Pop-Pop bought himself a trail camera - you know, one of those motion-detecting things that hunters use to spy on their hunting spots when they're not around. He had my brother-in-law strap it to a tree near the south end of the big garden. He said he's going to use it to find out what all is eating our garden, once we have stuff in it to eat. He said the flash might even run off some animals before they make it to the garden. It's been out there for two or three days, already.
Yesterday, while we were at his house, he said he was having trouble viewing the pictures. The camera doesn't have a viewing screen. It stores the pictures on an SD card, but neither his computer nor his printer has an SD card slot. My husband came home and got our laptop, which does have an SD card slot, and took it back to Pop-Pop's so we could view the pictures.
The camera had taken pictures of my brother-in-law as he was affixing it to the tree. It had taken pictures of a cat, one rabbit, then three rabbits, and a whole bunch of distant, unidentifiable glow-in-the-dark eyes. It had taken pictures of me and Nanny as we were raking up the last of the debris from last year's garden.
Nanny and I have made mental notes not to point our rear ends to the south as we're bending over in the garden this year.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Possums
I haven’t seen “Sam,” our resident opossum, for a few weeks, and am beginning to worry about him. It’s fun to watch him nose around the patio on his nocturnal cat-food raids. And, of course, I never see Sam without thinking about Great Uncle Albert and his ‘possum breeding tale.
One Sunday, when we’d all retired to the living room after a big family dinner at Mama Jewell’s, somebody said something about an opossum, and that was all it took.
Uncle Albert elbowed me and asked, “You know how ‘possums breed, don’t you?”
I figured it was a trick question. (With Uncle Albert, it almost always was.) “Well, I’ve never actually seen one in action, but my guess is that - “
”They do it in the nose,” Uncle Albert said, impatient to get on with the story.
“NNNuh-uhhhhh,” I replied.
“Yeah, they do,” he insisted, “don’t they, Jerry?” He looked to my father-in-law to back him up.
Pop-Pop gave an emphatic l nod. “Yep. Shore do.”
“No way,” I said.
“It’s the truth.” He raised his voice a notch. “Ain’t it, Liz?”
Aunt Liz, his sister-in-law, was sitting beside me on the sofa. Aunt Liz was half deaf and couldn’t hear thunder, and she’d missed the whole ‘possum discussion to that point. “What?” she asked, cupping one ear with her hand.
“Do you know how ‘possums breed?” Uncle Albert asked her.
“Why, through their noses, I reckon,” she said. Uncle Albert was about to fall back in his chair in victory until she added, “...like everything else does. Everything breathes through its nose, doesn’t it?”
Uncle Albert leaned forward again and shouted, “No, no, Liz...not breathe: BREED!”
Aunt Liz looked shocked. “BREED? Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that!”
“Well, that’s how they do it, for sure” Uncle Albert said to me. “Looky here,” he said, "a ‘possum’s thang is forked....” He held up two fingers, like a “Peace” sign, and waggled them a couple of times.
“NNuh-uhhhhh!”
I looked at Pop-Pop. He was nodding.
“It is!” Uncle Albert said. “And when he gets ready to breed, he bends his head down between his legs, and puts one fork in each nostril...”
“No way... stop it,” waving him off.
“Yeah, he does,” Uncle Albert continued. “And he snuffs it up in his nose.”
“He shore does,” Pop-Pop said.
"So how does that get the girl ‘possum pregnant?” I demanded.
“Well, listen, and I’ll tell you,” Uncle Albert said. He was fully committed to this now, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “After he snuffs it up his nose, he walks up behind the female and sneezes it into her.”
My mouth dropped open. I looked at Pop-Pop again. He, too, was holding up two fingers, and when I caught his eye, he turned his hand, palm toward his face, and aimed his fingertips toward his own nostrils. This was more than I could stand. Amidst Pop-Pop’s and Uncle Albert’s assurances that I had been told the 100% God’s Honest Truth, I got up and left the room.
At Nanny’s & Pop-Pop’s house later that evening, I asked my husband, “Did you hear that mess Uncle Albert told me about ‘possums?”
Pop-Pop piped up to swear it was not "mess" but was, in fact, the God's honest truth.
I still wasn’t buying it.
My husband was sitting next to Nanny’s bookcase where a set of out-dated encyclopedias was shelved. Seeing them gave me an idea. “Anything that unique ought to be on the books!” I said. I asked The Husband to hand me the 'P' volume.
