NO WEEDING REQUIRED.........short story

 "In search of my mother's garden, I found my own...." -Alice Walker

The first garden I ever planted was at the MQ at CFB Petawawa, in 1988. I ripped up grass, plopped some dirt on top of the worms , shoved in as many annuals as I could muster and hoped it would grow. It managed okay, till I had to weed it. And that hot summer sun  fried everything....

 We moved a lot. In Fredericton, N.B. 1994, I decided the front yard needed an overhaul. So, once again, I ripped up  grass, plopped on some dirt, Got a whole bunch of blooms and stuck them in. Lasted okay, till I had to weed it.........

 We moved a few more times, till we came to St. Albert, AB, 1996, by then I was a little more jaded. I still dug up the grass, plopped on the dirt, stuck in some plants; waited to see what would happen. Well, it snowed, May long weekend. Killed most of the annuals......But at least I didn't have to weed it.....

By the time we reached White Rock, B.C.in 2000, I was into my rock phase. paving stones, gravel, a few established beds. Some grass to dig up, existing beds made wider. By then I had  learned to get truckloads of soil. Dig. Dig. Still some weeds. But more gravel. More paving stones. 

Cranesbill

 And then we were here. 2006 In Campbell River, B.C.  The garden was tidier. No paving stones. No gravel. Lots and lots of dirt. I liked that. But too organized. So I  started ripping out things. I planted one native Cranesbill in a pot. By the benches. Now by 2019, the garden has taken on  a new look.

 That one pot of Native Cranesbill has wonderfully spread all over. Where ever I find it, I move it to another bed, another spot to be prolific.I've taken out bushes, added clematis, roses and roses and more roses....

 Sweet peas I grow in as many places as possible. I no longer dig out clods of grass, I added hanging baskets, troughs stuffed with sweet pea seeds, and the hill of dirt in the far corner, fairly marches with them. 

Years ago, when I was growing up, I remember my mother digging up clods of grass.....

 All around the house, as far as she could go. She loved to wear bright caftans, her hair piled in a beehive on top of her head, curved glasses perched on her nose. She always dressed like that to dig up grass. And rubber boots to wear.

 I can still see her in that bright orange caftan, wafting around her feet as she stood on a spade and dug up the grass.

 The grass would give a satisfying PLOP as it fell back.

 My job was to take the grass clods and throw them into the forest behind us. I liked that part. I felt like I was tossing a caber.

 She'd take a couple of bags of soil and spread it along the furrow she'd created at the side of the house, and beside the old porch. 

 Then we'd plant sweet peas in the rows of dirt. Nasturtums by the porch. Every year we planted them.

 Some years she had to re-dig the rows of dirt, after winter, and she'd be there in her caftan, and her shovel, digging away. Squishing in stakes and string for the sweet peas to grow up on.Every year, we'd plant sweet peas and naturtums. My mother would plant nasturtums in the mud by the porch, and the garter snakes loved to hide in their blooms.

 And those sweet peas would grow up  and up those stakes, higher and brighter than the year before. And she would stand there, in her caftan and marvel at it all. Marvel at the fact that her garden required no weeding......But next year, she mused, she'd have to dig out more grass and make the furrows wider to plant more seeds.......there was always next year.

 The year that she was gone, when I went to the house, and saw she had started to dig out  the troughs  at one time. But never finished. The shovel, covered with dried mud, was in the basement. So having time on my hands,I finished off the trough she  started. I didn't have any seeds ,but the row was ready. Just in case. With no weeding required.............

 "Give me odorous at sunrise,a garden of beautiful flowers, where I can walk undisturbed...." -Walt Whitman

 Photographs 2019

Seed Pods. They're Here....

"Out of the sky came a solution. Seeds drifting thru space for years, took root in a farmer's field. From the seeds came Pods which had the power to reproduce themselves in the exact likeness of any form of life." -Invasion of the Body Snatcher (1956) (Dr. Kauffman)

 They're hereeeeeee. Finally Seed Pods. Hundreds of them. Well, these are Biodegadeable Pellets.Close enough. They expand faster than regular peat pellets. Better for the environment as well.  

 Waiting, like Spencer. It snows, it sleets, it rains, it freezes.  I can't wait any longer. My  Pod pellets are ready and waiting. Staring at me. They're alive. I just know it. But no one will believe me of course. Well, alive in the sense that once you stuff seeds into them then they will grow.Therefore, alive, by all understanding of the word.  

 Must  remain respectful of the  Pods. Must Haul out the leftover garden pots as well. Stuff dirt into old pots. Hide them all in the bathroom. Watch to see if seeds will grow.Watch to see if they live or die.Must watch the Pods.

