Gardening by Night

            While I’m told it can be done (and the pictures look real pretty) I’m not seriously out gardening at night. But what I am doing is PLANNING my garden at night…Why? Because Thurman called today to say “We gotta plant tomorrow!” (See Karlen race to buy plants on a Sunday because she thought this was happening next week.)

            A cross check of my Ligon & Bobo funeral home planting calendar to Thurman and Miss Duff’s Edward’s Feed version shows a slight overlap of days in which above ground planting should take place. But all calendars agree that Monday (May 4th), has you planting in the sign of the breasts, which is the most nurturing sign of all for above ground crops.

            So for those following along in your hymnals over there, planting on Monday, May 5^th --for everything that sprigs out of the earth and above the ground is ideal. (If you did this over the weekend, you were covered as well.) Above ground plants include: tomatoes, corn, okra, peppers, squash…you know, those things that you pick not pull up from the earth. Below ground crops (such as taters, beets, carrots, onions) are best planted when the moon is waning. (The time between a full and a new moon is best.)

And lest you’re laughing over there thinking this is all hogwash, well, laugh away. I’ve done it both ways and I’m here to tell you it makes a difference.

            Case in point, last season (which started a tad earlier than this season, yet a bit later than the year before) I found myself nearly missing out on potato planting all together owing to the moisture in my soil. With time running out, I finally got my potato slips in the ground in May, planting for which sadly, did not time out on a below crop sign.

            Thinking I’d just test this little theory, I plugged my potatoes in the ground on a day like today (i.e. perfect for above ground, but not below). In a few weeks time I called up ol Thurman and said, “Come see my plants!”

            Outside on “Potato Row” was the greenest, lushest bunch of potato leaves you ever did see. “Why these potatoes look to be even healthier than last year’s” I bragged, to which Thurman pulled out his pocket knife and said, “Dig.”

            It wasn’t time to dig, as the potatoes were not full term, but I knew that even at this stage I could probably have a nice evening meal of new potatoes, so dig I did. (And I dug. And I dug. And I dug.)

            And what, pray tell, did I dig up? Absolutely nothing…Well, buttons you could call them. There was nothing happening to my potatoes beneath the soil.

            “How could the leaves be so lush and these taters so pitiful?” I asked.

            “Because them leaves is above ground” explained Thurman. “The moon was tugging on that part the day you planted.”

            Believe it or don’t. Everybody’s got their own way of doing this garden thing. All I’m saying is that when it comes to almanacs, signs and planting by the moon and the advice of Thurman, I’m with Thurman, after all his family’s been doing this for more generations than I can count.

My Fisher-Price Life

Ever reflecting on when and where our life patterns come from, I think back to my childhood and a favorite Fisher-Price toy Gran and Papaw gave me one Christmas. It was an orange, round talking box, handle on top and a bee in the middle with a little stinger you could point towards any number of critter pictures, positioned like numbers on a clock. Point to cat; pull the string, and you’d hear “The cat says “Meow”…. Point to the dog; pull the string, and it was “The dog says “Woof!” (Point to the pig, the cow, the goat...(insert critter sound here) and you start to get the picture).

Round and round the little bee would spin. You could leave him where he landed as if playing barnyard roulette. Or you could help him out and point him where you wanted and pull the string (which I did repeatedly, literally till I wore the toy out). I am now sufficiently convinced that my repeated play of those animal noises (particularly the goat cry, which was, by far, my favorite) imprinted on my little psyche to the point that it would someday become my everyday life.

As with the circle of critters then, so go my circle of critters now…as went my days as a child playing over and over these sounds, so goes the adult “me” where the pattern repeats itself again.

Imagine This As the First Face You See

My day starts with the cat, who, vocal though he is, now has a new trick up his paw. Here of late, instead of crying for food or knocking over his food bowl in the pre-dawn hours to get my attention (tricks that net him a scolding when it bolts me out of sleep). Boo’s newest trick is to get right in my face (while I’m in a dead sleep), touch his nose to mine and move his whiskers across my cheeks. (Don’t ask me where this comes from; first time it happened I nearly jumped out of my skin thinking there was a spider on my face.)

Next is Minsky (the rug rat), who, after the morning ‘tummy rub’ routine, gets carried downstairs where she sits patiently waiting for her breakfast. 

Somewhere in between (like when my feet hit the steps) the goats (and of course, big dogs)…add their two cents to the mix. The second they see bodily movement inside the house from their side of windows, it’s non-stop noise-fest of bleats and barks till every bowl is filled. (Let the record reflect, my goats are the least patient, and the noisiest, of the lot.)

Once inside the pen, it’s Rosey and TJ first; pups a close second. (Cause if we do this in reverse, the pups will eat the goat chow, making for a free-for all of butts, growls and tumbles.)

Layer by layer, round by round, my mornings crank up with a virtual feast of familiar faces, funny voices and (my own little family's) all too friendly routines, going round in a circle like that bee in my Fisher Price toy.

How could I have possibly known then, what I know now... that the animated animal noises of my childhood would one day show up -- full manifestation in my real life, big girl, Fisher Price world.

Hat's Off to Mom!

Ok. So what do my mother and the Kentucky Derby have in common?  Answer: Both are overflowing with hats!

