MIA: I'm Back! Leaves.

Wow, it looks like I haven't done any gardening since late August.  If only that were the case. Actually September was blissfully empty of yard work, as was most of October.  But then came the leaves, the acorns and then, finally, the frost. After that, more leaves, more leaves and more leaves.

It was a very nice fall this year, with mild temperatures, both night and day.  We've only had a couple of frosty nights so far and it is already December 4th.  Most nights are in the mid-40's, which means very little frost damage.  I ended up pulling my Sunpatients in early November because they were looking a bit leggy, not because they were really ready to go.  I got impatient.  It is fall, dammit. It is time for pansies. So now the bed is full of pansies and the summer plants are rotting in the compost bin.

I really didn't mind pulling out the old plants and replacing with the new seasonal offerings.  Although, it is easier to do if there is rain.  Sadly, this fall was pretty dry, but the soaker hose helped keep things moist. The really hellish part of fall gardening is the leaves.

Did I mention the leaves? We have MANY oak trees in our yard, along with pine, tulip poplar, sweetgum, wild cherry, maple and others.  That is a WHOLE LOT of leaves.  The oak trees have several varieties and they all lose their leaves at different times.  We still have trees full of leaves that won't fall until Spring.  How twisted is that???? Evil trees... perhaps in league with the Devil's grass. Hmmm.

So lately I've learned to use a leaf blower, a lawn mower as mulching tool, and rakes in multiple sizes for various tasks.  Whatever happened to the days of making a giant pile and having your big brother deal with it?  I miss those days.Our compost bin is now overrun with leaves... about 5 times the size of the bin (3 x 3 x 3) , plus the whole of the lower back yard which has about a 1 foot layer of leaves. Yikes!

So, think of me when you see leaves falling picturesquely from the sky. Know that we are seeing the same thing here. Me and my trusty rake.

Vegetable Garden

Last summer, Brian built a six by four foot garden, using the plan from The Square Foot Gardner. Initially he planted tomatoes, squash and peppers, but since we moved to the area in June, we were really too late and none of the plants produced.  In the fall, we tried carrots, lettuce and broccoli, which fared better, but not great. So this spring, we were very excited to try again.

Our spring planting included 6 kinds of heirloom tomatoes (Mr. Stripey and Green Zebra had the best names), sweet peas, peppers, and more lettuce. The peas and lettuce did well and the tomatoes and peppers had a good start, then the temperatures climbed over 100 degrees and no rain appeared. Sigh. We've harvested 3 tomatoes that were edible, and another 4 that either split or had a gross tomato worm. We had 1 very lovely sweet pepper. That is it. There are 2 green tomatoes on the vine now and one red one that is deformed, but probably edible.

So, why am I talking about the vegetable garden? Well, our vegetable garden is reinforcing the title of this blog. Every day I water, pull weeds, look out for bugs, and generally ensure the garden is well cared for.  What do I get for it? Very little, I assure you.  There is a rogue plant that looks like some sort of squash, which has come up in an area of the bed where no squash has gone before, so that is a pleasant surprise, but otherwise, blah!

We're about to plant lettuce and carrots again and I can only hope they do well.  Perhaps we'll add a layer of compost from our gorgeous compost pile to help encourage food production.  Sort of a... if you do well, you won't end up here... kind of thing.  Although, the seeds could see it as threatening and simply refuse to grow... like everything else in our vegetable garden!

On the plus side, the 20 strawberry plants we put out this spring have more than doubled. They are still putting out a few berries now and then. So that is pretty exciting.  My blueberry bushes did very well this spring, so the food production hasn't been a total wash.

Ah well.  Wish us luck as we plant our fall crop. We will certainly need it!

Mushrooms and Random Thoughts

Mushrooms keep popping up in my yard and flower pots... outta nowhere. Where do they come from? I am reminded of Little Shop of Horrors when looking at some of the crazy shapes of the really big ones. Once again, I tossed them all before thinking to take a picture of them to post. Sorry!

