Exhumed and Expired

We pulled up two potato plants, or maybe three, hoping for some larger potatoes than the marble-sized tuber we exhumed several days ago. David wanted to wait, but I am impulsive and impatient (and suggested, "We can just plant more!"), so we did it.

Ignorant in most things potato, we were disgusted to find the sloppy, gooey rot on this plant. (I just shivered writing about the memory.) I was sure our crop was ruined and that the four bugs we had noticed a week ago had demolished our stores.

I instantly thought about those poor Irish people who found every one of their potatoes looking like this. How dreadful.

After some panic, we figured out -- at least enough to satisfy ourselves -- that the rotted potatoes are the ones that we began with, the seed potatoes. The rest of the little buggers seem healthy, albeit small, and we'll cook them up tomorrow. How exciting!

Slowly but surely, more and more of our meals include delicacies from our own garden. It began with lettuce and herbs, but now we have beets and potatoes and peas. We should see some edible cucumbers and squash in the next week or so. I have no clue how long our beans will take (and where the SECOND crop I planted has gone -- are birds stealing them??!) , but garlic will be ready mid-July. The tomatoes -- will the day ever come? -- are blooming (so many different sizes and styles of flowers!), and we are planning a Tomato Harvest Festival in August to celebrate.

In less lively [ha] news, Finley killed a bird yesterday and a chipmunk today. If she would eat them, I wouldn't feel so bad, but then I don't want her to eat them. Eating wildlife is probably how she got worms last year. Ugh.

Anyway, I was on my deck, reading in the sun, and heard a robin shrieking. I glanced up to the left, saw a robin in the branches, and thought, "Poor little thing. He sure is upset." Two seconds later, Poochina runs up the steps with a baby robin and plunks it down right next to me! I am not generally freaked out by such things (except for that pigeon Sawyer brought home through the window in Dorchester), but I absolutely lost it. Maybe it was because I didn't have many clothes on or because I was prone on the lounge chair, both situations providing more skin area that Finley could touch with the dead thing.

I screamed and David ran out and Finley ran in and then Sawyer ran out and then in again. Finley left the scene so quickly, she must've forgotten her proud prize. When David went outside to document the scene, the cats returned and inspected the creature.

I imagine the chipmunks and the birds in our yard talking amongst themselves about this Cat Plague of 2007, when they lost quite a few of their number. I hope this baby's mama doesn't have a long memory.

I hope the coyotes out back aren't making their plans on the cats of 2007.

--Camille

The Shivers

We're going on day eight now of significantly cold weather in the Northeast. As much as we ("we"=everyone ever) complain about the cold, as much as we ("we"=Camille) have already specifically complained about a day that we were woefully unprepared for (no hat, no gloves, lots of whining), we're all glad that it's finally here.

The first inch and a half of snow of the year drove the birds to our feeder. In two days, they've gone through nearly a third of the birdseed. I spotted another cardinal yesterday morning, which gave me a little boost as I headed on out to work. That's just the second time we've had a cardinal at the feeder in over two months.

Our amaryllis has begun to unfurl, which makes us both happy. I'm not sure I've ever seen a plant of such girth and height grow at such a dramatic pace. It's been less than a month since the plant was just a bulb, and now it's ready to burst.


We've got some other goodies that Camille planted that have begun to make their way in the world as well. They're bulbs of some sort, though I'm not entirely certain what variety. I don't think Camille is either, so this should be a pleasant surprise.

Death and Beauty

This photo of Sawyer makes me laugh, because he is totally frontin. It seems as if he caught a bird and wants to get inside to show it to David (the quick-acting, if grossed-out, photographer). Thing is, he's glomming off of Finley's hunting skills. She had caught the bird while it ate seeds on our deck, and after she had eaten some of the bird (a bloody mess), Sawyer took it up with excitement and marched around the porch.

I do appreciate his joy. He's a little clumsy and slow sometimes, but the boy's sure got spirit.

Finley has better timing and stealth: she knows, for instance, that crouching needs to happen behind the barrel -- not out in the open, as Sawyer tries; but she doesn't celebrate her victories or parade them around. Moments later, she's looking for another kill. She has been determined: two days ago, she crouched for 30 minutes in a cold rain, just waiting, waiting.

David's macro shot of the dead little creature is lovely. I am fascinated by the feather patterns and their delicacy. We have identified all of the other birds that show up on our deck, save for these little grey ones. I assume they are females of some species.

Her death didn't deter the other birds long. They are back to feeding -- a bluejay among them today.

An End to Work

Does raking fall under the big umbrella of gardening? If it doesn't, then it should, if for no other reason than I am justified in complaining about it. In spite of the late date, Camille and I finished our raking for the year on Thursday afternoon. It was a brutal slog, spanning two months and approximately twenty man-hours, during which time we officially became old. Our backs ached, we demanded compliments from each other for "doing my share," and finally, conclusively, we decided to pay someone else to do it for us next year. There is a small amount of shame that goes along with having someone do work that you are entirely capable of.
That is unfortunate.

One potential boon to our spring and summer gardening endeavors is the bright green, squirrel-deterring bird feeder that is hanging from the edge of our porch. Our (read: Camille's) thinking is that the birds will stick around until spring, when the vegetable-eating bugs begin to swarm. As we ween the birds from our feeder, they will naturally begin to eat the bugs. Of course, some of us aren't so sure. Some of us think that all the birds might just go ahead and eat the vegetables themselves. We shall see.

In the meantime, it's been wonderful to have the birds in our lives. We're keeping a birding journal, and even in just a few weeks we've seen an increase in the number of birds on the porch. This morning, for the first time, we saw cardinals and a bluebird (which our neighbor Billy claims is rare this time of year--I attribute this to our impeccable selection of bird food). Very exciting.

--David

Tinsel Town

David has decided we should film a video and get some help from a HGTV program to make over our garden -- build raised beds and do landscaping. Great idea, but what angle should we take for the movie? Goofy couple? cute and sweet? nerdy? chatty or reserved? newlyweds (awwww)? new gardeners or oldish hands? Who knows what they want? I think we fall right into their demographic.

I'd also like some show to redo our walk-in closet for a future kid, but that's because I am a cheapskate. Better get on making the kid, too.

We still have leaves to rake in our yard. Supposedly, they will ruin the law. Ugh. It's miserable work, something that we both agreed we'd be fine paying someone else to do. I don't think I'd mind the mowing, once we get a mower. But the raking is boring and hurts my hands.

Harumph.

In happier news, the birds are really eating seed from the back porch. We have identified four different birds and noticed another species besides. A pair of doves are in the yard, but don't seem to want seed. I hope we get some vividly colored birds, especially cardinals. Sawyer and Finley stand watch and chitter-chatter at the window. Today Sawyer got out and hid behind the barrel that used to harbor lettuce. He made one swipe at an unsuspecting tufted titmouse. That little guy had no idea how close he was. I dragged Sawyer in, and he fussed at me for 30 minutes. I am obviously interfering with his ferocity.

Who loves fires in the fireplace? I do!

--Camille