Pollenatrix

About that sling thing

The Human Flower Project gave me a nice plug the other day.

Here's a closer look at that "live-sloth sling":

Velcro needs a new category... "So Ugly It's Cute". I wasn't just being a nice guy, either. Cuddling this critter in 100 degree humidity in the middle of a tropical jungle with no fridge or electricity was a classic study in mutualistic symbiosis. The two-toed sloth's metabolism is sssoooo slllooowww that holding him was the next best thing to pressing an ice-cube against my neck.

Hi to Ray and Velcro at Dolphin Quest in Costa Rica!
 

I give up

The Americans have been hassling Canada lately on what seem to be some over-the-top plans for airline security, but after seeing these pictures it's apparent that we all need to throw away any concept we ever had of the meaning of the phrase, "over-the-top":

The first penguin seems to be wondering why this is necessary.  "It's not like I planned to hijack the plane to Antarctica."

Way to go... protecting the skies from birds that can't even fly.

Source: thedenverchannel.com

A flower a day...

One of my favourite sites -- and places -- is the UBC (University of British Columbia) Botanical Garden and Centre for Plant research. Now I can visit every day and see what's blooming thanks to Daniel Mosquin's beautiful macro photography at the site's Botany Photo of the Day.

This one's neat: A tulip species, as it would have been found in the wild way back before the Dutch discovered and went crazy over them. Their enthusiasm triggered an economic boom/bust cycle that made the "dot com" and gold rush days seem sedate by comparison.

There is an easier way

Mike Bush from the Daniel Stowe Botanical Garden in North Carolina, U.S.A. wrote the other day, obviously sympathetic with my energetic battle to divide that beast of a Siberian Iris. He gave me some great advice:

...one of my pet gardening tips is that shovels are cutting tools, too – and must be regularly sharpened to be useful. Simply placing in a vice and working with a file on the ‘upper’ side of the shovel blade, will make your digging and dividing all the easier. If your soils are sandy, the digging tools (small shovels & trowels, too!) will sharpening more often.

Check out more of Mike's very helpful tips at the beautiful DSBG Website.

Mining for gold leaves

Treehugger says:

Gold rush miners might have been better off using plants to find gold rather than panning streams for the precious metal. Early prospectors in Europe used certain weeds as indicator plants that signaled the presence of metal ore.

Apparently, a mule and pick-ax are no longer required tools. Modern day mining techniques include the use of bacteria to extract valuable metals from low-grade ore.

How Stuff Works

I stumbled across a fascinating site today, called "How Stuff Works". Be prepared to lose an hour or two satisfying a curiosity about things you never knew you were curious about...

My favourites: How Sewing Machines Work, How Viagra Works, and How Blinking Works

And in the interest of relevance:
How Composting Works

17 inches of pure pleasure

My darling man brought me home a new laptop the other night... a 17" MacIntosh PowerBook G4. My old laptop had been sending out serious signals that it was on death's doorstep, the most alarming being a column of smoke coming out of the keyboard -- I'd like to say that my fiery prose was responsible, but I'd be lying.

I've never owned a brand-new computer before, I've always made do with hand-me downs and cast-offs from my old company's IT department. This is a beautiful machine, and Laird tells me that my writing and photography is important and deserves good equipment. I know how lucky I am... for the laptop, but most of all for a loving and supportive mate.

Run Away!

Spring is here! The other day Ursula (Mistress of the Garden) and I tackled the perennial beds. In particular, a huge plot of Siberian Iris needed to be divided. The plant was at least 20 years old, maybe 30, and it had probably never been done before. The plant was no longer flowering well, and the job couldn't be put off any longer.

We didn't know what we were getting into. We struggled and strained, jumping on shovels and pitchforks in an attempt to break through the iron mass of roots. An axe would have been a more appropriate tool. In the end, we managed to pull the beast out, and use a saw to hack it into manageable pieces. By the time we got the thing replanted with fresh compost, we were both aching, sweaty, and bone tired.

I've since read somewhere that Siberian Iris resent being moved. Never mind them, I'd say my feelings on the subject are a bit stronger.

So here's my advice to you, dear gardeners:

Siberian Iris = run very hard the other way.

Gardening memories

A lovely -- really lovely -- article about gardening from the CS Monitor:

Every spring, when the last patches of snow finally surrender to the sun and buds begin swelling with new life, I think about an unusual gift my two grandmothers passed along to their grandchildren. It was the gift of gardening - or, to put it less elegantly, the gift of dirt under our fingernails. In their separate ways, without realizing it, they imparted a love of flowers, quietly teaching us the wonders of seeds and bulbs, soil and water and light.

I got to thinking about who gave me this gift when I was a child: my Mom, who was and still is a wonderful gardener herself. I still remember when she helped me prepare and plant my first garden along the fence in the backyard. My dad would call me, "Mary Mary quite contrary", after the nursery rhyme, and every time I tended the little patch I'd stare hard at the plants and mutter under my breath, "grow! grow!" (note -- I still do that). Eventually, the packet of seeds miraculously grew into great big green plants with beautiful flowers.

Then one day, the new minister of the United Church moved into the house on the other side of the fence. They had a little boy, named David, and a huge black Lab, named Goliath. I came out to water my flowers, and to my horror found my dog Rags nose to nose in a squabble with Goliath through the fence. They were fiercely barking and growling, hackles up and pawing and clawing the ground like bulls in the ring. Earth flew. Flowers flew. I yelled and cried and pounded Rags on the head with the watering can, but it was too late: My little patch of flowers was flattened. I cried and cried as little David looked at me in disgust through the fence, wondering why I had interrupted the show and was making such a fuss over flowers. Rags turned and gave me a big apologetic doggy smile, his tongue flapping up and down against the side of his face as I continued to yell at him through my tears. I was livid. Goliath slinked away

Mom came out and surveyed the scene with dismay. It took a while to comfort me while she gently explained that no, the flowers couldn't be taped back together. In retrospect I think she was trying very hard not to smile.

That was my first garden.

Royal Wedding

The Human Flower Project speculates on the meaning of the Lily of the Valley and Primroses that made up Camilla's wedding bouquet.

The Language of Flowers says that lilies of the valley, with both “deadly poison and healing powers” symbolized not happiness but “making the right choice.”

Yeah, I watched. Who didn't? The royal wedding held all the fascination of a car accident. It has been reported that Charles toasted his bride at the reception, saluting her for "enduring what no-one should have to live through".

Huh. At least she lived.