The Gardeners Anonymous Blog

My Husband’s Been Abducted By Aliens

My husband six months ago                       

Today was the last straw.

My husband actually told me that he was going on a bike ride. Now, you must understand that he hasn’t been on his bike since before we were married.

I believe that an alien pod arrived approximately ten weeks ago. I think it landed somewhere near my husband while he slept. At which time, a weird alien metamorphosis took place. My husband was sucked out of his human shell and replace by an alien that looks just like him.

I started to take notice of strange events. First he told me was going to go on a diet to lose forty-six pounds. I said, “why do you want to look like, Gandhi?” This guy didn’t have forty-six pounds to lose but lose but he did. He has already lost a total of thirty pounds. Thirty pounds.

His diet isn’t like the ones I’ve been on—no, this is different. He didn’t drink himself into a stupor and then vomit for two days straight, swearing off drinking and food and anything else that comes close to touching his lips.

He didn’t choose my other favorite either: kissing my kids a lot and making them breathe on me when they have the flu, so I can catch it and vomit for two days swearing off anything that comes near my mouth for another three days.

He also didn’t try the one I used last year—an abscessed tooth followed closely by a thyroidectomy. I lost ten pounds on that one.

My alien husband’s diet had to do with blood sugar stabilization and eating healthy. He doesn’t eat carbs or refined sugar. My husband?

No carbs?

Come on, Alienman, don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. I may not know how to do space travel but I know there is no way my husband is going to give up carbs.

My alien husband says he doesn’t even get hungry or crave sugar.

Right.

Another weird thing that happened after the suspicious weight loss is gardening. That’s right; Alienman was leaving his laptop computer for more than thirty minutes at a time and was working in my garden.

The weeding was great, but then all of a sudden he was planting, planting in my garden. Planting things he had grown from seed–himself. This really made me suspicious. Some of the seedlings have really big leaves. He claims they’re pumpkins, but I suspect they are more pods.

I’m watching him secretly from my bedroom window. He is in my garden right now planting pods using his new skinny human body. He looks pretty good.

For an alien.

My husband after the unfortunate pod incident  

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Columbine Orgy

Before the season passes, I thought I would share some photos of my columbine. They went rather crazy this year.

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High Hand Nursery: The Anal Retentive Place

I’ve been to many nurseries–in my home town, in the next town, in all the surrounding towns. I go to nurseries when I travel, nurseries when I’m on vacation, nurseries on Mother’s Day, on Father’s Day (I can always think of some ruse). Oh, and the plants in nurseries are so plump and full and lousy with blooms I just want to rub them all over my body. 

O.K., well maybe I going too far, but come on, you plant addicts, you know what I mean.

I was recently visiting a couple of good friends in the Sacramento area:

Friend #1

Friend #2

Friend #1 and #2 together at High Hand Nursery.

These two girlfriends, knowing that I have a fondness for greenery, took me to their favorite nursery in a little town called Loomis. Loomis was once the second largest fruit-shipping depot in Placer County.

The residents of Loomis show their concern for keeping a small-town feel by the great number of historic structures they have preserved.

High Hand Nursery is located in one of these structures. The place used to be High Hand Fruit Growers, one of the two main fruit packing and shipping plants in Loomis.

I like to refer to High Hand Nursery as the anal retentive nursery. Goodness, it was like Disneyland in a non-corporate way. There wasn’t a leaf out of place, heck, there wasn’t even a leaf on the ground. Maybe I should call it the happiest nursery on earth.

I had the urge to leave my shoes at the entrance to the nursery—it’s so clean.

My friends waited patiently while I wandered around with my jaw gaping open—it’s so gorgeous.

The potted plants for sale were artfully arranged among growing shrubs, bronze statues,




and old stoves—it’s the nursery where antique stoves and old trucks go to die and become planters.



The main fruit shipping building houses an art gallery—it’s so unexpected in a nursery.

There was an indoor nursery that any mother would be proud of—it’s so orderly.



We had lunch in the conservatory, smack dab in the middle of the nursery. And even though the food was just O.K., eating in an all-glass house under a Big Assed Fan in the middle of a lovely garden was heavenly—it’s such a great idea.

After lunch I took one last stroll around the nursery. One of the girlfriends finally came and got me. She took my hand and led me to the other’s idling car. She quickly shoved me in the back seat, jumped in the front while the other sped out of the parking lot slinging a wave of gravel onto another antique truck planter.
 
I watched through the back window as the High Hand Nursery sign grew smaller and smaller.

