Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

Advice for Removing Sunflowers

   Allergies are raging right now at the farm.  Parrot dander, horse hair, hay dust from the barn, wildflowers, ragweed, you name it.  And Handsome is the chief sufferer. Since permanent or even seasonal relocation to the desert or a salty beach is not at present in our cards, we have some changes to make.  
   Yesterday I started by yanking out of the dry, cracked earth a trash bin full of ragweed to donate to the landfill and then an equally full pile of sunflowers for the chickens to eat.  I learned a few things while doing this yesterday.  So today I have some unsolicited advice for you, just in case this is a chore on your list anytime soon..
   I L-O-V-E unsolicited advice, don’t you?
   So you are welcome.

   A Few Tips for Removing Sunflower Groves:
   1.  Before tackling the stalks, cut back as many of the flowers stems as possible. This will reduce the ferocity of the bee swarms that are likely to attack your face while yanking at the tree trunk-thick middles.  
These tiny pumpkins are the fruit of volunteer vines 
that sprang up from last year’s carving party 
with my youngest daughter and her step brother.
xoxoxo
    I am enjoying one final summer bouquet with some of the cut flowers, mixed with a few stems of purple Rose of Sharon.  Pretty, eh?  But also deathly to allergy sufferers like Handsome.  One of the cruel jokes of a happy marriage.
   2.  Be brave agaisnt the swarming bees.  They will buzz your ears and hum in your face and try to intimidate you, but stay the course.  You are on a mission.   A mission of love.  And yes, it’s true that you are destroying the bees’ habitat, but humans rule the world, right?
    3.  Run a water hose at the base of the flowering grove while you work on flower cutting or hauling, or while you run screaming from the bees.  Pretty soon the roots will relax enough to be heaved free of the vise like grip of the earth.  
   While the water soaks is also a good time 
to text honey badger jokes to people.
   4.  When the time finally comes for pulling loose the remaining naked stalks, use your legs.  Bend your knees and pull with your legs, not your back.  Removing sunflowers is not the same thing as cutting roses or zinnias, folks.  It is not even the same thing as pulling crabgrass.  It is a tug of war with Mother Nature herself.

Exactly one sunflower bud remains in the south garden.  
So tightly wrapped up in itself, so hopeful as its baby face follows the sun,
so doomed for loneliness and certain death.
Apparently this sunflower is out of Nair.  
Better I just put her out of her Velcro misery.

   Keep in mind that sunflowers are among the few plants that have survived the 2011 Oklahoma drought and heat wave, so Mother Nature is going to be understandably protective over this sturdy  treasure.  Pull smart and pull hard.  If you fall backwards when the battle is finally won, don’t worry.  Just hope you don’t land on a bee.  Then spring up like the ninja that you are and get back to work.

   5.  Wear gloves.  Not the pretty little cotton gloves they sell to women at the dollar store; REAL GLOVES  Work gloves   Boy gloves.  Seriously, I am soooo done buying women’s “gardening” gloves for working outside, no matter how much I like the red calico print or lime green stretchy wrist band and no matter how cheap they are.  $8 for one pair of men’s thick, suede-like gloves that LASTS is a lot cheaper than forty pairs of women’s cotton gloves from the $1 bin, gloves that are quickly reduced to thin, pathetic shreds AND that attract all manner of stickers and thorns in the mean time.  Disposable.  I don’t know about you, but my gardening money is not disposable.

Sorry, Babe.  This glove, along with so many T-shirts, is now mine.
   Back to the original story.
   6.  Do not make eye contact with the monarch butterflies as you remove the sunflowers.  I cried real tears for a moment yesterday as a beautiful winged creature hovered in front of me.  Her little insect chin quivered.  She seemed to be asking me, “But what will my children eat tonight?”  If you don’t look at them, they’re not really there, right?  Gulp.  Stay focused and cold hearted.

Here we have “Speckle” the hen.  I know, it’s a cryptic name.
On day one of the grove removal, she and her feathery cohorts 
were inexplicably terrified of the sunflower carnage.
Day two found her pecking, tromping, and clucking her way through the dried up stuff.
I can only hope that she found lots of fresh, juicy bugs to eat.
Wait, I can only hope that the butterflies and bees and squash bugs and caterpillars escaped.
Wait, who are we rooting for again?

   7.  Should you indeed find yourself trapped by a confused monarch butterfly or bumblebee, do your best to offer assurances that the sunflowers are just being relocated, not removed entirely.  Promise them that their pollen and nourishment is being walked around the corner to the chicken yard, just a short flight away.  Do not tell them how hungry the chickens and geese are and that now they, the juiciest poultry food source, will be much closer to ground level while collecting pollen.  It could be the insects’ last meal, after all, so why ruin it?  Lie.  Lie like broccoli.
   
