Several weeks ago I took Connor to a birthday party at his classmate's house. The yard was incredible. I spent the entire time oohing and aahing over the variety of plants and the overall design. It was fabulous. The yard was surrounded by gray brick retaining walls, planted with shrubs at the top. There was a layer of shrubs and perennials at the ground level, and the overall effect was dimension and depth to an otherwise flat space. The entrance to the yard was a long path, and with the retaining walls spilling over with plants and draped with ivy, it felt almost enchanting and mystical. The path wove through a small play area with a sandbox, and then made its way to the back, where there was a square patch of lawn, a swing set, and two Adirondack chairs. There was a screened-in-porch overlooking everything, and paths that disappeared in a maze of plants. That was just the back yard; I never even saw the front (I entered from the side. I admit that I actually drove by that house later, just to catch a glimpse of the front landscape.)
When I met the hostess, I told her how fabulous and wonderful her yard was.
"The prior owner was a landscape architect," she replied. "You should have seen it when we moved in."
Oh, if only....
I returned home and began researching retaining walls. And I realized that a yard like that would cost at least $20,000. Maybe even more. Ouch.
Not to worry. I picked up a Southern Living a few days later and was inspired by another garden. A kitchen garden, they called it. Now this was practical. I suddenly pictured a harvest of corn, watermelon, peppers, tomatoes, onions, and lettuce. I pictured herbs intermingled throughout. I pictured a brick patio lying next to it, separating it from the back lawn where Connor plays. I would put it on the side of the house, next to the wooden patio, which is one of the few spots in our yard with ample sun. The bay windows in the kitchen would overlook it. It would be somewhat formal in design, but the plants would be allowed to grow and sprawl as they pleased. A kind of merging of the natural and formal worlds.
A little more research revealed that the kitchen gardens of Colonial Williamsburg might give me everything I dream of. I found yet another garden, with limestone-gravel paths edged in brick, and patches of vegetable gardens where the plants grow abundantly. Two bonuses to this particular design: (1) with the brick layout, it would look nice even in the winter, and (2) slugs hate limestone (or so I'm told).
And so I set out to the library to find a book on the gardens of Colonial Williamsburg. I was determined to find a layout that would fit my space so that I could mimic it in my own yard. They had one book, and according to the computer catalog it was checked in. But I couldn't find it anywhere. I was so frustrated. I considered asking for assistance, but I had Laila in the carrier, who was trying to figure out how to get my boobs out of my shirt, and Connor running wild through the aisles, pulling books off the shelves and asking when we were going to go look at his books. I settled on Classic Garden Plans and The Art of the Kitchen Garden instead.
And now my head is spinning. My problem is I love them all. I can't pick one and stick with it (which is why I will never do a $20,000 landscape). No matter what I choose, there's a good chance I will change my mind in a year. And since gardens take several years to fully develop, I fear I may never get ahead.
I plan and plan and plan, and when planting time comes I head to the nursery with my little list, but I never buy what's on the list. Sometimes I can't find the right plants. Sometimes the plants I need don't look particularly healthy. But more often than not I am inspired by a different plant that I see, and I buy it (or several) with no idea where they will go, and then I get home and just put them somewhere, which in turn messes up the plan I originally had. Sometimes it works; most of the time it doesn't, and I make plans to move the plants when the weather cools down.
Gardening is a slow process. Gardening requires patience. Although in essence it is simple, there is so much to learn about it. In one of the garden blogs that I read (Garden Rant), the blogger (Michele Owens) states that although she has been growing vegetables for 18 years, she is still learning fundamental things. If that's the case, then I suppose I will never become bored of gardening.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Ugh--Slugs
I have slug damage on my strawberries, delphiniums, and dahlias. My pepper plants are almost dead. The lettuce seeds I planted never even stood a chance--once they sprouted they mysteriously disappeared (I blame the slugs). I have replanted marigolds once already.
I tried beer. The slugs must have been on to me: I didn't trap a single one.
I read perlite could deter slugs from attacking a plant. Since there was no harm in trying, I spread it around the plants most susceptible to slug damage. It looked silly: my plants had white rings around their base, about 4-5 inches thick. I laughed at myself when I saw a slug crawling over the perlite.
Saturday morning, before leaving for a camping trip, I went outside with the salt shaker. I killed at least fifteen. I took great pleasure in it. Lee thought it was sadistic; I think it's nature at work. (After all, I am at the top of the food chain.)
