THTSL Manual: The Kook Next Door

Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Just a matter of time is all it took, and I am sure that I have been officially dubbed "The Kook Next Door." I guess I can live with that; at least, it's not 'The Neighborhood Kook', which honor goes to the old man way up the street, the one who collects the chestnuts from the tree bordering the field across the street. Not a bad hobby at all, except, he manages somehow to go into the horse's enclosure to get his prize chestnuts. Strange things happen when you live in the same neighborhood as a farm school, so just accept what I'm saying for now and I will explain further a little later on. Anyway, I digress....


I decided to concentrate a little bit on our front yard. With a new landscaper to do the more exhausting chores, this frees me up to do those little side things, like killing annoying weeds between the cracks in the sidewalk. I'm telling you, those weeds are the bane of existence! Everything else looks almost picture-perfect: every plant is growing, right where its supposed to grow, and the solar garden lights all really light up at night (even the one I accidentally stepped on and is lying on its side with its broken stem as useless as a cat's hairball), and so on. Everything's great EXCEPT for those stubborn, healthy, thriving and totally unwanted weeds in between the slabs of concrete that make up our front walk. I know what you're thinking...why not just buy some weed killer and be done with them? No way, Jose. Not again, at least. The last time I did that I forgot to read the damn label on the bottle and squirted weeds willy-nilly without the benefit of rubber gloves protecting my hands. That night, I made fresh meatballs, carefully rolling the meat in my hands to make the golf-ball sized entree -- and wound up poisoning myself for an entire night and half the next day. Thank GOD no one else was home that night to eat the meatballs, but still, it was bad enough.

Anyway....NO poison. I just can't take that chance with Max living here, and with neighborhood kids and other dogs wandering the neighborhood, so forth and so on. So, I had an inspiration! Somewhere along the way, I remember reading about someone using boiling water to kill weeds. They said it was simple, clean and if you weren't clumsy, a very safe way to kill the little buggers. I went inside to put the kettle on, as well as two huge pots of water, and in jig time, I had all 3 boiling away, with me cackling with glee like the witches from MacBeth (at least, I think it was MacBeth...my memory isn't what it used to be)!

I hurried outside and began to gently pour boiling water from my tea kettle on the green, unsuspecting plants. I began to giggle a bit, very pleased with myself for this amazing brainstorm, and started talking out loud to myself, something along the lines of ,"I'll get you, my pretty, and your little dog, too!"

 Then, I heard a gentle cough...and looked up to see my new neighbor staring at me, looking a bit confused and more than a bit worried.

"Good morning!" I chirped, still giddy with glee over my great idea.

"Uh....Hi..." he responded. "If I may ask, what are you doing?" He didn't look as curious as he did really worried.

"I'm killing...." but before I could say "weeds", a sight more horrible than a dozen eggs dropped on the floor met my eyes. To my horror, four or five wiggly, frantic and probably very p**** off earth worms were trying their best to flee the boiling flood from hell -- and for all intents and purposes, looked like they were coming straight AT me! A little-known fact in these parts is that I hate -- and I mean totally loathe -- worms of ANY type, and most especially earth worms! Just the sight of one on the pavement is enough to send me walking way out of my way around it, afraid it is going to somehow touch me (God forbid!).

And, with that I screamed out, "WORMS!"

"Uh...yeah...right. Well you have a good day, ok?" he finished lamely, scooting really fast into his car.

Oh, well. Some days it just doesn't pay to try and explain what you are doing. I must have looked a fright with that hot kettle dangling from my hand, and trying to catch up with his car for a little ways as he backed out of his driveway. I'm not sure, but I think that only made things worse!

Well, I think that did it. With one successful try, I've moved out of the realm of 'eccentric lady next door'  to 'the kook who kills worms'. Yeah...maybe so. But at least I own the Queen of Green, who lives just out back, and I'm sure she would have nodded her approval , had she seen me doing my thing.

Yep, it is going to be some summer!

THTSL Manual: The Fountain - I wish

The giant hosta sits quietly on her throne, spreading her arms wide as if to hug the entire backyard. Her throne is a garden bed --  more accurately, a 4 foot wide space of ground surrounded by planks, each about 12 feet long by 6 inches high. The enormous plant fills nearly the entire bed as she grandly claims the title of The Pride of Henry Ave.

