend Deb if I can plant it in her backyard this fall, and dig it back up again in the spring.

My Staghorn Fern has loved it's summer holiday outdoors, and has rewarded me with lots of new growth. It has more than doubled in size over the last couple of months. The fairies are dressed up, I figure the tiara and magic wand look better on her than on me. The racoon likes to knock the magic wand out of the Queen Fairy's hand almost every night, and the fairies STILL haven't turned him into a toad. There are two little plants sitting in the water, both gifts from my friends Atilla and Anne. I can't remember what they're called (some kind of plant-of-the-year some time back, according to my friends), but after a visit to a nursery I learned that they are bog plants, so I wrapped their roots and a bit of soil in an old nylon stocking and stuck them in. They are much happier now.

Finally, a picture of the racoon fortifications around my orchid stand. I wrapped what's left of the tattered cover over top of the chicken wire each night. I have the satisfaction of knowing that I am finally frustrating the old fatso, because each morning there's a big dent in the top of the chicken wire where he's tried in vain to break through.

Picture Time

Time for a visual update on the deck -- I'm going away next week, so there's no telling what it will look like when I get back.

African violets drive me crazy.

African violets drive me crazy. I mean, I like them, when they're not infested with some bug or mildew or something. Now I find that my violets are covered in thrips -- tiny little bugs that cover the blossoms and deform the leaves. I'm not sure if I want to go to the trouble of spraying them with something toxic, or just throw the whole batch out. I have to admit I'm kind of frustrated with them, it's been one problem after another since the spring. I'm going away for a week, so I may try a lazy way of getting rid of the bugs before I decide to toss everything. I've read that if you put the violets in a garbagage bag with a Vapona no-pest strip (or similar product), it will kill off the bugs. If that's not sucessful, then at least they're already packed and ready to go out on the curb (grumble grumble).

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Just stuff

It's been a while, I guess with the excitement of the power blackout last weekend and the aftermath this past week, blogging hasn't been on my radar. The power went out just after 4PM on Thursday. I had the presence of mind to realize that the subways and streetcars would be out of action, and grabbed the first cab I saw. It was a smart move, because moments later it was clear from the radio reports that the blackout was no ordinary event. I got home, pulled out my coleman lantern and candles, and was relatively comfortable until hydro came back on in the wee hours Sunday morning. It's quite a jaw dropping sight to see a sky full of stars in downtown Toronto. I slept on the deck all weekend and did battle with racoons, but then so did the majority of my neighbours. This past week has been....interesting. My office building downtown has taken the call to reduce power quite seriously, so most mornings the lights didn't come on until 10 or 11AM, and were flipped off again at 4PM. Lucky for me my office has a window, but the poor cubicle dwellers were literally in the dark, the only light coming from their computer monitors. To top it off, the air conditioning was turned off, and competition was stiff for the one elevator that was in operation to serve 1500 people. Ah well, it's all part of the adventure, I guess. And a good lesson in how much hydro we do use every day. Anyway, even without the lights I had one very bright spot in my week. Gayla, of You Grow Girl fame came over to take pictures of my balcony garden. We had a great gab about all things gardening, the kind of conversation that only gardeners can have. Non-gardeners flee from this kind of shop talk (like Laird, who kept a low profile in the living room), but we had a wonderful visit and I was sorry when it came to an end. She is tremendously knowledgeable and interesting, and very talented, and I'm looking forward to her upcoming book on urban gardening. We escaped the city this weekend for some hiking along the Bruce trail. At a trailhead we ran into a couple who were accompanied by a truly gorgeous Coonhound, a very unusual dog in these parts. I toyed with the idea of kidnapping him and bringing him home to put to good use on my balcony. When I got home the racoons had done a number on my deck. They'd broken through the plastic cover to my orchid "greenhouse", and tossed my nicest phrags around ruthlessly. My water garden....oh my water garden. :-( Well, what's left of it came inside tonight, to the safety of my bedroom. I wrapped the "greenhouse" with chicken wire, and pulled what's left of the cover over top of it. The finickity dendrobium, which is finally in bloom and will blast it's buds if you so much as look at it the wrong way, was on it's side on the ground, the nicest of the flowers tattered and torn. I cut the spike off. Oh well, there's always next year. Maybe I'll invest in chicken wire in a big way, and just enclose the entire deck in it.