But when I returned from the trip, I went to look at the garden, and all the marigolds were dead.
My next step will be slug bait. I am somewhat loathe to resort to a pesticide, but if I want marigolds it seems there is no other way.
I asked Mom if slug bait would actually work. She just shrugged her shoulders and said, "I eventually quit planting things that slugs like."
When I pull up the marigolds, I may try coleus. Does anyone know if slugs will eat those?
I tried beer. The slugs must have been on to me: I didn't trap a single one.
I read perlite could deter slugs from attacking a plant. Since there was no harm in trying, I spread it around the plants most susceptible to slug damage. It looked silly: my plants had white rings around their base, about 4-5 inches thick. I laughed at myself when I saw a slug crawling over the perlite.
Saturday morning, before leaving for a camping trip, I went outside with the salt shaker. I killed at least fifteen. I took great pleasure in it. Lee thought it was sadistic; I think it's nature at work. (After all, I am at the top of the food chain.)
But when I returned from the trip, I went to look at the garden, and all the marigolds were dead.
My next step will be slug bait. I am somewhat loathe to resort to a pesticide, but if I want marigolds it seems there is no other way.
I asked Mom if slug bait would actually work. She just shrugged her shoulders and said, "I eventually quit planting things that slugs like."
When I pull up the marigolds, I may try coleus. Does anyone know if slugs will eat those?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Pumpkin Patch
We have a patch of land on the side of our house that is a wasteland of sorts. It is completely fenced in, but there is a fence separating it from our backyard. The prior owners used this area to store their boats. It has a storage shed, a separate dilapidated shed for storing wood, and lots of weeds.
When I first saw the house I had dreams of turning it into a vegetable garden. I envisioned rows of corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and whatever else I could dream up (and manage to grow). But at the closing we learned that there is an easement running through this patch of land, in the form of a huge sewer pipe that is buried only about an inch below the ground. No worries, I thought--I'll just build a bunch of raised beds. Except that, as my dad pointed out, the area is too shaded for vegetables. True.
So I have been pondering, since then, what to do with that patch of land.
This past weekend my mom led me to her own little wasteland--the area behind their shed where she puts empty plant pots, bags of dirt, and struggling plants. Last fall , after Halloween, she put her pumpkins back there. She intended to dispose of them, but never got around to it. The pumpkins rotted, the seeds fell out, and in their place are lots of baby pumpkin plants. In my mind it's a beautiful story of survival, but I have a tendency to over-romanticize everything. Mom offered me some of the plants. I wasn't really sure where I would put them, but I knew Connor would love them.
I have never grown pumpkins. I've never even seen a pumpkin patch, or a pumpkin plant for that matter. So I did some Internet research. I discovered that these things are huge. Huge is really an understatement. The leaves are much larger than an adult's hand. Heck, the leaves might be larger than Laila. These things sprawl and spread, and can even climb a house and cover a roof. The Native Americans planted them next to corn patches, along with beans. The beans climbed the corn stalks, and the pumpkin vines sprawled between them. The large pumpkin leaves suppressed weed growth and kept moisture in, to aid the growing corn and beans. They called them The Three Sisters.
I've decided to plant my pumpkin plants in the wasteland. I am going to tear down the dilapidated shed, hoe out the weeds, and plant the pumpkins. I have visions of a beautiful pumpkin patch this fall, dotted with bright orange perfectly shaped pumpkins. I may even plant some corn and beans. I think Connor will love it. Lee thinks it's the most random thing ever. It probably is, but it'll make a great spot for a Halloween party.
When I first saw the house I had dreams of turning it into a vegetable garden. I envisioned rows of corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, and whatever else I could dream up (and manage to grow). But at the closing we learned that there is an easement running through this patch of land, in the form of a huge sewer pipe that is buried only about an inch below the ground. No worries, I thought--I'll just build a bunch of raised beds. Except that, as my dad pointed out, the area is too shaded for vegetables. True.
So I have been pondering, since then, what to do with that patch of land.
