This is the Life That Is

One for the Home Team

Last summer, when we discovered that we could, indeed, grow sweet corn in our garden at work, I began talking up the legendary sweet corn from Illinois.  NEXT year, I told my colleagues, NEXT year, I told the 'individuals' who participated in the gardening project, NEXT year, we will grow ILLINI EXTRASWEET!

So, in May, while in Bloomington, IL, visiting my daughter and her husband, I trotted down to the A & B Hatchery (a former chicken hatchery, really!) and bought an ounce or two of corn seed.  Felt almost illicit bringing it out of state.

In early June, we prepared the rows to plant.  When I produced the sacred seed, one co-worker asked in  a worried tone, "We're not planting Silver Queen?".   Silver Queen is the stuff sold at the farmstands, proudly proclaimed on hand-written signs.  "No", I replied, "We are planting the BEST sweetcorn in the world. Illini Xtra Sweet!".

Secretly, I wondered if there was some magical synergy between the seed and Illinois' incredible rich, black soil that made it taste so good.  Would it really grow in the anemic looking, reddish clay-prone soil of Maryland?

It jumped from the ground in a few days, and took off.  A small panic arose in me when Japanese beetles infested the silks...this did not happen with the Silver Queen.  Maybe the corn was so sweet that it attracted pests!

When I left for Floyd Fest, the corn was nearly mature.   I  awakened at nite in the tent and worried that it would be overgrown and starchy before I got back to initiate the harvest.

The day I returned to work, we bagan picking, cooking, and eating the corn.  I am pleased and relieved to report that everyone who has tried it has agreed--"That was the best sweet corn I've ever had!"

I told them so.

Now, to introduce it to the community garden at Solterra...

My only fear now is that the NCAA will force the name to be changed to something that does not represent an  extinct tribe of Native Americans.  Prairie Dog Extra Sweet, perhaps?

The Wicked, Creepy Plant Must Die!

Some time ago, my boss brought a plant to work called a "Mother of Millions".  Perhaps you've seen one.  It bears "babies" on the edges of its jagged, succulent leaves, which fall off and start new plants.  Cute, as babies.  As adults, creepy as hell.  This week, I noticed that the darned things had grown to about 3' tall, had snaked in between the wire mesh shelves, and were leaving their spawn
in my other plants' pots.  Suddenly occurred to me that I didn't have to live with this...plants were not necessarily a LIFETIME COMMITMENT.  So I took a knife and cut them out of the shelves, hacked them up further out of spite and simmering loathing (and Amy, I suggest that you do the same, while you still can).  Note the aerial roots on
stem of this monster.  These plants are built to propagate.  I'm almost afraid to try and compost them.  Think KUDZU...

In Other News...got 6 inches of rain last Thursday night.  My garden is a rice paddy, the gourd vines have seriously grown at least 2 feet.  And why
is it that the squash you don't know what to do with, or can't identify, always seem too grow the
fastest?

Honey the Dog has a torn cruciate ligament in her right hind knee.  She is 11 years old and I'm not sure that her slightly decreased running speed is worth $1500 for surgery, or that she'd tolerate the "decreased activity level" to recover.

Larry the Bird has discovered the cursor on my
laptop screen, but to his credit, quickly grew bored trying to catch it.  He's
also learned to say "hello" when the phone rings.

Read about this guy in the Washington Post the other day.  Sad and desperate, but hopeful and has  a plan, anyway.

I decided that Chamele gets far too little exposure on my blog, so here she is, mid-cricket.

Last night I threw the house into darkness while installing ceramic tile in the kitchen.  Seems I nudged a light switch against its metal housing.  Luckily there is a PhD with multiple security clearances and a multi-meter in the house...

And a lawn mower in the garage.  So I'd best get busy.  I thought there was something interesting to report here, but darned if I can think of it...

When Life Gives You Shelves...

Make Shelf-Ade!  If anyone read my post on "How to Get Shelves" they may remember how much trouble it was to even GET shelves to start seeds for our garden project at work.  Well, the shelves were delivered THE NEXT DAY, causing my co-workers to inquire just what HAD I done for the  Head of Maintenance to work so quickly.  The shelves, however, were really ugly--somewhat rusty, with the names of current and former residents written on the fronts in permanent marker--how tasteful!

So, Big Lots to the rescue, in the form of $4.00 worth of vinyl table cloths to "upholster" them.

Today, I was AGAIN reminded of why I love my job, although it exhausts me.  Three of us (OT's) had 5 of "the guys" over to start planting vegetable seeds for the garden.  You'd think that 3 professionals would be a bit excessive to deal with only 5 moderately mentally handicapped, young to late middle aged men, all of whom are cooperative and good-natured.

The logistics:  only one of the 5 can write legibly, another is almost passable at it.  Those two wrote out the names of the plants on popsicle sticks, given a model to copy.  Another man requires CONSTANT re-direction to task, meaning 1:1.  He filled pots with soil.  A fourth man really THOUGHT he could write, but only wrote E's.  New job needed.  He planted seeds, two per pot, but could only do so given 1:1 assistance, or else all of the seeds were broadcast scattershot.

The 5th man, lord love him, talks non-stop in a dialect that only he, his parents, and a few select others can comprehend.  He also sings (beautifully) in this same dialect, and absolutely LOVES Easter.  He would have been happy just to notice, and pick up, every Easter napkin, decoration, and newspaper ad with the Easter Bunny or an egg on it.  But no, he had come over (voluntarily) to help with GARDENING.  So with 1:1 assistance, he planted two very tiny seeds per pot, and then inserted a stick label written by one of the "writers".

It took only a few gentle reminders for him to learn to insert the sticks so that the plant name was UP, and not in the soil.  Too bad that one of the two label-writers scrawled across the entire stick, making that task more difficult...

So THAT is why the OT's were all exhausted after an hour of 3:5 ratio quality time.  And why the beautifully Martha Stewart ed salvaged steel shelves now have many, many pots that hopefully all have seeds in them, with the correct label sticks, that will soon be sprouting.

And there are at least as many more pots to be planted--with a different crew, next week.  I can't believe that I get PAID to do this!

HAPPY SPRING, every/any one!