flashy petals enticing us to look at sexual organs !!
bi sexuality !!
asexual reproduction !!!
perfume !!
mating with bees !!!
it would be banned in Boston !!!

It's the Kama Sutra, not Karma. There are many, many how-to guides on gardening, but, as with any pursuit, no one volume will teach you everything.

My objective in posting with such a provocative (if misspelled) title was to attract attention, in a month there have been two replies. Am I doing alright do you think?
Gardening is a popular pastime not, it must be said, as popular as sex but nevertheless more deserving of exciting writing. In an aging society who knows how the balance will tip?
I want to write about gardening in a more exciting way, I want to read others writing about it with more passion. Do you know of anyone already doing it?

When I used to work at a nursery, one of my jobs was to write descriptive signs for several hundred varieties of roses. I developed two styles of writing: one was subliminally sexual ("voluptuous, generous, full-bodied blossoms adorn a tall, handsome, erect shrub, etc.") and the other was food oriented ("a rich, delicious, creamy color swirling with cherries and sprinkled with cinnamon, etc.").

Over the years I noticed that the roses with foody descriptions outsold the roses with sexy descriptions 2 to 1. Go figure.

Now I write a monthly humor column about roses (you talk about your Big Challenge, oy) and I always try to slip in something slightly provocative. (For example in describing a tall rose bush with enormous flowers, I love that wonderful old Mae West line, "Never mind the six feet, let's talk about the seven inches.")

One of my basic goals as a writer is to try to astonish the reader. Not shock, just surprise. Sex, food, and humor are not really what the reader expects in a gardening article, and it's definitley one way to spice things up and grab hold of everybody's attention.

I love the writings of Cassandra Danz.

well we got 'designer swapping' being discussed over at the landscape design forum.
- give it a try.

as for roses, just love 'em, even thou they do have small pricks.

Come on, Tony. Opportunity abounds! Just open your eyes.

From reading the postings on the design forum it should be obvious there is tremendous interest and an absolute need for you to write a book on dog pee proof fencing.

:-(
IronBelly (banging his head against the wall)

OK, Tony... so you didn't like the fence idea.

In all seriousness, along the lines of an all inclusive tome, I think an adaption of this concept might have merit; albeit, a neophyte audience. I believe a book that attempted to dispell the horticultural garbage being routinely pandered as fact to the average homeowner would have merit. It seems all one would have to do is excise a plethora of these from the periodicals and expose their shallow folly.

Examples that immediately come to mind are:

1. Use a garden hose (hose pipe to you, Tony) to layout your garden beds to make interesting curves.

2. The first thing you should do is get a soil test.

3. The first thing you need to do is make a detailed scale drawing of your landscape.

4. Lasagna gardening saves you all the back breaking work of digging. Let the worms do the digging for you and get the same results.

5. Plant a white garden.

6. Use the color wheel to plan your selections.

In true Ronald Reagan style, a worthy book would eliminate dis-information.

IronBelly

I like it Iron Belly but could you explain digging in a way that it would get the juices flowing (if you pardon the expression) like the kama sutra does? This is my problem. If we direct what we write only to pipe smoking old fogeys with straw hats and big boots can we complain at the limited appeal. Try the digging exercise (and this is open to everyone, all three of you) describe how to dig a new flower bed in a way that makes me want to do it. I will post mine here tomorrow, it could be fun (unlike digging!) Tony

AS THE SHOVEL GOES IN AND OUT I AM THINKING "THIS IS MOTHER NATURE I AM DOING THIS TO AND SHE LIKES IT." The smell of the earth awakens primordal urges as I turn each shovelful over. My body enjoys the rythmic motion of the digging. My hands perfectly fit the shovel shaft. Deeper I dig.

Can you dig it?

