Lopping My Yard Into Perfection

It rained last night, a lovely surprise. Even better, it rained enough that it gave me an extra day off from watering. It also rained enough that the ground is too wet for me to be clomping around on that sodden clay soil to dig up weeds. (I’ve been pretty much keeping up with weeds that I can reach from my grassy areas, but the deep garden areas are more difficult to access, especially when the ground is muddy and slippery.)

So, no gardening work today! It’s just as well — I’ve been in a lopping mood lately, and it’s probably not fair to take it out on my garden even more than I have. (Luckily, the bush I lopped off almost to the ground a couple of weeks ago is starting to green up. Whew!)

My raised garden started out in late spring as a freshly planted petunia patch, to match the petunia container gardens dispersed throughout my yard. Then the self-seeded moss rose started growing, which made a nice counterpoint to the petunias. Then the self-seeded marigolds got going. I wasn’t sure what to do about any of it. It ruined my matching-petunia-gardens theme, but I thought those other plants deserved a chance, so I just let it all go, though as more marigolds took hold, I thinned them and moved the seedlings to other places in my yard. Unfortunately, those pretty frilly marigold seedlings that were left in the raised garden ended up being shrubbery. No exaggeration. Some of those plants were almost two-feet tall and almost that big around. That most were only twelve to eighteen inches didn’t make them any less of a shrub. (To give you an idea of the size of the plants, all the marigolds in the accompanying photo are from a section of a single plant.)

Anyway, those “shrubs” kept growing and growing until just about all I could see of my raised garden were marigolds. They’re not my favorite flower, though judiciously spread through my gardens to fill in blank spots, they help brighten my fall yard. But a whole sea of marigolds? Too much of a sort-of-good thing.

Irritated by the marigold takeover, but not totally willing to yank out all the plants (I’m going to have company in three weeks, and they are looking forward to seeing my “park,” so I want it to look as good as possible), I did the next best thing. At least I hope it is. At any rate, it was the only solution I could think of — I chopped the heads off those plants. Now all the plants in the raised garden are the same height. With any luck, the puny petunias and stringy moss rose will be able to make a comeback now that they aren’t being buried beneath the huge crowns of the marigold shrubs.

If they marigolds die, I’ll pull them up, which is what I would have done if I weren’t so determined that my yard look its best. It will be interesting to see what happens. Perhaps they might even grow a few new flowers.

Meantime, the whole yard is heaving a sigh of relief. Not only are they drinking up the moisture and basking in the relative of cool of this after-rain day, they are thrilled that I’m not out there with my pruning shears, trying to lop my yard into perfection.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

We Are Not the Same

I mentioned a few days ago about no-showing contractors and handypeople (just to be gender neutral, even though I haven’t found a single handywoman around here who does the work of a handyman), but to my astonishment, the guy I’d hired to clean my gutters did show up! He had kept me informed — mostly — about his no shows, so that was a point in his favor. He and his hired hand did a great job cleaning out the gutters, so that was another point in his favor. He’s also a personable fellow, so that is yet another point and he gets still another point for his willingness to do any job, no matter how big or how small. Plenty of points for me to keep his card handy.

When he was here, I mentioned a few things that needed to be done that workers hadn’t show up to do, such as filling in the cracks in the stucco, and a few things I hadn’t yet asked anyone to do, such as repainting the peeling trim on the eaves, so when the weather cools down, he’ll be back to do some more work.

The morning turned out great, especially since he loved my car and my yard. (Those are two ways to always get on my good side!)

The most amazing thing was when he and his helper gathered up the tarp and moved from one side of the house to the other. As you can see from the photo below, there is a knee-high drop-off on the ramp to the right of the door. They strode up the ramp that’s parallel to the door and kept on walking even when I yelped that there was a drop-off. The guy called over his shoulder, “I see it,” and kept on walking. The two of them walked off the ledge and over the flowers as if they weren’t even there. I was going to say they walked off the ledge with the ease of someone stepping over a crack, but even so, sometimes people hesitate a fraction of a second before stepping over an uneven crack. But these guys didn’t pause for even that fraction a second. There wasn’t even a hitch in their step when they landed. They just kept on walking.

