The wind has been blowing like crazy today, just as the Weather Folks predicted with their Super Duper Doppler Look In Your Bedroom Radar. They actually did predict high winds today, which makes them 1-for-45 this month.
Last time we had winds like this was last May. I had just put out three new containers of ladybugs, one for each garden, and the wind blew them all into the Bat Shit Crazy Neighbor's Yard next door.
By the time the wind died down, I just had Mortimer, who threatened to leave if I called him a ladybug. (Touchy masculinity issues, I'd wager.)
Furious George suggested we brand our ladybugs from now on for identification purposes. Problem is, he wanted to use HIS brand and the damned thing is about four inches high. Mortimer took one look at that and booked it for Bat Shit Crazy Neighbor Land. He obviously wanted to retain what touchy masculinity issues he had.
Mrs. Bat Shit Crazy Neighbor, who we were convinced was buried under that fresh concrete patch in their garage, stuck her head over the fence and crowed, "Oh, Mr. Bitterman! You wouldn't believe the ladybugs we have this year!" Bitterman was not amused. Nor was I as that was just about $30 dollars worth of ladybugs gamboling in her pansies.
The problem this year is not ladybugs -- yet -- but fresh topsoil in the gardens. It's flying into the neighbor's yard like nobody's business. I had just put down six bags of Cow and Compost (Richlawn -- again, not a plug for freebies, but a damned fine product that I could certainly use more of ...) and have watched it sail nowhere near gently over the neighbor's fence.
Also flying today is the fertilizer I put down yesterday. (Tractor seen is not to scale, as it is just a big Tonka I stole from a kid down the street, but, the fertilizer is true to scale as it covered me from head to toe as I tried to keep it in our yard, rather than let it jump the fence to freedom.)
By the way, did you know that there are images on the interweb of "German Girls in Manure?" No, really. It is amazing what modern technology can bring to us these days. My education is now complete and I can die happy. I found the site while I was looking for the above pictures. I only stopped for a minute. And only for the articles.
What President Trump was doing in a few of the pictures, I don't know. Maybe he was the Manure Magazine Interview of the Month. That guy is everywhere.
The newly rediscovered wife of the Bat Shit Crazy Neighbor (whether actual or a "crisis actor" brought in to replace the one buried in the garage) leaned over the fence this afternoon to exclaim, "Oh, you wouldn't believe the top dressing the good Lord left us this year."
Yes, I would. I would. And I would also hope that the good Lord would blow $147.35 into MY yard to pay for his neighborly largesse.
As for us, all that's blown into our yard is the expansive sand box for the grandchildren four houses down, fourteen newspapers with the puzzles completed, and, a copy of "Girls of Manure Magazine" (really, it exists!) But, Becky said that she would take care of that nasty magazine and I shouldn't worry about it anymore.
I wasn't worried. I just had my "concerned husband face" on for protection. I was just wondering who in the neighborhood gets it.
The guy I needed to really predict this high winds stuff is Buck Matthews, who did the weather for WOOD-TV8 in Grand Rapids, Michigan, for nigh onto 42 years. (I don't know how long he was there, but as 42 is the answer to life, the universe and everything, I thought I'd just toss it in.)
Matthews, or Buck, as my mother called him, didn't use fancy-dancy electronics to tell you the weather, he drew on a glass board with a marker and made it look all the more real and impressive. It's easy when you've got a computer doing all your drawing for you. He did it by hand and he was right a lot more often than the guys we've got now -- especially that one locally I just can't stand.
(Go ahead ... try to figure out who I'm talking about ...)
And, believe me, the computers get confusing. All these computerized wind gusts suddenly resemble little spermatazoas heading toward some mystical Ovum of Denver. (In Milwaukee, that's pronounced Spermatosa and it refers to a small suburb on the west side of town.) I think its a shameless attempt on the part of the liberal media to induce viewers to stay up past the latest news of the Great Orange Circus Peanut and watch the weather.