Arnold (The Terminator) Swarzenegger once said that the buzz he gets from physical exercise is the next best thing to an orgasm. Perhaps you have tried jogging in search of this ÂhighÂ? Maybe you have even tried lifting weights or the latest trend at the gym, where $500 buys you entrance to a years supply of humiliation amongst youthful Âhard bodies but gets you no closer to satisfaction.
But wait, there is another way that costs realistically little and can be practiced in the comfort and privacy of your own backyard without the need for anything made of Lycra. You can do as much or as little as you want and if three times a week is too much, just relax, there is no pressure in this new old-fashioned way. It is exercise in the fresh air with peripheral benefits beyond aerobics, and your wildest dreams. Benefits that include real food and flowers, delights whose sight, fragrance, and flavour will grace your table and arouse your partner. To participate in this exercise plan, the only equipment you need is a sharp, well-balanced tool and perhaps some protection.
Now with boots on your feet and a good spade in your hand, you are ready to DIG.
Find a spot as yet untouched if you want a severe workout or one previously turned over if you are just starting out. Start slowly and work on your technique. Place the sharp edge of the spade on the surface of the soil with the handle perpendicular, and then put the sole of your best foot on the top of the blade. Then press down with your foot while working the handle back and forth, you will find that grunting helps amazingly. When the whole blade is stuck in the soil you have reached the first stage known as a full spit and it is time to stop to wipe away any sweat that may have accumulated. Next lever the handle back towards the ground, this loosens the soil so that you can now pick it up, remember to bend you knees. Then with a swift turn of the wrist, drop it back down again upside down. Do three repetitions, this is known as a set, and then have a cup of tea. Here is a useful tip: a fork is easier than a spade so perhaps you could start with two sets of six reps with the fork gradually building up to three sets of eight before graduating to the spade.

Next week: tips of the champions or how to reach digging Nirvana, a fine tilth.

Will there be pictures of men with giant Dendrobiums? I want pictures!

OK - i'll give it a whack:

Jump on the shovel. Rock it back and forth. Lift and turn, letting the dirt slide off. Jam the shovel back in. Hit a stone - it goes clunk and jolts you through the spine. Feel your way around your stone with the tip of the shovel. Work it. When it comes loose it's a delightful satisfaction. Toss it in a pile (it might be the first of many) but first hold its cold gritty weight in your hand and take a good look at it. You might like the shape or the color. Later on you might want to wash it off with the hose.

Keep at it. You'll find a rhythm that suits your body, tool, and soil. Pause when you find something. A broken piece of china or bottle may hint at past lives of your little space. The white c-shaped creatures you may dig up are beetle grubs. If you toss them a few yards a way you could attract a hungry bird that will hang around and wait for more. Or save the grubs in a cup of soil to fish with later if you do that kind of thing. There will be worms, of course.

Step carefully where you've shoveled; don't let the soil get compacted. The big idea is to loosen the soil to allow air, water and nutrients to reach the roots of your garden plants. Today the surface soil is warm, the soil from below is cool, maybe even cold. Are you still keeping up that rhythm? Has the sweat steamed up you glasses, rolled off your nose? Turn on the hose now and take a drink; take a break and survey how it's coming along.

It's especially rewarding to establish a fluid, clean line along the edge of your bed. You get that with a square-tipped shovel, pushing it into the ground and levering it forward, then lifting out the snaky wedge of turf.

You will not see it - the garden - ever look so pure as it does at this hour. Your soil will not again be so dark and loose, moist and ready. Later there will be weeds and dry patches and the fresh edges will soften and blur. But for now, how radiant it is! So ready for planting!

A few more would be good just to prove that this forum could be a go-er. Try it.

At last spring has arrived, and I return to the Garden. Slowly I plunge my shovel into the soft, dark brown earth. She yields and crumbles, tumbling beneath the spade like wayward crumbs of rich moist devil's food cake. The shovel rises, and dips again, like a spoon into a flute of ephemerally fluffy sweet chocolate mousse. I scoop out mounds of dark bitter fudge marbled with Belgian Genoise, uncovering clusters of rich creamy caramel and chunks of crunchy pecans hiding beneath the surface. The dirt dribbles to the ground like warm milky syrup over hot pastry, a wickedly rich pain au chocolat. My knees grow weak.

Succumbing to temptation, I discard the shovel and fall to the earth, kneeling among hazlenut truffles and bits of broken toffee scattered throughout the fudge. I sink my hands into dreamy clouds of chocolate sponge cake enveloped in Grand Marnier chocolate ganache. I caress the essence of Original Sin: mint, amaretto, cappuccino, raspberry puree. I embrace layers of moist French chocolate complemented by the slight tang of orange zest. I bury my face in divinity, ribbons of double fudge laden with chips of dark chocolate swirl across my lips. My thighs are lost to the fertility of coconut and marshmallow, plump mouth-watering raisins, walnuts with succulent blood-red cherries bursting with sweetness and soaked in the darkest of rums. I am coated with dark thick bittersweet rich brown earth. Lying face down in the garden, I find contentment.

