That movie where the birds attack

Yes, I’m still alive and kicking. It’s been so long since my last post, that I’ve had a dickens of a time figuring out my password. I had to uninstall and reinstall programs, for goodness sake. The formatting looks strange to me, too. Anyhoo, we’re still gardening here in the Greatland. I’m not bragging about where I live, that’s really a nickname for Alaska.

Last year we were given, with no prior notice, some live animals. Yes, this paragraph can only get more horrifying, so buckle up. A car drove up the to the house. A car trunk was opened. Most unfortunately, in an unguarded moment, my garage door was open. Into this garage (and from the car in the driveway) were placed 4 chicks, a handful of feed, and a water dish. They were in a small cardboard box. Since people have been killed on slighter provocation than a drive by insta-pet dump, you’d think this person (a relative) would know better, but you have relatives like that too, don’t you?

So we have three chickens now in our garden. Those are the first, and most important birds of note in my garden, according to time and money spent, worry accorded, and noisy racket generated. We do get eggs, so I suppose that’s a consolation of sorts. Our brown chicken, Duck, eats slugs as well, so that’s nice. P.S. A child decided on the name for our chicken named Duck, so don’t judge me.

The second birds of note this summer are the “Charlies,” a slightly less technical but more affectionate term for the Stellar’s jays, Cyanocitta stelleri, that case our joint about once a day. My grandmother, Ruth, called every Blue jay in her Portland, Oregon backyard “Charlie,” so it has become a tradition for me with the Blue jay’s Alaska dwelling cousin. When I was a child, she told me jays always came in threes, Charlie and his two girlfriends. I have found that to be very often true. Sometimes just one jay, sometimes four, but most often three.

Jays are noisy and capable of making sounds that defy imitation, so instead of trying to talk to them in faux bird-talk, like I do the chickadees, I just holler, “Here Charlie!” That seems to work, as Charlie will take an unshelled peanut from my hand. The other three Charlies (fledglings, I suspect, or maybe they don’t like the look of me) are too shy to do more than land on my deck railing and look wistfully at the peanut in my hand, and make popping or scratching noises to the brave Charlie. 

A note to those interested in taming a Charlie: they have trained me and my two children to run to the bag of peanuts any time we hear their squawk or see them sitting on the rail. Sometimes they will fly up to the window if they see me inside and brush the window with their wings to get my attention. They’re pushy like that.

The third bird of note is the giant buzzard that has been hanging around the swing set, a good perching place for checking out the chickens. “Giant Buzzard” is the lazy person’s Latin for Bubo virginianus, or the Great Horned Owl. He showed up with much fanfare in the form of shouted alerts from my kids about chicken safety, or lack thereof. He also showed up with much poo. On my roof namely, but also my wooden decking. Never fear, the chicken pen was hastily (much in the manner of grave robbers working through the rainy night) covered in netting, and the owl was foiled. The poo was removed by scrubbing. Fooey.

I know you’re thinking, that’s a lot of bird adventures for one garden, but wait, there’s more. Other than the hawks scoping out the chickens in the form of dive bombing, which we will not mention, because they are never still long enough for a photo, we had one other cool sighting this summer (yeah, I say that like summer is over because, Anchorage, it is) of a hummingbird. Which is no biggie for you California or Oregon gardeners, but a cool and unusual sight for most Alaskans. It is so unusual for me (as a lifelong southcentral Alaskan, I’ve only seen two other sightings) to see one, that I didn’t know what I was looking at, at first glance. I thought the wind was moving some Lamium stems unusually fast. Nope, it was the first sighting of the little tyke, which hung around for about a week in late June, justifying all that red, pink, and purple Penstemon I planted everywhere. See if you can spot it perched on my tree cage (stupid moose, grumble, grumble).

So the bird season here is winding down, at least in this garden. Chicks fledged, robins mostly gone, feeder birds gearing up for the big vamoose back to warmer climes. It will be interesting to see what birds show up next year if we have another warm summer (please, oh please, yes).

What birds were hanging around your garden? Any unusual avian visitors?

Bobbing along

“Bobbing along, bobbing along on the bottom of the beautiful briny sea.”  For the life of me, I can’t remember just where I heard that song.  After taking my ginkgo infusion, I seem to remember that a crusty old man was singing it in a movie, but the title eludes me.  I believe it must be a rather older Disney movie, but won’t swear to it. 

I seem to be just bobbing along this summer, not really doing any “serious” gardening.  By serious, I suppose I mean pulling weeds and occasionally fertilizing/watering my containers.  Have I dead-headed a single plant?  “No,” my petunias resentfully lament.  “Not once,” opines the Cosmos, littered with spent flowers rivaling moldy lettuces in attractiveness.  And my poor Alyssum needs the horticultural equivalent of a crash cart after three days of sun and not a drop of water.  I’m a horticultural serial killer this summer.

After cruising by some home improvement stores (who am I kidding?  I spend an enormous amount of time at the paint counters there.  We’re down to Behr’s “Rolling Pebble” and “Elephant Skin” for our home exterior.  Do cast a vote!) I noticed that most of their plants for sale are still full price.  This illustrates to me just how out of touch the rest of the country’s retail schedule is with Alaska. 

We are practically a different country here: call us Canada West or Southern North Pole.  When July rolls around, Alaskans start that resigned sighing known as “it’s practically the end of summer”.  The desperation doesn’t start ‘til August, but the cooler temps start then also.  Don’t smirk, you’d be desperate if summer was only 3 months long, too!

