I'm taking an online course in Critical Care Nursing, which has me sitting in front of the computer for at least 8 hours a day. Needless to say, I am continually looking for distractions from the endless stream of calculating Cardiac Output and the Loop of Henle. At any rate, I had somewhat of a tumultuous day, and it's only 2:30pm Central Time.
It all started when I decided to let the ducks roam around the backyard during the day. I let them out of their hutch, then turned the hose on to fill up their pond, which is on a patio about one foot above the garden. I went inside, made myself breakfast, completely forgetting that I'd left the hose running. For those of you wondering, I had eggs sunny-side up with homemade salsa, Sriracha all on whole-wheat toast, which was totally delicious. Anywho, my sister called, I talked to her on the phone for a while, and poked my head out the back door. I didn't see the ducks anywhere, but I did notice that about 1/4 of the garden was completely flooded. "Holy crap!" I yelled, and cranked the hose shut. The cucumber/zucchini/pumpkin/watermelon plants, which I will now refer to as my Troubled Youths, were totally submerged by water. I thought the situation in that corner couldn't get any worse: first, crumbling, brown plants, then a near-drowning - it would be St. Fiacre's direct intervention if this corner ever survived.
At any rate, I poked around the patio while on the phone, noticing that the water in the garden had already disappeared after about a minute or two. Strange, I thought. I looked closer. Directly in the line of the cucumber patch, the patch that hasn't even shown the slightest bit of promise, all of the water was disappearing down a hole that was about 4 inches wide, and plunged deep into the ground. "G! There's a hole in the cucumber patch! A big, deep hole in the garden!" I squeaked to my sister over the phone. "Sounds like a mole," she told me. Once again, I'll remind readers that I know little to nothing about garden pests/weeds/soil/plants/-ing, so I gasped. Is this GARDEN CANCER?! Fortunately, she reassured me, told me that I'd probably just have to get a mole-a-cide and replant the cukes. I can do that. But imagine if I hadn't flooded the garden? I'd have only myself to blame for the lack of tzatziki in my life!
I went back inside, hit the books, and started up a few tests on the Critical Care website. The ducks, as it turned out, had camped themselves out directly outside of the sliding glass door next to the computer where I was working. As I answered questions, they ate ferns growing off of the deck, calmly quacking to each other as if to say, "I love a garden salad now and again."
The question on the screen was something about systemic vascular resistance when I saw it- the smallest flicker of red out of the corner of my eye. I turned towards the source of the movement, and there, sitting perched exactly five feet, behind the large fern my clueless birds were devouring was a FOX. About four feet from tip of the nose to tip of the tale, it pointed its narrow face towards my little guys, coiled on its haunches, braced to pounce. I jumped up as though my pants were on fire, ran to the sliding door, and tried to open the door. I panicked - it was locked, and I couldn't figure out how to open it. I began pounding on the glass, making enough noise that the fox darted in a different direction, but it was only attempting another angle of approach. By that time, I figured out the lock mechanism, wrenched the door open, and ran towards the red menace yelling, "Raaaawwwwrr!!!" I continued to bellow shouts in the fox's direction as he disappeared into the thick brush in our yard. I turned to the ducks and said, "You idiots! You have no idea how close you were to being a high-class brunch!" I drove them back up the hill and re-hutched them, all the while they clucked their complacent little happy noises. Stupid birds.
I realized at that point what a right-place-right-time day it's been so far. Had I not been sitting in the only seat in the entire house that looks out that window, I'd be hosing feathers off the deck right now. Had the ducks not decided to hang out in a place in the yard where they literally NEVER hang out, I'd be traipsing all over kingdom come looking for a beak here, a webbed foot there. Critical Care classes probably save lots of peoples' lives every day, but I'm pretty sure this is the first time in history it has ever saved the lives of fowl.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Sunday, June 5, 2011
You, My, Brown-Thumbed Girl
I apologize for not updating sooner. Between cleaning up after the homeless, attempting to train a pair of very stupid fowl, and working in the ICU, things have been hectic here in Crooklyn Park.