This past weekend my mom led me to her own little wasteland--the area behind their shed where she puts empty plant pots, bags of dirt, and struggling plants. Last fall , after Halloween, she put her pumpkins back there. She intended to dispose of them, but never got around to it. The pumpkins rotted, the seeds fell out, and in their place are lots of baby pumpkin plants. In my mind it's a beautiful story of survival, but I have a tendency to over-romanticize everything. Mom offered me some of the plants. I wasn't really sure where I would put them, but I knew Connor would love them.
I have never grown pumpkins. I've never even seen a pumpkin patch, or a pumpkin plant for that matter. So I did some Internet research. I discovered that these things are huge. Huge is really an understatement. The leaves are much larger than an adult's hand. Heck, the leaves might be larger than Laila. These things sprawl and spread, and can even climb a house and cover a roof. The Native Americans planted them next to corn patches, along with beans. The beans climbed the corn stalks, and the pumpkin vines sprawled between them. The large pumpkin leaves suppressed weed growth and kept moisture in, to aid the growing corn and beans. They called them The Three Sisters.
I've decided to plant my pumpkin plants in the wasteland. I am going to tear down the dilapidated shed, hoe out the weeds, and plant the pumpkins. I have visions of a beautiful pumpkin patch this fall, dotted with bright orange perfectly shaped pumpkins. I may even plant some corn and beans. I think Connor will love it. Lee thinks it's the most random thing ever. It probably is, but it'll make a great spot for a Halloween party.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Are Books Dying?
In Eats, Shoots & Leaves (I know, I'm a nerd), Lynne Truss laments the demise of punctuation in today's society. This demise is brought on largely by the Internet. In the final chapter, Merely Conventional Signs, she posits that technology may eventually replace all printing, including books.
Are books dying?
God, I hope not.
I have heard for many years now that newspapers are dead. This is nothing new. With the Internet we can receive news instantly via Twitter. By the time the newspaper is printed, everyone with the Internet has already heard what the newspaper has to say. My father works in the newspaper industry, and he is well-aware that it is dying. I don't have quite the same affinity for newspapers as I do for books, but I am a little saddened by its demise as well. I can't imagine working the Sunday Crossword Puzzle on a computer, though I know that many people do. There's just something special about curling up with the folded newspaper and a pen, scribbling in the margins and writing over wrong words.
But books? That just breaks my heart.
One of my fondest memories as a child was curling up with my mom for a bedtime story. She wasn't an avid reader, but she made sure to spend time reading with me every day, and through that time I developed a curiosity for and a love of reading. I'm not sure it would have been quite the same experience if we had huddled together next to a computer screen.
There is definitely a place for the Internet, and I think it's a great thing. I love facebook. I love blogging. I love that I can work from home thanks to email. But it's a different medium.
Books are more portable than the internet. I know we have wi-fi and laptops and smart phones, but those require electricity at some point. Those require being within range of a network. And somehow toting a laptop to the beach doesn't seem quite as appealing as tossing a book in the beach bag.
Books require more focus. This is a great skill for children to learn, as it will prepare them for learning in general. Unlike the Internet, books don't have flashing lights or blinking icons vying for your attention. And books tend to focus on one topic. When you pick up a book, you know what you will be reading about. When you conduct an Internet search, you really never know where you'll end up (although I have found some very interesting articles this way).
Books are accurate. When a book is published, editors check the validity of claims made by the author. On the Internet, however, the writer merely hits "post", and it's published for all to see, regardless of whether there's any legitimacy to it. There is a lot of misinformation promulgated by the Internet (e.g. chain emails--just ask my husband!).
Books are more permanent. Whereas a published book has the potential to be around for a thousand years or more, this blog will probably be ancient history in less than ten.
Although it's great that there is a medium that is openly available to all, there is something to be said for the old publishing process. In the past publishers rejected thousands of manuscripts, saving readers the time of having to sift through a whole lot of crap to find something decent to read. And editors checked grammar and punctuation, preserving our written language and sorting out ambiguities that the writer may not have noticed.
We read books to our children, and my hope is that someday they will read books to their children. But will our grandchildren read books to their children? Will books still be around, or will they be obsolete?
I don't forsee books becoming obsolete in my lifetime. If so, I will be proud to be considered "old fashioned" in my old age as I sit by the ocean sipping a margarita and turning the pages of a book.
Are books dying?
God, I hope not.
