Tag Archives: gardening

The oval walk

AS I MENTIONED a couple of days ago, it feels like fall.

This morning was another glorious example on our mountaintop, so I clicked on the Canon and took a little stroll because I’m a sharing sort of fellow.

Around 10 a.m., it was just under 70 cool degrees. The birds were singing, and the wind chimes were binging.

Three dry days

mount

IT’S GONE three consecutive days without rain here, and that’s mighty odd in mid-September. Has the rainy season ended early this year? I rather doubt it.

Most afternoons, after doing lunch at home, I go downtown to enjoy a nice café Americano negro with my Kindle while simultaneously admiring the beautiful babes who walk by. My child bride goes to, but she drives the Nissan because she does different things and comes home later than I do.

It’s not ecological. But I don’t care.

And I usually have my camera. Yesterday I spotted something I’d never noticed before in all the years I’ve walked by the same spot. The mountain in the mist behind the buildings in the top photo. How could I have overlooked that?

On arriving home later, getting out of the Honda, I shot the two photos below for no better reason than the scenes caught my eye, especially the wildly flowering aloe vera bush.

It does this every year. Lasts for a couple of months.

And the final photo shows my white roses. I generally roll my eyeballs at people who post flower photos on blogs because if you want to see flower photos, just do an internet image search, and there are thousands. Take your pick.

No matter. Here they are anyway.

I was inexplicably in a dark mood when I returned home, so maybe I subconsciously thought that snapping the flowers would boost my humor. I don’t think it worked.

I wonder if it will rain today. Cool things off.

vera
The tallest aloe vera blooms are about eight feet high.
rose
My measly white roses.

Peach buffet

I’VE WRITTEN often here of my dislike of the peach tree that sits in our yard, most recently in Damnable Fruit.

But my dislike was fueled by the necessity to pick up the endless carpet of peaches that falls to the grass and rots.

ratMy child bride loves the tree and the fruit, but she does next to nothing with the picking up.

Now there’s another reason to loathe the peach tree.

Rats.

They are common in Mexico. You see them a lot.

But we had rarely seen them inside the Hacienda property walls in spite of a couple of suspicious burrows that I’ve noticed for years in the yard. However, for the last few weeks, rat sightings have become daily events.

I wondered why until two days ago when I spotted one run out from beneath a huge aloe vera bush, snatch a peach, and run back into the bush’s confines.

peachWe’ve provided a peach buffet.

We thought there was only one out there, a very big bugger, until we spotted another yesterday that was noticeably smaller. I have taken action, but the action so far has been stymied by the incessant rainfall of summer.

I purchased poison powder and sprinkled it around the two holes, but the rain quickly neutralizes that plan. I then bought a couple of sticky things that trap little rat footsies.

That too, I discovered today, fails to work if the glue has been rained on. That leaves the old standby, the mechanical trap, the traditional, fall-back method.

I’ll buy a couple of those today. Some hard cheese too.

Of course, the best solution would be to uproot the cursed peach tree, but I’d likely be divorced if I did that. Just can’t win.

But the rats are winning. So far.

Fooling God

plants
Saturday morning on the veranda

THIS SATURDAY is somewhat different than most, so I thought I’d gossip with you about it.

Normally, Saturdays are identical. My child bride is in her private kitchen out by the property wall, preparing her pastries for the afternoon sale on the big plaza downtown.

But not today.  She’s going to church this morning.

But first, here’s what I’m doing, and it’s not much different than what I do every Saturday morning. I make rounds under the cursed peach tree scooping up fallen peaches to toss out.

Then I sweep the veranda. I hear the shower running in the bathroom, and I hear a lively Mexican tune blaring from the backstreet neighbors. I also hear the electric pump that’s sending water from the underground cistern to the tank atop the roof. And I hear birds. Lots of stuff to listen to.

Soon I’ll be hearing the lawnmower and weedeater because Abel the Deadpan Yardman arrives later to trim the grass.

The sky is blue. The air is crisp. The lawn is wet because it rained quite a spell last night, making sweet sounds.

Now here’s why she’s going to church. It’s to fool God.

Relatives often ask us to be godparents to the endless array of babies they birth because we look like the best deal going in the family. Problem is that our marriage was only a civil one, not a religious one. A judge connected us, and that’s not good enough to be godparents. I suppose we’re seen as living in sin.

There has been a recent spate of new babies among the bunny-breeding kin, so we received at least two new invites to godparenting. I pass. But my child bride really wants to. There’s nothing she loves more than babies.

This morning, she’s pretending to be single to get the proper paperwork, so she can be a godmother without me tagging along. The proper paperwork requires a three-hour instruction from a priest. She’s doing that in a church downtown.

I hope she remembers to remove her wedding ring.

This amuses me while I sweep the veranda and wait for Abel to cut the grass that I’ve already liberated of fallen, rotting peaches.

It’s a lovely morning.