Two blooms for a wedding

It's nearly 1AM, and I'm up late to witness a very special sight on my deck. To my complete surprise and delight, my Queen of the Night, a night-blooming cereus more properly referred to as Epiphyllum oxypetalum, has decided that tonight's the night it's gonna bloom. In the picture (taken in the pitch dark in the wee hours) to the left, the bloom is hanging against the backdrop of my giant spider plant. I'm stunned by how fast the buds matured, I'm sure it took weeks longer the last time it happened. And, there is not just one bloom, there are two. It's a fantastic sight, and the fragrance is almost overwhelming. I plan to sleep outside on the deck tonight, just so I can watch this miracle of beauty unfold. The blooms will be fully open by about 3AM. Which is, oh, midnight in Hawaii. Just about the hour it turns into Wednesday, August 13th on the island, the day and place that my best buddy Meegan and her grand-champion dragonboat racer, Kris, get married in a private ceremony, surrounded by tropical flowers reminiscent of the two blooms on my deck. A good omen. A very good omen. God bless you both, may the wind carry the fragance of the blooms, and my love, all the way to Hawaii to wrap around you both while you say your vows today.

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Invasion of the exotic worms

How could any self-respecting tabloid pass up an opportunity to twist this into a sensational story??? The should be having a "field" day with this: Exotic Worms Killing Off N. American Plants On a serious note, though, it's just one more sad demonstration on how we humans unwittingly introduce species that destroy the natural environment. Ok, worms are not nearly as appealing as rabbits taking over Australia, but it's a story nevertheless!

Arghhhh....racoons

I'm starting to think this blog is turning into more of a rant against racoons than it is about gardening. Last night I closed the glass sliding door onto the deck, but I guess the lock didn't catch. When I woke up this morning, the sliding door was partly open (just enough for a fat racoon to squeeze through), and the dog food container was knocked on it side, kibble all over the kitchen floor. If he'd left it at that, I'd be ok with it, but the dang blasted $#!! critter got into the orchids again. He broke through the zipper of the greenhouse cover, got onto the bottom shelf and created chaos among the phaleonopsis'. All of 'em knocked over, pulled out, chewed on, hydroton pellets spread everywhere. Arghhhh!!!! They were just...starting....to make a comeback.

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Grandmistress Gardener

Every once in a blue moon I think about what it would be like to have an advanced education, or more accurately, one or more of those little titles that go beside your name. Out of a family of four kids, I'm the only one who didn't go to university, which is ironic since I'm smarter than all of 'em. However, at the end of high school, a small spark of rebelion inflamed my compliant little soul, and I skirted the the only designated path to higher education: a business degree. It wasn't exactly a brave act -- I ducked it with the alternative of working for a year or two before going to university. In an office. Oh yeah, I was I hellion. Anyway, that was over 20 years ago, and I've done very well without, never ceasing to be relieved that I've gotten away with it so far. At one particular life cross-road, I came oh so close to applying for special consideration to a masters program in environmental studies. I had a pretty good shot at it, but the intimidating investment required together with an inability to overcome tribal programming ("what kind of a job will THAT get you???") pretty much sunk that particular ambition, and I retreated to the safety of more time served behind a desk. When it comes to titles beside my name, though, here's one I'd feel pretty darned good about: Master Gardener. Regrettably, if you are one, you're not supposed to advertise the fact. I picture it as some kind of secret society, a horticultural version of the Shriners, but instead of funny caps with tassels you have to wear Tilly hats and muddy garden gloves to meetings, and give each other names like Lady Tulip and Grandmistress Buttercup. Our mission would be to do good works by raising money for community gardens and horticultural therapy institutions, and we'd have a bad reputation for unruly behaviour at international orchid shows.

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