Geez Elizabeth, now you've done it - I'm the "h" word.
h...
h...
h...
h...
hungry

Geez Elizabeth, now you've done it - I'm the "h" word.
h...
h...
h...
h...
hungry

I know. I've been trying to write that thing for a week now, but every time I'd get mid-way through the third sentence, I'd wander off to the kitchen and never come back.

Just found this thread.... I'm going straight out into the garden to indulge myself... Anyone got a cigarette?

I, too, just found this thread. Didn't realize there was that much garden talk in the KS, or that gardening was considered one of the arts that should be taught with the art of love. Lot's of interesting quotes. Too many too cite. Here's an amusing one:

"Going to Gardens or Picnics
In the forenoon, men having dressed themselves should go to gardens on horseback, accompanied by public women and followed by servants. And having done there all the duties of the day, and passed the time in various agreeable diversions, such as the fighting of quails, cocks and rams, and other spectacles, they should return home in the afternoon in the same manner, bringing with them bunches of flowers, etc."
[Emph. mine]
:-)

'Kama' as in love. 'Karma' as in duty. So possibly, 'Karma Sutra' is good enough.

Adding to this thread several months later...

Thinking that y'all really needed something to amuse yourselves during the dead of winter (It was Dec., right?)

In my opinion, the Kama Sutra of gardening would involve pollination. It's pretty obvious, though, isn't it? The purpose for every flower is to get laid and procreate. Thus we could describe the spread of blushing petals exposing eager pistils and enticing stamens.

And if nature doesn't provide adequate sexual aids in the form of gentle breezes to disseminate tomato pollen or bees to deal with our squash plants, we must, well, do the job ourselves with a firm shake of the stem or a well-placed brush to their nether regions. Help your zucchinis grow long and hard - stroke their bloomers.

Isn't this fun!

I can't help but hear Boy George in my head, singing, "Karma-karma-karma houttuynia..."

Little horticultural joke there - very little!

My next door neighbor is concerned because I always have red, ripe tomatoes months before hers. Finally she asked me what was my secret and I told her that I gardened in the nude. The tomatoes could sense that I was nude and would become embarrased and turn pink then couldn't turn back. She said she would try it. Weeks later I saw her at the grocery store and asked her if she had any ripe tomatoes yet?
She said "No, but she had the biggest cucumbers you'd ever seen.

Dang you, Eddie!

I'm growing tomatoes from seed for the very first time and I have to admit that I am obnoxiously proud of my success so far. I started way too many seeds, which all grew, so the first step was to pass off tomato plants to family and friends. (You know it's bad when you leave the pots right on the front porch, so you can foist them on ANY unsuspecting visitor.)

So now, the plants that I kept are large, healthy, and starting to develop little tomatoes. They're a plum tomato variety, so they're more oval. Twelve of them so far, and it's early in the season. (This is the frigid north, you know!)

But I'm going to go out to the deck tonight, take one look at my tomato plants and bust out laughing. Will you come get me out of the loony bin?

I am glad you appreciated the humor in my little story, it makes life more bearable doesn't it?

My personal philosophy is that you've gotta laugh, because the alternative is to cry and that just doesn't get you anywhere.

Of course someday it will get me struck dead - we were sitting in church last Sunday and the Old Testament reading referred to a person as a "dresser of sycamore trees." I asked my husband if that had been an ancient precursor to dressing concrete geese.

By the way, my little tomatoes are elongating!

Maybe they were referring to it as in "dress their wounds?"

Oh yeah, because the trees were sick-a-more!

By the hand, my lover led me to the garden, and, now unclothed, down we lay, far removed from others' view. There, in the soft grass between the raised beds of rutabaga and rhododendron, we took and gave pleasure, each to the other; she to me, I to her; she, I, she, I, she, I, she, I, she, I, she, I, she, I, she, I, she, I, she, I: 'til we fell separated--sated and spent. How long was it before she awakedned me? Mounted, and ardent once more, she whispered in my ear: "SON, IF YOU WANT TO HANG ONTO THEM LEVIS, BETTER TIE A LEG AROUND ONE OF YOUR ANKLES--WE MAY NOT BE COMING DOWN THIS ROW AGAIN".
(nonfiction from my youth)