Me? I stood there with my mouth open. And when I could talk, all I managed to say was, “That’s not fair!”

Admittedly, he was half my age, but even so, it seemed like an astounding feat. I could walk off a curb like that when I was young, but something that steep? I didn’t know such a thing was possible for anyone, but apparently so. It does prove to me, though, that contrary to what people want us to believe, we are definitely not the same.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

No Shows

I had two or three days in a row where I didn’t have to do any outside work because of rain. I’d scheduled Monday as the day to start up again, but someone was supposed to come clean my gutters, and I didn’t want him to have to deal with wet ground while he was on a ladder or a scaffold, so I crossed my fingers and hoped the yard would be okay another day without care.

And yes, it was fine yesterday morning when I went out to do the chores I should have done on Monday. The respite must have been good for me because I was able to do a lot of cleanup work, like trimming bushes and pulling up a few weeds.

It seems as if we’re back to high heat and no rain, so there won’t be many more respite days for a while. But that’s okay. August is nearing the end, and though September around here usually remains hot, there’s no doubt cooler days are coming. If nothing else, the sun time is less and will continue to grow less for the next four months, so that leaves less time for plants to get heat stroke.

So, I’m okay and my yard is okay, but my gutters aren’t. What’s with people? Two years ago, my contractor promised he’d stop by to clean the gutters, but he never did. Last year, I hired another fellow who’d been doing occasional work for me to clean the gutters, but he never showed up to do the work. Last week, when I was out watering, a guy who was working next door came over to me and introduced himself. He said he was certified for all sorts of work, so if I needed anything, he’d be glad to do it. I asked about the gutters, and explained about the others who had never showed up. He said, “Sure no problem. I can do that. Is tomorrow first thing in the morning okay?” Of course I said yes.

The next morning came and went with no sign of him, though later he did stop by to explain that he’d been hired to do some emergency cleanup after the big storm we had, but that he would be here Monday. For sure.

But he was a no show on Monday. I thought maybe he’d come when I was outside working yesterday, but that was another day of no showing.

I imagine someday he’ll show up, but then, I imagine a lot of things. Luckily, with as little rain as we get, the gutter problem shouldn’t really matter, though I don’t like seeing twigs and such sticking out from those gutters. Too bad there isn’t a long-handled gutter cleaner so I could do the work myself without having to get up on a ladder. Although I’d sworn off ladder climbing, I did tack up a shingle that blew off my gazebo because the guy who promised to fix it never came. But that was a short ladder (a step stool, actually) so it wasn’t much of a problem. But cleaning gutters? Not for me. I’ll just wait until . . .

Well, I’ll just wait until he shows up, and if he doesn’t, next year I’ll hire someone else who probably won’t show up, either.

I did find one surprise in my yard today — a couple of daylilies! I thought they were finished for the year, but apparently not.

At least something knows how to show up!

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Feeling Lazy

It rained a couple of nights in a row, with just a faint misting the third night (last night), which is nice for me, since I got a break from working, nice for the yard since it managed to recuperate from the long heat wave we had, and nice for the flowers.

Although there hasn’t been much color in the yard lately, the rain managed to bring some flowers to life. I generally don’t like sunflowers — well, I like the flowers, I just don’t like huge flowers that tower over and intimidate me. Nor do I like having to deal with the leftover trunk-thick stalks. But the sunflowers were in a package of wildflower seeds my sister had gifted me, and since she’s coming next month, I thought I should make an effort to grow those seeds.

What I ended up with were some cosmos and a bunch of sunflowers. I’d planted them in an area that usually lies fallow in the summer, though this year, I’d also I planted a few food plants and surrounded them with marigolds and lilliput zinnias I’d thinned out of other gardens, again, because of my sister’s visit. (I wanted the place to look as good as possible.) It turned out to be a jungle, but a fun one, especially since buried in all the foliage is a pumpkin the size of a basketball.

Of course, the rain made other things grow, such as the grass, but with heavy due and a ground still moist from the rain, I need to wait a bit to mow. And of course — weeds. Always weeds. I suppose I could go out, brave the mosquitoes, and do some work, but these days off have left me feeling lazy. Oh, well. There’s always tomorrow.

