This Full House Archive

Tag: gardening

Oh yes! There will be tomatoes, dammit!

My brother and I grew up in a 5 room house that was roughly 950 square feet, surrounded by steel mills and iron factories, and a mind-bogglingly complicated network of railroad tracks running along a port built to accommodate large tankers sailing their way through to New York City.

Sitting on my parents' patio, flanked by rose bushes and arbors shaded by nearly every flowering and fruiting tree you can imagine, you'd believe yourself to be somewhere completely different.

My father was a landscaper throughout our elementary school years and he'd often times bring home truckloads of stuff — trees and bushes his boss had thrown out or given up on at the end of the day, only after growing tired of arguing with my dad and his insisting that they were just merely "very nearly dead".

He'd plant the "very nearly dead" stuff under my bedroom window in a raised bed he'd sectioned off as "the hospital" and they would always (and I mean ALWAYS!) thrive enough to be re-planted, somewhere else.

At thirteen years old, I thought it was magical!

For reasons too long (and boring!) to go into (you're welcome!) I decided NOT to plant a vegetable garden, this summer. However, my not being able to send one of the kids outside to pick a couple of tomatoes and cucumbers for dinner…well, yeah, no…it just doesn't seem like summer.

Oh, my brother sent over a couple of plants he'd grown from seed, but I never got a chance to get them into the ground in time and…well, yeah, no…they were just merely very nearly dead, dammit.

So, my husband sectioned off an area next to the shed and I threw the plants in there, hoping they would live, for a little while longer, maybe.

Then it rained (A LOT!) and then it got cold (welcome to New Jersey!) and we all pretty much lost hope of ever being able to pick a tomato or cucumber, fresh off of the vine.

Until, this morning. I went to hang a couple of blankets out on the clothes line (because the dryer is being all pissy!), glanced over toward the shed and guess what?!?

I was all like, "What magic is this?!?" and although they'd only JUST begun to bear fruit, "Oh yes! There WILL be tomatoes!!!" DAMMIT!

Aaaaand, cucumbers…**wipes tears from eyes**…we WILL have cucumbers…YAY!!!

After my son cuts the grass and I get the youngest to do a little weeding, of course…because, she's the one that placed the "Hope" stake into the garden…it's all HER fault, right?!? RIGHT?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Riiiiiiiiiiight. But don't tell her I said so, because Hope is thirteen and STILL believes in magic, too!

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August 11, 2014
Better Start Hoping for Rainy Days, B*tch

Growing up, my parents always grew their own vegetables in the summertime. We lived with my grandmother before I started grade school and she had a vegetable garden.

Later, my father would build a greenhouse in our backyard, using plumbing pipes and sheets of plastic film salvaged from an abandoned work site (or believed to be abandoned, anyway) which would one day play center stage for make believe expeditions to Egypt and China, late night bug hunts and marathons of hide-and-go-seek.

My parents surprised us with plotting out and planting our first vegetable garden, a few weeks after my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I moved into this (not yet full) house and did so, on the sly, while we were both at work.

"Our grandchildren are going to need a place to play."

We've been on many, many lovely expeditions since then and adopted several frogs, hundreds of worms and scores of other less invasive creepy-crawlies over the years and, well, I can't imagine a summer without digging in the dirt.

"Yes, but your back can't handle it anymore."

My husband suggested perhaps I should NOT plant a vegetable garden, this year (stupid busted up back) and we went to the mats…or, raised beds…on whether or not I would be able to handle worrying about…you know…one more thing.

"But, I love digging in the dirt."

Ripping out weeds by their roots, burying a spade deep into the earth, digging out my frustrations and casting them away with every rock and stone — it's cheaper than therapy, I tell ya'.

It took me ALL day — what once would have been only a few short hours of work — and, trust me when I tell you it is certainly NOT the most beautiful vegetable garden you will ever see…especially, in this part of Jersey…DAMMIT!

Busted up back or not…yesterday…I made roughly 6 yards of dirt MY B*TCH and, well, I swear you could STILL hear her laughing.

Turns out she is a bit of a sadist, the b*tch.