“Don’t you mean the ‘O’?”
“Smart*ss. Hand it here.”
I looked up “Opossum” in the encyclopedia. It said not one word about snuffing or sneezing or forked thangs.
The next day I told a co-worker the story that Uncle Albert had told me. She had a brilliant suggestion to put the matter to rest, once and for all: “Call the zoo.”
I called the zoo, and asked for the ‘possum expert. When he came to the phone, I said, “I have a question about ‘possum breeding habits. My uncle - ”
“Ma’am,” he said, interrupting me, “they don’t do it in the nose.”
“You’ve had this question before,” I observed.
“Yes, ma’am, at least once a day,” he said.
“Well, how DO they do it?”
“They mount, like other animals.”
“But my uncle said they have forked - um - units,” I said.
“That would be true.”
“Why is it forked?”
“Ma’am, you’ll have to ask God that question.”
I could sense he was a bit bored, so I let him off the hook, and I turned right around and dialed Uncle Albert’s number. Aunt Joy answered. I could hear a bunch of chattering in the background; all of her sisters had come for lunch.
“Aunt Joy, this is Susan. May I speak with Uncle Albert, please? I'm calling to straighten out this ‘possum mess, once and for all.”
Having heard the conversation the day before, she giggled at my mention of 'possum. “He’s not here right now, sweetie. Do you want me to tell him to call you when he gets back?”
“No, ma’am, just give him this message: tell him I called the zoo - “
Aunt Joy chuckled. “You called the zoo?”
“Yes, ma’am, and asked to speak to the ‘possum expert. He said. - “
”Possum expert!” She snickered.
“Yes, ma’am, and tell Uncle Albert that the zoo man said that possums DO NOT ‘DO IT’ WITH THEIR NOSES.”
Aunt Joy began to laugh so hard that when she tried to speak, it came out as a wheeze: “Child, he’s been spreading that malarky for years! I can't wait until he gets home!” She was still laughing when we hung up.
Some time later, when Uncle Albert was in the hospital in Intensive Care, I took Mama Jewell to the hospital to see him. As I passed by the hospital gift shop, what do I see in the window but a stuffed opossum, hanging from a limb by his curly tail. Nothing could have stopped me from buying that possum. I took him up to the ICU waiting room, and when the visiting time arrived and Aunt Joy and Mama Jewell stood up to go see him, I took the possum out of my purse and handed him to Aunt Joy. “Take this to Uncle Albert from me.”
“You take it to him,” she insisted. She told Mama Jewell she’d just have to wait her turn.
I followed Aunt Joy back to the ICU. She gently woke Uncle Albert. “Somebody’s here to see you,” she told him.
He opened his eyes.
“I brought you something,” I said, and, lifting the possum by its tail, I held it up high enough for Uncle Albert to see it. He gave me one of his crooked grins.
Some time later, Aunt Joy gave that possum back to me. I still find it around the house from time to time. And it still makes me smile every time I see it.
One Sunday, when we’d all retired to the living room after a big family dinner at Mama Jewell’s, somebody said something about an opossum, and that was all it took.
Uncle Albert elbowed me and asked, “You know how ‘possums breed, don’t you?”
I figured it was a trick question. (With Uncle Albert, it almost always was.) “Well, I’ve never actually seen one in action, but my guess is that - “
”They do it in the nose,” Uncle Albert said, impatient to get on with the story.
“NNNuh-uhhhhh,” I replied.
“Yeah, they do,” he insisted, “don’t they, Jerry?” He looked to my father-in-law to back him up.
Pop-Pop gave an emphatic l nod. “Yep. Shore do.”
“No way,” I said.
“It’s the truth.” He raised his voice a notch. “Ain’t it, Liz?”
Aunt Liz, his sister-in-law, was sitting beside me on the sofa. Aunt Liz was half deaf and couldn’t hear thunder, and she’d missed the whole ‘possum discussion to that point. “What?” she asked, cupping one ear with her hand.
“Do you know how ‘possums breed?” Uncle Albert asked her.
“Why, through their noses, I reckon,” she said. Uncle Albert was about to fall back in his chair in victory until she added, “...like everything else does. Everything breathes through its nose, doesn’t it?”
Uncle Albert leaned forward again and shouted, “No, no, Liz...not breathe: BREED!”
Aunt Liz looked shocked. “BREED? Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that!”
