What I Did On My Summer Vacation


The short answer is that I did a lot of sweating this summer, as I’m sure many of you did. The heat and humidity did a number on my ambition to get outside and do anything productive in the yard – and, as a result, anything productive on this blog.

Instead, Joe and I hid from the sun as much as possible, staying inside, behind lowered shades, where we took advantage of the time to read three incredible novels. (I read the books aloud to Joe. That’s something we began decades ago on road trips, something that became a daily exercise during COVID, and something that we’ve kept going today.)

Two friends, Michele and Marie, recommended Theo of Golden, by Allen Levi.  It’s the sort of book that stays with you long after the last sentence is finished. I think it’s one of the most moving books I’ve read in a long time, exploring themes of quiet generosity and kindness and the importance of human connection. Considering the state of the world and the country these days, I think it’s the sort of book we all need in our lives right now.

I first learned of The Murder at World’s End, by Ross Montgomery, on several YouTube book review channels. The readers/hosts of the shows described this as an entertaining surprise and fun British mystery that could easily go unnoticed in the genre if not for word of mouth. So, I’m spreading the word on this locked-room mystery with a wonderful cast of characters, humorous dialogue that keeps the story moving, and a historical backdrop. It’s a truly entertaining, can’t-put-down read.

As I was perusing the new books at my local library, I spotted Farrell Covington and the Limits of Style, by Paul Rudnick. Normally, my local library will place a rainbow sticker on the spine of an LGBTQ+ novel. For some reason, this book was overlooked – so it’s not immediately apparent that it’s gay subject matter, increasing the likelihood that non-LGBTQ+ patrons may pick it up. No matter who reads it, though, the novel is like a walk through history, as it navigates the relationship of a gay couple and their circle of friends and politics over decades. It had drama, joy, humor, sadness – all of the human emotions that bind us together, no matter who one loves.

The lawn, though, didn’t care about our reading habits or the heat. It continued to grow and, as a result, needed constant mowing. Once a week, I dressed down in my lawn-mowing attire: blue bathing suit, faded blue golf shirt that’s never seen a golf course but has seen years of gardening stains, iPod set to my ‘80s playlist, wide-brimmed hat, and glaucoma sunglasses. (I don’t have glaucoma, but it’s my best option to keep the unrelenting sunlight from burning my corneas.)

On these mowing days, I was a hot mess by 9:00 am — and one morning, my very spry, thirty-something neighbor came walking by in his fashionably matched black shorts, black t-shirt, black sneakers, and air buds. My neighbor wasn’t sweating.

We smiled and waved to one another. He had calories to burn and I had a lawn to mow… and that lawn, I noticed, was looking more and more like a field of weeds. Had my if-it’s-green-it-can-stay lawn policy backfired? Am I reaping what I had not sown?

Well, sort of.

Florida Snow.

I really don’t know the names of the weeds in my yard, other than Florida Snow (pictured above and at the top of this post in its blossom stage), Richardia grandiflora, which blankets my lawn with pale lavender or white flowers. It’s also known as Largeflower Mexican Coneflower – and despite the locations in these two informal names, this low-growing, creeping plant is a South American native, introduced to Florida as an ornamental groundcover.

And cover the ground it has. Florida Snow and so many of the other weeds in my lawn have taken over. Swaths of weeds have become empires, intermingling at their edges – some are easily mown, while others have a tendency to pop up after the lawn mower passes, forcing me to do another pass.

I now knew my mission. Armed with the app, iNaturalist, on my phone, I decided to take stock of my weeds, to learn their names and their characteristics, and then to decide if they are worthy of my lawn policy.

Ceylon Pouzolzia.

 Ceylon Pouzolzia (Pouzolzia zeylanica), an invasive species, is a native of tropical and subtropical Asia and northern Australia, where its leaves and roots are eaten or used for medicinal purposes. In my yard, however, it’s relentless, growing through shrub beds and weaving its way through the branches on its quest for sunlight.

It also has a somewhat deep growing, orange-colored taproot or tuber and pulling this out has become a game for me. I dig my fingers below the soil level until I can grab onto the top of the root and slowly work the plant out of the ground. If I can’t get the whole thing, Pouzolzia comes back with more stems. If I remove the whole weed… nothing but satisfaction and glory!

Creeping Beggarweed.

My least favorite of all of my weeds is Creeping Beggarweed (Desmodium incanum), another invasive species. Native to Central and South America, Creeping Beggardweed knows no bounds in my yard. As its name implies, its runners creep and weave their way through the lawn and beds, until the stems end in small magenta flowers.

It’s impossible to pull Creeping Beggarweed by hand, since its runners do one of two things – break or pull up plants that have grown over the runners.

The sticky seeds of Creeping Beggarweed.

Even more frustrating are the sticky seeds (pictured below) that silently hitch a ride on my lawn-mowing clothes, sneakers, and skin, as well as the lawn mower’s blades and wheels. In caring for my lawn, I inadvertently spread the weed. (By the way, I’d also recommend keeping pets away from the sticky seeds. They can wreak havoc once attached to fur.)

Since researching Creeping Beggarweed, I’ve learned that it’s a part of the legume family and can help fix nitrogen levels. Still, that’s not enough for me to say, “Welcome. Make yourself at home.”

On the other hand, I would certainly say those words to Turkey Tangle Frogfruit (Phyla nodiflora), an actual Florida native. I’m not sure how it reached my yard, but I’m happy that it found a home here. Frogfruit has small white-to-pink flowers with purple centers that seem to float above the low growing, evergreen mat. Pollinators love it and it’s easy to manage with mowing. As I’ve learned more about it, I’m tempted to dig up some clumps and plant them in some of the beds as a groundcover.

