So I grew an avocado plant

My husband discovered that Aldi carried gaucomole, neatly packaged in plastic bags. They were delicious! In summer of 2010, I decided to prepare some myself. Well ... it didn't taste quite the same. Left holding the seed, I decided that it should not go to waste. There is a plant in there, and maybe, just maybe, lots of avocados! So I plopped the seed into a glass of water and waited. I had tried doing this a few times in my youth and had always failed. But hope springs eternal in the human breast.

Sure enough, a tiny plant sprouted. In time it was ready to be potted. Through  fall of 2010 and winter of 2011, it remained in a sunny corner of the dining room and sprouted leaves. This spring, I repotted it in a big pot and moved it to the deck. How it flourished, mulched in Chinese tea leaves left over from making kambucha. The lichee tea and green tea leaves must have agreed with it! The fairly large, soft leaves are a light green--the color of new leaves in spring. 

Should I leave it on the deck through the coming winter months or bring it indoor? Even though it's healthy, it doesn't look sturdy enough to endure the wind, snow, and cold. The avocado plant did, after all, originate in Mexico. So, it'll probably be brought indoors in a few weeks. I'll  have to find a spot for this lovely plant, as its original corner has been claimed by others ....   

Image via Wikipedia

Where have all the colorful butterflies gone?

Some frequent visitors to my garden have been missing this past summer. Where have all the gorgeous, colorful butterflies gone? It's not that my garden was without winged creatures. I saw a handful of small white butterflies and yellow-striped bees. In past summers, the colorful butterflies had a pronounced presence, flitting among my flowers and contentedly drinking their fill of nectar. Did the unusually hot and dry summer in my area send them somewhere else? Has their absence anything to do with my squashes hardly fruiting, despite large and glorious blossoms, and my scant tomato harvest?Ah well, may be they will return next summer. For now, I have visual memories of their glory. Check out these guys. Are they not fabulous?

Happy landing

       Photo: SockFoon

  Delicious!

       Photo: SockFoon

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Battling the ivy

Some people are fond of ivies, often using them as ground cover. Me? I have little love for them and, in fact, fought an epic battle with this persistent vine.

Once upon a time, a dense undergrowth of ivy covered about a third of my backyard. Not having time to do anything, I let them be. In time, some had the audacity to climb the pine and maple trees, choking the trunks with vines as wide as an inch. That's when I drew the line: "time to say good bye," as the song goes. So, each day after work, I randomly picked up a piece of vine and rolled it into a ball. When it became too big to handle, I simply snipped off the vine and started on another ball. This is a good way to clear the ivy, and I owed the tip to a former colleague. It took an awful long time to clear the vines--two semesters and an entire summer. (I worked at a university then and reckoned in academic-year time.)

To remove the vines that have climbed ... oh so high, I broke them off at ground level. Cut off from sustenace, they died and eventually fell off the trunks. Sadly, I lost one of my beautiful pines--it was choked to death. After the dead vines had fallen off, I found dark indentations on its truck. The dead pine was unstable and had to be cut down. All that remains now is a low stump, home to moss and bits of grass. Now and then I even find a small wild blackberry struggling to grow through it. Ever since, I have made sure that uninvited vines straying from my neighbor's garden are clipped before they venture too far into my yard. 

Image via Wikipedia

Hurricane Irene came by

Hurricane Irene came into my neighborhood in the dead of Saturday night, bringing torrential rain and high winds. Unable to sleep, I repeatedly peered into my backyard. In the darkness, I could discern the gigantic horse chestnut, maples, and white pines swaying like rag dolls. "Please don't break," I muttered fervently. I heard the shish, shish of the rain as it beat down relentlessly and the whoo, whoo of the roaring wind.

Sunday morning dawned bright and clear--what a contrast to the day before. No, dear Reader, these trees did not topple. They stood tall. The ground, though, was littered with big and small branches and a gazillion twigs. Mop-up operation began and continues. So far, I've collected four bags of evidence of Irene's visit. Lots more twigs and branches to bag. Mmm ... this is a multi-day operation. It did not take long for the rain water from Irene to soak into the ground because summer has been so dry. All in all, my garden suffered no real damage from Irene. In fact, it received much needed rain.

