Sow There!

Tommy has a little bit of a bratty kid inside him, which I admire.
Fortunately, we have a 10-year-old living next door.
We’ve pulled many pranks on him, including having my dad phone and impersonate a police officer when the kid stole our pumpkin off our front porch.
Things used to get a little hectic as Halloween neared. Being right next door, we could pop out, scratch on the window, and be back indoors by the time the kid called us to ask if we heard anything strange outside.
It was a lot easier when he was younger.
We got my best friend pretty good the other day. We knew she was looking forward to sleeping in the next morning, because she rarely has a day where she can just lounge in bed.
That night I called her about 9 p.m.
Heather: "Hey, I know it's late but I have to ask you a HUGE favor."
Best friend: (groan) "What?"
Heather: I totally forgot that I have an 8 a.m. appointment tomorrow in Orland and my car is in the shop.”
Best friend: "Oh, come on. I know you're messing with me."
Heather: "I wish I was,” I said as Tommy sat on the couch snickering. I'll owe you big-time.”
It took a several more feigned sincere statements before she sighed again and reluctantly agreed.
She was a good sport and laughed when I told her I was fibbing.
Another time I got my niece pretty good when I told her my mother had broken all my niece’s dishes in the garage when she invited some Russian dancers to her house for a barbecue.
The best prank so far was after the Jan. 4 storm that knocked out our electricity for several days.
Like everyone in our neighborhood, we made the best of it, lit candles and dusted off some board games.
The day the power came on there was rejoicing and the 10-year-old immediately investigated that indeed his Xbox worked again.
We did not hear a peep from his house for several hours.
Then Tommy had a brilliant idea that if he snuck into their back yard he could flip their circuit breaker and we could pretend that the power had gone out again.
There were howls and screams of agony from his house, and we did a good job of keeping our snickers to a dull roar.
(I wrote about this on my blog Jan. 17).
My best friend and her son still do not know that it was us who temporarily darkened their house that day.
Tommy suggested flipping the switch several more times, but I have restrained him by saying we will wait until April 1.
We’re currently mulling over devious plans, but I would love to hear suggestions from readers.

The mole problem has returned. So far only one tulip has become a casualty and Tommy managed to swiftly rescue two foxglove plants that were in the path of the burrowing fiends.
We did our best to harass the subterranean critters last year with garden hoses and vehicle exhaust fumes.
The neighbors have problems as well, but our yard has had the most pampering lately, and has really good soil teaming with earthworms. That likely is due, in part, to the compost pile.
The latest idea is something I found on an Internet search.
Moles scarf on grubs under the soil, as well as earthworms.
One recipe called for mixing 1/4 cup castor oil, two tablespoons dish liquid and one gallon of water. The recommendation is to use the blender and then spray on the yard.
The castor oil cuts down on the grubs and earthworms, which causes the moles to search for other food.
I’m reluctant, however, to make the earthworms a casualty of this war.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 05:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Recently I had a date with a friend I had not seen in way too many months. I arrived at her house and she scurried into the other room.
She returned and said "here," and handed me some things.

"Here's some presents from the presents box," she said, in a really cute way.

One gift was a glow in the dark "Computer Goddess.” This consisted of a metallic green pencil with spiffy extra erasure and a glow-in-the-dark plastic angel. The package boasted that “the double-sided adhesive tape is included.”

(See below for the life-altering instructions on the back of the package).

The other gift was a "Miso Pretty," "deluxe" and "exotic" blossoming cherry flavour "happy lips" "patented perfection" lip balm.
The packaging is written in Chinese and English, for my convenience.

I love, love, love my gifts.
I like it that my friend has a "presents" box.
Because we had not seen each other in a while, we had all sorts of fun things to catch up on and did not further discuss the presents box.

Now I'm wondering how this all works?
Does she take a trip to the dollar store and stock up on presents to always have on hand?
How much stuff does she have in her presents box? Where did this tradition come from?
In addition to being a very pleasant surprise, the presents box sure is thought provoking.

Bonus feature: Words of wisdom from the "Computer Goddess."
(click below for photo and text).

You can't read it very well in this photo, so here are a few tidbits.

Problem: Virus detected
Solution: Hold Goddess to sunlight. Wind up. Softly hum "You are My Sunshine."

Problem: Network not found
Solution: Wind up Goddess. Place on monitor. Jiggle network cable.

Problem: Blue screen of death
Solution: Stand on one leg. Close eyes. Place Goddess behind back. Reboot.

