The worst thing about living in an apartment is that I can't compost my kitchen waste. Well, I could spend a small fortune on a system that could go on my deck, but that seems more wasteful than putting kitchen waste into the disposal, as I do now. I'm hoping to get a community garden plot next spring and put in a compost pile as part of my garden. But, until then, I can't compost.
I do fantasize about a world in which other apartment dwellers in my complex would join me in wanting to garden and we could not only save our kitchen waste for good use, but make small garden plots here on the grounds of our apartment.
But then I remember that some people can't hang on to wrappers until they find a waste can, but drop them in the hallways. And other people can't pick up their dog's waste. Just as people like that make life in general less pleasant for the rest of us, people like that would make gardening iffy, I'm afraid. Children and dogs would go trampling through newly planted beds, or if plants actually grew and bore fruit, theft would be a problem.
Far better to wait for an opportunity to have a community garden plot among others who value the endeavor, knowing as they do how much effort and love is involved.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Consignment Stores
One of my favorite consignment acquisitions is my bird vest from a shop in Austin, TX. For years, I've visited consignment stores anywhere I go, usually finding something wonderful or unusual and, since it's a consignment shop, cheap.
I don't know any longer whether I most enjoy how green reusing is, or whether it's the cheapness, or whether it's the unusual that most appeals to me, but nobody else has a bird vest like mine.
I also like hunting for the consignment shops. Even in the Twin Cities, I'll get wind of a new place I've never been to before and then I'll have to go find it. Of course, it'll be located in some strange strip mall in a suburb I've never been in before. Or it'll be in a house turned into a store in St. Paul, where I invariably get lost. Mapquest helps a little bit. But getting lost may be part of the ongoing charm of the hunt.
Right now, I'd like to find two things: a pair of brown leather boots and a plant stand. But my experience tells me, I'll find a treasure I'm not looking for. That's what my bird vest was. I may have been looking for a sweater that day or hoping to find a piece or two of hand-thrown pottery. I don't remember what I may have thought I wanted to find. Because what I did find was the bird vest and after that all other delights vanished. I had my treasure.
I don't know any longer whether I most enjoy how green reusing is, or whether it's the cheapness, or whether it's the unusual that most appeals to me, but nobody else has a bird vest like mine.
I also like hunting for the consignment shops. Even in the Twin Cities, I'll get wind of a new place I've never been to before and then I'll have to go find it. Of course, it'll be located in some strange strip mall in a suburb I've never been in before. Or it'll be in a house turned into a store in St. Paul, where I invariably get lost. Mapquest helps a little bit. But getting lost may be part of the ongoing charm of the hunt.
Right now, I'd like to find two things: a pair of brown leather boots and a plant stand. But my experience tells me, I'll find a treasure I'm not looking for. That's what my bird vest was. I may have been looking for a sweater that day or hoping to find a piece or two of hand-thrown pottery. I don't remember what I may have thought I wanted to find. Because what I did find was the bird vest and after that all other delights vanished. I had my treasure.
Monday, October 26, 2009
October
October is usually my favorite month. Temperatures are perfect for outdoor chores and exploration. The sun causes red and yellow leaves to glow and evergreens begin their subtle color changes. Perennials become architectural and only the hardiest annuals persist, though many roses are undaunted, looking lovelier than in summer when they were under attack from fungus and insects.
But this autumn (2009) has been dismal. Cold, gloomy wet day after day after day. Saturday, October 3, Larkyn and I went out for our morning walk to find ice on hard surfaces and snow on the grass. At 8:15 all the green ash leaves fell off the trees simultaneously. Later in the morning, the ginkgos dropped all their leaves too. Not gold leaves, mind you, green leaves lacking any fall color.
Sunday morning, the snow was still around. The wind was still bitter and mean. The day never brightened. At midweek, it snowed again. Then it warmed just enough so the constant precipitation was rain. The weekend of the 17-18th was pleasant, the only nice days all month. The third week of the month was cold, dark, and rainy again.
