My body was made for high-waisted Hammer pants… small waist + non-small other places = Hammer pant paradise.
…most of the time, with all things, basically.
When it comes to gardening, though, I am totally and completely clueless. I have unintentionally murdered many-a-plant. Mostly through a combination of extreme neglect, then guilt and extreme smothering with water after realizing that I’ve pretty much killed the plant due to neglect. Then it rots and dies.
I feel like that should be some kind of metaphor for all my relationships in life, but it’s not. But if it was, it would be all poetic and shit, and I would write a book called “The Tao of Gardening” about a handsome male gardener who teaches the stupid clueless girl about gardening, but it would be this big metaphor for their relationship and then she would learn the error of her ways and they would tumble into the garden all romantic-like and bang.*
*Note: I still might write that book because it sounds like it would sell, so DON’T STEAL MY IDEA.
Now that I have inherited a huge, complex, and multi-staged garden from my previous tenants, I have to get my shit together and figure out how to keep things alive. In the fall, it had overgrown to “That-Crazy-Person-on-the-Street-with-the-Jungle-Garden” stage. I did a bit of work earlier in the spring, but then I was too busy watching Game of Thrones reruns and drinking wine to occupy myself with the garden.
The worst part about it is that some of my neighbours have outright said to me “I HOPE YOU MAINTAIN THAT GARDEN BECAUSE WE ALL LIKE IT”, and there is this huge mountain on guilt on my shoulders every time I enter or exit my house, because I’m sure all my responsible, financially independant neighbours with children are talking about me at their book clubs at night and saying things like “That alcoholic girl down the street is totally MURDERING that garden. What a bitch.”
Then last week, I caved. Things were starting to look pretty ragged.
I planted none of those plants. The only thing that I have added to this garden is about 50 purple tulips that are not pictured because my garden is fucking huge and I can’t even fit it in one photo.
So on Sunday, when we had those 3 hours of sunshine, I got my arse in gear and figured I should TCB.
So, little known fact: “gardening” really means “ripping shit up from the ground and hoping it’s a weed”. This is a problem, because everything in my garden, unless it’s flowering, or I’ve seen it in my mom’s garden, looks like a weed.
Take the image below:
There are definitely 3 different plants here, denoted by the circles. But then, there are other leaves that kind of look like the other leaves, but might be other plants.
I have no fucking idea what is supposed to be here and what isn’t. So I just ripped a bunch of shit up and left, like a couple of sprigs of the plants that were mystery-plants. Here is my “after” picture (after 2 hours of gardening… it looks pretty much the same):
Anyways, let’s revel in the actual non-weeds that have magically appeared in my garden with absolutely no work from me.
SO MANY HOSTAS. It’s fucking Hosta Town in there. All the other plants are just visiting.
Couple of random daffodils. I like daffodils that have a different colour “shaft” than “base”.
Does anyone know what this thing is? It looks all fancy with its pointy leaves… and there is definitely some kind of flower bud all busting out. I hope it’s a big poofy flower, because those are awesome.
This big leafy dark thing. Again, I have no idea but he looks expensive. Thoughts?
I’m preeeety sure that is a big ol’ viney rose bush thing. No big deal, just live in a house with a big vine of roses out front. FANCY.
Here are all the tulips I planted in the fall. I didn’t plan out the spacing too well, I know. Stop judging me.
And my favorite thing right now… fiddleheads!
I think. Are fiddleheads just un-exploded ferns?
Yes, I just googled it and they are.
I will keep you updated as I continue to fumble through this shit and likely kill something really expensive.
So, on Saturday, I took Stinky Molly on a big long walk to the old ‘hood in Trinity and picked up some dog food and treats and other things along the way, like a responsible dog-mother-type person.
Not very exciting, but I have to set the scene here.
Anyways, so I’m walking down the street, Molly in one hand, and a big, heavy bag of dog food in the other… excited to get home and finish the last book in The Hunger Games while sitting by myself with a cup of ginger green tea like the coolest chick on Earth.
Suddenly a baby squirrel runs across the street straight towards me and Molly. Here is an artist’s rendition:
So then, Molly tries to eat it, and the squirrel freaks out, and decides to CRAWL UP THE BACK OF MY LEG to get away from Molly. So in one hand, I have my dog trying to eat a squirrel, and in the other hand, I have a bag of heavy food and stuff, and there’s a baby squirrel climbing up the back of my leg. I didn’t know what to do, and some chicks happened to walk by, so I politely asked for their assistance. Here is an artist’s rendition:
He was pretty adorable. This is him hanging out on my hand.
I had no idea what to do with him… he didn’t want to leave my hand… and I didn’t just want to like, chuck him in the bushes like a heartless shithead, so I decided to take him to the vet down the street to see what do to.
Fortunately, Pam and Francesco were in the process of calling me to drop by, so I solicited Pam’s help as baby squirrel transporter while I dropped Molly off and we headed to the vet.
Here he is trying to nibble on her finger:
Apparently, this kind of thing happens all the time. Enough that there is a pamphlet manufactured about it.
Basically, it says to put the baby in a box that is medium-depth and leave him… he’ll either wait for his mom, or climb out on his own. If he climbs out, he’s fine – if his mom finds him, he’s fine. So we found a box and an old t-shirt and set him all up:
I came back after 20 minutes and the box was empty . Baby Squirrely was back in the wild of downtown Parkdale. Or so I thought.
Later that night, my neighbour stopped me and said “OH MY GOD I have to tell you a story”…
Apparently Mr. Baby Squirrel just left my front garden when he heard the neighbour’s kids next door, ran over to them, climbed right up them, and snuggled back into human arms. She took him in and gave him a hot water bottle for warmth and some bread.
Soooooooooooooooooo, I’m pretty sure our housing complex now has a baby squirrel pet. That cute little fucker isn’t going anywhere.