“Well, that’s how they do it, for sure” Uncle Albert said to me. “Looky here,” he said, "a ‘possum’s thang is forked....” He held up two fingers, like a “Peace” sign, and waggled them a couple of times.
“NNuh-uhhhhh!”
I looked at Pop-Pop. He was nodding.
“It is!” Uncle Albert said. “And when he gets ready to breed, he bends his head down between his legs, and puts one fork in each nostril...”
“No way... stop it,” waving him off.
“Yeah, he does,” Uncle Albert continued. “And he snuffs it up in his nose.”
“He shore does,” Pop-Pop said.
"So how does that get the girl ‘possum pregnant?” I demanded.
“Well, listen, and I’ll tell you,” Uncle Albert said. He was fully committed to this now, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “After he snuffs it up his nose, he walks up behind the female and sneezes it into her.”
My mouth dropped open. I looked at Pop-Pop again. He, too, was holding up two fingers, and when I caught his eye, he turned his hand, palm toward his face, and aimed his fingertips toward his own nostrils. This was more than I could stand. Amidst Pop-Pop’s and Uncle Albert’s assurances that I had been told the 100% God’s Honest Truth, I got up and left the room.
At Nanny’s & Pop-Pop’s house later that evening, I asked my husband, “Did you hear that mess Uncle Albert told me about ‘possums?”
Pop-Pop piped up to swear it was not "mess" but was, in fact, the God's honest truth.
I still wasn’t buying it.
My husband was sitting next to Nanny’s bookcase where a set of out-dated encyclopedias was shelved. Seeing them gave me an idea. “Anything that unique ought to be on the books!” I said. I asked The Husband to hand me the 'P' volume.
“Don’t you mean the ‘O’?”
“Smart*ss. Hand it here.”
I looked up “Opossum” in the encyclopedia. It said not one word about snuffing or sneezing or forked thangs.
The next day I told a co-worker the story that Uncle Albert had told me. She had a brilliant suggestion to put the matter to rest, once and for all: “Call the zoo.”
I called the zoo, and asked for the ‘possum expert. When he came to the phone, I said, “I have a question about ‘possum breeding habits. My uncle - ”
“Ma’am,” he said, interrupting me, “they don’t do it in the nose.”
“You’ve had this question before,” I observed.
“Yes, ma’am, at least once a day,” he said.
“Well, how DO they do it?”
“They mount, like other animals.”
“But my uncle said they have forked - um - units,” I said.
“That would be true.”
“Why is it forked?”
“Ma’am, you’ll have to ask God that question.”
I could sense he was a bit bored, so I let him off the hook, and I turned right around and dialed Uncle Albert’s number. Aunt Joy answered. I could hear a bunch of chattering in the background; all of her sisters had come for lunch.
“Aunt Joy, this is Susan. May I speak with Uncle Albert, please? I'm calling to straighten out this ‘possum mess, once and for all.”
Having heard the conversation the day before, she giggled at my mention of 'possum. “He’s not here right now, sweetie. Do you want me to tell him to call you when he gets back?”
“No, ma’am, just give him this message: tell him I called the zoo - “
Aunt Joy chuckled. “You called the zoo?”
“Yes, ma’am, and asked to speak to the ‘possum expert. He said. - “
”Possum expert!” She snickered.
“Yes, ma’am, and tell Uncle Albert that the zoo man said that possums DO NOT ‘DO IT’ WITH THEIR NOSES.”
Aunt Joy began to laugh so hard that when she tried to speak, it came out as a wheeze: “Child, he’s been spreading that malarky for years! I can't wait until he gets home!” She was still laughing when we hung up.
Some time later, when Uncle Albert was in the hospital in Intensive Care, I took Mama Jewell to the hospital to see him. As I passed by the hospital gift shop, what do I see in the window but a stuffed opossum, hanging from a limb by his curly tail. Nothing could have stopped me from buying that possum. I took him up to the ICU waiting room, and when the visiting time arrived and Aunt Joy and Mama Jewell stood up to go see him, I took the possum out of my purse and handed him to Aunt Joy. “Take this to Uncle Albert from me.”
“You take it to him,” she insisted. She told Mama Jewell she’d just have to wait her turn.
I followed Aunt Joy back to the ICU. She gently woke Uncle Albert. “Somebody’s here to see you,” she told him.
He opened his eyes.