It’s been somewhat of a hassle for me to be the guardian of this unusual Queen of Green. For the past few years, I’ve protected her from various assailants, such as the notorious Chuckie the groundhog, Wicky the rat, and Max, my beloved aging shepherd-lab mix (his aim is to improve his aim, preferably no where near the hosta). However, I’ve taken to this task like a duck takes to water, or dandruff takes to a black sweater, or something like that. I’m not fussy. This year, I’ve done something truly radical with my yard and gardens, something I vowed I would never do. I’ve hired someone to help me, God help me, and so far, he’s done a swell job. My biggest fear is that I will grow fat and sassy (oh, ok…fat is a probable, but sassy is a given) from lack of working outdoors – but the bold truth is that I am not a young as I was 10 years ago (who is, really?) and I find that relaxing has some real merits.

My landscaper, Tim, works very hard to make sure the finished product is to my satisfaction and so far, he has delivered. I asked him to remove all but 2 of those annoying wooden-box type garden beds. Yes….there was a total of 8 of them, and they were built by the homeowner before us, probably about a hundred years ago. The boards were all starting to give in to the ravages of weather and time and I noticed last year that the ‘beds’ were harboring weeds more than anything else.  However, my giant hosta lived in one of the beds and some of her children lived in another one. There was no way I would chance uprooting them and replanting them elsewhere. So, I asked Tim to leave those 2 beds alone and plant a lovely lawn where the others had been. He agreed, and in one fell swoop (two days, really), the deed was done. 

With the offending, crumbling boxes gone, the giant hosta stood out like a monarch. I decided to give her a name, and came up with “Francie Nolan”, or just Fran, for short.  Francie Nolan was the protagonist in the novel “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn”. She was as tenacious as they come and managed to survive during an era that knew no electric washing machines, TVs, computers, credit cards, iPhones, Chuckie Cheeses, or even McDonalds, come to think of it. Still, she managed to grow up into a fine young woman and went on to graduate college (or so we assume), even though she totally skipped high school. Now, that’s tenacious! My giant hosta certainly was in the same category, surviving all sorts of trials and tribulations. So, “Fran” now had a name of her very own.

The days slowly passed until April turned into May, and May gently glided into June, and Fran just kept on growing. The day lilies at the other end of the bed soon crowded together, like people huddled in a bunch on the street, watching Queen Fran wave to them from her throne.  All was right with the world. The brown scars where the other beds used to be were dotted with grass seed, as I patiently waited for green sprouts to appear. I lounged in my hot tub, gazing at the panorama and envisioned a lovely green lawn that Fran could reign over -- when suddenly, I had a vision! 

I know what my yard needs, I thought – a fountain! Yes, a beautiful, waterfall-kind-of-noise fountain. So, off to the home center I went with dreams of a fountain filling my head.

Welcome to The Garden Centre and to Fountain Reality 101.

“What type of fountain are you looking for?” the salesman asked.

“You know, the type that has water cascading down into a kind of bowl or dish” I lamely answered.

“Yes, I know that,” he replied swatting at some invisible gnat or something. “What I meant was, what type of fountain material do you want?”

Hmmm.. I thought all fountains were made of stone, or concrete. Wrong assumption, I found out.

“Look..there are fountains made of stone, concrete, and copper, brass, bamboo, ceramic, bronze, resin, and fiberglass,” he said. Seeing the confused look on my face, he inwardly groaned as he asked me the next question:

“What style fountain would you like? Before you ask me, let me tell you that there are, for example, fountains that are two tier, three tier, all the way up to five tier; urn, floor, solar, waterfall, cascading, lighted….” he droned on. I was starting to feel a headache coming on. This was going to be anything but easy! “And, what type of water hookup are you going for?” he asked next. Hookup?? Oh, geeze! Who even thought of a thing like that! I guess I should have…..

Feeling a bit defeated, I thanked him for his time, and making some kind of excuse, I told him I’d be back in a day or so. The look on his face said, “Yeah…right…sure you will” He was simply determined by this point to shove some type of fountain in the trunk of my car. I kept saying ‘no thank you..not right now’, but he and his voice followed me all the way to my car,  badgering me with his descriptive verbiage of fountains.

Not too long after that, I was back at home and stood by my gazebo taking in the beauty of the whole place. Fran looked peaceful and serene and the lilies seemed to be waving to me. In my mind’s eye, I could see a lovely fountain smack dab in the center of the yard.

With a little grin, it hit me! All I really needed to do was to call Tim! Let him advise me and above all else, let him install the fountain. There you go, I thought to myself. Problem all solved!

Then, I spotted it.

Right in the dead center of the yard, a hole about 6 inches in diameter broke through the crust of the seeded area. Oh, no!!!! Could it possibly be??! Could this be Chuckie making his grand appearance once again?? Right where I intended my new fountain to go?!!

This was going to be some summer, I decided. Yep, some summer for sure.

I’m not exactly sure, but I think I heard Fran snort at me.

Remember...it's still only June! I can't wait to see what Fran will look like in another month or so!