During a trip from Chicago to Michigan via Amtrak last week, I was amused when the train stopped and an Amtrak employee delivered a heart rendering apology for the delay. While fellow passengers grumbled to each other, I closed my book and marveled that the employee could sound so sincere, considering this exact stoppage happens every time I ride this route.
The fellow next to me glanced at my book. "You like to garden?" he asked. I nodded. He shook his head. "I tried to garden but I didn't have no luck," he said. I murmured something that was supposed to sound commiserating. "My dog dug up my flowers and the deer got my vegetables," he continued. As he continued his garden saga, I found myself feeling quite sorry for the guy because he obviously had put a lot of thought and effort into his garden; to have little or nothing to show for it would be disheartening. (I thought it best not to venture my opinion that the dog probably had a fine time digging and the deer no doubt appreciated the addition of fresh veggies to their diet. Sometimes I amaze myself that I can keep my mouth firmly closed.)
I started thinking of all that can go wrong in the garden. Obviously deer are difficult to control but I have seen people use fences to good advantage when gardening in deer country. It isn't a foolproof solution and it takes a lot of effort, so it isn't the easiest of solutions.
Keeping dogs out of the garden is difficult. I have found that accompanying our dogs outside can be an effective deterrent to their tromping through the garden. Oh, who am I kidding? I yell at them and they blithely go where ever they feel like going, unmindful of the plants. We always put pots around the seedlings but size 13 paws generally are not deterred by little pots. I do intervene when one of the dogs gets overzealous and begins digging in the soft dirt of a freshly planted shrub or tree- me screaming like a banshee and the dog digging away, totally unperturbed by my hysteria. My heart went out to my companion and his bad dog.
I thought about this past season and the goofs that Chip and I had, even after gardening for over 30 years. We put an electric fence around the pear trees and still found the majority of the crop on the ground INSIDE the electrified area. The varmints eat only until they reach the seeds and throw three-quarters of the pear away. This is an annual occurrence but it still is maddening to see the waste. I would gladly cut the seeds out for them if given the chance. Guess I have to learn "Squirrel" to communicate with the destroyers.
I thought about the sweet potato crop that was decimated twice by visitors. We expect some plant loss from the animals that we share our backyard with; the sight of the entire green plant, cut and placed undisturbed in the row, makes us shake our heads in disbelief. Obviously, the culprit didn't want the plants. Perhaps it was a gang initiation to see how many plants could be decimated in a day? Replanting resulted in pretty much the same outcome, except we did manage to grow a few plants and actually get a tiny crop with the second planting.
The tomatoes, despite our diligent planting and pruning, bore sporadically and most never really got very big. Then the blight hit, and even planting many varieties and choosing plants that were strong and healthy didn't prevent the plants from failing.
The melons that Chip planted happily took over the garden, wrapping around each other in reckless abandon. We realized that some of the melons were actually from last year, germinating from seeds that were overlooked when we cleaned the gardens last fall. These crossed with some acorn squash and we had huge, beautiful "squalon" or, if you prefer, "melash". Whatever you call them, a squash/melon mix is not at all tasty and they ended up in the compost pile. Even the visitors to the compost pile turned their beaks and noses up at the new creation. I couldn't blame them.
The Amtrak delay ended and so did my seat mate's sad gardening story. I gave him a hearty pep talk to encourage him to try again next year. He didn't seem too enlightened by my enthusiasm. In fact, I believe I detected a look of relief on his face when I finally stopped talking. I reopened my gardening book and, as the train plummeted down the tracks, dreamed of next year's garden-the one where everything blooms abundantly. The best gardens are always the ones in a gardener's imagination.
The fellow next to me glanced at my book. "You like to garden?" he asked. I nodded. He shook his head. "I tried to garden but I didn't have no luck," he said. I murmured something that was supposed to sound commiserating. "My dog dug up my flowers and the deer got my vegetables," he continued. As he continued his garden saga, I found myself feeling quite sorry for the guy because he obviously had put a lot of thought and effort into his garden; to have little or nothing to show for it would be disheartening. (I thought it best not to venture my opinion that the dog probably had a fine time digging and the deer no doubt appreciated the addition of fresh veggies to their diet. Sometimes I amaze myself that I can keep my mouth firmly closed.)
I started thinking of all that can go wrong in the garden. Obviously deer are difficult to control but I have seen people use fences to good advantage when gardening in deer country. It isn't a foolproof solution and it takes a lot of effort, so it isn't the easiest of solutions.
Keeping dogs out of the garden is difficult. I have found that accompanying our dogs outside can be an effective deterrent to their tromping through the garden. Oh, who am I kidding? I yell at them and they blithely go where ever they feel like going, unmindful of the plants. We always put pots around the seedlings but size 13 paws generally are not deterred by little pots. I do intervene when one of the dogs gets overzealous and begins digging in the soft dirt of a freshly planted shrub or tree- me screaming like a banshee and the dog digging away, totally unperturbed by my hysteria. My heart went out to my companion and his bad dog.
I thought about this past season and the goofs that Chip and I had, even after gardening for over 30 years. We put an electric fence around the pear trees and still found the majority of the crop on the ground INSIDE the electrified area. The varmints eat only until they reach the seeds and throw three-quarters of the pear away. This is an annual occurrence but it still is maddening to see the waste. I would gladly cut the seeds out for them if given the chance. Guess I have to learn "Squirrel" to communicate with the destroyers.
I thought about the sweet potato crop that was decimated twice by visitors. We expect some plant loss from the animals that we share our backyard with; the sight of the entire green plant, cut and placed undisturbed in the row, makes us shake our heads in disbelief. Obviously, the culprit didn't want the plants. Perhaps it was a gang initiation to see how many plants could be decimated in a day? Replanting resulted in pretty much the same outcome, except we did manage to grow a few plants and actually get a tiny crop with the second planting.
The tomatoes, despite our diligent planting and pruning, bore sporadically and most never really got very big. Then the blight hit, and even planting many varieties and choosing plants that were strong and healthy didn't prevent the plants from failing.
The melons that Chip planted happily took over the garden, wrapping around each other in reckless abandon. We realized that some of the melons were actually from last year, germinating from seeds that were overlooked when we cleaned the gardens last fall. These crossed with some acorn squash and we had huge, beautiful "squalon" or, if you prefer, "melash". Whatever you call them, a squash/melon mix is not at all tasty and they ended up in the compost pile. Even the visitors to the compost pile turned their beaks and noses up at the new creation. I couldn't blame them.
The Amtrak delay ended and so did my seat mate's sad gardening story. I gave him a hearty pep talk to encourage him to try again next year. He didn't seem too enlightened by my enthusiasm. In fact, I believe I detected a look of relief on his face when I finally stopped talking. I reopened my gardening book and, as the train plummeted down the tracks, dreamed of next year's garden-the one where everything blooms abundantly. The best gardens are always the ones in a gardener's imagination.