“I brought you something,” I said, and, lifting the possum by its tail, I held it up high enough for Uncle Albert to see it. He gave me one of his crooked grins.
Some time later, Aunt Joy gave that possum back to me. I still find it around the house from time to time. And it still makes me smile every time I see it.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Journal: 1st Beans/Peas
I planted broad beans and snap peas today. I'd never even seen a "broad bean," much less eaten one, so I have no idea what I'm getting. But if the new beans turn out to be as big as the seeds, we'll only need two or three apiece to make dinner. ;)
The tweleve cruciferous plants have survived two nights without even a nibble from a rabbit (knock on wood). The onions - well, I guess I'll find where I put those when they come up.
Rumor has it that Mr. Charles may come with his tractor to break up the other garden today. I just called Nanny and told her not to let him in the little garden. Though she probably won't repeat this part of the conversation to him, I threatened him with bodily harm if he plows up my stuff. You are my witness.
-----------
The tweleve cruciferous plants have survived two nights without even a nibble from a rabbit (knock on wood). The onions - well, I guess I'll find where I put those when they come up.
Rumor has it that Mr. Charles may come with his tractor to break up the other garden today. I just called Nanny and told her not to let him in the little garden. Though she probably won't repeat this part of the conversation to him, I threatened him with bodily harm if he plows up my stuff. You are my witness.
-----------
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Cruciferosity
Sunday afternoon I spotted a few early garden plants outside a store, and I grabbed up 9-packs of broccoli, red cabbage, and brussels sprouts, and a small bag of onion sets. I really didn't want nine of everything, but it seems that's how they're being packaged these days. I brought them home and set them on the patio table, hoping to keep them alive until I could get them in the ground.
Yesterday on my way home from work, I briefly considered planting everything that afternoon. It was easy to talk myself out of the notion, especially when I remembered that rabbits ate last year's first planting of cabbage and broccoli. We put wire cages around the few plants that they missed, but I don't have 27 (9 x 3) cages. My sister suggested that I buy some garden nets to spread over the rows. Good idea!
Naturally, I forgot to shop for garden nets before I came home today - thought about it as I was about 10 miles out of town. And it's supposed to rain tomorrow, and again Saturday, dang-it.
I argued with myself all the way home about whether or not I should plant everything today. If I plant those things today, without covering them up, the rabbits will eat them - probably tonight. Well, maybe there aren't any rabbit dens close by the early garden. (Last year's plants were in the big garden, near the woods.) If I don't plant them today, it'll be too wet for several days. If I don't plant them SOON, they'll probably die in the packages....
So I compromised, and planted 4 of each plant, daring the bunnies.
And now that I've cleaned the mud off my shoes and out from under my fingernails, I've remembered that I didn't plant the onions. So back to the garden I go.
Yesterday on my way home from work, I briefly considered planting everything that afternoon. It was easy to talk myself out of the notion, especially when I remembered that rabbits ate last year's first planting of cabbage and broccoli. We put wire cages around the few plants that they missed, but I don't have 27 (9 x 3) cages. My sister suggested that I buy some garden nets to spread over the rows. Good idea!
Naturally, I forgot to shop for garden nets before I came home today - thought about it as I was about 10 miles out of town. And it's supposed to rain tomorrow, and again Saturday, dang-it.
I argued with myself all the way home about whether or not I should plant everything today. If I plant those things today, without covering them up, the rabbits will eat them - probably tonight. Well, maybe there aren't any rabbit dens close by the early garden. (Last year's plants were in the big garden, near the woods.) If I don't plant them today, it'll be too wet for several days. If I don't plant them SOON, they'll probably die in the packages....
So I compromised, and planted 4 of each plant, daring the bunnies.
And now that I've cleaned the mud off my shoes and out from under my fingernails, I've remembered that I didn't plant the onions. So back to the garden I go.
"Wish in One Hand, S*it in the Other...."
This morning, when The Husband came looking for our ritual "leaving-for-work" kiss, he found me at my computer, staring longingly at a picture and product description of the Craftsman Rear Mount Tiller.
I heard him snicker. He's caught me staring at this same picture for about four years now. I glanced at him over my shoulder. "They're on sale!"
"Um-hmmmm," he said, bending down for the smooch.
"'No Payments, No Interest' for a year," I told him.
"Um-hmmmm," he said again as he turned to leave the room. He wasn't worried; he thinks I'm all talk and no action.
"You know, other women would be wishing for jewelry, or furs, or...."