However, many people throughout the east coast suffered heavy damage and my thoughts are with them. If your car was crushed by a tree, house siding blown off, roof cratered, and beach-front house washed away, it doesn't matter what category of hurricane Irene was. So let it not be said, as some have, that it was only a category one hurricane; be thankful instead that it is nothing more than that.   

Image by NASA Goddard Photo and Video via Flickr

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Herbs ... and Scarborough fair

My garden always includes a few herbs, not because I use them much in cooking ... well, maybe, just a little. I simply enjoy their intense fragrance and delicate flowers. Over the  years, they have become a part of my life. The prolific Greek oregano, gift of a friend, comes back year after year as does the shade-loving woodruff. Now, that woodruff has an interesting history. I originally planted it on a slight slope in the front garden. My expectation was that it would colonize the slope and free me from cutting grass there. Didn't work that way! For years, the poor thing barely survived. Finally, I dug  it up and replanted in a flat, shady area in the backyard. Lo! it flourished and multiplied. I planted the cilantro because its leaves are often used in Asian cooking. A reminder of home, you could say. Then there are the parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. The parsley, like the cilantro,  has to be planted anew each spring. The other three occasionally die and I replace them faithfully. I planted parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme because of a song--yes, a song. What song? Why, Simon and Garfunkel's Scarborough Fair! I am a great fan of theirs, by the way.

Click on the link to enjoy the song, uploaded by sardineunderacan on Nov. 9, 2008. Thanks sardineunderacan! 

Uploaded by sardineunderacan on Nov 9, 2008

http://youtu.be/nWu6ney5hYQ

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme 
Photo: SockFoon

Not enough rainfall ... small pears

The weather has been ultra hot and dry in July and, so far, August is not much better. The sickle pears on the tree are small and scanty. Normally by this time,  they would be nearly twice as big and abundant. So, all my fertilizing from fall to spring did not yield a happy harvest. No pears to share with the neighbors and squirrels and to make pear sauce this year. But all is not lost. I have happy memories of a healthy pear tree in spring showing off its luxuriant leaves and flowers.

All this thought about a lack of rain and small pears brought to mind what a Greek tour guide said to me about the effect of Santorini's normally low rainfall on the island's produce. They tend to be small. The grapes that I saw, for example, were miniatures. I guess Mother nature is the ultimate boss.

Sickle pear
Photo: SockFoon

The prodigal pink azalea

Years ago, I bought several small azalea bushes (so I don't have  to dig big holes :)). One was a showy red, another a gorgeous tomato red, yet another a dainty pink, and, finally, a pure white. All but the pink azalea bloomed unfailingly every spring. The pink one, a May bloomer, I was told, blossomed just once. Despite regular dosages of bloom boosters, it just didn't bloom. Two years ago, I had one of the hated foundation bushes by the pink azalea cut down. As a result, the pinkie received more hours of direct sunlight. I kept my fingers crossed. At last, it burst forth with flowers in late May, an abundance of dainty pink against small, light green leaves! Take a look at this pressed pink azalea. Isn't it sweet?

Pressed pink azalea
Photo: SockFoon

The resilient lilac

Just outside my kitchen window stands a tall lilac bush. Its green leaves are luxuriant even in this summer's heat. This past spring, I spied showy fragrant blooms. You would never have guessed that the bush almost died. In September 2003, Isabella, the deadliest hurricane ever recorded, passed through and almost split the lilac in two. "It's gone," I thought. Still, I trimmed the broken branches and hoped for the best. Gradually, it revived, a pale imitation with no sign of flowers. Time passed. Then, lo and behold, the lilac flowered, although the blossoms were very light in color. In subsequent springs, the flowers took on their original hue. My lilac refused to give up. A lesson from my  garden.

The resilient lilac
Photo: SockFoon

The incidental pumpkin patch

In my early gardening days, I created a mulch pile under a gigantic horse chestnut tree. For a while, it was mostly grass clippings and leaves. One year, I tossed a dried-up halloween pumpkin and vegetable peels into the mix. Fall and winter came and went. Come spring, signs of life in the mulch pile! The seedlings grew and soon I had a wee pumpkin patch. Charlie Brown would be impressed : )
 

Pumpkin patch Image via Wikipedia

By their fruits you shall know them

So I bought six cucumber seedlings in spring and planted them. Two days ago, I saw the first fruit of my labor. Turns out it's a lovely yellow crookneck squash! But I am happy with the little guy.

Yellow crookneck squash
Photo: SockFoon