I don’t know what, but something’s growing. It came from our compost, so there are several possibilities. My first impression was zucchini, but it’s looking a bit bulbous for that now. My hope is acorn squash, although it doesn’t have the signature ridges of an acorn squash…yet? Maybe it’s summer squash…enormous zucchini? Whatever it is, the guessing is more fun than the waiting.
I’m back, bitches! Bitches because I recently played bingo with drag queens, and if you’re not a bitch, you’re a whore, so feel the love and complement, readers. Drag queens, among other things like raunchy and obscene, are colorful and fun. That’s what my blog highlights, the colors of my garden and the fun in my life. So to channel the drag queens, I’m coming out. Not in the traditional sense because I’m not gay nor do I wear flamboyant clothing, but I’m a blogger who’s not blogging, stuck in a rut I must come out of. This is the recent state of my body, mind and spirit manifested in my garden…
…overrun, overgrown and completely neglected. Four years ago, John proposed to me with a two-carat, princess-cut diamond ring, and we planned to get married in Hawaii. Life seemed scripted it was so sweet. In fact, at times, it was scripted. When I didn’t like John’s original marriage proposal, he rewrote the scene. In my defense, he waited forever to propose and then got down on one knee when I was mad at him for not proposing yet…neither one of us was happy with how that played out. A few nights later, I came home to an aisle of red rose petals and glimmering white tea lights leading to a three-piece orchestra in our living room. He knelt down on one knee, told me how much he loved me, and gave me a proposal worthy of The Bachelor.
Then two years ago the script got hijacked by an evil soap opera writer who filled our story line with a child custody battle, financial problems, family estrangements, and wait…the doozy that should truly win me the moniker, Erica Kane…John found out at 40 years-old that he has a brother. Dun-dun.
Jerry Springer lives in Sarasota; don’t think we haven’t gotten that joke a few times too. But life goes on and so shall my blog. By outing myself, I’m forced to post and therefore forced to focus on the good things in my life. My garden is always the place to start because it’s about no one else but me. The hormonal teenager living in the house prefers a dark room and Xbox to sunlight and fresh air. There are no ex-wives lurking behind the crotons. And weeds continue to rule over the brick pavers in the front of the house because that’s not where I spend my time. The backyard is where I spot butterflies and get dirt under my fingernails. The butterflies didn’t stop visiting, I was just missing them. No more. Over the past two weekends, I’ve spent some much needed time in the garden – weeding, transplanting, thinking, forgetting, and healing. As my grandmother says, “Happiness is a choice.” With that in mind, I choose to garden. Here’s my progress so far.
Next up on the coming out of my rut list: take down the Christmas tree. It is February. 
Have you ever thought about what your garden is saying about you? Because gardening is much more than mere maintenance. It’s a form of creative expression. As dogs are said to look like their owners; the same can be said for gardens. Some are meticulously mulched; others are overgrown. There are rock gardens and butterfly gardens, exotics requiring high maintenance and xeriscapes requiring no maintenance. Some hold statues, and some invite birds. Look around your neighborhood for trinkets, treasures, jokes, and personality traits; they’re hidden in the gardens. My garden is telling the world I’m a lovable, inventive, drinker? No, recycler.
I disassembled an old 1970′s lamp and turned it into an inexpensive garden globe. It’s sitting in a bed of sweet potato vine now, but at one point I had the sweet potato vine planted in it. It trailed quickly and ended up covering too much of the globe.
And of course, there’s my garden border…
Now let me introduce you to some of my neighbors. This one has a good sense of humor.
Aww, that last one is too cute. My guess from that garden is that there’s a lot of love in that house. But I have to end with the more familiar and completely classic Florida garden stamp – the pink flamingo.
What’s in your garden? And what does it say about you?
Last night’s empty bottle of Malbec and my mother’s obsessive crafting have inspired me! The Irish sprinkler system, first discovered when my sister lived and blogged from Ireland for a year, has been upgraded again. This time with the help of two small items - glass marbles and wire from a hanging candle holder.
As I stood over the sink rinsing out the wine bottle, I started to channel my mother, the MacGyver of marbles. In the first year after discovering flat-backed marbles, she Gooped them onto everything within a ten-foot radius - mirrors, frames, hot plates, napkin holders, you name it, it’s now covered in marbles. Anyway, it dawned on me that marbles solved my earlier problem of making the plastic bottle look prettier; why couldn’t they solve this problem too? So I started shoving them down the bottle neck one by one and voila!
It may take a few tries to get the marbles positioned properly, so make sure to place the tip of your finger into the neck before flipping the bottle upside down. Then add or subtract marbles to get the drip right; my bottle is a little less than a quarter full. Positioning the marbles was easy; positioning the bottle got a little tricky. If you push the bottle into the soil, the soil clogs the neck. If you tilt the bottle on its side, you have to jiggle it every once in a while to keep the water flowing. Fortunately for me, I’m a bit of a craft hoarder and was able to pull the wire candle holder straight out of my cabinet. For those of you non-hoarders, a wire hanger would probably work. I’ll try it over the weekend and let you know. Whatever you choose, the point is to keep the bottle slightly elevated above the soil. I wedged the wire into the side of the pot to provide some stability.
Here’s the final product, and it works great! The Plumbago is now as perky as I am after a bottle of wine!
My sister is living and blogging in Ireland for a year. Her blog is Family Hiatus, and she sent me this picture today:
The subject line of the email read: Irish Sprinkler System. It’s a great idea: a recycled water bottle turned into a mini soaker hose. All you have to do is poke tiny holes in a bottle. Pins work well; tacks are a little too big.
As clever as the idea is, it needs some American flair to lose the litter look. Don’t get me wrong; I’m a huge fan of recycling in the garden:
It just has to be pretty and colorful, so here’s my American twist on the Irish sprinkler system:
The first step was to find a better bottle. Easy-there was a pomegranate tea in my fridge with a cute red heart in the logo and a mint green cap. But it still looked like trash lying around the garden, so I added a handful of red marbles to finish it off. Much better!
