The awakening yard

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Miniature roses and golden datura abut the Alamo Wall.

PLANTS THAT have sat dormant through dusty springtime are coming to their senses. Blame the rain. There are good and bad aspects to this transformation.

Among the good are that our rose bushes make roses and — mostly good but not entirely — the golden datura creates its reportedly hallucinogenic blooms. Alas, after a couple of days, they shrivel up and drop to the ground where I have to pick them up.

But the datura is mostly a positive thing here. See this brief video.

One definite downside to June and the upcoming months is that the grass wakes up which requires me to hire our neighbor the Deadpan Yardman to mow the lawn every Saturday. Weedeat too. I wish we had no grass at all. That’s my dream.

I’ve been on a successful plant-removal campaign the last year or so. The only trash-tossing plant left is the loquat, and I’m working up to that one. My child bride will be a hindrance. I’d also like to replace more grass with stone and concrete, but not this year.

Oddly, in spite of my wife’s opposition to my plant murders, she wants to zap the monster aloe vera. It tosses no trash. She just doesn’t like the look of it. We have two about this size. It does need to be trimmed back. I’ll give it that.

In late summer, the aloe vera puts out big, lovely flowers that last for weeks.

And, of course, if you get a burn, it’s there to provide solace. Tons of it.

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The aloe vera does have a wicked look. Reminds me of me.

Getting rid of the chicken

Caramba, mi amor! Caramba, mi amor! sang someone on FM 106.5 as I drove the Honda home in the dark of early evening.

Twenty minutes earlier, I had been walking in cool twilight across the beautiful, downtown plaza, clutching a brown paper bag containing two sugar donuts, and thinking of my chicken.

Our neighbors have chickens that roost overnight in an apple tree that abuts our property wall. Now and then, an adventuresome soul will make the leap and walk about in our yard for a spell. Then she’ll head home, back over the wall, in a flap of feathers because chickens don’t fly well. They have a low-max altitude.

This has been going on for years, and we didn’t mind much because the nasty things always went back where they came from. Till a week ago.

One came over and decided to stay. She sticks mostly to the side of the wall that abuts where her kin live, and she lurks beneath aloe vera and bougainvillea. Sometimes, she stands in the big, center semicircle of grass to taunt me.

I’ve tried to catch her, but I’m not as agile as I once was. My child bride assists on occasion, but so far the fowl has eluded our grasp.

New ImageOn Monday, a couple of guys come to lay talavera tile in the downstairs terraza. They’ll be out there for quite a few hours. They say the work will take two days, maybe three.

Here’s my plan: The first day, I’ll offer 50 pesos to whomever catches the chicken and tosses her into the street. If she’s still there on Day Two, I’ll offer 100 pesos, and that should inspire them enough.

I don’t want to eat her, and I don’t want her tossed back over the wall into the neighbors’ yard because this chicken has wanderlust and might revisit. That’s far less likely if she’s out in the street with multiple options for adventure.

The walk across the twilight plaza would have been more enjoyable had I not been thinking about the cursed chicken.

I would have focused fondly on those sugar donuts.

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(Update! My yardman came Saturday morning and had the bird in his clutches within a minute. Incredible. Mexicans can do anything.)

Bougainvillea and Moonlight

MY CHILD BRIDE headed by bus to Querétaro Monday morning on family business, but I stayed here at the Hacienda.

It’s always strange being here alone. There are aspects to it that I enjoy, but the negatives outweigh the positives.  I’ve grown accustomed to her face.

About 7 p.m. I headed outside to walk about the yard for no other reason than to stretch my legs, but I noticed yardwork that needed to be done. It was still light out, but the moon loomed in the sky. It was day and night.

I grabbed clippers and trimmer. First, with clippers, I removed some aloe vera flowers on stalks that had lost their will to live. The moon watched.

Dropping the clippers, I turned to the hedge trimmer and rounded two of the smaller bougainvilleas, the ones that are still controllable. Then I bent over and pulled some weeds at their bases, weeds that I should have pulled weeks ago.

I’m getting lazy. Years ago, I would never have let those weeds grow to that extent. You get older. You cease to care about some things.

I was in my pajamas, or what passes for my pajamas. Flannel pants with Garfield the Cat all over them and a black T-shirt from Lands’ End.

Getting darker out and feeling that I’d done enough yardwork, I came in for the traditional evening salad and foccacia bread.

The Goddess willing, she’ll be returning tomorrow afternoon.

And evenings will be normal once again.

Limitless lunacy of the left

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Nincompoopery, another word that fits.

IF THERE IS one word that wraps up the mindset of today’s left, that segment so many — both left and right — incorrectly label “liberal,” it is cluelessness.

Above the Rio Bravo this exhibits itself in calls for open borders (try that for a spell, and see where it gets you) and plenty of “free stuff.”

Down here lefty nuttiness exhibits itself mostly in other ways. We are fond of free stuff, of course, but nobody calls for open borders aside from the border to the United States. We want it open for departing but not for entering.

This morning, during our exercise walk around the neighborhood plaza, we passed the scene in the photo above. There is a tech school on the plaza, which means there are teachers, that segment of Mexican society far more dedicated to trouble-making than teaching.

This color combo of red and black is often used by lefty rabble-rousers, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a lovelier example of cluelessness. Red is the color of communism, the philosophy that the state should control all. Black is the color of anarchy, the philosophy of no state whatsoever.

They are polar opposites. Pick one. You can’t have both.

And these are teachers, mind you, not farm hands or donkeys.

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BONUS MATERIAL

While on our exercise walk, I took two more shots to share with you.

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A corner we passed a few blocks away. It rained last night. I like the mountains.
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Giant aloe vera in our yard tosses out flowers this sunny morning.