"Yeah, yeah. 'Wish in one hand....'"
It drives me crazy when he says that thing to me, as the part that he left unsaid goes, "...and s*it in the other, and see which hand fills up faster."
Hmph.
"I'LL HAVE THE TRUCK FRIDAY," I called, reminding him that we are supposed to swap vehicles at the end of this week when I'm scheduled to pick up our grandson. (The car seat is strapped in the back seat of The Husband's truck, and it's easier to swap vehicles than to move the car seat.) "I could bring home a Craftsman Rear Mount Tiller in a truck!"
"Um-hmmmm," he said, closing the front door behind him.
Hmph.
I may just show him a thing or two, come Friday.
I heard him snicker. He's caught me staring at this same picture for about four years now. I glanced at him over my shoulder. "They're on sale!"
"Um-hmmmm," he said, bending down for the smooch.
"'No Payments, No Interest' for a year," I told him.
"Um-hmmmm," he said again as he turned to leave the room. He wasn't worried; he thinks I'm all talk and no action.
"You know, other women would be wishing for jewelry, or furs, or...."
"Yeah, yeah. 'Wish in one hand....'"
It drives me crazy when he says that thing to me, as the part that he left unsaid goes, "...and s*it in the other, and see which hand fills up faster."
Hmph.
"I'LL HAVE THE TRUCK FRIDAY," I called, reminding him that we are supposed to swap vehicles at the end of this week when I'm scheduled to pick up our grandson. (The car seat is strapped in the back seat of The Husband's truck, and it's easier to swap vehicles than to move the car seat.) "I could bring home a Craftsman Rear Mount Tiller in a truck!"
"Um-hmmmm," he said, closing the front door behind him.
Hmph.
I may just show him a thing or two, come Friday.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Sprouts!
The radishes are up.
At least, I think they're radishes.
You see, I did not mark the rows when I planted seeds two weeks ago, thinking that everything would pop right out of the ground before I forgot what I planted where. Right.
To be honest, I thought I planted larkspur where these seedlings are growing. It would have made sense to plant them there, along the edge of the garden, out of the way of the tiller when the time comes to plant summer vegetables, but, as you may have guessed, I do not always behave sensibly in the garden. I'll be able to tell what they are, for sure, when the next set of leaves emerges; if it's larkspur, the next set of leaves will be fern-y. For now, though, seeing that these babies have reddish stems, I'm betting they're radishes.
The sweet peas need to be planted. I'm torn between wading into the mud to punch them into the wet ground and waiting until it's dry enough to run the tiller down the rows one more time. The sensible thing would probably be to wait....
In my yard, the first wave of daffodil blooming is in progress. Most of what is blooming now are old varieties that I dug up from cow pastures where old houses used to sit. While the fancy, store-bought bulbs are only just thinking about blooming, the "old faithfuls" are already in full swing. The exception to the "store-bought" rule is my "mini-daffodils." These little guys are early bloomers, and are too cute for words. They're not much taller than crocus, but their visual impact is surprisingly big. They multiply well. They need dividing, but I'm always too busy with vegetables when the time comes.
At least, I think they're radishes.
You see, I did not mark the rows when I planted seeds two weeks ago, thinking that everything would pop right out of the ground before I forgot what I planted where. Right.
To be honest, I thought I planted larkspur where these seedlings are growing. It would have made sense to plant them there, along the edge of the garden, out of the way of the tiller when the time comes to plant summer vegetables, but, as you may have guessed, I do not always behave sensibly in the garden. I'll be able to tell what they are, for sure, when the next set of leaves emerges; if it's larkspur, the next set of leaves will be fern-y. For now, though, seeing that these babies have reddish stems, I'm betting they're radishes.
The sweet peas need to be planted. I'm torn between wading into the mud to punch them into the wet ground and waiting until it's dry enough to run the tiller down the rows one more time. The sensible thing would probably be to wait....
In my yard, the first wave of daffodil blooming is in progress. Most of what is blooming now are old varieties that I dug up from cow pastures where old houses used to sit. While the fancy, store-bought bulbs are only just thinking about blooming, the "old faithfuls" are already in full swing. The exception to the "store-bought" rule is my "mini-daffodils." These little guys are early bloomers, and are too cute for words. They're not much taller than crocus, but their visual impact is surprisingly big. They multiply well. They need dividing, but I'm always too busy with vegetables when the time comes.
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