Now starting week four and heading toward Halloween, I'm hoping for a better November, a mild sunny one that brings out the Box Elder Bugs and holds off bundling up in heavy parkas for a few more weeks. Today a milky sun has appeared, giving me some hope.
But this autumn (2009) has been dismal. Cold, gloomy wet day after day after day. Saturday, October 3, Larkyn and I went out for our morning walk to find ice on hard surfaces and snow on the grass. At 8:15 all the green ash leaves fell off the trees simultaneously. Later in the morning, the ginkgos dropped all their leaves too. Not gold leaves, mind you, green leaves lacking any fall color.
Sunday morning, the snow was still around. The wind was still bitter and mean. The day never brightened. At midweek, it snowed again. Then it warmed just enough so the constant precipitation was rain. The weekend of the 17-18th was pleasant, the only nice days all month. The third week of the month was cold, dark, and rainy again.
Now starting week four and heading toward Halloween, I'm hoping for a better November, a mild sunny one that brings out the Box Elder Bugs and holds off bundling up in heavy parkas for a few more weeks. Today a milky sun has appeared, giving me some hope.
Monday, October 12, 2009
My Tree
One of the things I like most about my apartment is the ash tree just beyond my deck, making me feel like I live in a tree house. It also keeps me from seeing the apartments across the yard from me, a lovely way to attain privacy. Since I like to write out on the deck, the tree also gives me shade on warm days. Finally, the tree is home to a mourning dove, squirrels, finches, sparrows, and possibly robins, all of which provide me with entertainment.
But today all the leaves, not even having turned color, fell. Three things conspired to bring about this odd occurrence: first, the very dry conditions going back to the spring of 2007. Next, the precipitous temperature drop last night, going down into the mid-20's and remaining that low for a number of hours. Finally, the strong wind whipping the tree violently to and fro.
Now my tree is bare. I can see the building across the yard. The squirrels' nest is clearly visible in the top tree branches. Many, many months will pass before the leaves and their kind protection return.
But today all the leaves, not even having turned color, fell. Three things conspired to bring about this odd occurrence: first, the very dry conditions going back to the spring of 2007. Next, the precipitous temperature drop last night, going down into the mid-20's and remaining that low for a number of hours. Finally, the strong wind whipping the tree violently to and fro.
Now my tree is bare. I can see the building across the yard. The squirrels' nest is clearly visible in the top tree branches. Many, many months will pass before the leaves and their kind protection return.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Creeping Charlie 2
When I was in college taking creative writing workshops, the most common short story featured a survivor as protagonist. Usually, this was a young person who had an epiphany over surviving his or her disfunctional family. The story began with the confused and incompetent young person, perhaps unable to commit to a relationship with a would-be partner. Next there would be a flashback or two, perhaps to the young person's parents interacting. Then the epiphany. The story would end, perhaps with the relationship progressing or, more ironically, with the relationship ending, a double survival. Back in the day, irony was even more valued in creative writing workshops than stories about survivors.
I was reminded of all this as I thought about why I admire creeping Charlie. Creeping Charlie is a survivor. A perennial ground cover with a matlike growth habit, creeping Charlie puts out runners, roots, and then the new runner plant puts out runners and roots. It advances vigorously, especially in thinning grass such as the grass trying to grow in shade, or grass suffering from drought. Creeping Charlie also blooms and then drops tiny seeds into the ground early enough in the growing season to germinate even more new plants. Creeping Charlie eludes eradication, resists control, goes on its own merry way almost all the time. If a plant could thumb its nose, creeping Charlie would.
I admire creeping Charlie's tenacity. I also think it's an attractive plant, emerald green and lush from spring until autumn, with a lovely blue flower in May. In the heat of summer, when turf grass toys with dormancy unless provided with copious amounts of water, creeping Charlie is sprightly and green, water or none. Under fall's fallen brown leaves, creeping Charlie is still green. I think it's green under a foot of snow. And regarless of what kind of winter we have, there's creeping Charlie, back again for a new season, in the spring. That's a survivor!
