Bugs in My Britches

The Ant by Ogden Nash

The ant has made himself illustrious/Through constant industry industrious.

So what?

Would you be calm and placid/If you were full of formic acid?

In a recent post, I wrote about being raised in New York City. People take from that that I’ve never seen a blade of grass or a tree. Lemme tell you, more than one tree grows in Brooklyn…

Seriously though, growing up in “the cement jungle,” where roaches were abundant (ick!), I never got very comfortable with bugs.

My antagonism presents a problem these days, because I’m a gardener. Not only do I care for the land around my house, but, my husband and I are so enthusiastic about gardening that we rent a public plot from the county parks department. 

When one rents a garden plot, much like renting anything else, one must adhere to certain rules regarding maintenance/upkeep. Recently we were notified that it was time to start cleanup and prep for the fall growing season.

This has been a tough year for us. As an at-home wife, one of my regular chores is tending to our garden plot, but I was unable to get there for more than a month this summer while recovering from surgery. Since Gary (aka “the husband”) was occupied with looking after me, he, too, was unavailable to weed, pick, water, etc.

Then a super-hot spell, which kept us away, was followed by heavy rain, prompting the weeds to really take off. When we finally got out there, we had a daunting task in front of us. But we enjoy the yield (This year we had peppers, melons, cucumbers, asparagus, lettuce, broccoli, cauliflower, fennel and tomatoes) so in spite of it all, we set to cleaning up. 

I’m suppose I’m kidding myself if I think gardening is going to be a bug-free activity, n’est-ce pas?

Case in point…

This morning, while weeding one of six beds, I disturbed a colony of ants. In short order, they were crawling on my shoes and, because I was wearing short socks (stupid, stupid, stupid!), making their way onto my legs where (with nothing else to do, I guess) they began stinging me.

I looked a bit like this minus the cute dress:

I can just see my niece and nephews’ reaction after I share this story with them. They’ll say to their friends, “Have we told you the one about the ants in our aunt’s pants?”

24 Carrot Smile

It's amazing where you can get with a smile and a friendly word.

I was at the county garden plot with Gary this past weekend. It was hot as all get out and we had just planned to be there for a few minutes to admire my recent handiwork and water the beds with greenery other than weeds in them.

I was picking little weeds from among the melons and tomatoes and Gary offered to fill the watering cans. I get some serious tunnel vision when I weed. Being "in the zone" I didn't want to stop weeding, so Gary went off by himself.

Soon afterwards he came back and we emptied the three watering cans/buckets we had, but still the beds did not look sufficiently "happy" so we both went back for more water. (Think Jack and Jill going up a hill...)

On the way to the water source, Gary told me that another gardener had attached a hose to the spout without using a "splitter" so no one else could take water from the spout. That's pretty rude. However, Gary said, it had been no problem to fill the watering cans before and would surely not be a problem this time either. So we went to see the guy whose hose was on the spout.

I thought the guy would detach his hose so we could use the spout (I have NO idea what I was thinking...). But instead he just put his hose into the watering cans and filled them up. While he did, we got to talking...

Those of you who know me know my penchant for talking, telling stories, etc.

Gary knew the garden would never get watered if I had anything to do with it, so he went off to finish the job, while I kibitzed.

So it turns out that this guy, Sam, is one of the pioneer county plot gardeners having transferred his"crops" to Franconia Park when the original garden on Beulah Street was essentially paved over to build a school, several years ago. As a result, Sam has a double plot at Franconia Park and whoa does he have veggies! One thing I'm continually learning about the gardeners at the county plots is that they are interesting, generous people.

So I ask Sam if I can have a look at what he's got. I don't know what I said, but when Gary came back to get me about 20 minutes later, I was carrying an armful of zucchini, eggplant, tomatoes, purple basil, peppers and more.

Each time Sam pressed something else on me I replied politely "Oh, I couldn't possibly take it" knowing all the while that I could and, odds are, that I also knew that, in fact, I "would."

We had pasta with an awesome spicy vegetable sauce for dinner that night.

And to think it all started with a good word and a grin.

Talk about a 24-carrot smile!

Score: Domestic Divahood, 7; Unfulfilled on the job, 0

Man vs. Weed

It's August 7th and today was "Employment Situation Day." That meant getting up extra early so Gary could get to work early. And the timing couldn't have been better. The weather was remarkably cool for August -- in the 60's, so after I dropped Gary at the Metro, I came home gathered my tools and went to our Fairfax County garden plot. There I engaged in a fierce battle of man vs. weed. I'm glad to say that after two hours, man won, but it was touch and go for a while. I had to keep reminding myself that I was picking up activity points on Weight Watchers meaning I can eat a little more tonight at the Mystics game. Detroit is playing pretty poorly these days, so the food may be the highlight of the game. Hopefully not.

After a few hours of manual labor, I returned home to have coffee with Sharon. On the way home, I stopped at Safeway to pick up some kind of "munchie" to have with coffee. As I walked in, covered in dirt and sweat, I got a few looks. Perhaps people thought I was homeless. I was quite the sight.

So I changed into a dress when I got home to make myself look presentable. To my delight when I left the house, via the front door (as opposed to the garage) there was a package on the porch. It contained a pair of "retro" sunglasses that I ordered several weeks ago. They are completely kitschy and completely awesome and they fit like a glove. Now I just need the 1960's flip hairstyle (see photo) to go with them to complete the look. I'm trying to achieve the flip, but I probably need to use more hairspray. Since I use no hairspray now, "more" is a relative term.

In keeping with my environmentalist persona, I need to find something that's not going to widen the hole in the ozone layer. I'll leave that to other Southern "belles."

Yeah, like I'm so Southern. You should hear me screaming and carrying on at Mystics games. I'm still trying to scream myself hoarse. So far I still have a voice. Bummer! But I definitely get some looks when I belt out such favorite phrases as "Let's go ladies!" or "Come on (insert name here)! Knock it down!"

Yikes! On the subject of knocked down, I'm about to fall down from exhaustion. It's tiring just watching the Mystics. I can't even imagine what it must be like to play in one of those games.

And I have a big day tomorrow. I'll get a fix on how my plan to lose a pound a week before vacation is going. If I don't report, we'll know...

Score: Domestic Divahood, 3; Unfulfilled on the job, 0