Smashing Pumpkins and Lots of Sitting

October 24, 2010

Our wandering pumpkin met with unsavory characters last night – and so did one of his buddies. Seeing as one of the Rules Of The Suburbs is that you have to have Jerky Idiot Punks who can’t respect private property, two of our pumpkins were smashed on the driveway last night. I could go off right now, on a long rant about teenagers and young adults with brain-dead, ignorant parents, but that’s really not productive, not positive and not useful.

So I won’t. And Tony cleaned it all up before anyone got up this morning.

Aside from a few impatiens getting a second wind, the little bit of rain from yesterday was sucked up, wicked up and blown away this morning. More was promised today, but the sun was bright and warm and the breeze – wind, really – was quite brisk. Still drought conditions and no rain to be seen.

I swung gently in the hammock and watched the squirrels travel between our pin oak, still covered with leaves, and the neighbor’s tree, now completely bare. It was like one of those optical illusions; I knew the squirrels were there by the noise of the rustling, the branches bobbing as they jumped, and then suddenly they were visible, as if by magic, when they moved into the next tree. Almost like those children’s books with the sliding paper doors.

When I tried to dig up hostas to work on the Neither Here Nor There bed, it was bone dry, hard as concrete. I sat in the grass, visualizing all the digging that needs to be done. And I gave that up for today.

I did fill the watering can up four times from the rain barrel and dump the water into the compost bin. I weeded the new beds along the fence, cut down all the grass and dumped it into the compost bin. Trimmed the spyria bushes.

I picked up the grass that my mom brought me, still wrapped in plastic bags and soaking wet, and took it over to the front beds. I sat on the front porch and thought about what needed to be moved where to make room – and sense – for this grass. This soil is like coffee grounds, crumbly and fine in your hands, so I pulled out more cinnamon-fern-that-isn’t, dug up a large salvia plant, divided it up. The grass went just a little to the right of where that salvia was.

I sat on the sidewalk and thought about the salvia, then planted it along the edge of the walk. I sat again, looking at the milkweed stalk at a 45 degree angle to the ground. I uprooted a tall steel rod with glass knobs, pushed it into the soil and then tied the stalk to it with plant tape.

All the tools were put back in the garage and I headed around back to dump the weeds into the compost. Clarence waved hello before he dashed down into the depths. Turning on the hose, I watered and watered the bin, up and down, back and forth, side to side. Clarence scurried out of the bottom of the bin first and hid under the hostas. Francine was next, seemingly a bit confused as to where to hide, and she selected a clump of garlic chives.

I have to get that hardware cloth. Like – now.

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