Monday, Jun. 09, 2003
Dear Diary:

As far as Mother Nature is concerned, I'm the tall, white-haired woman walking around with the "Kick Me" sign firmly affixed to my back.

Fine.

I hate the way things look this time of yearThis is my daffodil meadow now that I've dug up half the bulbs and the spousal unit has turned over the grass with the tiller.

(Yes, the big things in my life right now are a patch of dirt and a big hunk of unmown grass. Further confirmation--as if any more was needed--that I exist solely so others can say to themselves, "Well, as dull as my life is, at least I'm not Marn.")

This weekend I half killed myself to get it raked and sown with buckwheat, a green manure crop, because the forecast was for rain. Of course, it has not rained because, well, where's the sport in that? For the last three days I've watched small flocks of mourning doves land in the field and nibble daintily at my buckwheat seed.

Fine.

On the left of that picture you can see how the rest of the meadow looks--a tall tangle of very ugly grass that I have to leave for at least another three weeks to allow the daffodil leaves to ripen, to gather strength for next year's flowering.

It is so very, very ugly.

For the last 15 or 20 years I have been trying to introduce oriental poppies into that meadow so I would at least have those gorgeous splashes of red woven into it, something you often see in farmer's fields in Europe. Poppies have tap roots and they don't transplant well, so I'm pretty much stuck with sowing seed.

Have I had any success at all with this? No, no I have not.

I have been comforting myself with the notion that there is some special trick, some little bit of gardener's alchemy I just haven't found yet.

Yep for years I've tried to grow poppies.  Fine.Well, during last summer's plant sales I bought myself several pots of a yellow and green hosta called Golden Tiara. They were jumbled in with a whole bunch of random plants and I got them for a song. I divided them to start them multiplying and planted them in a nursery bed quite a ways from my daffodil meadow.

See the spiky plant that has sprouted in with the hosta, the dark green one with the slightly fuzzy leaf?

Oriental poppies.

Oriental poppies that I did not sow.

Oriental poppies whose seed probably randomly spilled into the hosta pot from a nearby pot of poppies in the greenhouse.

Oh yes, when I TRY to grow oriental poppies I fail.

Year. After year. After year.

When I do not try to grow oriental poppies, I have poppies coming out of the wazoo. Poppies that I am going to have to weed out because they will choke out my hostas if I don't.

Fine.

Oh yes, I will lift them tenderly from the bed and try to preserve their fragile taproots. Oh yes, I will gently ease them into the meadow and water them lovingly.

Do I think they will survive? Do I think that next year will finally be the year I see poppies in the daffodil meadow?

Oh puh-LEESE. I may have a "Kick Me" sign on my back, but I don't have a "Born Yesterday" one.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 298.88 miles (480.89 kilometers) Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck. Half way smooch
Goal for 2003: 500 miles - 804.5 kilometers

Going Nowhere Collaboration

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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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