I have heard for many years now that newspapers are dead. This is nothing new. With the Internet we can receive news instantly via Twitter. By the time the newspaper is printed, everyone with the Internet has already heard what the newspaper has to say. My father works in the newspaper industry, and he is well-aware that it is dying. I don't have quite the same affinity for newspapers as I do for books, but I am a little saddened by its demise as well. I can't imagine working the Sunday Crossword Puzzle on a computer, though I know that many people do. There's just something special about curling up with the folded newspaper and a pen, scribbling in the margins and writing over wrong words.
But books? That just breaks my heart.
One of my fondest memories as a child was curling up with my mom for a bedtime story. She wasn't an avid reader, but she made sure to spend time reading with me every day, and through that time I developed a curiosity for and a love of reading. I'm not sure it would have been quite the same experience if we had huddled together next to a computer screen.
There is definitely a place for the Internet, and I think it's a great thing. I love facebook. I love blogging. I love that I can work from home thanks to email. But it's a different medium.
Books are more portable than the internet. I know we have wi-fi and laptops and smart phones, but those require electricity at some point. Those require being within range of a network. And somehow toting a laptop to the beach doesn't seem quite as appealing as tossing a book in the beach bag.
Books require more focus. This is a great skill for children to learn, as it will prepare them for learning in general. Unlike the Internet, books don't have flashing lights or blinking icons vying for your attention. And books tend to focus on one topic. When you pick up a book, you know what you will be reading about. When you conduct an Internet search, you really never know where you'll end up (although I have found some very interesting articles this way).
Books are accurate. When a book is published, editors check the validity of claims made by the author. On the Internet, however, the writer merely hits "post", and it's published for all to see, regardless of whether there's any legitimacy to it. There is a lot of misinformation promulgated by the Internet (e.g. chain emails--just ask my husband!).
Books are more permanent. Whereas a published book has the potential to be around for a thousand years or more, this blog will probably be ancient history in less than ten.
Although it's great that there is a medium that is openly available to all, there is something to be said for the old publishing process. In the past publishers rejected thousands of manuscripts, saving readers the time of having to sift through a whole lot of crap to find something decent to read. And editors checked grammar and punctuation, preserving our written language and sorting out ambiguities that the writer may not have noticed.
We read books to our children, and my hope is that someday they will read books to their children. But will our grandchildren read books to their children? Will books still be around, or will they be obsolete?
I don't forsee books becoming obsolete in my lifetime. If so, I will be proud to be considered "old fashioned" in my old age as I sit by the ocean sipping a margarita and turning the pages of a book.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Ahh, Spring
So I did it again. I had to make yet another trip to Lowe's for dirt (my fourth trip for dirt in the last two weeks). I have a ton of plants that I need to get in the ground, but our soil is so heavy that I have to add compost and perlite to break it up, and then topsoil to build it up. Anyway, I ran out again. Back to Lowe's. This time I am not buying any plants, I told myself.
Except the foxgloves had just arrived, and they were so pretty. And since you can't buy just one, I went ahead a bought two.
And then there were tomatoes (I bought nine), peppers (ten), marigolds (two packs of 6). Then I remembered my herb garden, and decided to pick up some parsley and thyme--I will actually use those to cook (unlike the tomatoes, which I don't really like but feel the need to plant anyway). Fortunately they were out of cilantro and citronella, although I am sure I will be back for those plants soon.
I have purposefully been avoiding looking at the credit card statement this month. I'm usually very good about tracking our spending, but sometimes I just don't want to know. Lee will tell me when the balance is paid off, I'll probably freak out about the amount, and then I'll start a new budget. I'll wipe the slate clean and tell myself that I have been in control of my spending all year.
But for now, the sun is out, it's 78 degrees, Laila is napping, and I'm going to garden!
Except the foxgloves had just arrived, and they were so pretty. And since you can't buy just one, I went ahead a bought two.
And then there were tomatoes (I bought nine), peppers (ten), marigolds (two packs of 6). Then I remembered my herb garden, and decided to pick up some parsley and thyme--I will actually use those to cook (unlike the tomatoes, which I don't really like but feel the need to plant anyway). Fortunately they were out of cilantro and citronella, although I am sure I will be back for those plants soon.
I have purposefully been avoiding looking at the credit card statement this month. I'm usually very good about tracking our spending, but sometimes I just don't want to know. Lee will tell me when the balance is paid off, I'll probably freak out about the amount, and then I'll start a new budget. I'll wipe the slate clean and tell myself that I have been in control of my spending all year.