And as I have discovered, it’s often better not to do today what you can put off until tomorrow.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Reflection of My Life

Maria Rodale, whoever that is, wrote: Gardens are microcosms of our approach to living.

[I had to look her up since the only Rodale name I knew was Rodale Press that published books on health and gardening and other such topics, and it turns out she is one of those Rodales.]

If she’s right about gardens being microcosm of our approach to living, I wonder what my garden says about me, and if it truly is a reflection of my life. I tend to think it is. Since I am always balanced now (or rather, I try to be), not swinging too far from center emotionally, politically, or any other “ally,” it stands to reason that I would all unknowingly approach my garden the same way. My lawn is carefully tended and groomed, mowed and (sometimes) weeded though not, perhaps, as often as they should be. Some of my garden spots are also carefully tended, yet others are pretty much left to do what they want. For example, I planted petunias in my raised garden, and first they were overtaken by self-planted moss rose (portulaca) and then both the moss roses and petunias were overtaken by marigolds. I’m too soft-hearted to rip out those marigolds, and anyway, who am I to say what gets to live and die? (Though admittedly, I do try to roust a lot of the weeds that grow in my space.) And so, poor things, they are left to duke it out on their own.

It’s not a bad way to garden in a place that’s inhospitable to many plants because the things that grow well here tend to do very well, which is why I have so many purple magnus echinacea and red ice plant — they spread. On the other hand, the New England aster I was so proud of at the beginning, don’t do well at all anymore. They don’t like the heat, they don’t like the soil, and they especially don’t like the pH of this soil. (Like most soil in Colorado, it’s highly alkaline, a gift the primordial ocean left behind when it receded from the state.) Every year I cut those poor asters back since that’s supposed to help keep the plants from going brown; every year I think of maybe potting them or doing something else to make them thrive, and every year I just let them be.

My garden is also a reflection of my need to learn as well as my rebellious streak, where I don’t necessarily want to do what the experts suggest, so mainly I learn by trial and error. As I have always done. (Which is probably why I have an enormous and eclectic store of knowledge in my head while also being naïve about many things others seem to know instinctively.)

Most people, at a casual glance, would not be able to connect any of that garden approach with my mostly laissez faire attitude toward life (lately, that attitude is being drowned out by my sadness at the way communism is creeping into the country, but I still mostly try to go along to get along). For anyone who’s paying attention, my yard does say one thing: an old woman lives here. When Jeff and I would see a nicely kept up yard in any of the areas we lived, we always knew it was taken care of by a retiree because no one else seems to have the time or inclination.

And that, too, says something about me — unabashedly accepting my age.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

End of the Heat Wave

Today is the last day of a heat wave, and I am celebrating by . . . well, by talking about it. That’s not much of a celebration, but then, the end of the heatwave isn’t much to celebrate because out here on the plains, we still have another month or two of scorching weather. And anyway, the end of this particular extreme weather week might bring the temperatures down by fifteen degrees, but it’s still hot — low 90s, though it might dip down into the high 80s. There’s also a chance of rain in a few days, but I’m not counting on it. The weather folks seem to do okay on forecasting temperatures in this area, but they are so often wrong about precipitation.

Still, it would be nice to get some rain — we certainly need it. And I need a day off from working outside. Of course, if we do get rain, that day off will be followed by a massive influx of weeds, but oh, well. It all evens out in the end, I guess.

Surprisingly for this time of year, my yard is still mostly green, though there is a weird patch of brown grass that I can only imagine came from some animal’s excretions — a skunk maybe. They’ve been active around here, at least according to the smell. Luckily, they are a nocturnal creature, so I don’t encounter them, which I would not like at all.

There are a few garden spots of flowers, which is nice. Oddly, a couple of the chrysanthemums are starting to bloom. I thought lower temperatures were their instigation, but apparently not. Maybe it’s the lessening of the light that makes them bloom. Or it could be that since they started growing earlier this year, it’s simply time. Either way, I’m looking forward to seeing a bit more color in my yard. Right now, most of the color is in the front where I have two semi-circular flower beds filled with mini zinnias. I thought they’d be a sure winner for those areas since they love the sun, but apparently they don’t like as much heat as they’ve been getting because I’ve had a rough time keeping them going. But today, they are pretty, so there’s that.

