Enjoyed your day in the garden. Many senses touched.

I wondered about "an ordinary day in the garden", pondered on "one day in the life of an ordinary gardener/garden" and decided to go with.....
Today.
Today was a 'busman's holiday,' a day off that I spent doing in my own garden what I usually do in other people's garden's. Perversely I spend a lot of time in other people's garden's persuading them to do what I did in my garden, today. Garden as a verb (cultivate or tend a garden) is as subjective as the noun (?) it is also addictive.
Today, early I had coffee on the deck that overlooks the back garden and the river that crosses the garden's bottom. We have had some strange weather recently and I tried to read a meterological message into the swaying willows that would help me plan. This is what I mean about the subjectivity regarding 'garden', I had many options, work, play procrastinate: all were open to me. The good thing is (I think it is good thing?) my partner is an addict too. She brought her coffee out and said "We need a new flower bed." I yawned and stretched a bit, took a sip of my coffee remembering cappuccino on an Italian piazza some time ago but knew that my day was planned.
Today: I cut out the new bed and re-used the turf (sod) elsewhere, dug over the pottery clay soil incorporating manure and hemlock mulch, eventually it resembled soil. She had bought 3 russian sage. I had sneaked in some day lillies, there were some red geraniums in a window box that caused a colour clash and should be re-sited and a Miscanthus I was needing a home for. A rock or two.
Now I am back on the deck, the refreshment has changed to beer, the view is the same except for the rain (I never saw that coming) and the new flower bed.
Today was a good day.

Weren't you fortunate? The rain to settle in the new flower bed and a beer to settle you.

Tonights installment will be called:

Dances With Deer (with humble apologies to K. Costner)

Friday evening I came home and spent a little time weeding the garden in the back yard. Despite the long sleeves, long pants, socks and hubbys fly-fishing hat with mosquito netting, Id had enough of the mosquitoes after about an hour and gave it up to fix dinner and drink wine. As I was walking through the house, I happened to glance out the back and saw a doe walking out of the field into the yard.

We live out in the country on several acres, and behind the area we refer to as our yard there is a field of approximately five acres that we have seeded with native prairie plants. There are several of the natives emerging but there are also plenty of common field weeds there. Its not unusual to see deer grazing in this area, but we rarely see them come close to the house.

As I watched the deer enter the yard, I quietly slipped out the door onto the deck. She looked up at me, then put her head down and grabbed an enormous mouthful of weeds from the lawn. Even as I was thinking, "Thank you," I was shuddering to think of the damage that mouth would have inflicted on the garden beds. I took a couple of steps closer to her. She stopped eating and - walked closer to me!

I put my hands on my hips and glared at her, defiant. She gazed back rather impassively, and came closer yet. She was now only about thirty feet away from me. Every once in a while, she would turn her head and look towards my bed of New Jersey Tea, which was just coming into bloom. Id see this plant referred to as "deer candy" in one book. Then a motion off to my right distracted me; I was pleased to see a female hummingbird visiting the penstemon plants. I would have missed this sight if not for my four-legged friend.

I finally spoke to the deer in a calm voice and told her she was not going to dine in my garden. She quietly turned and walked away.

This evening, she decided to stage a repeat performance. Once again, when I came out on the deck she walked even closer to me. This time, I decided that calm, rational discussions were not the way to go. After all, Ill be on vacation soon, and who will be here to talk the deer out of decimating my garden? So I unleashed my secret weapon, Sunrise the yellow lab. She took off like a bullet after that doe, and the doe decided that it was time to raise her tail and run.

But would you believe she circled around and was back in about fifteen minutes? This time she approached from the driveway and was only mildly interested when she saw me sitting on the bumper of the Suburban watching her. Once again, I tried reason, but she just didnt seem interested. The lab had only been effective in the short term, so it was time for the ultimate weapon. I took a deep breath, braced myself and then turned loose:

THE CRAZY LADY SCREAMING, YELLING AND WAVING HER ARMS!!!

