Twilight Zones

Since today is full of Sunday and the Lord's work I decided to post the following.  If you've already read this article don't miss the comments below it from an old friend.

Twilight Zones 

 ( this is a copy of my article that appeared in the Valley Times-News on May 4,2012)

I am merrily tripping my way—not literally—no broken bones—into May.  Spring is all over my garden and I’m loving it.  Duke boy and I have lived in this home for nearly twelve years —record for this UMC preacher’s family.  My gardening friends tell me that plants have a cycle: sleep, creep, and leap.  This means that many plants, about a fourth of mine, have leaped into the Twilight Zone or wherever leaped out of your sight plants go.  The good news is that the rest are really showing off.  Duke boy has an Oak leaf hydrangea that has finally taken over a back corner of our garden.  It’s a transplant from my brother-in-law’s mother’s house.  Our knockout roses in the front garden are from my mother’s house and doing their part to be showy.  Ferns, also Duke Boy’s, from every garden where he is allowed to dig; grace the spots and pots under our tall oaks.  Blueberry bushes, domestic hydrangeas, and my hostas that I baby, add to the mix of May marvelousness in our garden.  I almost forgot the wide expanse of daylilies not just the normal ones but some unusual hybrids from a friend’s garden that grace our presence. 

I really tried to NOT BUY ANY NEW PLANTS this year.  I failed.  I bought two small ones for the front porch while I was buying some to pot for my Mom for Mother’s Day.  Ok, I bought 3 tomato plants, romaine, and spinach…a few other seeds.  Duke Boy has helped me move plants to fill in holes where the Twilight Zone moments occurred.  The squirrels have loved the new playground of iris that I installed under the tallest oak in my yard.  We play this game—I plant them—shallowly of course, since they are iris—they dig them up so I can replant them the next day—I know, pine straw with barbed wire under it will do the trick—just kidding all you squirrel lovers—if you love them bring over a cage—got a whole herd for the taking---anyway.  That part of the garden is in constant flux.  If my memory were better I would know that squirrels love to destroy what I try to plant in that spot---the agony is that spot is the first place I see when I look out my kitchen window.  Squirrels have a hard time sharing the glory. 

This is a comment from a friend of nearly 30 years after reading the article. She is just a hoot and I have to share it:

Darling KEB: Love to hear you’re a gardener.  I am a wantabe.  Most reputable greenhouses have my picture next to the cash register with a big circle around it and a line across  it  like a no smoking sign.  They just refuse to sell me beautiful young plants because the word is out that I kill them.  I think there is a list that goes out to businesses like the sex offender list… IS THIS WOMAN YOUR NEIGHBOR? DON’T LET YOUR BULBS OR PLANTS GO HOME WITH HER! SHE IS A SERIAL PLANT KILLER!!!  I really don’t understand it.  My plant linage is pristine. My grandmother was a pincher.  She pinched small stems off plants everywhere – including national forest and botanical gardens oblivious to large signs posted to notify of the federal crime to pick the flowers. “I am not picking the flowers, I would never deprive anyone else of being able to see this beauty.  I am just pinching off a small leaf or stem”. At which point she put in her pocket or hankie to be  transferred – sometimes days later – all crumpled and dry to  a pint milk bottle full of water and it rooted, grew, bloomed and flourished. Rhododendrons flourish in the Ensley Highlands today because Memama went to the Smoky Mountains in the 50’s. My dad, brother and son all inherited the plant gene. They could/can make it happen. Mother still has the descendent of a philodendron I received when Christie was born at least ah …30 years ago.  She keeps trying to get her to take some home with her. We tell her it would be more humane to just run it thru the compost chipper than to make it die the slow horrible death of going home with Christie.  I am beginning to think that Christie and I must be adopted. Memama said we just over loved them.  So since neither Christie nor I  work well with moderation, we have beautiful silk arrangements that don’t need anything but admiration.   Marcia H.