I was reminded of all this as I thought about why I admire creeping Charlie. Creeping Charlie is a survivor. A perennial ground cover with a matlike growth habit, creeping Charlie puts out runners, roots, and then the new runner plant puts out runners and roots. It advances vigorously, especially in thinning grass such as the grass trying to grow in shade, or grass suffering from drought. Creeping Charlie also blooms and then drops tiny seeds into the ground early enough in the growing season to germinate even more new plants. Creeping Charlie eludes eradication, resists control, goes on its own merry way almost all the time. If a plant could thumb its nose, creeping Charlie would.
I admire creeping Charlie's tenacity. I also think it's an attractive plant, emerald green and lush from spring until autumn, with a lovely blue flower in May. In the heat of summer, when turf grass toys with dormancy unless provided with copious amounts of water, creeping Charlie is sprightly and green, water or none. Under fall's fallen brown leaves, creeping Charlie is still green. I think it's green under a foot of snow. And regarless of what kind of winter we have, there's creeping Charlie, back again for a new season, in the spring. That's a survivor!
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Creeping Charlie
The weed I'm most frequently asked to help eradicate is Creeping Charlie. Many people feel a deep antipathy, verging on the neurotic, toward the plant. Not only are they willing to dump poison all over it, they are often seriously considering suing neighbors who are making no effort to destroy their Creeping Charlie which is creeping closer and closer to the shared property line. I imagine these people standing in their yards in the evening, watching the lawn, perhaps bringing a yard stick to measure the progress Creeping Charlie has made while they were at work. When they come to me, often carrying a sample in a ziplock bag, they are desperate, as though being attacked by an evil power from a previously unidentified planet.
I want to say to them, it's not about Creeping Charlie, you know. But of course I can't. I lead them to the Weed Free Zone, the Fertilome company's magic Creeping Charlie elixir. It costs about twice what other somewhat similar formulations sell for and does a good job of getting rid of most broadleaf weeds for a year or so. Some people buy two or three quarts of concentrate, apparently believing that they should stock up, have a six year supply on hand. Other people, not making eye contact with, choose the smallest jar, mumbling about giving it a try, waiting to see, as though believing that Creeping Charlie has mutated since Weed Free Zone was invented. The new, improved Creeping Charlie is invincible.
Some Saturdays during late July and August, peak weed season, I run out of Weed Free Zone about mid-afternoon. Customers come looking for it and, not finding it, finding instead an empty spot on the shelf, express despair, as though not only are there no other garden centers that sell Weed Free Zone, but my garden center will never get more, and the Creeping Charlie will fill every yard in the area, exterminating grass. I offer to take their name and phone number to call them the minute I see the new supply arrive. Some rejoice, like a nearly-drowned person pulled safely to land. Others wave their hands no. No, no, no. The Creeping Charlie will take over. It's inevitable. No amount of good customer service can halt inevitability.
I want to say to them, it's not about Creeping Charlie, you know. But of course I can't. I lead them to the Weed Free Zone, the Fertilome company's magic Creeping Charlie elixir. It costs about twice what other somewhat similar formulations sell for and does a good job of getting rid of most broadleaf weeds for a year or so. Some people buy two or three quarts of concentrate, apparently believing that they should stock up, have a six year supply on hand. Other people, not making eye contact with, choose the smallest jar, mumbling about giving it a try, waiting to see, as though believing that Creeping Charlie has mutated since Weed Free Zone was invented. The new, improved Creeping Charlie is invincible.
Some Saturdays during late July and August, peak weed season, I run out of Weed Free Zone about mid-afternoon. Customers come looking for it and, not finding it, finding instead an empty spot on the shelf, express despair, as though not only are there no other garden centers that sell Weed Free Zone, but my garden center will never get more, and the Creeping Charlie will fill every yard in the area, exterminating grass. I offer to take their name and phone number to call them the minute I see the new supply arrive. Some rejoice, like a nearly-drowned person pulled safely to land. Others wave their hands no. No, no, no. The Creeping Charlie will take over. It's inevitable. No amount of good customer service can halt inevitability.
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