So here we have only two more summerish months and Home Depot still wants $30 for a dahlia?  I gasp at paying $12 at the beginning of summer for my favorite orange dahlia every year.  Spending $30 on one annual might push me into the “society page heiress” category of plant purchasing. 

I’m wondering just what the plant spending habit break down is for avid gardeners.  Do most buy full price?  Only on discount?  Sow their own?  I tend to buy annual cell packs full price, but look for deals on anything bigger than a 4” pot.  Of course I occasionally splurge on the bling, like my $12 dahlia or a really unusual perennial/shrub/tree, but not often enough to call myself a plant heiress.  Good grief, I can’t even be bothered this year to water what I have, I shouldn’t be thinking of acquiring more victims.  “Christine, you’re needed in the plant ER, STAT!!  And bring your watering can and felcos, woman.”

(Rolling Pebble on the left and Elephant Skin on the right. Adventurous, no?)

How much is too much, for a plant?  Would you pay $30 for an annual?       

I’m just a little black rain cloud

Now how many of you finished that phrase with “hovering over the honey tree” or some other Winnie the Pooh nonsense?  Today’s twittering (in the old fashioned but non-avian sense) is all about what to do when it’s pouring, drizzling, driving, or pelting rain. 

For me, the answer should be: not gardening.  I imagine all that fabulous soil structure (I’m an optimist) I would be compressing to bits whilst tramping about.  Instead of “think of the children,” I think of the pore spaces and that precious oxygen.  Anyway, the children are in the basement watching “The Andy Griffith Show” reruns, so they will give me (a few giggles and) no grief.

Those fellow gardeners inhabiting famously dampish climates are no doubt old pros at what to do when even the briefest excursions must involve galoshes, trench coat, umbrella, wet suit, and snorkel.  If they don all that to garden, they get a gold star and a pair of wool socks from me.  We get a mere 16” a year of precipitation, so technically, I’m a desert dweller.  In a parka.

So far, on this rainy day I have:

• consumed a pack of Skittles
• changed from my shorts and short-sleeved shirt to a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt (I know, classy)
• got suckered by an online sale and spent way too much time deciding if that cute cropped jacket was in fact “my” yellow or would make me look jaundiced
• made my bed, then got back into it (don’t worry, I managed to eject myself from it’s cocooning coziness for a second time)
• noticed the tortoise did his business
• scrounged the house looking for that giant jar of jelly beans that was (too successfully) hidden from me last night
• looked at the dead leaves and other outdoor debris on my white living room carpet, and thought “I should vacuum”

I did manage to comb my hair, but thought it was too trivial to mention in my list. So you don’t get a wrong impression of me (I’m only lethargic on days when it’s cold, rainy, snowy, or hot), yesterday, a cloudy but dry day, I managed to spend a couple hours outside jack hammering dandelions out of the lawn.  Note to self: wear gloves next time, dummy! 

We have about 8 more hours of “lawn vs. weed” labor…and then the back yard.  I’m thinking of investing in either 1. a flamethrower, industrial size, or 2. a large earth mover, whereupon I will bury about 50% 85% of the lawn and plant trees, shrubbery, and ornamental grasses.  While I’m dreaming, I might as well have a pony.  (But not a Shetland, I’ve heard they are mean….)

This is a strange day and a strange post.  I seem to have both done and written pretty much nothing.  I’m not even making dinner tonight.  We’re having leftovers.  Hurrah for inclement weather and Winnie the Pooh.  Silly old blog.

 

What do you do on a rainy day? Do you garden in the rain? 

Things I haven’t done

Now this list could go one of two ways.  The full personal revelation, chock full of not-yet-perpetrated scandal, or the dull notation of tasks my schedule has prevented me from attending to as of yet.  As this is (ostensibly) a family friendly gardening blog, I should probably opt for the latter as it is more relevant, though less sensational.  For the tidy and organized, the following list might be considered shocking, even revolting.  You have been warned.

I haven’t: 

1.  decided on a menu.  Yes, the garden tour at my place, occurring on the fifth of August, needs finger foods and beverages.  Suggestions welcome.  This is supposed to be a posh event (well, as posh as Alaska garden tours go), and a fundraiser for the Alaska Botanical Garden, so the LFG hubby’s suggestion of spray-on cheese and crackers is rejected.

2.  weeded the side yard that faces the road.  Can you blame me?  I never (well hardly ever) even see it.  The dandelions and clover are invading the gravel.  I should have done this one a month ago.  Wait, I did.  It needs it again.  Ah, gardening….

3.  replaced plants that didn’t survive the winter.  Yes, I am that lazy.  I can think of at least a half a dozen glaring holes in the garden, some with dead foliage still intact.  At least perennials are on sale now.

4.  tidied up the deck.  That spare tank of propane for the grill, snow shovel, bird seed containers, etc. are still cluttering up the back deck.  Nothing says “well kept garden” like propane containers littered about.

  5.  gotten rid of that brush pile.  It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t currently lying atop my outdoor table, smack in the middle of the yard.  It does look a little casual that way, doesn’t it?

I’m sure there are other things to numerous to mention but if the list gets any longer I will lose all motivation.  Some random, more personal things I haven’t done (as a reward for those of you that stuck around): held up a bank, shaved my head, tiptoed through the tulips, or eaten guacamole.

What haven’t you done?