It was too much for the deer; she disappeared into the woods at the back of the five acres.

I cant wait to see if she tries to come out tomorrow night.

V.

20 inches of rain so far in June and the garden has taken off like wildfire, so have the weeds and the lizards. It's already a bit late in the morning for this 90 degrees weather with 85 percent humidity. But, the spirit is quite willing, so I begin. Heading out to the flower beds I notice a huge pot of caladiums on the patio that look like it needs to be moved somewhere. After two hours of rearranging the patio by moving huge potted plants and a baker's rack of plants to and fro I am right back where I began and the caladiums still do not look right. I absolutely refuse to move the satsuma tree and lemon tree pots again because each time I rolled one around and into another place the heavy fruit smacked me in the face or head. The excessive rain has the fruit far advanced this year. The salty sweat burning my eyes and stinging my skin remind me that I had better move into shade quickly.
On my knees in a bed under a scrub oak tree I am accompanied by my Pekin duck. Each time I turn over a brick or stone he dives at an earthworm that has been exposed. The duck is recuperating from a raccoon attack four months ago and still has a bald spot on top of his head, all that is left of the skinning from his head to his chest that the raccoon gave him. $1300 worth of vet's bills and he is almost as good as new, as new as a nine year old white duck can be.
The cats gave up long ago and are sleeping under the birdbath dreaming minou dreams of perhaps birds falling out of the bath into their mouths. Above my head in the scrub oak are two doves' nests, their second brood of the season. The mother sits ever so quietly with one bright eye watching me. The windchimes are nearby and tinkle gently. What a lovely way for a baby bird to enter this world with the melody of Westminster windchimes singing a lullaby to them.
As I weed and water the garden even more with dripping perspiration I dodge the lizards that are so prolific this year. Whether I am working near a dark green asphisdistra plant or a light green rosemary the lizard seems to be the exact same color as the plant and gives me a shiver as I accidentally grab it.
The squirrels are sampling the figs in the fig tree, taking only one bite out of each and leaving none that anyone else will want to eat. The little devils. They did the same when the loquats were ripe. I hadn't even loquats to make wine this year because of the squirrels.
Beet red face and dripping hair. Think I had better call it a morning. Haven't even gotten near the rosebushes or the gingers or the camellias. But, tomorrow is another day. That's what's so good about gardening; there's always tomorrow.

Doing a bit of lurking over here - I've only recently discovered this forum (I usually hang out at Perennials ). Just wanted to say how much I enjoyed reading the posts above. I'm even feeling inspired to write something of my own, though whether I'll have enough courage to post here I'm not sure! Either way I'll be back to read more.

Mary

C'mon Mary! Jump in with both trowels.

I just joined GardenWeb, and just now found this forum. The writing I've been reading in this particular thread flows so gently, and both lulls me, and excites me! Bravo!

