I’m always stunned when something sneaks up on me in the garden. Not a snake or a bear, but a plant. I mean, I walk around the garden daily — as I’m sure all of you do — and I like to think that I notice most of what’s happening among the plants.
And then this happens — a bloom that wasn’t there yesterday is here today.
I went to the theater last night, a very small venue hosting a show of eight short vignettes. By the end of the fourth one, it was clear that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
The air conditioner had stopped working — and in zone 10, that can be an issue.
At intermission, the small audience stepped outside into the 90-degree, steamy south Florida night air to cool off — and a sort of camaraderie blossomed among the theatergoers. We were all sweaty soldiers determined to see the end of the play, despite the sauna-like conditions inside.
That’s when I overheard one female audience member say to her friend, “It’s because it’s August. It’s like the worst month.”
For several nights, I kept my phone close by, waiting for a tonight’s-the-night text message from Neil, a neighbor who lives a few streets away. He was expecting, you see, and he hoped — as Joe and I hoped — that we could be there for the big moment when his night-blooming Cereus flowered.
This post has been a daunting task.
I was nominated for the Liebster Award, and the rules say I have to acknowledge my nominator and answer her 11 questions and nominate 5 to 11 blogs and provide my nominees with 11 questions.
When added together, that makes for a very lengthy post!
Recently, I’ve written about my love for my bros — my bromeliads. Among my reasons is the ease of propagation, usually via pups that sprout along the base.
Here, though, is another propagation technique, courtesy of the pineapple — the sweetest bro.
There have been times while learning to garden in zone 10 when I’ve felt less like a gardener and more like a member of a landing party from the Starship Enterprise.
With winters that feel like summers, armies of iguanas feasting their way through yard after yard, warnings of Burmese pythons in the Everglades, and giant African-snails eating the stucco off of buildings, I sometimes wonder on what planet Florida is actually located and why Scotty isn’t beaming me up.
It’s the same thing with plants. They’re different and they’re big in this subtropical world — and each time I step outside, I might as well be boldly gardening where no one has gardened before.
There are times when a gardener has to step off the garden path, when he or she has to set foot on mulch and tip-toe further in to investigate new growth, a weed, or a pest. Sometimes, it’s just to get a new perspective.
It’s the same thing with bloggers. Sometimes, you just have to step away from your theme — and for this post, I’m stepping off the garden path.
It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.
Charles Dickens, in one of literature’s most well-known openings, was referring to life in London and Paris. I like to think, however, he was writing about my tomatoes.
I was as surprised by the emailed notice as I was by the mysterious moth resting on the edge of a terra cotta strawberry pot. My blog was nominated for The One Lovely Blog Award.
I know blog awards receive mixed reactions. Some people love ‘em; some people don’t. Some see them as an honor; others see them as a chore.
Personally, this particular nomination could not have come at a better time.
The other day, as I was passing a local playground, I spotted a group of men who were able to throw together a random basketball, football, handball, any-kind-of-ball game without speaking any words to one another. There were some hand gestures and a few noises, and then the game began.
Nitty Gritty Dirt Man 