But for now, the sun is out, it's 78 degrees, Laila is napping, and I'm going to garden!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Ookie-pookie
I'm going to embarrass my brother (and probably myself). I have a proclivity for goofy nicknames. Connor is Nut (ok, it's not that original); Laila is Piddle (don't ask). When I was growing up my brother was ookie-pookie. Seriously. I have no idea where it came from.
He was my best friend during my childhood, and yet we are so completely different:
1. He's a boy; I'm a girl.
2. He hated school; I was a nerd.
3. He's a peacemaker; I'm argumentative.
4. He's laid-back; I'm type-A.
5. He's conservative; I voted for Obama.
6. He hates recycling; I want to be "green."
7. He's content in SC; I want to leave the country.
8. He hates lawyers; I'm a lawyer.
9. He prefers the country; I prefer the city.
10. He prefers "Southern" cooking; I prefer everything else.
I'm sure I could think of a million more. But I love my brother to death, despite all our differences. I just hope he doesn't hate me after reading this....
He was my best friend during my childhood, and yet we are so completely different:
1. He's a boy; I'm a girl.
2. He hated school; I was a nerd.
3. He's a peacemaker; I'm argumentative.
4. He's laid-back; I'm type-A.
5. He's conservative; I voted for Obama.
6. He hates recycling; I want to be "green."
7. He's content in SC; I want to leave the country.
8. He hates lawyers; I'm a lawyer.
9. He prefers the country; I prefer the city.
10. He prefers "Southern" cooking; I prefer everything else.
I'm sure I could think of a million more. But I love my brother to death, despite all our differences. I just hope he doesn't hate me after reading this....
Friday, April 3, 2009
In Praise of the Breastpump
I wasn't going to do this, but I can't resist a good rant. I posted the following link on Orange Monster / Pink Baby about breast pumps:
http://warner.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/04/02/why-i-dumped-the-pump/
This article drives me insane.
Our society so clearly favors formula over breastmilk. I am reminded of this every time I choose to feed my daughter in public, and I have to cover her sweet little head with a heavy blanket (lest someone accuse me of being indecent). I am reminded of this every time I leave Laila at the gym's nursery, and I see the bewildered look on the worker's face when I tell her it's breastmilk in the bottle. I am reminded of this every time I open the mailbox and find yet another coupon, advertisement, or sample from the formula companies.
Breastfeeding women are made to feel that breastfeeding is gross, indecent, and something that is only acceptable in the privacy of our own homes. We're also made to feel that by choosing to breastfeed in public, we are somehow trying to make a point. No, I'm just trying to feed my baby. If she's sitting in poop, I change her diaper. If she's hungry, I feed her. It's as simple as that.
This article is just another attempt to denigrate breastfeeding women. As if it's not enough to make us feel ashamed for breastfeeding in public, now we are made to feel as if it is repulsive to use a breast pump. The author goes as far as to say that she hopes someday breast pumps will cease to exist. She writes, "In fact, I hope that some day, not too long in the future, books on women’s history will feature photos of breast pumps to illustrate what it was like back in the day when mothers were consistently given the shaft." Really?
The author of this article clearly has little to no knowledge on lactation. If she had read just one book, even one article, on the subject, she would know that in order to continue breastfeeding, you have to breastfeed. If you cannot breastfeed for long periods of time, then you must pump. Otherwise you will stop producing milk. It's that simple.
So breast pumps are essential for women who wish to return to work and continue breastfeeding. If anything, breast pumps offer women more choices. Without them, working women would be forced to choose between giving up their careers or breastfeeding. For many women, that would be a difficult decision.
Even for a stay-at-home mom, a breast pump is an essential tool. It's great for expressing breastmilk for date nights. It's necessary for out-of-town trips without baby. (As any breastfeeding mom knows, if the milk doesn't get expressed, the breast becomes heavy, hard, and painful. This can lead to a breast infection or mastitis, which, believe me, sucks.) It's also great for those nights when you perhaps have a little too much to drink: it allows you to express milk without getting baby drunk.