   So there you have it.  Seven steps to successful sunflower removal.  Glad I could help.

Rainy Day Bliss

   We woke up this morning to particularly dark skies and the low, exciting growl of thunder.  Having left the windows open all night, in fact all week, to enjoy the lower temperatures, we also woke up to the sweet, clean fragrance of rain.
   I don’t know about you, but to me rain mixed with perfectly fresh (thanks to a timer), quite strong coffee is one of the most magnificent aroma combinations in the world.  Next to Handsome’s cologne mixed with his sweat, obviously.
   Normally by the time we’re releasing chickens and geese from their nighttime pen for breakfast foraging, the sun is pressing above the eastern pasture, sending a kaleidoscope of pink, orange, and gold through the trees.  This morning it was stubbornly gray and purple, almost black in places.  Very little light was reflecting off of anything, so errant bolts of lightning had the privilege of showing us how low the clouds really were.  Only one other time this summer did we see the Oklahoma sky like this.  
   It has been a long, hot, dry season, certainly one for the record books.  But, like all things do, this too is passing.  And today I enjoyed every moment.
   For the first forty minutes of my work day, even the roosters stayed asleep.  The rain was so heavy that all of the large animals found refuge beneath a shelter, lulled back into dreaming by the heavy atmosphere.  I had a hard time moving quickly myself, the combination of color, fragrance, and natural music was so intoxicating.
   I indulged in a quiet half hour or so of Bible study and reading, caught up on some excellent writing and reflections by friends, and polished off the morning coffee.  I noticed by then that the cold rain was still falling consistently, but the light outside was changing.  Roosters finally began crowing, oblivious to how far past dawn they were, and the buffalo answered with his rib-rattling baritone chuffs.  Then one by one the horses joined the chorus, and within minutes the farm was wide awake.  The geese were screaming, honking for freedom.  The crows reminded me to decorate for autumn.  The cats were mewing at the kitchen door, making themselves skinny beneath the eaves to stay as dry as possible.
   Anytime the scenery of life changes so dramatically, especially if I know it is a temporary change, I feel a deep seated urgency to do something different myself.  To soak up the details of the day and expend my energy in a way that is equally special.  It always feels like a built in holiday, an invitation from the universe to indulge in a departure from routine and refresh myself.  
   So today I stripped the curtains off of our windows and washed them.  I scrubbed the windows, walls, artwork, and moldings, with that lusciously scented Murphy’s soap oil, and traded summer’s green ivy and sea shells for gourds, acorns, and pine cones.  I realize I am way behind the curve on this stuff, ladies, but I had a hard time doing anything fallish while still wearing shorts and tank tops to work outside.  Today was perfect for the switch.  Today was the first day I reached for a sweatshirt to feed and hay the animals.  And it felt divine.

   The rain had rinsed the wild sunflowers free of ants, so after feeding was done I cut a bouquet for indoors and narrowly escaped attack from a thick, fuzzy bumble bee.  Why he wanted to land on the flower I had just cut when upwards of three hundred were still available, unprotected, is beyond me.  But everything worked out alright.
   Mid morning, the horses celebrated the shift in weather in their standard fashion, by stampeding.  Daphne started it, as is usual.  She is the only mare here and pretty much sets the tone for the boys’ lives, including Chunk-Hi the buffalo.  She dug down low to the ground, ran and kicked and bucked, splashing through the wet pasture and splattering mud all over her velvety black underbelly.  Then Chanta, her field mate, started running, and he really puts on a show.  He can kick higher and with more power than any horse I have ever seen.  And he has a way of looking like the happiest creature alive while he does it.  The front fielders, Dusty and Chunk, ran too, though with a little less urgency because they were fairly enrapt with the show being put on across the gravel driveway.

Chunk-Hi sporting a muddy beard and a flattop 
as he dries off in the afternoon sun.

   The commotion sent the geese fly-running in a panic down to the pond, and Clark the turkey sort of hopped away into the barn.  He needed the shelter anyway.  Sometimes he forgets how to navigate three-wire fences, and the rain was making things extra difficult for him this morning.  Better he hangs out with the cats.

After the unusual morning, 
Mia was even more affectionate than normal.
I did not know this was possible.
xoxoxo

   Speaking of the pond, this hours-long downpour has already made a visible difference there.  We are still several feet low, of course, and will be for a long time if the dry forecast is correct, but today we are grateful.      The runoff is watering the middle field for us, and the pond is not only higher but prettier.  The dead algae is dispersing and clearing up already.
   And a dry but cool forecast is better than a dry and blazing hot forecast, so we’ll continue to count our blessings.  Maybe we’ll get enough precipitation for our own pastures to lush up a bit and for nearby farmers to cut hay once more before winter.  That would be a blessing to every variety of household in Oklahoma.

The Second Chance tomato garden 
is making good use of the rain.

