Friday, May. 28, 2004
Dear Diary:

There are always a few malcontents.

My heart fills with such tranquility here.The last week has been simply glorious transplant weather, cool and rainy. Most of the hostas I have divided have flourished and many--like this new grouping of miniature blue hostas paired with a miniature variegated hosta--look as if they've always lived where I just planted them a few weeks ago.

(That striking splash of bluish leaves edged with white at the very front of the bed? MY BIRTHDAY HOSTA! While it is tiny right now, in three years that one plant will have leaves the size of an elephant's ear and be well over a meter across. I swoon with joy every time I look at it.)

But, like I said, there are always a few malcontents.

All they want to do is whine.This year's crop of sissy babies are a grouping of largish hostas with a bluish leaf. As you can see, while everything to the left of them has stiff leaves, these plants have somewhat wilty leaves because They Are Throwing A Snit.

Fine.

The reason for this snit? Well, emboldened by the forecast of a very long stretch of cool, rainy weather I divided these plants when they had started to leaf out. This Is Against The Hosta Rules, which state that hostas can only be divided when they first wake up and are only showing little thumb like spikes about an inch high.

But, as we all know, I Am A Rebel! A Wild Woman! The Man Can't Tell ME What To Do.

Yepper, from time to time when transplant conditions are excellent I will throw the rules out the window and follow my whims.

From time to time I succeed.

From time to time I dead plants.

Oh yes, I have most definitely sent my share of green goodness to The Big Compost Pile in the Sky.

These hosta will live, but it's clear they're holding a grudge. Other hostas I've transplanted late like this have held grudges for up to three years, refusing to grow larger or multiply. Others have been more open-spirited and forgiven me after that first season. If these large blue hosta decide to throw me some 'tude, they'll soon find out two can play that game, for I, I am The Dispenser of the Compost.

Oh yes, I Have A Dark Side. Mostly, though, I keep it under wraps.

Nature, though, seems to be in payback mode for my sins. This last week we have been living one of those "Be Careful What You Wish For" experiences.

When the spousal unit was a child growing up down at the home farm, his springs were filled with the sound of spring peepers. Go and listen to them at this page. I'll wait for you. Otherwise, you won't get the full horror of what has happened.

Each spring we hear the peepers down at the home farm from our place, which is nearly a half mile from that farm. From where we live, it's a lovely, muted call of spring.

Did I mention that these frogs are nearly a half mile away and we can still hear them clearly?

Just checking.

Well, all the years we've owned our pond we've been trying to stock it with peepers to recreate the spousal unit's childhood. We've managed to bring up eggs from a bazillion other species of frogs from his mom's pond to ours, but we've only ever had a small handful of peepers.

Until this year.

Now, suddenly, for reasons I do not understand We Have Peepers.

We Have Peepers Coming Out of the Wazoo.

What was cute and charming from nearly a half mile away is now ear-piercingly annoying. Last night as dusk was falling, I was literally driven out of my gardens by the decibels of the freaking peepers' mating calls. I sweartogawd, my ears hurt. Our pond has become Peeper Pick-Up Central. In order to sleep last night I had to close the window above our bed, the window that faces the pond.

The spousal unit, of course, is walking around in a state of bliss. Years ago when he started in carpentry, hearing protection was not stressed and the noise from the tools he's used has damaged his hearing. For him, the roar of the peepers is a soft, charming sound. When I closed the window, he complained that he could not hear them.

We ended up sleeping with the window open, my head under the pillow.

The only thing that's keeping me going? It will only last a few weeks and then it's over.

You know, one of things that's come from keeping this diary is the realization that oh, yes, my Three Loyal Readers can learn a lot from me.

Sadly, most of it falls under the heading Don't Do This At Home.

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 430.83 miles. Ten percent there rubber duck.Ten percent there rubber duck. 25 per cent thereTen percent there rubber duck. Ten percent there rubber duck.
Oh man. This is going to be hard
Goal for 2004: 1,000 miles - 1609 kilometers

Going Nowhere Collaboration

.:Comments (20 so far):.

Old Drivel - New Drivel


Subscribe with Bloglines


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 -


.:Cast:. .:Diaryland Notes:. .:Comments (20 so far):. .:E-mail:.
.:Adventures In Oz:.
.:12% Beer:. .:Links:. .:Host:. .:Archives:.

Cavort, cavort, my kingdom for a cavort Globe of Blogs 12 Per Cent Beer my partners in crime


A button for random, senseless, drive-by linkings:
Blogroll Me!


< ? blogs by women # >
Bloggers over forty + ?
<< | BlogCanada | >>
[ << ? Verbosity # >> ]
<< x Blog x Philes x >>


This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

Kids, don't try viewing this at home without Netscape 6 or IE 4.5+, a screen resolution of 800 X 600 and the font Mead Bold firmly ensconced on your hard drive.

2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.