The Gardeners Anonymous Blog

Gardening Boob With a Good Mojito

You can go ahead and say it.   Go ahead, you know you want to.  Here, I’ll say it for you: “I don’t know the difference between a melon and a cucumber.”

There, feel better? I don’t. I am a dork.

I have been waiting for my lemon cucumber to turn yellow and become ready to eat.  But they were so big, and covered with this weird, dry, cracked skin.

I decided to leave them alone and check my melons.

The melons were so tiny and anemic looking. I felt like the worst gardener ever.  So I went inside to make one of my new garden delight cocktails (recipe to follow) and mull over the idea that perhaps this whole gardening thing just isn’t for me after all.

While I was sipping my cocktail and killing a few more of the precious brain cells I have left, I suddenly realized what I had done:  I had switched the nursery tags. I am such a doofus.

Now everything makes sense, and I don’t feel quite so much like a garden goober.

Chigiy’s Vodka- Cucumber Mojito:

(please help me think of a better name)   

 First of all, I use good vodka. Life is too short to use crappy vodka.  I use Ketel One, you can use your favorite. (Do you think someone at Ketel One will send me a bottle for posting this on my blog)?  I can dream can’t I?

vodka

two or three sprigs of fresh mint

one lime

simple syrup 2-3oz

one small cucumber

8oz of club soda

 

Peel and thinly slice a small cucumber.

In a small jar, add 6-8 oz. of vodka to infuse the cucumber.

Refrigerate overnight.

The next day (try to make it after noon if you can), muddle together simple syrup with the sprigs of mint, pour in vodka and club soda.

Throw in a squeeze of lime

Garnish with mint and cucumber.

Should make at least four drinks.

 

Wonderful on a hot day.

Gardening, Friendship and Martinis

My first lemon basil martini...yum.

When I need a break from reality, I go visit my buddy Jennifer.  Jen and I have a lot in common: we both have teenagers that drive us crazy, we both have husbands who drive us crazy, and we both like to drink martinis, taking brief breaks only to shop and eat. We love the beach and the sun, but most of all we both love gardening.  And, well…martinis.

Jen's garden

We used to be neighbors. We started a friendship over mommy stuff. The friendship grew over gardening, and it really took off after the discovery of our mutual affinity for vodka.

Jen's garden

Jen's putting green

Jen's Pool.

Jen, Gandolf, and Pixie relaxing between martinis.

And then she and her family just up and moved to San Diego. All she left me was her worm composter, a cruel reminder of what once was.

Cedros Gardens.

Oh, but there is a bright side. Now every few months I get to go visit my home girl in the Beach hood, where we gossip, eat, drink and stumble around various nurseries.

Cedros Gardens

Ah, sanity

margaritas and guacamole

This is All the Skunk’s Fault

If Moondoggie hadn’t gotten skunked the other night, I would not have been afraid to let her out into the backyard.

Moondoggie made it clear that there was another unwanted visitor in the back yard. She lifted her nose to the air and growled as if to say, “Let me at ‘em.

“Oh no you don’t, girlfriend.  I am not spending half the night scrubbing you with lemon soap and hydrogen peroxide again. Just let Pepe le Pew be, and go to bed.”

While there was something a bit different about her behavior this time, I was not going down that road again.  “Fool me twice….

So I made Moondoggie lie down and go to sleep, and I did the same, thinking my caution very wise.

And then I woke up.

I made my kids breakfast, I fixed myself a cup of coffee, and went out to peruse my garden. With my coffee cup in one hand and my rose clippers in the other, I ventured forth, eager to cut some fresh morning blooms.  I love their beauty and their heady scent filling my house.

I strolled over to my rose garden and…

WTF?

This is the first time Bmbi ate all the rose petals around the flower. He usually just bites off the whole thing

The deer-rat ate half my cherry tree also.

Damn deer.

Damn skunk.

Damn dog.

Damn it!

Large rat with antlers

Bad Breath and Doggie IQ

Woman’s intuition is a powerful thing. I should have listened to it last night.

There I was enjoying a nice sleep-aide-induced slumber when my dog’s frantic barking woke me up.  It has been warm, so I have been sleeping with the windows open, and Moondog heard something wandering around in the yard.

I knew in my gut that I shouldn’t let her out, but she kept making those low

warning growls. I eventually began to think there might actually be a person in the yard.  So I relented.

What a mistake.