So, only 20 more days 'til my birthday. I'll be 45 this year. That's pretty exciting, I think.  I saw a preview for the new Judd Apatow movie, This is 40, and it made me sad that they were so upset about getting older. It is SO COOL to get older.  Why is it that some folks seem to think life ends at a certain age: no more risk taking, no more fun, no more adventure? No way! But we were talking about mushrooms.

I think I'm out of mushroom conversation. They are more interesting than the weeds lately, which are the same old, same old, and really not worth mentioning.

One interesting fact, though... the ubiquitious "they" make Snuggies for dogs. Brian saw one today while working at the foodbank. It is pretty cool that the foodbank carries dog food, toys, kitty litter, etc., along with all of the people food. Pets can really help a person who is having a hard time, so I'm happy to see they are covered.

Thanks for putting up with my random thoughts today. Linda

BBQ

Dear Fred,

Thank you so much for sharing your butt with us.  We really enjoyed it as sandwiches last Sunday before going to see Spiderman.  It was so tasty and delicious, there was no need for popcorn during the movie.

We especially appreciated your packing up some of your smokey butt for us to enjoy throughout the week.  We had lovely Fred's butt wraps, Fred's butt side with succotash, and finally, today, Fred's butt salad. Yummy!

Your butt was so tender and juicy.  It never dried out, even after multiple reheating.  We found it to be delightful, because we tried to purchase Willy's butt today, but it was dry and tasteless.

So, again, thank you for sharing your wonderful butt.  Anytime you are willing to turn the other cheek, we will be delighted to partake once again!

Sincerely,

Linda

P.S. Please forgive my gratuitous use of low humor, puns and poor taste.  I was cracking up as I wrote it.  Alex added the "juicy" part, but in a much grosser context.  Kristen suggested we somehow incorporate "gassy", but I couldn't figure that out. I love your kids!!!!

Haiku

One of my favorite gardening tools is the haiku.  It looks like a tiny hoe, only more slanted and very sharp. It is great for weeding and digging small holes. Of course, every time I use the haiku, I think about haiku poetry, and the allure of its extreme structure of syllables (5-7-5). 

The haiku was one of my favorite writing tools in corporate America, because it forced the writer to distill their thoughts to the very essence of the idea they were trying to convey.  Think about it: you have to write a training manual about a new piece of equipment or a new pricing structure.  Rather than starting with a huge outline or a bunch of objectives, use the haiku to identify the essence of the product or plan, then go from there.  Yes, everyone thought I was crazy, but it really helped new writers get right to the point every time.

Back to gardening. Yesterday was another gardening day.  We were out in the back bed again, which we didn't quite finish last week.  The focus was the cursed devil's grass in the Japanese irises, yet again. My 14 year old niece was looking for some cash, so we paid her to help with the weeding. 

As we were getting all ready to garden (applying bug spray, getting gloves, etc.) I asked her to choose her weapon.  Her options were: the cobra or the haiku. Since she and I had gone through a big haiku period a couple of years back, she was delighted to find a tool with the name of her favorite kind of poetry! Armed and ready, we went to face the weeds.

Kristen has not been following my blog, so she was unaware of the more appropriate name for Bermuda grass: devil's grass. Nor has she had much experience pulling the annoying stuff out from other plants, so this was a banner day for her. We spent the first few minutes getting her trained in the use of the tool and the rudiments of weeding. After just a few minutes she had the hang of things.  Just a few minutes later, she was saying things like, "Curse you, devil's grass!". Did I mention how much alike we are??

For the two hours as we worked on eradicating the weeds (devil's grass, crab grass, briars, tiny trees, violets, and unidentified plants), Kristen learned the joys of gardening with a haiku.  The outcome of our time together was a clean bed (she did a really good job) and a haiku that fits beautifully within this blog.

        Gardening Haiku, by Kristen

        These absurd weed things
        Are giving me a headache.
        I wish they'd all die.