When invited to a gathering of Derby devotees, my initial reaction was, “Do I have to wear a hat?” Aside from my Tractor Supply baseball cap, I’m not much of a hat girl and the thought of being stuck in something frilly all afternoon did a number on my head. (Of course, when it comes to Derby gatherings, hats are supposed to do a number on your head. That's the whole point of the Derby, is it not?)

The good news is, when launching my search for a fancy fedora, I had but one call to make. For when it comes to hats, my mother is the high priestess of headwear. 

 From my earliest childhood memories I can honestly say my mother never attended church without a hat on her head. And not just any hat, mind you. A picture-perfect, color-coordinated sombrero of style, tailored to match any and every outfit (most of them hand made for her by her mother-- my Sweet Gran).

Whether her love for hat couture was instilled at birth (her paternal grandmother was a milliner --a Northern-born, enterprising hat designer who settled in Tennessee to marry my grandfather’s father)…or if it was because Mom was en vogue  and enthralled with the whole Jackie O pill-box era (and actually looked a lot like Jackie O),  MOM LOVES HATS. So asking, “May I come shop in your closet?” was like asking the Mad Hatter if he was up for a spot of tea.

More intriguing than the hats, were the stories and the memories…Keep in mind, my mother, (like me) is forever losing car keys, and probably to this day can’t tell you her own cell phone number, but you show her a hat and she’ll recount every detail of the outfit it went with, the event for which it was designed and the people in attendance when it made its debut.

Equally intriguing to me, were the glorious boxes these hats came in. (I have a thing about boxes to begin with, but those pentagonal-shaped HAT boxes are the best of the best, bar none.) Add to that the timeless, classic logos of stores of yesteryear—stores like Castner Knott, Cain-Sloan, Harveys and Loveman’s…(not to mention her New York hat-acquisitions like Lord & Tailor, Macy’s and others)...well clearly I had entered the twilight zone – A Museum of Millinery –a Festival of Fedoras…a Bonanza of Bonnets…a Virtuoso of Vintage...

When it comes to Derby days and feasts of straw and feathers, my mom takes the cake (and puts it on her head)~ She’s the bomb when it comes to heavenly headwear…

So here's to you Mom -- You're the crème de la creme of the brim!

New Kid On The Block

In the East it’s called Yin/Yang. Here in the West, we call it masculine/feminine. In business it’s often referred to as left brain/right brain. But whether you’re running a company, a family or a farm, Nature is all about the balance thing, which today, poses a new challenge around these parts.

TJ on his favorite "Big Dog" porch

No sooner did I decide to keep one of Rosey’s pups (Rosebud…to be Rosey’s buddy),  I fell in love with Hiccups (now fondly called Hiccapup or Hix for short).  While it made for quite the budget expansion (food for these big boys can run you an arm and a leg), for the sake of keeping a peaceful balance (I rationalized) I should keep an equal number of boys and girls, just to even things out.

(Another one of those “Didn’t quite think this one through” moments, of which I have a lot.)

So now I’m bonded to Hix, as I am with all my critters, but sadly, who doesn’t like Hix... is TJ.

When the pups were brought in to meet their Uncle Teej (at around 6 weeks old), TJ barely even noticed. “Consider yourself a goat” I coulda sworn I heard him say. To Teej it was just another herd to protect. (When your head is big as TJ’s you really don’t worry if you’ve over extended yourself. Coyotes and buzzards and foxes (oh my) are not welcome here.) 

But now that Hix is half TJs size and growing like a weed with paws even larger than TJs at the same stage of things, I have a growing concern that, for all my balancing intentions, I failed to consider the “T” factor (which is to say, Testosterone!)

When it comes to his things, (his bones, his toys, his mama—ie. “me”) TJ doesn’t share. Try as I may, it’s not happening and while Hix has learned to keep a safe distance, he is likewise a male…likewise becoming more territorial as he grows.

While the plan was for Rosebud and Hix to eventually have their own set of goats to protect (allowing TJ and Rosey to resume their pygmy goat-guarding duties), I’m not so certain I can fence faster than Hix is growing.

Hiccapup (a.k.a. "Hix") Can't Help But Grow

At present Hix is in a growth spurt equivalent that of a teenage boy. Again, comparing his size to TJs at the same stage of things, it appears Hix might just surpass TJ in size. (Lord help.) Add to that his own growing tendency to protect (both his real mama and his 2-legged one) and I am now rethinking the Hix factor.

The good news is, Hix outgrew that little hiccupping problem he had as a pup, which, as a result, has now made him the most aggressive eater in the bunch (hence another reason he's growing so fast). For those who missed that blog, Hiccapup was so named because as a little guy, come food time, he’d get so nervous battling the other 6 pups that he’d break into hiccups, which netted him a little extra TLC from me, and repeatedly, his own bowl.

Little did I consider that this cute little habit (of him training me to secure his own food source) netted me a dog that, now big enough to hold his own, scarfs his food quite quickly so as to nudge on over to everyone else’s bowl before they’ve finished. (Every one that is, except TJ.)

As to what happens when Hix surpasses TJ, well, I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. (Or else I’ll be starting that dairy goat operation sooner than I had intended.)

It all serves to remind that it takes only the slightest change in the course of nature to throw off the entire balance. Then again, when it came to this cute little pup hiccuping every time he started to eat, I can't say that I could've responded any differently. (He was just too dang cute.)

Another one for the file of "Things the blonde farmer did not think through."

TJ --Master of All He Surveys

(I think it's time I start a book.)