   How likely is it that today’s rain brought with it a dose of optimism?  Or is the word faith?  Maybe that is just the anatomy of relief, that what plagued us so heavily a moment ago, in this case the heat and the extreme dryness of everything, is suddenly and gently washed away.  The world as we knew it yesterday is no longer how we see it today, and our tense, worrying muscles can begin to relax.

   Maybe this is a sign of good things to come.  

Second Chance Garden

   Around Mother’s Day this spring Handsome took me on a veggie and seeds shopping spree.  He sneakily drove me to a hardware store about fifteen miles away, wheeled a cart up to me and said, “Go for it!  Grow me somethin, woman!” 
   I took a deep breath.  My eyes were big and glassy as we cruised the aisles of tiny green promises.  He helped me choose the leafiest, strongest looking tomato, pepper, eggplant, cucumber, sweet potato, and watermelon plants.  And zucchini and squash.  And hot peppers. 
   Then we went inside and scooped up several million packets of seeds for summer flowers, herbs, and a few late lettuces.  The earth at home was plenty warm enough by May, and I had been composting all winter.  Most luxuriously, Handsome had already tilled the majority of my garden plot, so I was not fazed by this gargantuan purchase. 

   We were ready, baby, MORE than ready.  And the clock was a tickin’.

   Within a few days every single seedling was tucked neatly into the soil.  Admittedly, it wasn’t the most shapely or creative layout I’d ever planted, but it was full to bursting with edible potential.  I felt that what it lacked in design could be compensated for by volume.  The Lazy W Garden 2011 had the potential to be my most prolific yet, and  I.  Was.  Happy.

********************
   Fast foward about a month.  The mild spring weather turned suddenly and unpleasantly to a record setting Oklahoma summer.  After growing for just a few safe weeks, my green babies were dying a fearsome death.
   The previously lush pumpkin and squash vines were rotting in the sun.  The sweet potato leaves were turning a lovely but dangerous shade of bronze.  The pepper plants were emaciated almost beyond recognition.   I can barely stand to talk about the basil and clematis.
   I tried mulching and watering and sort of weeding, but the truth is that in the midst of the heat wave I had far more pressing issues at hand than the out-of-the-way veggie garden.  I had to keep the animals cooled and watered twice a day, and I needed to work on my tan before our big anniversary vacation.  You know, important stuff.
   So as we packed for that trip in mid July, I silently resigned to the likelihood of returning home to a cemetary of vitamin ambitions.  There were more than a few tears.  Acknowledging this big of a failure is painful, but I did have a pretty respectable base tan.  So there’s that.
********************
   Everything you might imagine about how a garden suffers in more than fifty consecutive days of one hundred-degree-plus heat, and a drought with the power to shrink lakes, all those horrible things are true.  And I feel terrible about it.  But there are lessons to share and hope to celebrate.
     Here is what I have learned:  In addition to being realistic in your garden planning (ahem), it seems to be really important to make your garden at least inviting enough to draw you there and tempt you to stay.  It doesn’t have to be English knot garden perfect, but when I planted after Mother’s Day, I did so hurriedly.  With precious little shape or pattern, all mess and zero fractals.

   A certain amount of chaos is exciting, but vast expanses of weeds and constant formlessness can drain the gardener’s spirit.  It made me feel like no amount of work I could possibly do there would help.  I never wanted friends, family, or especially even Handsome to see it, that is fo’ sho’.  That’s not an excuse, just an acknowledgement of my human nature.  Beauty matters.  Even if it’s truly wild beauty, we all crave it deep down on a cellular level, and where it is lacking we tend to want to escape.  Agreed? 
   That is the philisophical lesson from this summer.  I pinky-promised myself to do better next season.
   The pratical lesson is that planting things too far apart (like I did) can be painfully challenging for the plants.  It’s actaully groovy to plant pretty closely together.  The plants shade each other and help each other retain soil and moisture, too.  And if you plant stategically you can naturally eliminate lots of pests.  MARIGOLDS.
********************
   So where are my few survivors?  They are in Veggie Triage.  It’s a three-step healing process consisting of reduction (of both overall population and individual plant size), relocation, and rejuvenation. 
   I have moved the surviving plants from the remote garden up to the flower beds on the east and south sides of the house.  The rationale is that the attractiveness of the flower bed will encourage me to spend more time tending the edibles.  The flower beds had space to fill anyway, so here again we have symbiosis in nature.
   I have already seen marked improvements in every single little baby, and I feel confident that in the coming weeks we can add seed plants like lettuce and spinach, then later on some broccoli, cilantro, etc, to really fill in the blanks.
   Green thumbs up, friends.  I do NOT want to give up completely on Lazy W Garden 2011.  With a little luck and the logic and magic of these two lessons learned, we might be frying green tomatoes by Labor Day.