No Whining Zone

Whenever my niece and nephew have visited us over the last 14 years, Brian and I have instituted a 'no whining' zone. This started with just our house, then eventually grew to cover the entire state. As a result, Alex and Kristen have no tolerance for any whining performed by Brian or myself.

Which brings me to a conversation I had with them this afternoon. I'm not entirely sure how it started, but the two of them accused me of being a whiner.

"I hate gardening?", they said. "Sure sounds like whining to us".

"Have you read it?", I asked.

When they responded in the negative, I suggested they not talk about something of which they know nothing.  They, of course, said they could talk all they wanted, since the title in itself was whiney. Can you believe it? Those darned kids!

So, Kristen and Alex... if you ever deign to read this, or any other article in my blog... know that ranting is very different from (although somewhat related to) whining, and that if it is funny, well, it is less irritating than standard whining. So just get over it!

The Glove of Death, part 2

As you'll no doubt remember from "The Glove of Death, part 1", that we used a glove soaked in Roundup to try to kill the devil's grass which was embedded in the phlox in one of our front beds.  After the first application, we waited a few days, then reapplied. Mom got impatient, wanting to pull that grass immediately because it was so unsightly.  However, we encouraged her to wait (and to not work in the poisoned grass) until the poison had a chance to work its evil magic.

Finally, after eons of waiting (I don't know, maybe 6 or 7 days?) it was time!  The devil's grass flew yellow above the phlox and it looked dead to us.  So yesterday we approached the devil and forced him out of our phlox!  Do I hear Hallelujah? Sorry, I got a little excited there.

We worked for about an hour, pulling the grass.  Turns out it was only mostly dead (like Wesley in The Princess Bride).  Although the tops were dead, the lower leaves were still a happy green and the roots held tight.  I'm not even sure how to keep score on this one.  One - Love, perhaps? We know the poison was working up top, but the devil held tight down below. Hang on, I feel a sermon coming on... ok, it passed. Whew.

So, we're going to wait and see. We're pretty sure the grass will grow again and when it does, we'll have the Glove of Death ready to go. It may take a few rounds, but I'm pretty sure we can send that devil's grass back to hell, where it came from.

Note: I checked the date of the first Glove of Death blog and found out that 12 days passed from the first application to the pulling of the grass. Perhaps next time we wait 20 days?

Weeding Derby

It rained last night and was overcast today, making the perfect conditions for weeding the back bed. This bed is in direct sunlight most of the time, so has not been worked for over a month because of the very high temperatures.  As expected, it was overrun with violets, crab grass, devil's grass and a few briars.  It took all three of us working together to have the courage to face and destroy the weeds.

Since we were all working together, it was a chattier session than most. The devil's grass was interwoven with the Japanese irises and the day lilies.  While cleaning out the dead leaves from those plants, we'd accidentally grab the Bermuda and come away with a six foot strand of grass along with the dead leaves we were aiming for. We started comparing them to see who pulled the longest.  Then Brian pulled a violet that was 10 - 12 inches across and I got a stand of crab grass that was about 24 inches across, all in one piece, roots included. All of this led to a discussion of a weeding derby.

A weeding derby would work like a fishing derby, except withyard work. There would be prizes for the longest weed, the biggest weed, the weeds pulled with the best root structure, the most buckets of weeds, the best weeding of a square foot section, etc.  The beauty of it is that you could charge participants a fee to enter, then have them weed your yard for you!  There are even quality control measures in place (prizes) to ensure the work is done well.  How very Tom Sawyer. This is yard work I could get behind: someone else pay me for the pleasure and the glory of weeding my yard? You bet. Sign me up! Or better yet, I'll sign others up!

Unfortunately, it was just the three of us winning the prizes today.  Mom won "best weeding in a square foot section", Brian won "longest weed" and "weeds puled with the best root structure", and I won "biggest weed" and "most buckets pulled". Sigh. Maybe next time.