My favorite part is at the bottom where it states:
Made in China exclusively for Accountants.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 01:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Mom needed some yard work done at her house. I think more importantly she wanted for us to spend some time together.
Tommy knew what he was in for and during the drive to Redding I thanked him for doing Mom this favor.
“You don’t have to thank me. It’s family,” he said.
I appreciate that he feels that way, but I felt sorry for him that just because he’s a strong guy, he is asked to do dirty work.
I had wanted to help out all day, side-by-side, sweating, dodging poison oak and getting blisters.
I really did.
Saturday morning Tommy woke up early in Redding to start tackling the weeds.

To say that Mom has poor soil is like saying the moon is not hospitable to plant life.
That she has managed to carve out a beautiful garden is only due to monumental effort on her part and her wisdom to have multiple truckloads of topsoil delivered.
She also hired a worker, about my age, who worked for hours with a pick-ax to create places to plant trees.
Mom claims that the fact that the gardener worked shirtless has nothing to do with her insisting on cooking him dinner.
I’m not making this up.

I could go on and on about how her garden puts my garden to shame. But that has been the subject of several previous columns.
For areas where she did not cultivate, she laid down black plastic over the soil, which she calls “concrete,” and mulched with tan bark.
Over time, persistent weeds grew up in between the tan bark, a problem that recently became Tommy’s problem.
Mom and I started the morning helping out, we really did. But then Mom told me she had more important things on her agenda. She wanted me to help her cover some of her gray hair.
This all really sounds worse than it was.

Soon after starting the work, it became evident Tommy could work more quickly with a better shovel.
Naturally, Mom and I went to the nearest big-box store that would have a shovel — and a nursery.
Quite a while later, we returned with a manly shovel. Mom also picked out a few six-packs of petunias and we each bought a purple Bacopa* plant.
We had spent so much time, um, choosing the shovel that it was almost a rush to get back to the house, dye Mom’s hair, eat large portions of a chocolate torte, make a nice dinner for Tommy, then help him haul the final loads of weeds to the brush pile before darkness fell.
Welcome to the family, Tommy.

* Note: Bacopa is a low-lying plant that has done well in my Chico yard. It spreads by creeping and makes a nice ground cover that flowered throughout the fall. It should not be confused with other types of Bacopa that have unproved properties believed to help memory and serve as an antioxidant.

I’m no garden cop
As much as I would love to further the perception that I am the best gardener in the entire universe, this is not the case.
Like everyone else who has other hobbies, or who cannot afford to hire a gardener, my yard is a work in progress.
Right now my lawn is mostly a bald patch where the most glaring patches of Bermuda grass have been extracted. I’m struggling over which withered plants that didn’t do well over the winter will be replaced with plants in my windowsill.
The point is, my garden is not pristine.
The other day Tommy and I dropped by his boss’ house. His boss has a really nice yard, and obviously people in the household take care of the plants. The lawn looks lush, especially compared to my Bermuda-grass standards. Perennials and newly planted annuals are blooming.
Because I enjoy plants, I asked to take a tour.
Tommy’s boss obliged and showed me some of the plants he especially liked, apologizing several times that the yard was not very nice or well-kept.
First off, his yard was beautiful, and I’m not just being nice to kiss up to his boss.
I even asked Tommy to pick me a big bouquet of camellias that were blooming next to the back door.
But it was funny to see his boss apologetic because the yard wasn’t perfect.
Perhaps he thinks I must be accustomed to touring yards maintained by gardeners who are paid more than Lindsay Lohan’s press agent.
This isn’t the first time I’ve had a friend think differently about their garden when worried about what I would think of it.
It must be similar to what it is like to be a police officer. They get to witness people driving unnaturally — slowing down at every yellow light, yielding for pedestrians, using their turn signals and doing all the things that motorists don’t do when a police officer is not within eye-shot.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 04:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Finally, finally, finally. Things are really waking up. Funny that I need some clue from nature to take the plastic off my windows, find out which spring skirts still fit and start thinking about that long-awaited, extended weekend get-away.
About half my tulips have bloomed and the wallflower is awake. The lavender is starting to make buds and I know soon the bees will be buzzing all over it.

Judging from the fresh gopher mounds in my yard, it’s breeding season. The squirrels have also been at it. My neighbor Curious George recently found a wee squirrel who must have fallen out of the tree. Alas, it died.
As previously mentioned, many seeds have been planted in peat pots in my window sill.

