Sense of Adventure

It’s not a cliché if it’s literally true, right?

I’d resigned myself to not having honeysuckle blossoms - with their attendant wonderful aroma - of my own this year. I was prepared to be content with the fact that both the honeysuckles I’ve got in the ground, the store-bought one and the one I coaxed into rooting myself from a clipping, seemed established and thriving. I had originally been going to buy one that already had flowers on it, but decided it didn’t look too healthy, and instead picked a more robust-appearing, but flowerless, plant.

Then Saturday afternoon I went out to check on the honeysuckles and discovered two yellow flowers toward the top of the storebought vine. They didn’t broadcast their smell very far, but they definitely had it - that honeysuckle scent I’ve longed for for such a long time.

It’s a big thing for me. I love the smell of honeysuckle; it’s probably my favorite scent. I’ve really wanted my own for years - the whole 21 years I’ve been in my house. I’ve tried in the past to grow them but despite the legendary hardiness of the plants mine died.

Now, having researched intently and done things right, mine grow. And I was rewarded with flowers. Flowers I never expected until next year. Yay!

I would’ve mentioned this earlier but I had no landline phone service over the weekend, hence no Internet. Fortunately, the repair guy arrived within two hours of my calling today and got me back in business. Of course this enables me to upset myself and waste my life online…

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So today I decided, no more excuses, and went forth into the back yard to plant my honeysuckle.

It’s supposed to get really windy later. That struck me as not ideal for planting a tender transplant. Then again, it’s gonna have to get used to our wind soon or late. Also I’ve been putting it off already for, well, a year.

First I dug a hole by the wall to embed the fan-shaped wood trellis I bought from Mundo Wally for the purpose. There proved to be a sort of lip of foundation at the base of the cement-block north wall which served nicely to prop the base against. A small chunk of busted-up cement from something or other I’ve had to demolish since moving in helped wedge it in place from the other side.

At this point, as usual, Emma took my presence in the yard as meaning I wanted nothing more than to play with her. So nothing would answer but that I had to roam around the yard holding my arms out before me like Calvin playing Frankenstein’s Monster and making zombie noises. Which is how one plays the Puppy Monster. Emma happily raced around fleeing the Puppy Monster until she got tired and went to lie down in the shade. Fortunately it wasn’t too hot out there yet.

A few years ago I tried planting honeysuckle and it just flat died. This amazed all the people at local nurseries I asked about it, who unanimously said that honeysuckle’s so robust that if it didn’t have purty flowers it would be roundly hated as a weed. I did a little more research this time.

Hope it helps. Fingers crossed.

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I know that sounds like the beginning of a limerick. Sadly, that’s all there is and there ain’t no mo’.

It’s just that today I was reminded of the tool’s excellence by the simple fact of using it to begin expunging the weeds from my front yard. It’s just great for that. It’ll take the little bastards off level with the ground; sometimes it even hooks them and yanks ‘em out by the roots. Which is definitely bonus.

It’s about the only thing I know to get rid of the foul weeds locally called goatheads, shy of a flamethrower (which, granted, I so wish I had), or just grubbing the things out one by one by hand. Which, given the properties of our North Valley soil (the phrase “cement-like” springs to mind) would be a slow and brutal task. The monstrous things produce horrid miniature caltrops, which in fact greatly resemble a goat’s head, complete with horns - especially with horns - that endlessly torment my dog. And also me, when she tracks them inside and I walk around barefoot. As I prefer to do. The plants themselves sprawl on the hardpan as if defending against a Brazilian jiu-jitsu takedown, making it extremely hard to get at them. Unless you attack them right flat along the ground.

That’s what the scuffle hoe will do for you. New Mexico gardeners: buy it. Use it. Love it.

In other news from the terraforming of my yard, the compost I’ve got separated into its own container now, after a night’s airing-out, looks and smells and feels like nice, rich soil. Which I am given to understand is the point of the whole damned operation. Meanwhile the stuff in the composter, while it still smells a little evil, is generating heat again. I may need to turn it again in a couple days, although I confess it’ll be a spell before I’m willing to wrestle with screening it again.

Things progress. Likewise on the writing front, I’m pleased to report. I’ve slacked a bit on dictating, but that’ll come along as well.

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… I think.

As mentioned before, late this winter I decided to get serious about landscaping (among numerous other things.) I started researching inexpensive and easy composters. Despite some excellent advice from friends I wasn’t finding anything quite cheap and easy enough.

Then my friend Harriet Engle, who lives in a duplex next to my friend Roslee - both from the science-fiction club - revealed she was helping put a garden in their shared backyard. Since she seemed experienced I asked for her suggestions. She said she’d had success just getting a big old covered trash bin with wheels. Bingo! Thus was born what I call the Harriet Engle Rolling Composter.

(Before I went into any detail on this I asked Harriet if it was all right for me to use her full name. She allowed as she didn’t have any stalkers or outstanding warrants she was aware of, so it was.)

At Wally World I found just such trash bins, of 50-gallon capacity, for $25 each. Which definitely rang the cherries as far as “cheap” was concerned. Not too long thereafter I chanced to accompany my best friend Joe to Wal-Mart, as well as, more to the point, Joe’s pick-up truck. So I bought one of the bins and brought it home. I thought of buying a second - some systems recommend up to three separate composters - but decided I wanted to see how this one worked before expanding.

Harriet mentioned drilling holes in the bottom for drainage. I was initially concerned about compost dribbling out, but realized the quarter inch holes I intended to drill weren’t going to allow for much of that.

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Kids, don’t try this at home!

The purpose of this post is purely to show how utterly easy it is to compost kitchen wastes. If you want to do any kind of landscaping or gardening, or if you’re interested in recycling or self-sufficiency, now you’ll have no excuse not to just get started.

I do not recommend the technique I’m about to describe. I’ll go further: don’t do this. It does not constitute housekeeping best practice. Indeed, it wins the inaugural Bad Housekeeping Seal of Reproval, which I just made up. Just confessing to it’s totally going to blight any hope I’ve had of getting dates, at least until I get thin and rich. Which fortunately are on the agenda for summer.

So. Here’s the awful easy way to start kitchen-waste composting broken into simple steps.

Do Not Do These Things:

1) Toss fruit and vegetable detritus (no meat or fat; there’s controversy over egg shells, but for now I throw ‘em in) and coffee grounds in a plastic grocery bag in the kitchen.

2) When it gets full, starts leaking (ew!), or you just can’t stand it any longer, toss onto the back porch.

3) Begin in Fall, continue over winter.

4) Springtime: suck it up and examine all those containers o’ nastiness. Surprise!

5) You have (some) compost!

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