Many thanks to Julie Ganey, Dorothy Milne, Mary Bowers, Sandra McCollum and Cyn Vargas for their help with this story. Also, big thanks to the 2nd Story staff who helped me tell my story at the Teal Room in Pub 626 this past weekend. Our theme was “Mother Courage: tales of taking a stand.”
I am hoping to publish a longer version of my story somewhere “real” i.e. not just this blog that no one reads (and yes, I have the statistics to prove that. Ok, most of this is my fault. I haven’t been posting regularly.). Anyhow, if no one will take my story, then I’ll publish it here.
At the end of summer, after we came back from our family vacation, I noticed a rogue vine in my front flowerbed. With the upheaval of back-to-school shopping, musical practice, and lecture series, I ignored the intruder. Actually, I came to like it with its huge green leaves and big yellow flowers. It rambled on top of the purple asters and stayed away from my fledgling rose bush.
Last week, I had to clean out the flower beds for autumn and tulip planting. The purple asters had bloomed out, so I started cutting them down. As I was ripping out the rogue vine, I saw that it had produced three decorative squash!
The vine must have come from the decorative squash of fall 2015, which I composted into my front flowerbed.
Sometimes being a less than diligent gardener (with respect to weeding) has its rewards!
I had been complaining all summer long about the humid weather to anyone who would listen. I felt the humidity was unnatural for our typical dry Northern climate. The humidity ought to disappear after a thunderstorm, but not this year. The storm would roll through and the humidity stayed, making everything sticky and (to me) uncomfortable.
This morning I opened my front door and assessed the humidity level. 10 am and already too sticky for a quick walk. This darn weather. Climate change. Mumble grumble. As I turned back inside, I noticed the fern plant on my front porch.
All winter long I had nursed the sickly fern plant. By May I thought it would die, so I put it out front on the porch and ignored it. Until today.
The fern plant was thriving. It was covered with fresh green leaves. While the humidity had been making my hair frizzy, my clothes cling to me in fetid sweat, and my outside activity level plummet, the excess moisture in the air had done wonders for my invalid fern. It was thriving.
Humidity makes me wilt, but it makes pteridophytes happy.
I hand pull the dandelions in my lawn and dispose of them in the lawn waste bag. I let the plants accumulate over the course of the week, and inevitably, on the day before trash pick-up, I look in the bag and the yellow flowers have turned into seed heads. Even though I pulled them when they were flowers, if they were fertilized, the dandelions followed through with their coded program despite the fact they have sat in a lawn waste bag in the darkness of my garage!
This reminds me of that old piece of advice, “when anything dreadful happens, think of what you would be doing if nothing had happened, then do that.”