Remember my hesitation with asking my neighbor about borrowing his tiller? Well, I should have listened to my instincts (as usual), because it backfired like I knew it would. I went over to the neighbor dude's house, and he showed me how to crank that bad-boy up, and had the motor revving up and blades a-churnin' before I rolled it back to my yard. Simple enough - put the red lever all the way down, turn the switch "On," and yank the cord. The first time I did it, it purred like a happy little kitten for about 3/4 of a second, and then turned back off. The second time I attempted it, the cord came out, no noise came from the motor, and the cord then wouldn't retract back into the motor. Now, I don't know much about motors - in fact, I know absolutely nothing about motors. Scratch that - I know even less than nothing about motors - in my opinion, opening the hood of my car and sticking a screwdriver into some things, wiggling them around a few times, then kicking the bumper is a good solution for motor-related issues. So I decided to open-er-up. I know there are more than one of you reading this, thinking, "Oh my God, this is such a dumb idea," and to you I say, I am now currently hiring for the voice of my conscience.
At any rate, fortunately for the tiller, I was summarily unable to disassemble any of the tiller, because the gas tank was sitting on top of the motor, and I'd have had to remove the gas tank. Frankly, I wasn't willing to run the risk of my garage reeking of gasoline, not to mention each drop leaked is now worth about $15.00. After using my phone-a-Dad, the futility of attempting repair on my own was confirmed. Now, I was faced with my only available option: Craigslist.
I found a nice man online who was willing to lend me his tiller for $40 - he even offered to till it for me for an extra couple of bucks, but I figured I'd save some cash by forcing Ted to do it for me. Memorial Day, there was poor Tebby, tilling his little heart out in the humidity of late May. A few of his friends stopped by and I used my charming ways to enlist their help with the fencing. For those of you who haven't had the good fortune of assembling a wire-and-stake green fence, I suggest you try it sometime if you're looking for an excuse to shout the word "GODDAMMIT!" as loudly as possible while suffering eight or so puncture wounds to the thigh. It really is a terrible, terrible thing to assemble, and it never comes out quite right - bowing and swaying in odd places, and just when you think you've gotten the wire completely taught between the stakes, you step back and there is a great, big bend in the top part of the fence. They should really be made illegal.
At any rate, the actual planting commenced later that afternoon and into the evening. I set my tomatoes and basil close to the entrance of the garden, as I'll likely be using those most frequently. The tomatoes and basil that I pre-planted were doing very well in their little egg-carton homes, vibrant and green, with strong stems and good roots. The rest of the herbs I hadn't pre-planted, so I put in some chive, rosemary and parsley seeds in my herb zone. Next to the tomatoes, I planted some spicy peppers - habaneros, jalapenos and red peppers. Those also were pre-planted and appeared to be doing well. Their leaves were waxy and stems looked strong. Then I planted a row of Swiss Chard, one of arugula, a row of green leaf lettuce, a row of carrots and one of radishes, all by seed. I planted my beans close to the fence on the far side, and then I worked on the squash/melon area. I decided to transplant the watermelon, zucchini and cucumber that I'd pre-planted, which had a few brown leaves but looked mostly healthy. Just to cover myself, I added in a few more seeds of each of those, as I wasn't sure how they'd fare. Then in an adjacent area, I put my disastrous Black-Eyed Susans (they never grew in my pot, now I understand why that Susan has a shiner), a few sunflowers, some zinnias and some wildflowers.
It is now almost a week after my initial planting, and I'm a bit distressed. I get agita thinking about it. My basil looks alright, albeit weaker than it did in the pot. My tomatoes are all leaning over, probably secondary to the strong winds we got on Tuesday. The rest of the herbs are fine, the root vegetables are coming up great, and the lettuces are sprouting with ease. The spicy peppers are looking harried. Worst of all, though, the entire melon/squash patch, with the pumpkins, watermelons, zucchini and cucumber, is absolutely bare. It is as though the plants I put there just evaporated into thin air, and nothing is sprouting forth. This is a most disturbing thing for me, as my barbecues this summer are going to be disastrous without the kee-nee. No cucumber salad? I don't know if I've ever had such a summer. I have tried watering, the soil looks great, and they get plenty of sunlight. At the risk of sounding like a total amateur, doesn't that cover the ABC's of gardening?
I returned the tiller, and my neighbor seemed confused as to how I'd managed to break it, but he wasn't surprised. It was apparently very old and a "piece of junk anyway." Made me feel a little bit worse that I'd been picking on this geriatric farm implement with my willy-nilly cord yankin'. I was, however, glad that we'd used the rental, as it was an industrial quality implement with about 5 blades, where my neighbor's only had 2. Maybe it was fate that the tiller kicked the bucket when it did. I don't know, I still don't see too much green in my garden...
