A2 Friday, June 2, 2023
Town Times | towntimes.com
Adventures in gardening We were already bonded.
When I first moved here, all those many years ago, I was so thrilled to be a homeowner, and in that vein I became the epitome of a master gardener, reveling in my first vegetable garden. I was good back then. I did the research. I “limed” when I was supposed to. I tucked all my plants in with compost. I tested for alkalinity of the soil. I weeded every day. I watered every evening. This garden was my baby, my pride and joy. It sprawled over a goodly portion of my fifth of an acre, and it provided sustenance throughout the summer. But alas, as the years rolled on, my garden took it upon itself to shrink. Well, I took it upon myself to shrink it. I realized that I am not a fan of weeding. And then my yard grew more and more foliage, so there was less and
But as I was sitting on my chaise lounge this past Mother’s Day, enjoying the lovely weather, I noticed a spot of yard — just a spot, mind you — that could be home to one tomato plant. Well, that certainly wouldn’t require much work! I’m in! When I told my friend, who lives just down the road, about my exciting plan, she said to come over and she would give me one of her tomato plants. So I came home with Esmerelda and I planted her in my tiny little patch of bare ground. (I figure if I name her she might be more inclined to grow those beautiful cherry tomatoes for my salad; you know, because we are on a first name basis.) I treated her to an ample amount of chicken manure, I watered her in the evening. I sat on my chaise lounge and looked lovingly over at her.
Editor : When I was a teenager I had a dirt bike that I rode every day, but I was lucky, because I lived on a farm and there was plenty of space and fields to ride. The kids today have no place to ride. Dirt bikes are fun, and they are dangerous; something I learned after taking a spill and
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And what do you know? The next morning there was my girl, plucked out of her cubbyhole, lying on her side. Still intact, though, thank heavens. I put her back in her rightful place, surrounding her with logs and rocks so as to make the task of ripping her out of the ground more laborious for anything passing through.
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And yes, I put a clump of my hair, scraped out of my brush, on one of her little stems. I tried to find a clump that was not gray. She didn’t need to look like an old lady who needed a trip to the salon. She looks a little bit like she’s wearing a wig.
NO TVs, computers, clothing, or large appliances. NO items that are broken or damaged. Small WORKING appliances accepted.
So every morning I tiptoe out my back door, afraid I will find Esmerelda’s lifeless body. So far, so good. I am happy to report that my hair is scaring away all life forms.
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You can contact Diana Carr at 860-349-9542 or princessdi7@sbcglobal.net.
Letter to the Editor No place to ride
GIANT TAG SALE!!!
cracking a few ribs. I’m not going to knock a teenager for wanting to have fun, and I wonder where the parents are when the kids are illegally riding the streets. No mom and dad? There must still be places where a kid can ride a dirt bike and be free, like I was when I was that age. If there isn’t, provide one for them, and let them ride there and get them off the roads.
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Okay, let me backtrack a bit.
less room for a garden. One year, it — well, let’s just call it my overgrowth — ate my garden. I could not find it. So the past few years I have been gardenless.
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There’s a houseguest at my Durham home. Well, “yardguest.” Her name is Esmerelda and she is most welcome.
And then a friend told me that animals might dig her up. She said her grandmother wrapped hair, which she snatched from her brush, around her plants, and that did the trick. Naw, I thought to myself. What animals eat tomatoes? To the best of my knowledge they don’t eat salads. I gave the warning no heed.