Well, I’ve stalled long enough. It’s time for me to brave the heat and go out to water the zinnias and anything else that’s struggling.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Human Motivations

I read an article where the author mentioned two powerful human motivations: the need to belong and the need to reduce uncertainty. He was using these motivations to explain why so many young white liberals are voting for communist/socialistic candidates. Apparently, that party gives them the identity and the certainty they need without their ever having to look beyond the belonging to perhaps a different truth than what they “feel” is true. If that’s the case, I can understand the young falling for the fallacy of getting everything for free, but apparently, in a few of the primaries where the socialists have won, even older white liberals have voted for the so-called socialist.

This need to belong is also the reason (rather a reason) why the leftist media so gleefully touts the avalanche of new people joining that party (the membership stands at little over 100,000 which is not much of an avalanche, and yet their wins make it seem so). The reason this is so damaging is that people want to feel as if they are winners, so they jump where they think the winners are, especially if those winners promise free everything. It explains, too, why people don’t always vote for who they really want — they vote for who they think will win. I suppose that’s part of the need for certainty and belonging. If the person they vote for wins, it validates them. If the person loses, it leaves them feeling uncertain about themselves.

You’d think that after a certain age, people would have learned to live with both a feeling of not belonging and a sense of uncertainty, but apparently not. For me, that acceptance came during my years of grief after Jeff died. Since he was my home, and since we did everything together, being left alone catapulted me into free fall, not knowing who I was, where I was supposed to be, what I was supposed to be doing. I still don’t know any of those things, and despite my being settled in my own home, I still feel uncertain and alienated at times. Working in a garden helps with accepting that reality, where every day is a lesson in unbelonging (a garden belongs to itself; a gardener is merely a caretaker since so much is beyond human control) and a lesson in uncertainty (there is no guarantee that a seed will grow, that a plant will survive the weather conditions, that hordes of insects won’t come to feast).

I also see another powerful human motivation at play in the political arena — a need to be agreed with. If you belong to a group that validates you, you never have to deal with unbelonging, uncertainly, or being disagreed with. Although I have come to an accommodation with the first two motivations for human behavior, the third is something I still struggle with. Most of what I know has come from serious study, and it tends to irk me when people just wave that off because they “feel” differently, but it’s their prerogative to feel however they want based on their own experiences. I am learning (trying to learn) to simply let their disagreement pass me by, realizing that that what others think has nothing to do with me, but feeling it inside where it counts is something else.

Still, I wish that those understandable motivations aren’t leading so many people toward an economic policy that has never worked before and certainly can’t work today, because if it ever succeeds, then what they think will matter tremendously, no matter what I think.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Blowing a Fuse

Does anyone say “blew a fuse” anymore, either referring to an electric control box or losing one’s temper? Probably not. Well, except for me, and even my use isn’t strictly accurate.

Last night, I flipped a light switch. The bulb went out in a flash and blew a fuse. Or tripped a switch. Or broke the circuit. Or did whatever things do nowadays to make the electricity not work.

I checked the erstwhile fuse box that’s on the wall going down to the basement, but those switches still were in their proper position. It was raining heavily (yay for the rain!!), and dark, besides, so I couldn’t access the main breaker box. For some reason unknown to me (code requirement, maybe?), when the electricity in this 98-year-old house was modernized, the new main control box was set outside. The first insurance inspector I had said to put a lock on the box to prevent anyone messing with it, which I did. It only prevents casual passersby from accessing the box since a lock is so easily cut, but at least it makes me feel as if I am doing the right thing.

Since there was nothing I could do about the situation, and since I was too tired to worry, I went to sleep.

This morning, first thing, I changed the burnt-out bulb, which was no easy task. The screws holding up the globe light fixture hadn’t been touched in perhaps ten years, and I was balanced on a three-step stepstool, but I was careful and managed to get the cover off. Then I had to sort through my lightbulbs (another task that needed the stepstool) to find the proper one.

When those tasks were safely concluded, I found the keys to the control panel, went out and finally flipped the switch.