Being human is often funny. I’ve been somewhat feverish about my indoor planting. It’s fun to plant a few every few days, mark the date of planting and put them in the safest sunny space.
But like a lot of things — such as shoes, cast-offs that need to be taken to a thrift store and gopher holes — little by little things start to add up.
If I was an outsider and walked into my living room right now, I’d think the person who lived there was, um, a little obsessed.

I console myself by thinking of the joy I will bring to my neighbor Bob and my mother in a few weeks when I deliver my extra tomato plants like a spring-time Santa Claus.
Luckily, I started so early on this planting frenzy that it’s time to start shifting some of the seedling tonnage onto the front porch and into sheltered spots in the yard.
Also, I’ve resorted to following some recent advice and started planting seeds outdoors in used two-liter bottles. If I keep up this pace, soon my yard will look like Fair Street Recycling Center.

E&I validation
Almost since the conception of this column (in May 1999, can you believe it?) I’ve been vituperating about invasive plants.
Recently we heard about Bermuda grass and how the seemingly lovely plant is a menace to many unsuspecting turf-builders.
Similar is the English Ivy that even goats refuse to deal with.

If you go to lower Bidwell Park right now, you’ll see some beautiful Vinca Major (www.cal-ipc.org/ip/management/ipcw/pages/detailreport.cfm@usernumber=88&surveynumber=182.php).
Also known as periwinkle, it’s a great plant for gardens, and happens to bloom in my favorite color, but multiple sources will tell you that it pretty much bullies out other plant life.
The thing about evil and invasive plants is that they lure you into planting them because of the same traits that make them a problem.

Scotch broom, for example, looks lovely when you’re driving across the mountains to the coast. The steep hillsides next to winding roads look sunny when sprinkled with yellow. But woe to all those other plants that dare to try to grow.
Sadly, the news about these plants is slow to reach the mainstream, and some of them are shockingly still sold and allowed to grow right in your neighborhood.

Help spread the word
I received a press release this week from the Plant Right people — www.plantright.org — who have put together a Web site with lists of plants that are slyly trying to take over the planet.
It’s not the plants’ fault, of course. But if you had the ebola virus blooming in a pot on your window sill, would you think, “Oh, I can keep it contained.”
The Plant Right folks have listed the most invasive plants by region in the state. Note that some of these plants, including arundo, Russian olive and blue gum eucalyptus, are listed as problems in all regions.
Others on the Central Valley list include: Most brooms, including Scotch, French and Spanish, pampas grass, saltcedar (Tamarix ramosissoma) and scarlet wisteria.
If they asked me, I’d have added a few of my least-favorites to the list, including wild onion. The first spring after I moved to my house there was a lovely display of wild onion with lily-ish flowers that perked up early in the season.

I didn’t want to destroy them. I merely wanted to make room for other plants in my yard.
That first year I took a lot of effort and transplanted them to a back portion of my yard, where I would not find time to cultivate for several years.
Over time, I realized this was a mistake. This plant propagates through underground bulblets, as well as flowers that plop over, planting a hard seed into the soil.
Now, when I drive around town, I can see people who have their entire yard consumed by these plants. They’re very pretty, for about two weeks in March.
Then they start a slow decline resulting in a matted mass of yellowed leaves where other, more desirable plants can’t grow.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 02:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Sometimes its difficult to know whether your significant other has really heard you.
You know how it is: They listen, but do they really listen?
The other day I wanted to have one of those “serious” conversations.
I know it’s the winter blahs, but it seems like we’ve been doing the “same-old, same-old.”
“Can we make a real effort to do some different things soon?” I said, trying not to make the conversation one of those heavy talks that Tommy tends to tune out.
“Like what?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said.
“We could join a gospel choir. We could go deep sea diving. We could start having really big dinner parties ...”
He gave me that look that is difficult for me to decipher. I wondered if he was mapping intricate strategies to spice up my life, or practicing his ability to make me invisible.
“We could dress up in each others’ clothes and go to the student neighborhoods and see if anybody notices.
“For one day we could go around putting money in the meters right before the meter maids give out tickets,” I continued, now somewhat on a roll.
“We could make each other scavenger hunt lists and spend the weekend trying to find things like a purple Magic Eight balls or Xena Warrior Princess memorabilia. I don’t know, just something different for a change.”
That dialogue lead to a brief but sincere conversation about doing more social things with our friends now that the weather is turning warm, likely starting with a barbecue.
About an hour later Tommy went to take a shower and I killed some time by playing my favorite video game on the Xbox.
After whatever amount of time, he came into the living room wearing one of the outfits — a black skirt with black tights, my black bra and purple button-up sweater. For dramatic effect he had even put on my frosted lipstick.
Of course I cracked up and admired his outfit and critiqued how nice his legs looked in my black tights.
After the runway show was over he said, “well, you said we should dress up in each others’ clothes ....”
I guess he was really listening.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 05:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