Remember my hesitation with asking my neighbor about borrowing his tiller? Well, I should have listened to my instincts (as usual), because it backfired like I knew it would. I went over to the neighbor dude's house, and he showed me how to crank that bad-boy up, and had the motor revving up and blades a-churnin' before I rolled it back to my yard. Simple enough - put the red lever all the way down, turn the switch "On," and yank the cord. The first time I did it, it purred like a happy little kitten for about 3/4 of a second, and then turned back off. The second time I attempted it, the cord came out, no noise came from the motor, and the cord then wouldn't retract back into the motor. Now, I don't know much about motors - in fact, I know absolutely nothing about motors. Scratch that - I know even less than nothing about motors - in my opinion, opening the hood of my car and sticking a screwdriver into some things, wiggling them around a few times, then kicking the bumper is a good solution for motor-related issues. So I decided to open-er-up. I know there are more than one of you reading this, thinking, "Oh my God, this is such a dumb idea," and to you I say, I am now currently hiring for the voice of my conscience.
At any rate, fortunately for the tiller, I was summarily unable to disassemble any of the tiller, because the gas tank was sitting on top of the motor, and I'd have had to remove the gas tank. Frankly, I wasn't willing to run the risk of my garage reeking of gasoline, not to mention each drop leaked is now worth about $15.00. After using my phone-a-Dad, the futility of attempting repair on my own was confirmed. Now, I was faced with my only available option: Craigslist.
I found a nice man online who was willing to lend me his tiller for $40 - he even offered to till it for me for an extra couple of bucks, but I figured I'd save some cash by forcing Ted to do it for me. Memorial Day, there was poor Tebby, tilling his little heart out in the humidity of late May. A few of his friends stopped by and I used my charming ways to enlist their help with the fencing. For those of you who haven't had the good fortune of assembling a wire-and-stake green fence, I suggest you try it sometime if you're looking for an excuse to shout the word "GODDAMMIT!" as loudly as possible while suffering eight or so puncture wounds to the thigh. It really is a terrible, terrible thing to assemble, and it never comes out quite right - bowing and swaying in odd places, and just when you think you've gotten the wire completely taught between the stakes, you step back and there is a great, big bend in the top part of the fence. They should really be made illegal.
At any rate, the actual planting commenced later that afternoon and into the evening. I set my tomatoes and basil close to the entrance of the garden, as I'll likely be using those most frequently. The tomatoes and basil that I pre-planted were doing very well in their little egg-carton homes, vibrant and green, with strong stems and good roots. The rest of the herbs I hadn't pre-planted, so I put in some chive, rosemary and parsley seeds in my herb zone. Next to the tomatoes, I planted some spicy peppers - habaneros, jalapenos and red peppers. Those also were pre-planted and appeared to be doing well. Their leaves were waxy and stems looked strong. Then I planted a row of Swiss Chard, one of arugula, a row of green leaf lettuce, a row of carrots and one of radishes, all by seed. I planted my beans close to the fence on the far side, and then I worked on the squash/melon area. I decided to transplant the watermelon, zucchini and cucumber that I'd pre-planted, which had a few brown leaves but looked mostly healthy. Just to cover myself, I added in a few more seeds of each of those, as I wasn't sure how they'd fare. Then in an adjacent area, I put my disastrous Black-Eyed Susans (they never grew in my pot, now I understand why that Susan has a shiner), a few sunflowers, some zinnias and some wildflowers.
It is now almost a week after my initial planting, and I'm a bit distressed. I get agita thinking about it. My basil looks alright, albeit weaker than it did in the pot. My tomatoes are all leaning over, probably secondary to the strong winds we got on Tuesday. The rest of the herbs are fine, the root vegetables are coming up great, and the lettuces are sprouting with ease. The spicy peppers are looking harried. Worst of all, though, the entire melon/squash patch, with the pumpkins, watermelons, zucchini and cucumber, is absolutely bare. It is as though the plants I put there just evaporated into thin air, and nothing is sprouting forth. This is a most disturbing thing for me, as my barbecues this summer are going to be disastrous without the kee-nee. No cucumber salad? I don't know if I've ever had such a summer. I have tried watering, the soil looks great, and they get plenty of sunlight. At the risk of sounding like a total amateur, doesn't that cover the ABC's of gardening?
I returned the tiller, and my neighbor seemed confused as to how I'd managed to break it, but he wasn't surprised. It was apparently very old and a "piece of junk anyway." Made me feel a little bit worse that I'd been picking on this geriatric farm implement with my willy-nilly cord yankin'. I was, however, glad that we'd used the rental, as it was an industrial quality implement with about 5 blades, where my neighbor's only had 2. Maybe it was fate that the tiller kicked the bucket when it did. I don't know, I still don't see too much green in my garden...
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