I couldn’t get the door open fast enough for Moondog.  She jammed her head into the crack of the door and pried it open the rest of the way with her noggin. She launched out into the yard with Betty the bulldog hot on her heels like a flying meatball. 

She went tearing towards our RV with Betty snorting and huffing behind her.  I ran out in their furry wake with a flashlight. I shined the light toward the RV and saw Moondog lunging and snapping at something under the camper.

I was slowly climbing barefoot up the rocky, mulch-covered slope, wearing nothing but a huge T shirt, shining a dim cone of light toward my frenzied canine.  It was 1:30 in the morning. I had a head full of trazadone and I was having a hard time seeing what Moodoggie had cornered. 

In the dim beam of light, my eyes finally focused on Moondoggie’s prey. Prey? It was THE animal that strikes fear in the hearts of us mountain folk. Was it a Cougar, you ask?  A coyote? A rattlesnake?  No, it was something much worse… 

It was a stupid skunk, facing off with my even stupider dog.

 

As soon as I saw that black and white Pepe le Pew, I turned tail and ran back towards the house screaming for Moondoggie, hoping she would do what good dogs do and follow me.  BUT NO, she decided to attack the skunk.  For that transgression, she received a full spray right in her mouth, a skunk mouthwash, if you will.

After the altercation, Moondog came running to me alright.  Lucky me.  I tried to run away from her and lock her out of the house, but Moondoggie is the fastest dog I know. I am always bragging about her speed and agility. This time, I was wishing The Flying Meatball was my dog instead. 

She had the good sense to run back to the house with me, completely avoiding the skunk's fury.  I am now debating the intelligence of border collies vs bulldogs.

I was up another hour washing Moondog.  Before I could get to her, however, she rubbed her face on at least four of the Persian carpets. After her bath, I dried her off.  She immediately ran around rubbing her face on the Persian carpets all over again. During this entire disaster, Betty just looked at me with a look in her bulldog eyes that said, “I thought Border Collies were supposed to be the smartest breed?”

A Rose in Any Other Location...

Cecile Brunner in the right location

I bought two Cecile Brunner climbing rose vines last year. I always wanted one in my garden because they remind me of my mother.  Cecile Brunner is a prolific bloomer and can grow to 30 feet tall. Big boy! They are also known as the sweetheart rose. That nickname really does not appeal to me at this time in my life, but let’s move on.

 Cecile Brunner

The point I would like to make is I planted each climbing rose in a different location…and…one location was obviously better. Here, you tell me which one seems to work better. 

Pathetic Cecile Brunner in the wrong location.

Mmm-hmm, that’s right.  Plants, just like real estate values, do better in the right location.

I am hoping when my pathetic Cecile Brunner rose reaches out a little more, it can soak up the sun and start to fill out…and then…I woke up.

If worst comes to worst I’ll have to move it.  I have a place in mind, but then I’ll have to dig it up, fill in the hole, dig a hole for it, amend the soil, plant it and attach a drip line. 

Oh, why don’t you just grow damn it!

Gardening and Healing

I haven’t posted on any of my blogs in about four weeks. 

Sometimes life gets to be too much, and gets in the way of the things you love to do. Sometimes the only way back to happiness is to do the things you love despite that wall of sadness standing in the way.

 

Instead of writing about it, I have been gardening a lot the last four weeks. And guess what? I am beginning to feel human again.

I just wanted to thank all my friends who have been there for me over the last several weeks to help me through this tough time. I am convinced that I have the best group of caring, loving, understanding and empathetic friends in the world. 

I love you man!

 

My Winter Break

This is my idea of a winter break: Like most people I am understandably nervous about the lack of rain in our beautiful mountains but I say, “Make hay while the sun shines.”

I believe this means something like reap the hay while the sun is shining before it rains and gets moldy, sort of like my lawn. 

While I don’t make hay, I am Jonesing for some Springtime, and since I am spending my holiday with twelve or so furry friends, I thought I would treat us all to some winter color.

And, yes, contrary to popular belief, dogs do see color. They just see it a bit different than we do. 

The dogs have torn up my lower lawn so badly now that I have decided to perhaps slowly turn it in to something besides a lawn. I haven’t formulated a whole plan yet, so here is a preview of things to come.

I dug out a ring of lawn from around my giant urn and planted dahlia bulbs. On top of the bulbs I planted some winter flowers: primrose, Johnny jump ups, and snapdragons.

While I was working the dogs stole a bulb, two plastic pots, a glove and two rocks. You may ask, as I did, why would a dog take rocks?

