Pollenatrix

A great man

I'm sad that Steve Irwin is gone. Of course I haven't watched the Crocodile Hunter since I left Toronto, but from the beginning I was a hooked. In fact, with digital cable and 80+ channels, the only thing I ever watched was nature programs. And Steve Irwin's was the best - he was a such a goof, but a loveable goof, and his passion and enthusiasm was simply irresistable. He made me laugh, and whenever his show was on everything else stopped. For that 1/2 hour I was no longer sitting in front of a TV in a stuffy inner city apartment, I was transported to wherever he was, getting to know the animals along with him.

R.I.P. Steve. You did your job.

Ballsy visitor

Last week Jake (yes, he's still with us) had a bladder infection, and the poor fella had to go out to pee every 1/2 hour or so. It was a warm night, so I decided to set him up outside, and sleep on the living room couch to keep an eye on him. I put some blankets down right outside the French door, clipped the line to his collar, then shut the door most of the way, leaving it open a crack so I would hear him if he had any problems.

He laid down on the blankets and seemed as comfortable as he could be under the circumstances. After a while I started drifting off to sleep myself.

Suddenly the door burst open and he came marching through the living room until he was forceably stopped at the end of the line. It was a very unusual and energetic entrance, but I chalked it up to the quirks of an old dog. But it was pretty clear that he wasn't going back out there voluntarily. I unclipped the line, started rolling it up, and stepped out the door to throw it down on the patio. It landed on a large-ish dark ball on the blankets at my feet. A ball? It was pretty dark, and I scratched my head wondering where the ball came from, especially at that time of night. Then Mr. Ball moved and all at once I understood what it was. A hedgehog!!! It must have been curious about Jake and walked right up to him to investigate, which apparently Jake was having no part of.

I grinned from ear to ear. Though hedgehogs are very common around here, I've never seen one of these little cuties before. It unrolled itself and ambled onto the grass, and for the next 15 minutes I watched it snuffle around for worms and yummy big slugs (go Hedgehog, go!) at my feet.

My lucky night. Jake, by the way, has recovered from both the infection and the ballsy little night visitor.

Garden on two wheels

I did something today that I haven't done in a long time: I went to a garden centre. A BIG garden centre in Munich.

Gartencenter Seebauer - the "best garden centre in Germany" - has called to me ever since I moved here, but life without a car means two things: a 10km one-way trip to go shopping constitutes a major day outing, and the amount of stuff you can buy and bring home is limited to how much you can strap to the back, front, and sides of a bike with bungee cords. But it was worth the ride. Seebauer is a huge and well stocked centre under glass, well merchandised and planned with a good selection of plants, and it reminded me of the old Mandeville Garden Centre in Burnaby B.C. (which I gather is now called GardenWorks). Living in the heart of Munich, my botanical resources have been limited to a home improvement/hardware store nearby, a small plant store near the Viktualienmarkt, and the surprisingly well-stocked garden stores surrounding the graveyard that service the local custom of turning burial plots into miniature showpiece gardens. But none of these little stores have any interesting orchids or decent orchid supplies on offer, and Seebauer, I was sure, would be different.

I don't know what prompted me to go today. Maybe it's the fact that two of my windowshill orchids are blooming for me. Domestic orchids have an interesting reproductive system; they make flowers, the sight of which engages owner to go buy more plants. They're very clever, those orchids.

Anyway, wandering garden centres is always an emotional experience for a true addict, but I was surprised by the memories that surfaced today as I wandered the aisles. I thought with longing of my "grow room" back in Toronto, and the hundreds of orchids I left behind. My thoughts went back to some of the gardens I've planted, like my old house in Vancouver - or more specifically the garden I owned with the house that happened to be on it and that I lived in. And all the other gardens and things that I've planted and grown over the years that I've left behind along the way.

Ahhh, but then there's retail therapy. The store's large orchid section was unfortunately stocked mostly with phalaenopsis', but there were some interesting oncidiums, burragearas, and miltonias. I bought a big fat Burrageara Nelly Isler, a no-name oncidium with a nice white fringe on its purple black heart, a bunch of tulip bulbs ("Triumph Happy Generation") and some decent orchids supplies. It was a satisfying afternoon, but it left me a little homesick and sad.

However, the brisk 10km ride home with orchids popping off the sides of my bike did wonders for the mood. In fact it was so effective, I'm thinking of planting flowers in my my front bike basket and turning it into a little garden. It's my new strategy: A mobile garden on two wheels, so that wherever I go, it comes with me.

They don't give a hoot

Park visitors in a suburb of Vancouver, B.C. are being assaulted by young owls just learning to hunt.

Joggers are in particular peril because the owls will mistake bouncing hair or pony tails for a squirrel, one of their favourite food sources, she said. Anything dangly could draw an attack if the owl mistakes it for a smaller bird or a rodent.

The fact that humans seldom carry squirrels on their heads makes little difference to young owls, Day explained. "Barred owls are not the most brilliant of owls. And these ones are just learning."