Staring out my window at the rain my focal point is my 'vulcan' magnolia tree. I counted six or so flower buds the other day. Sometimes squirrels nip these buds off and woe unto them if that happens again this year. From what I've read when this plant blooms for the first time, it will not be true to color. I have seen this happen with other plants. I have also seen instances where the actual blossom never equals that of the picture in the magazine or catalog. Such is the case with my cornus 'Stellar Pink.'
I stroll through the garden thinking of all the things that must be done someday but not right now because: it is raining, too hot and humid, too many mosquitoes, don't have time right now. I have just discovered bonsai and have indulged this intrest to the neglect of the rest of my garden. My wife tells me not to buy any more plants and supplies to make more bonsai until I sell some of what I have. I did originally create them with the intent of selling them but who can sell their children especially when they turn out so beautiful?
I am doing a good job of keeping the front garden looking presentable, all neat and clean and floriferous but the back - that is an entirely different story. It is a God-awful mess in the area where I do my potting, store containers, tools and assorted garden junk along with gourds I intend to clean and craft someday (there's always tomorrow). Mostly I fill this day once again with planning and dreaming. If I do anything it seems like piddling, which I enjoy but doesn't seem to get much done. I dream of all the fruit trees bearing next year: the persimmons, pomegranates, plums, pineapple guava, pawpaw, mulberry, mayapple, che, and blueberries. I did pick some squash, cucumbers, green beans and tomatoes which I took over to my sisters house. I filled the birdfeeders one with black oil sunflower seed, one with thistle, and refilled the hummingbird feeder. The hummingbirds have been here since the last part of June.
I have developed a plan. I will carry pots of plants, of which I have many, to the site where I eventually intend to plant them. This will help solve the plan of placement. Then my goal will be to plant at least one plant per day till I'm done.
Back inside for a lemonade and a nap.
I take a tour or the garden carrying the hoe with me so I can nip some weeds in the bud. I can't spray Roundup because it is precicted rain for the next two weeks.
Back inside I surf the Internet mostly about gardening topics - that counts doesn't it? Supper becons and the TV - an irrestible combo I hate to admit.

Random thoughts

Ive been sailing for much of the last week among the natural rock gardens of the San Juan Islands, which lie a few miles to the west of us. At this time of year, these rocky islands look sun-baked and dry, but even in summer, wherever there is soil, grasses, wildflowers, and trees thrive, and wherever there is moisture and shade, mosses cover the ground. Even the bare rocks rising sheer from the water sprout trees mostly madronas and shore pines.

Besides wild rock gardens, the islands also have underwater gardens of kelp, eel grass, and sea anemones, which are best viewed in the tide pools at low tide when the reflections of sky and cliffs and trees seemingly tie them to the flowers and grasses of the dry uplands.

In the nineteenth century, before corporate farmers from the huge latifundia of central Washington ruined their market with cheap, irrigated fruit, the San Juan Islands were famous for their apples and pears. I have a pear tree, a variety called Orcas, which was discovered growing in the islands and is supposed to do very well in western Washingtons cool maritime climate. But my tree is still young and has not yet borne fruit, though it flowered for the first time last spring.

I returned home just in time. Last week was sunny and warm, but yesterday our skipper noticed a definite change in the air and decided to come back a day earlier than we had planned. Im glad he did, because I woke to drumming rain this morning.

This meant one thing: slugs! I got up, grabbed the ammonia sprayer, and started to look for the slimy critters. I found quite a few and big ones, too. I slew them all.

By early afternoon, the clouds drifted away and the sun came out. Time to do garden chores. But my garden has become almost self-maintaining. Even though I was away for five days, there was not much I had to do to it (except for savoring blueberries and raspberries) I pulled a few native grasses and buttercups that were trying to get established and I clipped back a few tree branches that had grown too long, and that was it.

After finishing these "chores," I poured myself a glass of wine and settled onto the front porch with a book (Second Nature, a gardeners education by Michael Pollan).

Out front, where the fireweed is blooming by the road side, a man and a girl rode by on their bikes.
"Theres a secret garden in that jungle," said the man.
"Whats a secret garden?" asked the girl. I couldnt hear his answer because they had pedaled out of hearing range.

The raccoons came early tonight, before dusk. I suspect they missed my handouts. They were angry with me, however, because I threw out egg shells when they wanted eggs, and they crowded up to the back door, staring at me as I cooked an omelet. They didnt get any. But I will give them cat food and bread crusts after dark, when they bring heir babies.

It wasnt until I came fingers-to-face with a black widow spider a week or so ago that I actually started paying attention to anything small and fleeting in the garden this year. Matter of fact, its been a long while since Ive thought there could really be any danger there. No threat in annoying the thinck, slow bumble bees on the velvet lambs ear plumes or in stirring my hand through the blister beetles to wring another green tomato for frying from the vine. Not even bare-footing it through the crunchy, gray pine mulch and standing at length next to a long thread of ants to deadhead the coreopsis was really asking for trouble. Then, in a "wake up from that trance" nudge from Mother Nature I was reminded that skin crawls and dangers lurk.