Pokey Things

I hate pokey things in the yard: briars, thorns, cacti... you name it.  If they are pokey, they will poke me.  The sad thing is that I know they will poke me and hurt, but invariably, I'll forget about the pain from last time and get poked again.

It happened yesterday. Last fall, we carefully pulled down a cactus near the back of our house, after I got a butt full of tiny, invisible needles while bending over to get water from the spigot. For some reason, this particular cactus has big, dark, visible needles, then has evil, fishing line-looking needles, just for fun.  I managed to miss the big needles, but forgot about the killer invisible ones. Now I have three in my right hand: two in my palm and one on my middle finger. Ow. You'd think after having a bunch in my butt last summer I'd remember. Sorry to burst anyone's bubble that might have thought of me as brighter than this.

In our other homes in WA and OH, we managed to eradicate the pokey plants. We chopped down bayberry, with its giant thorns... had someone else remove a giant holly tree (turned out it came with another kind of pokey thing: wasps)... and pulled blackberry vines until we were blue in the face.  No pokey things have ever prospered in our yards. Until now.

Georgia is home to many pokey plants.  We have cacti, yucca, some pokey trees that I don't know the name of but they look like little palm trees, juniper bushes and briars. Of these, the only ones that weren't planned are the briars. Mom actually planted the others. Can you believe it?? Someone would purposefully plant things in the yard that hurt to garden.  Sure, they are pretty in a Southwest sort of way, but oh the pain. Of course, Mom loves to garden, so perhaps garden love somehow negates the pain. Although, she was on board with getting rid of the giant cactus, since it bit her, too.

Ah well.  If the heat keeps up, the only living plants remaining will be the pokey ones.  And then, where will we be?!

Weeds and Rain

Weeds and rain are the two governing factors for gardening at our house.  With weeds, one of us (usually Mom or me) will finally go over the edge because of some weed or other desecrating our yard or beds. Rain, on the other hand, almost never happens, so when it does, we all jump and dance for joy... then spend the next morning weeding the inevitable weeds that shoot up after it rains.

Yesterday, I finally got irritated at all of the grass (read weeds) growing in the crack between the gutter and the street.  It is by far the lushest grass on the entire property, even if it is mostly crab grass, with a bit of clover thrown in for luck. It turned out to be kind of fun to pull out, since the roots are in such a tiny place and the foliage takes up quite a bit of room.  Just scrape the leaves off the road, twist and pull (really hard) and up come the roots.  This kind of gardening is pretty gratifying because it immediately looks better.  Of course, there are still buckets of sweat, but at least you can tell you did something when you're done.

Any weeding is easier when the ground is moist... which it almost never is here because it almost never rains.  The last rain we had was when Brian and I took a vacation to North Georgia.  We had almost three days of rain, but by the time we were home from vacation, the ground had dried up.  And that was three weeks ago... three weeks of 90-100+ temperatures.  Since then, we cheer whenever we see clouds and get sad with blue skies.

Today, it rained!!! A full hour of rain to help water the plants and soften the earth. Hooray!  Of course, that means that tomorrow is a weeding day. Sigh.  Weeds and rain.

Note: This post was written two days before it was posted.  I got sleepy and didn't finish the last line. 

Coke Addiction

When I've been working hard in the yard on a hot day, nothing really hits the spot like an ice cold Coke.  No kidding.  In my 20 years living in the Northwest, I doubt if I had 20 Cokes (alright, that is probably an exaggeration, but I rarely had it).  But back in the sun, heat and land of Coca-Cola, somehow it becomes an alluring treat, promising to revive and refresh. The sweet, caffeinated, carbonated goodness calls to me like a siren song. And I don't even like Coke.