My partner and I have a saying: “Change the channel."
When one of us is in a surly mood that has absolutely nothing to do with the other person, that mood can be infectious.
One or the other of us will say “Can you please change the channel?”
It's easy to change your outlook if you make the conscious choice to do so.
It just takes a few clicks of the brain to the right or to the left.
We live in the Avenues and took a walk on one of those bright days after a rainstorm.
The air was chilly and there were wide puddles on the pavement.
A driver in a small pickup came barreling around a corner near Enloe Hospital. He drove straight down the middle of the road, sending muddy water throughout the street, then slammed onto his breaks erratically.
“What a jerk,” I said.
The driver left the pickup askew, the front end jutting out into the street. He jumped out of the car and slammed the door, taking off running at top speed toward the hospital.
My initial response of disdain turned to sadness as my mind flashed scenarios about why he was in such a hurry.
Tommy shook his head and said “Oh man.”
We kept walking quietly.
“I’m glad that isn’t me."
“Ditto,” he replied.
Living near Enloe Hospital, we hear the whirring blades of Enloe’s helicopter several times a day, the ambulance sirens and the now familiar honking of the fire engines from Station No. 2.
Those sounds are just part of living in the Avenues and I try not to think of how those sounds represents someone's life in chaos.
But seeing this guy racing to the hospital was difficult to shake off so easily.
“Hey, let’s change the channel,” I said.
“Maybe he was running like that because his wife is just called and she’s going into labor.”

When you just gotta scratch
I’m certain I’m not the only one who has that garden itch right now.
Similar to other types of itches, it’s a bit uncomfortable.
I know the best thing to do is wait it out.
Encouragement arrived when the first batches of tomatoes sprouted in the window sill peat pellets. This lead me to scour all my seed packets and look for directions that gave the go-ahead to plant 4-6 weeks before the last frost.
It’s important when written instructions justify your frenzy.
My west-facing windowsill is crammed full of pie tins filled with the round, brown mounds.
I’ve considered moving some of my house plants outside to clear more room for the new “nurture-lings.”
The official date of last frost is nebulous. My rule of thumb is that is falls around my birthday (April 30, for those of you who are saving their nickels for my birthday presents). But my experience has been that it is nowhere near frosty that time of year.
A reader sent a note this week about using plastic containers to start seeds indoors.
One method is to use the clear plastic containers that the grocery stores provide when you purchase the "Live Lettuce Plants" or the containers of strawberries,” the reader wrote.
“These containers are usually 4-6" tall and can easily handle six or more peat pots. You don't have to keep the plants indoors as the containers act like a miniature green house, condensation for watering, warmth and protection from frost. Pricey but can be reused many times,” he concluded
I could also see using those plastic containers that contain salads.
But wouldn’t it be so much better if Tommy would get to that project where he used the old window frame in the back yard to make a cold frame?
Hmmm.

Free treat
I’m a big fan of Sierra Nevada Brewery’s landscapers. I’ve interviewed the gardeners in the past and would rate them top-notch.
The field on the southwest corner of the brewery, at Martin Luther King Jr. Parkway, has glorious poppies blooming right now.
This year someone planted some tulips (and something else bright and cheery) right near the intersection of MLK and 20th Street. A big thank-you to whoever planted them. The brewery obviously should pay you more.

Posted by Heather Hacking at 06:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

As creative and clever as I might imagine I can be, there are many out there who have even more fun with their rubber chickens than I do.

The Twisted Oak Winery in Calavares County recently held a "take your chicken to work week" and encouraged participants to send in their photos.

The finalists are listed on their Web site and are worth a peruse:

http://www.elbloggotorcido.com/

Posted by Heather Hacking at 05:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Yes, I had entirely too much time on my hands recently on a weekend excursion to Clear Lake. Luckily, I had my trusty chicken with me to help me enjoy the finer things in life, i.e., basically enjoying doing nothing.

(Chicken got a little greedy with the resident birds and jumped into the puddle to gorge on dollar store bread).

(But for all the greediness, Chicken managed to make friends).

(Vacations are about enjoying some place beautiful. Clear Lake has some beautiful shorelines for chicken to cluck at).

(Nothing is more American than enjoying some sunshine).

(Same lake, different time of day).

Posted by Heather Hacking at 04:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)