"So, I see you're still insisting on growing a vegetable garden then."

YES! Aaaaand, I guess we better start hoping for rainy days…you know…so maybe I can get some housework done…or NOT!

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

May 18, 2012
Perfection is So Over-Weeded

My friend Diana wrote a wonderful blog post on the acceptance of messes (feeling pride in tending to her less than perfect garden) and, well, for me, hers is such a timely story.

My parents always kept a vegetable garden. Growing up in an urban area, surrounded by ironworks, factories, several blocks of shared housing, warranting little more than a quick glance, before the traffic light changes, we were one of the few families to do so, in our neighborhood, anyway.

Still, their vegetables were always so beautiful and, my kids spent hours playing in their green house, when they were little.

Small as it was, our backyard became an oasis and, from the moment you walked through the rose arbor, you'd forget your troubles, become deaf to all the noise outside the garden gate and, well, it was REAL nice to feel privy to that sort of peace, even for just a little while.

Then, my husband Garth (not his real name) and I began looking for a house and, as small (and full) as it is, right now, I am very, very thankful for our REAL big backyard, too.

My parents surprised us, that first year, by planting a vegetable garden, while we were away (I forget where, or why) and, well, life was good.

18 years, 4 kids, 3 cats, 1 Doofus-Dawg and a myriad of OTHER things that I just don't even want to, you know, think about, right now (maybe later) and the garden, well, this is the first summer I have considered “not dealing with it,” either and, you know what?

I did, anyway. Because, as small and overcrowded with weeds as my vegetable garden is, right now, I could not imagine a summer without being able to go outside and, you know, dig in the dirt.

Aaaaand, in the process, perhaps even weed out my mommy brain, just a little, you know?

Thanks SO MUCH for the reminder, Diana.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

June 24, 2011
And if you voz to zee my Iriz…

Pardon me, while I tap into my Hungarian roots, here, but I love this time of year, minus the wet.

Some of my favorite flowers are blooming, RIGHT NOW, most of which we adopted from my parent's garden, before selling the house they spent 30+ years, rebuilding, literally, from the ground up.

It was just too much for them.

After 7 years of successfully negotiating dozens of hurdles that life continues to throw at them, my parents are still making beautiful things happen, in the dirt.

It's in their blood.

I've read that there are over 200 varieties of Iris (Irises?) but, that pretty little thing, there on your left, grows right outside our front door and, well, it just makes me smile…BIGTIME.

Aaaaand, that, right there, izzzzz a verrrrry gut ting!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

May 25, 2011
I Heard it Through the Grapevine

My husband, Garth (not his real name) and I planted grapes about two years ago (I think) when I was sort of toying with the idea of channeling my Hungarian roots and making my very own, you know, homemade wine.

Until, last summer, when the grapes died, along with most of our tomatoes, cucumbers and whatever else the stupid ground hog missed, before the rains came and washed his furry little butt away (out to sea, I hope) along with half our neighbor's yard and, well, I would have been happy with a small jar of jelly, really.

Then, the birds ate the rest and, well, got to love nature, right?

Still. I refuse to give up, DAMMIT. So, last weekend, my husband Garth (not his real name) unlocked the tool shed and not because he's afraid of the kids hurting themselves, or anything.

Seriously, even my almost-ten-year-old knows that giant, ferocious, probably child-eating sort of bees live in our shed and, well, she may, or may not, have heard it from a somewhat reliable source, in an effort to keep kids from touching MY stuff, don't judge!

Aaaaand, there was this one time, during summer vacation, when I nearly electrocuted myself so, well, oh, look…up there…is that REAL raspberries?!?

Okay, not yet…but, soon (I hope) along with a crop of blackberries we planted, last weekend, on the other side of the shed (not shown, because, you know, bees live there) and look what else Garth (NHRN) helped me build.

Like it? It's my first. What do you mean, what is it? Why, it's a…uh…well, not quite a shed…um…more like a peaceful place to pot things in.

Not to mention, hide the stuff we've recycled, from other people's yards.

YES, with their permission, of course, sheesh.

SHEESH!

It took us all day, last Sunday, but, you know what?