If you are in the Sacramento area I highly recommend a visit to High Hand Nursery.
High Hand Nursery is located at 3750 Taylor Rd, Loomis, CA 95650, (916) 652-2065

See ya there.

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I’m a grandmother!

This is as close as I’ve come to being a grandmother: My bouncing baby orchid keiki has flowered.

I reluctantly cut this keiki off the adult plant a couple of years ago.

But it has never looked quite as healthy as when it was attached to its mom. Yes, it looked O.K. But a couple of months ago it spiked, as did mom. It had some bud drop, but one bloom survived and now looks plump and healthy.

I’m such a proud grandma.
 

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Green Thumb Sunday

Gardeners, as well as plant and nature lovers, can join Green Thumb Sunday every Sunday. Visit As the Garden Grows for more information

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Size Does Matter

To a nine-year-old, size does matter—when it comes to strawberries.

I don’t even want to think about what was done to these Jurassic strawberries to get them to this size. I have a hunch they are not organic. I bought them anyway because I was mesmerized by their size.

There were several strawberries in this four-pound container that were the size of my youngest son’s fist.

I realized then that my little boy could fit his fist in his mouth.

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Alligator in My Garden

This weekend, after cleaning out the scary spot in my yard, I had to relocate several alligator lizards. As I have mentioned before, I can handle lizards (literally), but I can’t handle potato bugs. They are the Spawn of Satan. Ick.

I like lizards. Alligator lizards eat insects, millipedes, ticks, spiders and snails.

Imagine, a small alligator-like animal that eats ticks and snails. So I found homes for all my displaced alligator lizards in different areas of my garden.

I have a large yard. It’s like painting the Golden Gate Bridge. I start at one end and work my way to the other and then start all over. By the time one end is finished, the other end needs tending.

I placed one of the lizards in the shade under my apple tree, as I did I noticed this was the part of the Bridge that I hadn’t gotten to yet—there were weeds and snails everywhere.

I let the lizard go. When I came back with my clippers a few minutes later, this is what I found:

My lizard snacking on snails.

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The Ick Factor

I knew I was in trouble, but I couldn’t help myself.

For six years there has been one of those spots in my yard, the spot where you throw all your unwanted stuff, one of those places that is forgotten and neglected. We all have them, like the junk drawer in the kitchen, or my purse, or my closet, maybe my bathroom, oh yah, definitely my car, goodness there’s always my attic, icky, then my dreaded garage, O.K., you get the picture.

The spot in my yard is home to my garbage cans, the worm composter, the regular composter, a tuff shed (another scary, neglected place) so it had a lot of problems already.

I have wanted to clear it and clean it out for a long time. This weekend I finally got my chance. I had my own slave. The slave was my husband working tirelessly under the guilt of Mother’s Day. He cleared the old woodpile out while I removed the broken concrete that was thrown there for lack of a better place.

I knew it was just a matter of time before I ran into a…gag…gulp…kak…POTATO BUG.

Oh yeah, I not only ran into one but two.

TWO. And after that, I dug up a tarantula.

The four alligator lizards were just icing.

I am happy to report I only screamed once.

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What Heaven Smells Like

It is no secret that my favorite time of year is spring. Two big reasons are the mock orange and honeysuckle.

We have had a couple days of rain in May, and the temperature has been in the sixties and seventies, so the humidity has been higher that normal.

The air has been balmy. It feels like a mild day on a tropical island and it’s the time of year where it even smells like a tropical island.

The mock orange is in bloom and the scent combined with the honeysuckle vines I planted nearby a couple years ago is unbelievable.

So when I walk out my back door this time of year, I can close my eyes and imagine that I am on the island of Bali Hai or some tropical paradise.

If that doesn’t work, then I squeeze some citrus fruit into a big glass of rum and ice and call it a day.

Aloha

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Memories of Mom

Mother’s Day is bittersweet for me.

On the one hand, I get to hang out with the three men that I love most in my life.

On the other hand I don’t get to hang out with my mom because she passed away several years ago. I miss her terribly and I miss the fact that she can’t see my sons grow up. I have a feeling she’s kind of pissed about that, too.

There is a place where her ashes are buried but I don’t go there anymore. I used to bring fresh cut roses there and feel sad and cry.

Now I go to her house and tend her roses because it makes me feel happy and close to her. Then I cut some roses and bring them back to my house.

It’s like bringing a little piece of her home with me and my family.

Happy Mother’s Day.

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