The two rocks were taken by a golden puppy. Need I say more?

Now it’s just a waiting game to see which of the dogs I’m dog sitting will pee on the new flowers first.

My money’s on the golden.

Four Days of Rain: Does Not a Winter Make

Remember that scene in Water World (I’m speaking to the three people who saw Water World), the scene in which Kevin Costner pees in a bottle, then runs his urine through some sort of filtration system, and drinks it?

Well, if it doesn’t hurry up and rain, we'll all be drinking tinklewater here in California.

The good news is, with all this sunny weather, perhaps my La Brea Tar Pits may soon be taken over by green lawn, though I am not holding my breath.

Not only does my lawn look like a brownie with green mold on it, the smaller area of lawn that the dogs have been allowed on is now in worse shape than the moldy brownie lawn. 

I am thinking of replacing it. I am not sure with what. It has to be something that dogs can run on and catch balls on—and you know what else. 

I am considering taking out part of the lawn and planting natives, while replacing the rest of the lawn with faux grass. 

Or, replacing the rest of the lawn with some sort of wide rock path. 

Or I could replace the whole thing with a fake lawn. 

Or, I could dig a big hole and create a swimin' hole. 

Or I could have a cocktail and go in my house and watch the weather.

Gardeners Anonymous will gladly take any suggestions as to what to replace my abused lawn with.

They’re Back.

Two years ago I was passing our outdoor porch stairway when I noticed that the storage area underneath’s doors were open.

No, the doors weren’t just slightly ajar; they had been flung wide open from the inside by a bunch of intruders, mushroom intruders!

The fungus invaders disappeared a few weeks later but a couple weeks ago it was deja vu all over again. 

There I was again, minding my own business and walking past our stairs—and there they were again, just sitting there…mocking me.

This time there are more of them.

At first it was interesting and entertaining, but this time they are freaking me out a little. I have thoughts that they are trying to get into my house and that their presence under the outside stairs is just meant to distract me. 

I’m afraid that late at night some time soon I’ll wake up, go into the bathroom, lift the toilet seat and…there they’ll be…

...Ahhhh!

It all started with the flu.

What used to be my lawn

The day my husband left town, I came down with the flu that I thought I had dodged weeks earlier when my kids had it. But oh no, it lurked in my system until when I needed to be healthy the most.

While the sickness was ravaging my body and my mind, my gardener stopped by to ask me if I wanted him to fertilize my lawn.

I thought at the time that it was kind of a silly question. Of course I want you to fertilize my lawn. It looks bad. It looks like hundreds of dogs have been cavorting on it.

Because they have. 

Now, when my gardener told me he was going to fertilize my lawn I was thinking he would mow it and walk back and forth on my lawn with one of those plastic seed spreader things with the windy handle on the side and some of that plant food pellet stuff in it.

Well then he said he also wanted to reseed my lawn and of course you know what I thought: That ol’ seed-spreader contraption was going to be pulling double-duty with the seeds and the plant food. 

Sure, I’m down with that Antonio, sprinkle away, but right now I need a couple swigs of Nyquil, a Benadryl, and I need to wash it all down with a shot of brandy.

Then he stopped me and told me he really wanted to do it right this year. He wanted to cut my lawn really short, then aerate it, then seed and fertilize it. 

Wow, I thought, that sounds good. “Yeah Antonio, you go and give my lawn the works” and I’ll go feed my head.

“Ma’am, did you want me to sprinkle some dirt on the seeds so the birds don’t eat them?” This was the pivotal moment. All my addled brain could muster was an image of Antonio sprinkling handfuls of dirt from a bag over the seeds he had sprinkled earlier on my lawn. 

So I said “Sure, that sounds fine.” I turned and headed to my house and the long set of stairs to my Nyquil, my Benadryl, and my brandy. 

And fell asleep.

I awoke with a start and noticed the long shadows across the yard. I went to the window to look at my lawn…WTF…My lawn had been replaced with what looked like the LaBrea Tar Pits. 

The view from my window of what used to be my lawn.

I stumbled down my stairs and out my door to my landscaper’s truck, which was backed up onto my lawn dumping its last load of STEER MANURE.

Last I checked, steer manure does not equal dirt. 

Luckily I was there in enough time to stop Antonio from putting Steer manure on the lower lawn. 

My neighbors are now not speaking to us because the odor of steer poop is holding them hostage inside their homes. 

Happy Thanksgiving. 

It will be interesting to see what happens when my house fills up with dogs and it rains.