It felt, really, really good, too.

Okay, so maybe not in a, "Oh, look, I'm saving the world, ya'll" sort of way, I admit.

But, dang it to h-e-double-hockey-sticks if we can't, at the very least, teach our kids to help make the world, look just a wee bit prettier, right from our very own backyard, either.

"Wow, YOU made this, mom?!?!"

Yes, yes, it's my first, and I did it recycling a couple of grape vines, dead as they are.

"Ewwwwwwwww!"

[eyes go wide]

"Oh come on, it's not THAT bad, is it?"

Seriously, seeing as she is the only one, of all four of my kids, who likes to be outside, on purpose, I thought that at least my almost-ten-year-old would appreciate the effort.

"No, look, you're bleeding!"

So, yeah, I'm NOT the greenest mom on the planet.

"Ewwwww, and what's that on your nose?"

Aaaand, I seemed to have misplaced my gardening gloves (AGAIN!) good thing I also happen to look better in red, anyway.

[blank stare]

I know, still, you'll never be able to convince me there's a global benefit to allowing poison ivy to grow, all over the danged place, EVER, either.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Oh, look, up there, is that a REAL grape vine wreath!?!?

[SLAM!]

Happy Mother's Day weekend, everyone and don't forget to lock up your power tools…oh, and for heaven sakes, wear gloves…I hear poison ivy is quite the mood killer, trust me…also, will someone PLEASE tell Garth (NHRN) we need more wine, thanks!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

Freshly-Brewed Elsewhere: The Perfect Mother's Day Gift Idea for Dads
Freshly-Brewed Review: Absolutely the Last Possible Minute Mother's Day Gift Idea, I Promise!

May 6, 2011
D’oh, There’s a Deer in My Garden, Dear Maria, Dear Maria!

This is my paternal great-grandmother, Maria, in Hungary. My father spent many childhood summers, giving up his "city boy ways," living the "simple country life," with Maria (his mother had him late in life and, apparently, he was a handful!) and, according to my father, it was anything and everything…but, simple!

Still, as tough as Maria's life was, my father insists that she was the sweetest, kindest, most gentlest person on earth.

Unlike, her great-granddaughter (that would be me!) who is about ready to snare her some Bambi!

Exhibit A: Deer tracks (post-sprinkler) this morning.

No, I don't want to hurt Bambi (much) but, gardening is HARD work and, all of a sudden, after 17 years of fighting with aphids, hornworms and garden slugs (oh my!) NOW it seems like we've got deer!

Exhibit B: Hopey's prized-cabbage (she was growing to win a $1000 scholarship) beheaded!

Not just any deer (mind you) but, ravenous-militant-vegetable-swiping-giant-moose-of-an-animal that carries away an entire head of cabbage!?!?

Exhibit C: Tops of tomato plants chewed!

I went out to pick some tomatoes a few weekends ago and…OMG…where have ALL of my tomatoes gone?

Exhibit D: What was my parsley!

I know…so, we've got deer…no BIG deal, right?

Exhibit E: WTH is it?

All I kept thinking was…this is MY garden (DAGNABIT!) and WWMD (what would Maria do?) no question about it — I HAVE TO DEFEND IT! So, Garth (not his real name) installed this sweet little motion detector smack dab in the middle of my Concord grape vine!

Just like Maria's (see picture at top of post) minus the motion detector, I mean.

Exhibit F: New growth!!!

Yes, Maria is probably ROIHGL (rolling over in her grave laughing) bless her squishy little heart!

Exhibit G: Aaaand, we have tomato flowers!

But, when in Jersey…you know…and, combined with my new bontanically-based insecticidal soap (email me and I'll let you know which) it seems to be working.

Exhibit H: The vegetable bed that lived

Oh, and no, we are NOT crucifying anyone – that's just the clothes line that Garth (not his real name) rigged up by the pool, so that the kids can hang up their wet towels, which, unfortunately, they do NOT use…DAGNABIT!

[sound of crickets chirping]

Morale of the Story: Deer do NOT like eggplant.

Stupid urban/suburban sprawl!

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July 19, 2010