Turkey Tangle Frogfruit.

 This is really just the start of my weeding assignment. There are so many more weeds to explore – and I think I’ll save that for a future post. (Speaking of future posts, my anxiety also amped up throughout the summer, primarily because of the current State of the Nation and the approaching midterm elections. I’ve tried to keep it in check, but it’s just below the surface. I may also explore this in a future post – whether or not I do, I encourage all Americans to utilize their right to vote.)

In the meantime, I haven’t reached the point of ripping up my entire lawn to create a wildflower meadow. I don’t think the city code enforcer who drives down my street several times a week would allow that. He and the city tend to like a neatly mown lawn, no matter what weeds are growing in it.

I also don’t think I’ve reached the point of chemical treatments to curtail weed growth. It actually doesn’t make economic sense to me, especially if animals, people, and wind can spread seeds from neighboring lawns that aren’t treated.

For now, then, it’s hand-based containment of the worst offenders. At best or at worst, I’ll have a bio-diverse lawn – and that’s something that makes the pollinators of the garden very happy.

And that’s the sort of happiness I’m holding onto.

Mowing for Sanity: The Lawn & Short of It


During stressful times – and I certainly think these days can be considered stressful times – I think of my friend, Sue. Not that she’s a stressful person – far from it, as a matter of fact — but I always remember how she coped with stressful days when she taught second grade in the classroom next to Joe. That’s when I first met her.

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Making My Bed & Crying In It


Garden Bed

This is the start of the gardening season in South Florida, where the forecasters have proclaimed the end of the rainy season and the temperatures and humidity have dropped to more humane levels. For me, it’s a chance to make my bed, a garden bed in a yard that is absolutely bedless.

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A Weed By Any Other Name . . .


Weed all about it! Florida Pusley; Richardia scabra.  The multitude of small flowers close up at night and then reopen with the sun.

Weed all about it! Florida Pusley; Richardia scabra.
The multitude of small flowers close up at night and then reopen with the sun.

When it comes to my lawn, I’m pretty basic, following one important rule.  Be green.  I’m not too fussy about what’s actually growing — but as long as it’s green, it has a place in the lawn.

When I see that in writing, it sounds as if I’m a bit of a colorist, embracing one color over all others.  In actuality, though, the green weeds are welcome to bloom in any color they like.  I just find that my color requirement for admittance into the lawn is one way to keep me from having to resort to herbicides and liquid fertilizers.  I have no intention of having my little piece of suburbia become one of the stops on a national golf tournament.

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Zen And The Art Of Raking


There’s a scene in the film Roxanne, in which Steve Martin, playing a fire chief who is nasally challenged, steps outside, sniffs the air, and announces that there is a fire.  That’s how it is with me when I decide on a good day to rake the leaves of autumn.  Today was one such day.

When I walked outside, the air was crisp and still, the faintest hint of ice on the edges of the fallen leaves — a fine day to take my new rake out for a spin.  After years of holding onto my ancient aluminum rake, the one with the head that always fell off, I purchased a new model from Home Depot. 

You can keep those extra large plastic tined rakes.  They seem to only rake the surface of the grass, never getting between the blades and down to the soil.  No, for me, it’s all about the metal, and the one I chose had plenty of it.  Black metallic tines.  Sturdy.  A green rubber grip on the end of the pole.  It seemed to say, “Buy me, and I will rake your lawn like nobody’s business.  We can make make  magic together — just you and me and all those leaves.”

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Here’s One For Dad


A few posts ago, I wrote about mowing the lawn and now that it’s Father’s Day, I’d like to revisit it. 

My father is the one who taught me how to mow the lawn.  It was an orange, gas-powered model, and my father taught me how to pull the cord, adjust the throttle, pour the gas, and the all-important mowing pattern.  The idea was to mow the perimeter, and then to continue in smaller and smaller circles until  I reached the middle of the yard.  In reality, it was a rite of passage; a passing of the torch.

My mother and my father had different approaches to gardening.  My mother planted flowers and filled pots and worked at making the yard and home look pretty and appealing.  My father, on the other hand, was the gardener.  He did the digging and turning of soil.  He pruned the trees and shrubs, including the blue hydrangea in the backyard.  This is still a sore point, because it never rebounded.  It may be why I’m hesitant to cut any of my own hydrangeas.  I know there are those that bloom on old wood, and those that bloom on new wood — but for me, there will be no hydrangea pruning, thank you very much.

My father organized and planted the family’s vegetable garden.  It was filled with tomatoes, carrots, pole beans, bush beans and so much more.  What my father didn’t realize is that he planted more than vegetables in that garden.  It was the family garden, our garden, and each one of us participated in the planting and caring of our small home garden.  We weeded and harvested and told Dad of any pests that were getting too comfortable in it.  And although it was small, for us it was “the lower forty.”

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Mowing In The Deep


It's not easy being green.

I did some laundry today.  What has that got to do with gardening?  Well, aside from the fact that I like to do laundry almost as much as I like to garden, I was washing my grass-stained work clothes from this past weekend.  On Saturday, I gave my lawn the first cut of the season.  I still like to mow my own lawn, but every weekend, when I look around my neighborhood, I can’t help but think, “Am I the only one?”

When the landscapers arrive, my street looks like a neighborhood under siege.  Trucks and trailers are everywhere.  Engines rev, blowers whir, and hordes of men mow over every blade of grass.  But not in my yard.

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