 It's something that happens every year at this time. I've never been able to resist. Resistance is futile.And it is futile to resist the  yearly trek to get Pods and Seeds and Dirt.So many pods......

 Gardening stores call them "Fiber Grow Pellets". Guaranteed to grow anything. Anything........."They come from another world!" -Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978). Anything at all. From this world or outer space....

 They come flat. The discs have to be soaked in water to let them swell. The innards fluff out, squashing against the fat sides of very thin cloth. Looks like a fat sausage roll, ready to burst.

 Like pods. From one of my favourite movies......1958 or 1978.  

 "They're like huge seed pods!" -"Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978)

 Let them soak for a day at least. If you use them too dry , seeds just shrivel and die. Sometimes you can leave the trays of pods outside in the rain to get a good soaking. Just bring them inside. They can't stay outside in this rocky weather. But they can do with some rain to get them started.

 "They're here already! Your next!" -Invasion  of the Body Snatchers (1956)

What happens next is you keep those Pods watered, either with a Spray Bottle Mister, or a light sprinkling of water. 

 The Pods like to be in a warm room ( hence a bathroom with big windows), and not direct sunlight . Maybe a little bit, but not scorching sun. Figure out how much sun the room gets, then adjust the blinds. Otherwise,  The Pods will dry out far too much.

 You can plant one or two seeds in each sausage-like Pod. Get rid of the weaker plant after they start to grow. Try to leave the strongest plant in the pellet. Keep it moist. Pods like to have  a misting at least once a day.

 Every ten days, fertilize with a water soluble fertilizer. Dissolve  a good basic fertilizer into a watering can and go to town with it. The Pods will grow and plump up quite nicely.Quite nicely. You watch them. And THEY watch you.

  When the time comes, in May,  you will plant them outside in  dark loamy earth.  And you'll watch them grow. And they will still watch YOU.

"Tomorrow, you'll be one of us....." -Invasion of the Body Snatchers ( 1956) 
                                         (Rufus Hummer)
 Tomorrow will come, and the little Pods will grow  green things. And they will multiply. And you will be glad.And so will THEY.

 "Suddenly, while you're asleep.they'll absorb your minds, your memories, and you're reborn into an untroubled world....."
                        -Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) (Dr. Kauffman)

 Photographs 2017: M. McConachie Woods

I Dream of Dirt.....

I want to stuff seeds into the dirt. I want to see beans  flourish. Flowers tumble. I want to stuff seeds into dirt, till I can stuff no more. I want to plant my greenhouse with things that grow.

 I want to weed the dirt. Then plant the seeds, that turn into beans, that turn into flowers. First  I must  cut up liners for wire baskets.And dream of the seeds that will turn into beans.......I just want to stuff seeds into dirt.

 It's a little too cold for Cordelia, who hides behind the fence on the hill. She sniffs the chilly wind.

But not too cold for fog  on the ocean.

I want to stuff seeds into  dirt, that will grow.....

 Instead I join Spencer outside on a cool, sunny day. He always finds sun. He's not interested in seeds.

 Smokey's paws twitch in the  sun. He dreams of flying with the birds. I dream of dirt.

 And the mountain is foggy and misty and runny with snow. I miss the dirt. And the worms that wibble and wobble.

  Spencer dreams of being king . I still dream of stuffing things into pots of dirt.

  All I can do is  be patient. I'm not good at that.

 My  baskets are done. Hung  in the greenhouse.  I can sense the dirt underfoot. This time of year it smells wonderful. Crisp. Fresh. Wormy . Loamy. Bugs are starting to squoosh out of holes.

 Dale's old truck, broken and heat scorched , lies in the mud and rain.

 Gets me motivated to repurpose and reuse and renew. Time to redecorate. The toilet gets a makeover. ( Don't worry, that's just mud.......I think.)

 Spencer wakes from his nap. Peers into the greenhouse. He likes the greenhouse.

 He sees the toilet. Stuffed with a pot of dirt. Finally. I get to play in the dirt.

 Cordelia emerges, at last, from the fence. Sits on her Moai , once again, like she does when the season changes.

 And the mountain rumbles and grumbles overhead.

 Lion Mane  appears, after five months absence. Bigger and poofier than ever.She's more interested in watching the chickens next door peck in the dirt. Ahhhhhh, dirt.

 The sky  clouds over. The light recedes.

 The rocks in the ocean thrash  and rattle as the tides pull in.

 And the sun goes down again. Spencer drapes himself hopefully over the bench. He waves his paws elegantly. He is cute. And he knows it.     I dream of dirt.........

 "I hope a couple of birds will nest around the house. I'll do my best to make them happy, so every years they'll raise their brood of fledglings here...While I follow the sun, while I drift and roam to the ends of the earth like a chip on the stream. " ( Don Blanding 1894-1957 "Vagabond's House")