Buck didn't need that nonsense. All he ever had to say was, "It's going to snow tomorrow, friends," because it was West Michigan and that's all it ever did there.
Until next time, kiddies! (When we might actually have some gardening to talk about ...)
It has been a weird couple of weeks here on the Moody Weenie Ranch and Collective Farm. We've been dealing with daytime highs between 45 and 80, along with nighttime lows from 23-38. I keep feeling myself drawn outside the door with trays of seedlings (the ones filling the kitchen table) and packets of seeds in the hopes of getting stuff started outside for Colorado's 10-minute growing season.
Inside, the trays of seedlings are going to town ... the seven tomato plants up front are doing great, as is the sunflower in the background and two of the three beans.
As for the plant in the lower right -- I THINK it's an acorn squash, but I'm not sure anymore. As long as it isn't a zucchini, I'll be happy with it.
Meanwhile, the AeroGarden (the hydroponic planter) is doing its best impression of "Feed Me Seymour." (We haven't seen the cat in three days and we're beginning to worry) I keep inviting my annoying neighbor to come inside and stand next to the garden while I run upstairs for something I want to show him, but he just won't bite. Strangely enough, neither will the Giant Basil. (We have two Giant Basils, one named Basil, the other named Rathbone.) So, the annoying neighbor gets away. Still haven't seen the cat.
After our adventures with the rototiller a few days ago, the boys and I have decided to add yet another round of Cow and Compost to the gardens. This product, from Richlawn in Colorado is marvelous. It's almost a miracle worker when it comes to building soil.
(No, this is not a shameless plug for freebies. I feel ashamed you could even think that ... and I highly doubt that Richlawn will see these photos unless one of you sends them to the company.)
Furious George, who, I gathered, failed basic biology, stored two bags of Cow and Compost in the manner seen below, all in the hopes of coming out to find numerous little bags of Cow and Compost that we could use in the flower beds. It doesn't work that way. I think they've got to be face to face.
Our daughter Brynn found a new plaster geegaw for the garden, to go with the Dragon Burning Gnomes and King Kong Eating Gnomes and our Coffee Drinking Frog and numerous spinners which the squirrels pull down, dismantle and sell for parts next to the road.
I do like the Lion, but I'd rather have Brynn sitting in the garden. There's little chance the squirrels would pull her down, dismantle her and sell her for parts next to the road. (Then, again, I wouldn't put it past the little bastards.)
Mr. Bitterman is working on a new self-portrait as he waits for planting and growing season to officially begin. He says he was inspired by Vinnie "Big Tuna" Van Gogh, a painter, I take it, from South Philly.
Furious George and I are convinced he's doing an impression of Kellyanne Conway and we think it is in questionable taste.
Meanwhile, Furious has once again pulled out the rototiller, which is like some kind of soil-churning go-kart to him. He fired it up and tore off across the yard, completely out of control. He went through a fence into the Bat Shit Crazy Neighbor's Yard, just missing his shed and outbuildings (all still standing, as you can see below), then assuaged the BSCN's rage (he lost a patch of early season pansies) by claiming he was just digging the trench to create a small scale version of the Erie Canal to help celebrate the greatness of America.
The Bat Shit Crazy Neighbor wiped a patriotic tear from his eye, took another shot of his third martini, and put his arm around Furious as if he had rediscovered his long lost, somewhat hairy, son and they retired to the porch for cocktail hour.
In the photo below, notice that guy down right? That's my $420 limited edition Batman maquette (until about 20 minutes ago, still in the box) repainted and with a new hat to pose as an Erie Canal worker (NOT limited edition, NOT still in the box).
You gotta love Furious George. You gotta love him cuz you can't cut him up in little pieces and mail him to Miami.
Where, oh, where, do I get such horrible thoughts? It is as if I was influenced in my childhood by something. But what?'
Can't imagine what ...
(Oh, I'm just hand tilling the soil here. That's all. It's got to be in little tiny pieces to help the plants grow ... heh heh heh. See you next time, kiddies!)