Now, its not that Ive never seen them before or didnt know better than to reach mindlessly into a small abyss of an upturned brick. Trouble is bound to be waiting there. I knew that, right?

I suppose I was so very lost in thought that common sense faded with consciousness. The encounter was so surreal. "Need to snip those Stellas, too many spent brown stems. Did I fertilize those mums last week or am I remembering last month? They dont look quite right."

Fingers into void. "These bricks dont look as good here now that the sage has some height to it. I wonder . . .aw, gloves are in the garage. Too far. I wish it would rain so I could pull weeds without them. Guess Ill need to run the sprinklers this week. Damn blackspot, though. Hey!! What the . . ."

It was like leaning back in a chair and realizing the wall is further away than you calculated much too late to straighten up but you jerk anyway only to make things worse. So it started with an onyx blur tattooed with the tell-tale blood red violin streaking across my wrist and a violent fling of the brick.

"Shake that hand. SHAKE IT!"

"Its on my shirt. Run! Thats a rose. Go around, go around!"

"No! Whered it go?? I dont see it."

"Oh Jesus!!" Fling.

Stomp!

Stomp, stomp.

Deep breath. Long sigh.

"I should water the porch plants now . . ."

I am a donkey (shrugs) It's not a bad life. I will never be an artist. To paint or sing or dance. You would not want to see me dance. You would laugh. Which I suppose would not be so bad. I will never be a surgeon. Imagine the look on your face as you stare up at the doctor holding a scalpel in a big awkward hoof. Just as you are going under you realize, "He's a donkey!". It does not inspire confidence.
I just don't have those kinds of skills. That is not for me. I have a strong back, thick hands and legs. I am a donkey. I can carry things and move things and arrange things all day long. And I never complain. I like being a donkey.

The only problem with being a donkey is people don't respect you. They think, "He is only a donkey", "Did you see those thick legs? I bet his head is just as thick!" and then they laugh. They don't think I can hear them. But I have these big ears and they are good for listening. I am a very good listener.

I think I was born to work in the garden. It is where I am most at home. An entire day can go by in the swish of a tail and I wonder, "Where did it go." Then I walk through my garden at the end of the day and I see where it went. I moved those rocks. I planted that new bed. I weeded the upper garden. I cleaned the lower pond. I mowed the grass. I tilled the vegetable garden and then I moved some more rocks. Ther are always rocks to move.

I am a donkey. (shrugs) It is not a bad life. But sometimes I wish I could be...(shrugs) I don't know. (pause) I am (pauses, straightens up) I am a donkey, damnit! (smiles sheepishly) It is good to be a donkey.

jb

I like that JB. An unapologetic worker, what you call donkey may really be the 'key although I would have to see a donkey smiling sheepishly to believe it.
From the heart and written well too, well done.

Thanks Kog.

It is part of a monolouge I've been working on. As I think you can tell from the stage directions, it is meant to be spoken aloud.

It is only partly autobiographical. I don't actually have hooves.

jb

Since I wrote My Day in the Garden on June 28 things have changed for me in the garden.
On Tuesday, July 13 my beloved Pekin duck died quite suddenly (I guess most people and things die suddenly). My son dug a grave for him under the kumquat tree next to the gingers where he liked to grub for worms. We marked his grave with a stone that I will carve his name on- "Prim". We put one of every blooming flower on his grave. He loved to hide from me in the shrimp plants or under the boxwoods. And, his favorite afternoon napping place was under the rosebushes next to the rosemary.
It will be a while before I have the heart to enjoy the back garden again, but will always remember the little white duck who gardened at my elbow with me for the past nine years, softly talking as we worked. May he quack in peace.

My condolences on the loss of your beloved duck. They are truly sweet, wonderful creatures.