Such a simple and silly thing, and yet I feel as if I accomplished a monumental task, as if I were sorceress magically creating light, especially since I don’t remember ever having to change a lightbulb in an enclosed fixture. I must have at some point or other because it seemed familiar. But, whatever . . . now I have light!

 

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Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Decor . . . Um

Daily writing prompt
What’s your home decoration style?

I thought I’d be clever and try to find some way to link décor and décor . . . um (decorum, get it?), but I really couldn’t find a fit since décor is about one’s things and decorum is about one’s actions. If my house did have the ability to act in good taste rather that simply being in good taste then, yes, the two are linked.

Still — décor? Um . . . what do I know about décor? Not much. My decorating style is whatever was donated or what I could scrounge, and yet somehow, it all fits together in a pleasant, comfortable, and inviting way.

That’s the extent of my decorating style. If left to myself, I’d probably be living in an empty house with a single furnished room: my office. And that certainly doesn’t have any sort of décor — just tables, and chairs and a day bed that I purchased and put together by myself. (I’d probably need help if I were trying to assemble the bed today. It was heavy and the pieces were awkward, but somehow I did it. Whew!)

It is interesting, though, that even without any planning, my living room ended up being so inviting. It’s impersonal enough (I don’t like pictures on the walls and I have a minimum of gadgets collecting dust) that people feel at home from the minute they walk in the door. Supposedly, too many photos and such screams “my place!” to visitors, keeping them at arm’s length, which is why realtors have sellers remove those personal items.

Or maybe not, I don’t know. All I know is whatever my decorating style, it works for me and whoever happens to stop by. (And yes, I know the mat in front of the door is not centered, but it’s where it needs to be for when I enter the house.)

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One

Promises

Daily writing prompt
What’s a promise you made to yourself that you’ve actually kept?

I don’t really make promises to myself, at least not using those words. I do wake each day with the idea of trying to do better than I did the day before at taking care of myself, such as eating real food or doing stretching exercises if nothing else. I sometimes played around with New Year’s resolutions, though those resemble my daily betterment intentions rather than any resolution or promise to myself. Oddly, my unintentional resolution of daily blogging (I never decided to do it, never promised myself I would, just started doing it) is still in effect. 208 days and counting!

The closest I ever came to promising myself anything was after Jeff died and I became determined to be spontaneous. The only time in my life I was spontaneous was right after I met him. His very presence in the world made the world feel friendly, and I felt comfortable taking chances. Over the years, I settled back into my worrisome self. Our lives became constrained by his health, our finances, and various other matters beyond our control. He told me once it bothered him that our shared life had destroyed my spontaneity — but he never understood that he was the one responsible for whatever spontaneity I had developed to begin with.

I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life mourning, didn’t want to spend my life regretting that my shared life was ended, didn’t want to . . . well, I didn’t want to do a lot of things that I had to do, such as deal with the pain and go from there. Through it all, though, I kept that determination to be spontaneous as a way to honor him. And to honor myself.

I did many new things and took many chances — visiting museums, taking dance classes, hunting for wild poppy preserves, exploring the desert, hiking — though oddly, a lot of my spontaneity came with preparation and planning. For example, I couldn’t just start driving cross-country trip on a whim — I had to get both myself and my car into shape, stock up on the necessary emergency and camping equipment, notify people of my intentions in case they wanted me to stop by, and so many other niggling details. And yet, despite the planning, most of the trip was an exercise in spontaneity — driving how far I wanted each day, taking side trips when the signs beckoned me off the main road, accepting invitations from people I barely knew.

Even buying my house was as spontaneous as such a purchase can be. I got an unsolicited email from a real estate website saying that they had a house I might like. I did like it. And I bought it sight unseen. (Though I did have a realtor and two inspectors look at it for me.) Although my life has settled into a comfortable stay-at-homeness, and although I still have to live more or less according to a gardening schedule, my life is mostly unplanned. I do what I wish when I wish it, which most often means not doing much of anything, which I’m okay with, although oddly, yesterday I suddenly felt like cleaning house, so that was my big spontaneity of the day.

I suppose, in the end, I did make a promise to myself — that plan to be spontaneous — and I did keep it.

***

Pat Bertram is the author of Grief: The Inside Story – A Guide to Surviving the Loss of a Loved One