Look At All My Many Friends

Hypertufa Totoro in the garden

 

Keychain Totoro guarding my office key

Papercraft Totoro hanging with Fingerpuppet Totoro

LEGO Totoro

Window Hanger Totoro, reposing on FDPG's pinboard

Diamonds On The Top Of Her Head

We spent a lot of time in the garden this week, getting the irrigation system in. Ah, listen to me, it sounds as though we've got some fancy-pants system out there, doesn't it? 

Don't think I'll enlighten you TOO much, except to say that it isn't all that fancy-pants. We gardeners, we like to maintain a certain amount of mystery (Sheila says as she stuffs the cracked soaker hoses and broken brass manifolds behind her). It isn't fancy, but it works, and that's all I'll say. It's one of the essentials, having a watering system. Once a garden gets to a certain size, watering it by hand ceases to be a relaxing experience.

After we did the hoses, we watered our hair. Well, some of us did. Some of us really enjoy experimenting with the nozzle choices on the water wand. Some of us really like the mist function. Some of us even looked as if we had diamonds on the soles of our shoes in our hair.

Then, instead of ducking down alley ways looking for bat-faced girls, we went wandering around the garden looking for baby spider balls. Some of us like to poke those tight little balls of spiders and watch them scatter. 

Spiders in the garden. About the only time I like seeing spiders. Teenie tiny and cute. Remind me to tell you about the giant jumping spider in the greenhouse some time...

May Flowers

Had a very tiring day in the garden today, courtesy of iPhoto, when I was perusing it last night with Dominic. Mr Picky was trying to find every single photo I've taken of every single LEGO design he's ever built, to prove to me that I did not EVER take a photo of his LEGO Totoro, but gosh, look what we found.

How did iPhoto make me spend the day in the garden? Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin. It all started when Dominic and I were looking for that shot of the LEGO Totoro. We were scrolling through the months of last year when we happened upon some photos of purple sprouting broccoli, tomato seedlings, and sunflowers. Tall plants, they were. All well over 8" tall. The date stamp was May 8th, 2011. Exactly one year ago. While I stared rather dumbfounded at the photos, my mind was racing: I don't have ANY sunflowers planted right now! I thought. My tomatoes are PATHETICALLY SMALL! I thought. The only bright light was the fact that I do have some purple sprouting broccoli planted. And some white sprouting broccoli. But everything else is either teeny tiny or still in a seed packet. Eeeks! I thought. (yes, I really did think that)

So this morning I bid farewell to the kids ("Good-bye kids! I'm off to slave in the weed fields!") and went out to bid farewell to some weeds ("Hello weeds! Your doom is come! Prepare to die! You WILL be assimilated - by my garbage bag!"). Six and a half hours later, most of the bishop's weed in the shade garden was lying on a piece of plastic in the sun, dying a slow death, and a long piece of driftwood, the piece I dragged all the way home from the ocean during a walk last week, was getting itself ready for its closeup as a handrail for the earth steps I was building. It all looked very attractive. FDPG said so.

If anyone has any tips for keeping bishop's weed out of my garden, tips that don't involve me spending 6 hours with a garden fork, shaking the dirt off the roots and painstakingly putting each bit in a garbage bag, well, I'd be glad to hear them. So would the brunnera, alchemilla, pulmonaria, hellebore, and ligularia. The monkshood already bit the dust because of it, as did the sollya.

Now I'm off to bed, dragging my tired bones behind me. No doubt I'll dream of bishop's weed. Hopefully I'll have a flame thrower in my hands...

What's More Canadian Than A Goose?

 This bird causes much consternation to the Canadian population, particularly the younger ones. From day one, we must learn that it's not "Canadian geese" but "Canada geese." The "Canada" is never pluralized, even though the goose/geese must be. Confusing, but one of those quirky Canadian things, like poutine or spirulina smoothies.




Maybe it should be one of the citizenship questions.
1. Let's count birds: One Canada goose, two (insert correct version).
2. Do Canada geese like poutine? (the correct answer is "only if they're in Quebec, otherwise they prefer spirulina smoothies")

I won't touch the hot button topic of whether or not Canadians actually LIKE the Canada goose, because it's very contentious. They tend to be reviled for the frequency and quantity of their droppings, which tend to adorn - odiferously -  golf courses, parks and paths, and other places we Canadians like to walk. It's the intersection of the droppings with the footwear that causes the, err, revilation.

 FDPG and I were out walking today and we happened upon this little family, out for their own little walk. The babies reminded me of the duckling on the cover of my (very battered) copy of The Story of Ping.