That's the thing... Coke has had fantastic marketing campaigns, all the way back to the early 1900's:  Delicious and Refreshing (1904), Good to the Last Drop (1907), Refresh Yourself (1924), The Pause that Refreshes (1929), What You Want is a Coke (1952), It's the Real Thing (1969), Coke Adds Life (1976), Have a Coke and a Smile (1979), Coke Is It (1982), The Official Soft Drink of Summer (1989). How do you fight that?

In my opinion, Coca-Cola really has so very little going for it.  It is way too sweet, highly acidic, has no nutritive content, and is full of high fructose corn syrup.  People use Coke to remove rust from metal parts that were left out in the rain.  If you leave a tooth in cola overnight, it will melt away. It is filled with empty calories and is horrible for the immune system (not to mention skin, teeth, bones and more).

And yet, Coke is so deeply engrained in our World, American (and particularly Southern) cultures.  I was visiting a state park the other day and noticed a family fitness trail.  There were little signs with facts about animals, then a suggestion to move like the animal 20 times .  It was a fun way to encourage kids to exercise and (hopefully) get the parents playing with the kids at the same time.  However, proudly posted on the bottom left hand corner of each sign was a note saying that this fitness trail was sponsored by Coca-Cola. Seriously???? Subliminally (or perhaps not so subliminally, for that matter), I knew my reward for working up a sweat by jumping like a frog or scampering like a squirrel was an ice cold Coke.

Everywhere I go, I see advertisements for Coke: billboards, movie posters, restaurants, ads before previews in movies, magazines, state park fitness trails... you name it.  And I probably get about 50% less inundation than the average citizen because I don't watch TV or listen to the radio. Regardless, it is impossible to ignore.  In many instances, it is actually easier to get Coke than water.

So here I am with a Coke addiction. Admitting I have a problem is the first step to recovery, right? 

The Glove of Death, part 1

Today we had a date to dance with the devil. Devil's grass, that is.  Man, I hate that stuff.  I stalled by watering anything that looked like 104 degrees might kill it, then watered the tomatoes, then deadheaded the snap dragons, but after that, I had to face the evil.

After pulling grass for about 5 minutes, I realized I was sitting on top of an ant bed.  (Round one goes to the grass.) Luckily, I only got about 3 bites, but Brian and Mom had a hard time because they were laughing so hard.  Glad I can provide a bit of amusement.

Once I moved, I pulled grass for about 30 seconds before asking about Roundup. Seems to me, if we're pulling out all of this grass, we should be able to do something to keep it gone. Those blasted rhizomes break off under ground, so the grass keeps coming back. So, the question is... can we somehow kill the grass all the way to its very roots? Turns out that you can (supposedly... remember, this is devil's grass we're talking about), but you have to apply the Roundup to the foliage, not the roots.  However, the cursed grass is growing within the phlox and iris bed. Enter... the Glove of Death! (cue music)

The Glove of Death is one of Brian's things.  I have no idea how he found out about it, but he used to be the gardener for his church in California when he was a teenager, so perhaps he learned about it then.  The idea is really simply: the glove is soaked in Roundup, placed on the hand (over a rubber household cleaning glove - it is poison, after all) then applied to the unwanted foliage.  By using a glove, he is able to apply poison to the offending plant, without impacting the phlox and irises below the grass. For coolness factor, the Glove of Death is black. Oooooooooh!

So, if this works, round two may go to the home team. (Yay, us!) If it doesn't, we're back to pulling... one blade at a time.

Stay tuned for The Glove of Death, part 2 to find out how it all turns out.  Coming to a blog near you in a couple of weeks.

Sweat: A Matter of Semantics

My mother once told me that Southern girls don't sweat; they glisten or glow, perhaps even perspire, but never sweat. If that's the case, then when I garden or hike, I glow like the meltdown of Three Mile Island in a torrential downpour. Beads of "glisten" roll down my face and head so that I'm walking around with my own personal rainstorm, like a Douglass Adams character.