Considering our society's preference for formula and it's disdain for breastfeeding, I shouldn't be surprised by this article. But I am still disgusted by it. What bothers me is that in a society that already favors formula, some women feel the urge to continue to disparage women who breastfeed. I am not offended by mothers who choose formula. But I am offended by a society that continues to suggest that breastfeeding is somehow indecent, primitive, or gross, and that continues to judge women who choose to breastfeed.
http://warner.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/04/02/why-i-dumped-the-pump/
This article drives me insane.
Our society so clearly favors formula over breastmilk. I am reminded of this every time I choose to feed my daughter in public, and I have to cover her sweet little head with a heavy blanket (lest someone accuse me of being indecent). I am reminded of this every time I leave Laila at the gym's nursery, and I see the bewildered look on the worker's face when I tell her it's breastmilk in the bottle. I am reminded of this every time I open the mailbox and find yet another coupon, advertisement, or sample from the formula companies.
Breastfeeding women are made to feel that breastfeeding is gross, indecent, and something that is only acceptable in the privacy of our own homes. We're also made to feel that by choosing to breastfeed in public, we are somehow trying to make a point. No, I'm just trying to feed my baby. If she's sitting in poop, I change her diaper. If she's hungry, I feed her. It's as simple as that.
This article is just another attempt to denigrate breastfeeding women. As if it's not enough to make us feel ashamed for breastfeeding in public, now we are made to feel as if it is repulsive to use a breast pump. The author goes as far as to say that she hopes someday breast pumps will cease to exist. She writes, "In fact, I hope that some day, not too long in the future, books on women’s history will feature photos of breast pumps to illustrate what it was like back in the day when mothers were consistently given the shaft." Really?
The author of this article clearly has little to no knowledge on lactation. If she had read just one book, even one article, on the subject, she would know that in order to continue breastfeeding, you have to breastfeed. If you cannot breastfeed for long periods of time, then you must pump. Otherwise you will stop producing milk. It's that simple.
So breast pumps are essential for women who wish to return to work and continue breastfeeding. If anything, breast pumps offer women more choices. Without them, working women would be forced to choose between giving up their careers or breastfeeding. For many women, that would be a difficult decision.
Even for a stay-at-home mom, a breast pump is an essential tool. It's great for expressing breastmilk for date nights. It's necessary for out-of-town trips without baby. (As any breastfeeding mom knows, if the milk doesn't get expressed, the breast becomes heavy, hard, and painful. This can lead to a breast infection or mastitis, which, believe me, sucks.) It's also great for those nights when you perhaps have a little too much to drink: it allows you to express milk without getting baby drunk.
Considering our society's preference for formula and it's disdain for breastfeeding, I shouldn't be surprised by this article. But I am still disgusted by it. What bothers me is that in a society that already favors formula, some women feel the urge to continue to disparage women who breastfeed. I am not offended by mothers who choose formula. But I am offended by a society that continues to suggest that breastfeeding is somehow indecent, primitive, or gross, and that continues to judge women who choose to breastfeed.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The trees have to go....
The thing that most attracted me to our neighborhood was the mature trees. Lots of large oaks, sweet gums, dogwoods, and magnolias. Very southern.
I fell in love with our home the moment I saw it. I immediately envisioned our family playing in the backyard, grilling out on the patio, eating breakfast in front of the large bay windows in the kitchen. The yard had huge trees, making it a semi-shaded property--perfect for azaleas, hydrangeas, and hot humid days. That night I went home and started dreaming about what I would do with all that land. (Ok, it's not that much, but much larger than the 25 square-foot patio we had at the condo.)
I fell in love with our home the moment I saw it. I immediately envisioned our family playing in the backyard, grilling out on the patio, eating breakfast in front of the large bay windows in the kitchen. The yard had huge trees, making it a semi-shaded property--perfect for azaleas, hydrangeas, and hot humid days. That night I went home and started dreaming about what I would do with all that land. (Ok, it's not that much, but much larger than the 25 square-foot patio we had at the condo.)
There are four large trees in the front yard: a sweet gum, a beautiful mature Bradford pear, and two unidentified trees (see the tree to the left, above). My brother, a timber buyer, spent an afternoon with me researching the Internet and trying to figure out what they are. Maybe some type of wild cherry tree?? We couldn't really decide.
There are two things we do know: (1) these are deciduous trees and (2) they are indigenous to this area (we know that because no one in their right mind would ever actually plant these trees). These trees are EVIL!!! We discovered, within about two days, that they drip sap. All over our cars. Black sticky sap. The kind you have to really scrub to get off. We would wash our cars, only to wake up the following day and find our cars covered in sticky black goo. And as if that isn't gross enough, the sap attracted aphids, who would then get stuck.