I'm including this sideways shot because it looks much more interesting on its side. It's like a slightly crushed hourglass, don't you think?

Ceci n'est pas une pipe

A Week of Composting

This clip art is from the American Compost website, I realize, but it is so beautiful I'm going to use it anyways.

 It's Official Composting Week. Sounds a little odd, doesn't it? It's sort of like saying "Happy Battery Recycling Day!" Nevertheless, I'm going to use this as a personal platform to encourage everyone to start a compost in their backyard.

That's right, use this Official Week as your personal invitation to start composting. It's easy, it gives you free amendments for your garden (amendments you know the origins of), and it reduces your landfill contributions. All good and important things to consider these days.

Happy Composting. Now get out there and start your own compost. It's as easy as...well, as easy as this.

Flying Buttresses & Leading Actors

Here is the spot where I am about to plant some potatoes.

At least, here it is before I had the brilliant idea to use bricks as Flying Buttresses for the necessary soil addition: weedy, about to be conquered by some rampaging strawberries, unremarkable.

This year we're trying Bintje, a yellow potato. But instead of having a long straight stretch of wonderfully mulched and hilled up plants, through which I'd just have to reach in and tug loose a few new potatoes every now and then, I'm doing spot planting, but that's only because I don't have that many long straight stretches of garden.
While I like potatoes, in fact I'd go so far as to say that I deeply admire them, my enthusiasm wanes at the idea of using my long straight stretches on them. The potato is a highly useful veg, I admit - handy in a pinch, able to do double duty in any number of dishes, and what's not to like about the way they turn into a hot crisp chip - but they are definitely the character actor in my garden. They don't get top billing. They get what's there for them.

Like this guy. Couldn't do without him but would I run a mile to meet him, heart all akimbo? Methinks not. (sorry Mr Reilly)



Thus,  the long straight stretches I reserve for the leading actors: tomatoes, peas, greens, and sprouting broccoli. The ones that inspire intense passion, the ones that set my heart racing, the ones that...well, you get the idea.

Like this guy. I'd run a mile to meet him. Heck, I'd even run TWO miles. Maybe three.

Oooh la la, Mr Darcy. Let me change that wet shirt of yours. Mop your fevered brow?



Moving on....
 

Here's how I plant my potatoes:

Dig a trench about 10 inches deep. Add some rock phosphate, maybe a little bone meal (my soil being clayey and heavy). Add potatoes. Cover with a dusting of potting soil and some straw.

Reserve some soil to cover them as the sprouts grow up. When they get to be about 3-4" tall, cover the shoots almost to the top.

I've got some in trenches, some in chicken wire circles, and some in brick squares.








Like this one. This is the After to the Before at the start of this post. The one inspired by Mr Reilly and Mr Darcy. I will plant some of my character actor Bintjes here.

As the shoots come up I'll cover them. In fact, I covered them this morning. As they grow, I'll increase my Flying Buttresses and add more soil to a depth of about twelve inches.

I've heard a lot of differing opinions on when to harvest potatoes. Some say they are ready when the plant flowers, others say to pinch the flowers off so they don't put any energy into flowering, still others say to steal the new potatoes until fall, then harvest the plant. I won't tell you what to do because chances are I'll decide to do something completely different, and you'll wonder why I say one thing then do another. So all I'll say is this: use Flying Buttresses. They are a Good Thing, to use the words of my friend Martha.

Gratuitous pansy shot. There seems to be a new variety in the shops this spring: Neon Pansy.

Looks purple to me but I'm willing to be amazed by the idea that it's a neon colour.

Whatever it is, it's very pretty.

Chives, breaking through their papery skin.

These flowers are delicious tempura-ed.

And lilacs. I love lilacs. They smell like spring, they look fresh and bold, and if you have a bush in front of an open window you have the added benefit of the scent wafting about your house.

There you go, a little pre-Mother's Day treat for you. What's up in your garden?

This Is Not Fake Bread

We had friends over for dinner on the weekend and they were convinced this was a fake loaf. An imitation of a loaf. A pretend food item. A trick piece of grain.

But it wasn't.

Instead, to prove it was edible, we tore it up, dipped it in olive oil, and then in dukka. (scroll down a bit to find the recipe - I used walnuts and almonds because I had no hazelnuts, nor did I add the mint) We ate the whole thing, I regret to say, so this is the only proof that it ever existed. Even the dukka is gone.

I could not do without cumin. It really is the most delicious of spices. And it makes a fake loaf taste sublime.