As a poster child for autoimmune diseases, one of my many health joys is dealing with the daily annoyances of Sjogren's Syndrome, a disorder in which the immune system attacks the moisture producing cells in the eyes, mouth, etc. This means that I often have ridiculously dry eyes and can't produce enough saliva to swallow food without additional liquid. Sadly, my "glow" producers seem entirely unaffected. Where is the logic of that? It seems like I'd at least get some positive out of it, but no, sweat continues in epic quantities.

Perhaps I should reexamine my very Southern-ness.  If I sweat, does this mean I'm not a true Southern girl? Does my father's Pennsylvania heritage somehow taint my background and induce excessive moisture? Oh, the horror!

Some of you, who knew me from Seattle, may ask if the decay of true Southern-like gentility was a result of the 20 years I spent in the Northwest.  If only. From the earliest days of 4-H camp and biking to the swimming pool, Linda + Heat = Perspiration.  When you add Activity to the equation, we're back to nuclear meltdown.

Goose Poop Park

A Non-Gardening Day!!

Each morning, Mom and I get up a little after 6:00 and go for a walk.  We walk for about a mile, then come home for breakfast before heading out to the yard.  Today, after making coffee, I suggested going out to the Biscuit Barn for breakfast.  (OK, that isn't really the name of the place, but they make awesome biscuits and the real name isn't nearly as good.) So Brian, Mom and I went to breakfast.

Once we were on the road, I shared my ulterior motive with Mom... this was all an ploy to get out of doing yard work for the day! Turns out that all of us had sore hands from the previous several days of work and we needed a little time off.  After breakfast we went for another walk at a lovely park, during which time gardening was not even discussed.

Our post breakfast walk took place at Rhodes-Jordan Park in Lawrenceville, Georgia.  It is a lovely park, circling a lake, with a paved path that wanders back and forth through trees, across a dam, over boardwalks and next to a play ground.  The only drawback is the presence of water fowl. In fact, that is such a drawback, I hereby re-christen this park as Goose Poop Park, in honor of... well... you can probably guess.

Interestingly, I believe one gets better exercise at GPP than one would get in a less poopy place. Jumping and tip-toeing from clean spot to clean spot is certainly beneficial exercise, especially good at improving balance and agility!

Hooray!  Tomorrow we're off the hook again because we're driving up to the mountains for the day.

It was a very good day.

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.

Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here.

Thus marks the gates of hell and the way out of my garage.  You see, all gardening days start in the garage from whence comes gardening shoes (running shoes past their prime), gloves, buckets and tools.  I suppose it should say, "abandon all hope, ye who exit here", but that may be taking things just a bit too literally. Moving on.

Dante's Inferno clearly mentions the nine circles of hell and the punishments allotted to those who commit the deadly sins.  I really think he missed the most insidious punishment of all... quack grass.

Seriously, Bermuda grass (also known as Devil's grass) uses runners to insinuate itself into every part of the garden. There are two ways to get rid of it (read: slow its progress for a short while): cover the area for a year... yeah right, or dig down into the soil and pull the rhizomes out by hand.  Sounds easy, right?  It would be if the Georgia soil were not rock hard from years of drought, the grass rhizomes weren't terribly brittle and easily broken, and it wasn't DEVIL'S GRASS!

Seriously, Dante missed a level. Going down!


This stuff is in the big bed in the front yard and the big bed in the back yard... and in the yard itself, everywhere. I thought it was crab grass until I looked it up today.  Turns out that crab grass is fun and easy to pull, at least comparatively. Devil's grass requires the gardener to sit in the dirt and scratch at the soil until finding one of the runners.  Once the runner is spotted, the gardener must pull like mad until it breaks.  A really satisfying runner can be upwards of five or six feet long. An annoying one breaks off immediately and causes the gardener to employ several curse words of increasing intensity. Most runners are annoying, at best.

So, the 10th circle of hell is for mean people.  They will be forced to spend all eternity ridding a small bed of Devil's grass. Based on my gardening experiences, that would indeed be the very essence of Hell.

The Dreaded Yucca.