So we were washing our cars weekly. Bi-weekly if we had the time. I even tried running the car through one of those automatic car washes. Connor took one look out the sap-stained window and announced, "It's still dirty, Mommy. It's still dirty." I hate it when he's right.
Winter came, and the trees stopped sapping. But we know soon enough we'll have to deal with it all over again. So we've decided to cut down the trees. And since the sweet gum tree is mangled and diseased-looking (and drops those stupid thorny balls that I hate), it's going as well. We're going to spend $1,500+ to remove the trees that attracted me to the house in the first place.
A few weeks ago, on a perfect spring day, I was lying on the patio looking at the tops of the trees over the house. I could see tiny buds starting to form all over these trees. For a moment I felt a little sorry for them. Poor things. They're just going about their business, budding as usual, with no idea that soon they will be chopped down (yes, I ascribe emotions to non-living things).
But the following day when I stepped outside I discovered the cars were covered in pollen. Yep. The stupid trees pissed yellow pollen all over our cars, yard, driveway. Everywhere. I have been sick ever since.
So the trees have to go.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
A Word on Blogging (or A Word on Words)
This is new to me. Blogging.
Writing isn't really new to me. In high school and college I was an avid writer. I wrote a few good things here and there and a whole lot of crap. I had stories and words floating through my head constantly. I wanted to write novels. Then I went to law school.
Over a period of three arduous years, the little bit of creativity that I had was leached from me. The light was turned off. The stories were silenced.
About a year ago I quit my full-time job hoping to find a different career. I wanted to be a writer. But I found I had nothing to say. So I started practicing law again. Sort of.
I recently stumbled across a good friend's blog about her daughter, and I thought it was a perfect idea. My husband and I have been saying for months now that we need to start writing down the ridiculous things our three year old says. And since we have family and friends who live hours away (some on the other side of the country), I thought this would be the perfect way to keep them in touch with our wonderful children. At the very least I figured my mom would read it. And my husband, although he'd have to read it regardless of what it was about (sorry, babe). And so was born (about a week ago) orangemonster-pinkbaby.blogspot.com.
The feedback has been pretty positive so far. Even my brother, who (1) doesn't really read and (2) doesn't think I'm funny, said he got a kick out of it. But even better than the feedback: the urge to write has returned. I now find myself constantly drowning in words, much like I felt in high school and college (before all this law nonsense was introduced to me). I must get it on paper. I must write it all down. Who knows--maybe someday I'll actually write that novel.
So that's what this is. All the random ramblings that go through my head. Since my interests include red wine and gardening, many of my posts will be about that. If you like gardening, please check in from time to time, because I can always use advice about plants!
Writing isn't really new to me. In high school and college I was an avid writer. I wrote a few good things here and there and a whole lot of crap. I had stories and words floating through my head constantly. I wanted to write novels. Then I went to law school.
Over a period of three arduous years, the little bit of creativity that I had was leached from me. The light was turned off. The stories were silenced.
About a year ago I quit my full-time job hoping to find a different career. I wanted to be a writer. But I found I had nothing to say. So I started practicing law again. Sort of.
I recently stumbled across a good friend's blog about her daughter, and I thought it was a perfect idea. My husband and I have been saying for months now that we need to start writing down the ridiculous things our three year old says. And since we have family and friends who live hours away (some on the other side of the country), I thought this would be the perfect way to keep them in touch with our wonderful children. At the very least I figured my mom would read it. And my husband, although he'd have to read it regardless of what it was about (sorry, babe). And so was born (about a week ago) orangemonster-pinkbaby.blogspot.com.
The feedback has been pretty positive so far. Even my brother, who (1) doesn't really read and (2) doesn't think I'm funny, said he got a kick out of it. But even better than the feedback: the urge to write has returned. I now find myself constantly drowning in words, much like I felt in high school and college (before all this law nonsense was introduced to me). I must get it on paper. I must write it all down. Who knows--maybe someday I'll actually write that novel.
So that's what this is. All the random ramblings that go through my head. Since my interests include red wine and gardening, many of my posts will be about that. If you like gardening, please check in from time to time, because I can always use advice about plants!
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