Wednesday, June 13, 2012
The garden of Dorian Gray
Often when I'm working in the Master Gardener Demo Garden, or showing people around it, someone will ask about my garden at home, and I produce a hollow laugh and some "oh dear" noises, and change the subject. The demo garden is as near pristine as something that only gets worked on by a bunch of people once a week can be. My garden... is not. Gardeners in my situation usually say something about the cobbler's children having no shoes (Kathy Jentz wrote an editor's column about the phenomenon in the latest Washington Gardener magazine, which also contains a photograph of my torso and a pumpkin that my son won a prize for, not to swerve off topic at all) but I am of a more Gothic frame of mind, at least when thoroughly depressed by weeds, and so I prefer to consider my home landscape the Garden of Dorian Gray: the true ugly manifestation of my neglect. (Although it is not hidden away in a cupboard, but unfortunately out in the light of day.)
The above photo shows one of the tidier bits, almost perfect if you discount the large pokeweed and the knee-high grass. I am not showing you the vegetable garden. However, the weather has taken a turn for the better (blessed coolth) and I may get ahead of the weeds in a few places before it gets bloody hot again.
In other news, we caught and relocated Groundhog #8 today (I think we had reached #4 in the last post). (At least I hope it's #8. Someone scared my neighbor with tales of a tagged groundhog finding its way home after being dropped three miles away. But ours are going farther than that and on the other side of a 6-lane road.) It defecated in the car; I hope it's happy.
We have been eating lots and lots of blueberries and black raspberries, and freezing more (pies in the winter!). I can't say the garden/landscape has been very productive otherwise (aside from peas) but I will have lots of flowers to show off for GBBD (must take pictures tomorrow).
Also tomorrow must look at the worms and perhaps add another floor to their habitat.
I promise to write more often.