The dreaded yucca plant is a Georgia native.  Who knew?  My friend Gloria, who is a horticulturalist, told me so.  As far as I'm concerned, the yucca comes from the same level of hell as cacti, bayberry and holly bushes. They are all pokey and evil. Nuff said.

For the past 3 months, mom and I have been deciding what to do with the yuccas.  They were overgrown and had loads of dead bits, overall a very unattractive addition to our side/front bed.

I voted to dig them up. You can't possibly get rid of yuccas, even if you pull them up by the very root. Last time we pulled them out by the root, we broke a pitchfork.

Yuccas put out these crazy rhizomes that look like sweet potatoes, that break at the slightest provocation and will create more and more and more yuccas.  It is sort of like the Hydra of Greek mythology... cut off one head and three grow back. Pull out one yucca and the roots will take over the world. But I digress.

Mom's position was to simply cut the yuccas down to the ground and allow them to regrow. Sure, if you want to do it the easy way.

So this morning was spent cutting yuccas back to the ground. Do you know what...? It was fun!  There is nothing like the cutting back of an evil, pokey plant, then digging in its innards and pulling out huge handfuls of dead yucca guts.  What a cathartic experience!  I didn't even mind the extra waterfalls of sweat cascading down my head and neck into the extra thick, long sleeved shirt which is required when working with the villainous evergreen.  It was worth every gallon of it.  It was also worth the blisters that came from using the wrong tool to cut through the never ending spikes. Oh the joy of seeing them razed to the ground!

Today, I thought gardening was OK.

Daydreams

Yesterday I was working on the big bed in the back yard.  In the 8 weeks since I last worked the bed, the violets, baby oak trees and devil's grass had taken over the Japanese irises.  Violets are a pain in the butt, but relatively easy to remove. Just grab the whole bunch and pull...oh so slowly.  Baby oak trees require much digging to ferret out the acorn, then they are pretty easy to get rid of as well. But devil's grass - oh, the agony!

While working on the devil's grass, I fell into a meditative state, like the one my neighbor told me about.  In my meditation, I was dreaming about all of the other things I could be doing rather than gardening. You know, from my 20 years in corporate America.  Instead of pulling the accursed grass, I could be:

• Attending a staff meeting in which we discussed the same thing we had discussed for the previous 24 months.
• Or, I could be dealing in office politics with people who were power hungry or simply wanted fame and fortune, rather than the good of the project/team/business. 
• Or, I could be on the phone attending an unending status meeting about a project I had little to do with. 
• Or, I could be providing training to folks who had no interest in the content... better yet, with those who were opposed to the content and felt the need to vocalize their feelings in the most negative way possible. 

 Ahhhh... any or all of those would be held in the glory of an artificially lit, well air-conditioned  cubicle farm.  Could there be anything better?

My dreamlike meditation ended as the sweat from my face poured onto my sunglasses, making it impossible to see the grass in front of me. Coming to, I realized how much I really hated gardening.

A Reluctant Gardener.

I am a reluctant gardener.  Never have I been a true dirt digger. Instead, my preference is to pay someone else to mow, weed, mulch and do any other menial task relegated to the care and maintenance of the yard. Getting dirty is not my thing.

Others say that gardening is the key to life.  Mom says it keeps her sane as she deals with Alzheimer's. My neighbor says she goes into a Zen meditation whenever she gardens. My husband says it it fun.  Whatever. All I know is that at the end of a gardening session, I'm hot, sweaty and dirty.  Generally, there are new mosquito bites and scratches on my skin.

Regardless, I garden. In fact, I'm the driving force behind gardening at our house.  "Hey kids, let's put on our shoes!" has replaced getting ready for work or reading a book. Hmmm. (Sorry Mickey Rooney and Judy Garland.)

Why do I garden? To keep the peace with Mom, to keep the yard looking pretty, and to ensure all is well in our little world. In other words, I garden because I have to. And I'm getting pretty good at it.