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 [...]]]> 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.

One key element is that the best books (primarily Judith Phillips’ excellent New Mexico Gardener’s Guide: Revised Edition) tell us that plants around here need loose soil to spread their roots, as well as a way to keep the soil cool and moist. The reason you see so many trees in public plantings around town that are sapling-sized after ten years or more in the ground (even when they’re green and show signs of being well-tended) is that they probably didn’t go in big enough holes to begin with; the soil around them was too compacted, largely by giant earth-moving machines; and that much of their rooting area is paved over, meaning it’s hot and impervious to water. The general advice Phillips gives for trees as well as shrubs and vines such as honeysuckle is to dig only to the depth of the root-ball, but to three or four times the width. So I took up my various tools (pick-axe, digging bar/tetsubo, shovel) and went to town.

To my surprise the soil proved none too hard to dig. I’m used, as I think I’ve mentioned, to it having the consistency of well-cured cement. Anyway, I dug so enthusiastically that in short order I’d produced a hole the requisite 32 inches in diameter or so, and over twice the necessary five inches deep. Whoops!

So I made a little platform of smallish dirt clods, reasoning that since root drainage is also an issue for honeysuckles in our heavy clay Valley soils it wouldn’t hurt to allow for a bit of that, as well as aeration. Anyway, as carefully as I could I transplanted my cherished honeysuckle sprout. I didn’t do as great a job as I might. One substantial shoot busted clean off. But I got the rest in place and wound the little shoots (or whatever the hell they’re called) tenderly in among the trellis to sort of get ‘em started.

Deciding it couldn’t actually hurt, I also stuck the base of the shoot that had broken off into the potting soil the rest was still in. That’s how I got the damned thing in the first place, although I actually kept the cutting in a glass of water until it rooted out (right after that I discovered you can get some kind of plant food to encourage cuttings to root: great.) Also Phillips recommends just “pinning slightly woody stems to moist soil in summer,” which seems, Jesus, pretty Draconian. In any event I’m not doing that to my baby, no sirree.

I filled the hole in again, being careful of course not to tamp the dirt down. I placed a double handful of the compost I made (yay!) directly around it for luck. Then I took the slightly pricey pecan hulls I bought at Osuna Nursery and mulched hell out of it.

At this point Emma came up to see what I was doing. Once she saw she couldn’t believe it. She looked up plaintively. “Dad, you’re introducing dried vegetable matter to our territory! For a plant. Hel-lo.”

And I said, “Yup. Guard it with your life.” Meaning primarily: if you dig or root or roll around with that thing, you’re a rug. Which of course is totally a lie. I’d never hurt her. Daddy’s special words might sure come out in force, though. I’d bet to that.

She went, “Whoa!” and went back to lie in the shade some more.

The transplant did not look too robust, I fear. Its tender little green leaves had wilted a bit, as if our awful soil had killed it on contact. I gave it a light misting and soaked the roots some, trying not to go overboard. Then I put the compost container next to it as a sort of windbreak (having second thoughts about the wind, there.) And thus ’twas done.

I certainly hope my little honeysuckle flourishes and grows. I’ve longed for honeysuckle of my own for years. And Gods know I nurtured this one long enough.

Even if it doesn’t, though, I’ve made a start. I dug a hole in the ground and put something in it. And whatever transpires with the honeysuckle, I will persevere. So there.

Update, 5:00 PM MDT – having occasion to venture into the backyard anyway (no, really) I yielded to temptation to go and check on my new planting, despite the fact it’s only been in the ground like 4-5 hours. To my pleased surprise both the transplant and the branch that broke off and I stuck in the ground anyway are both looking green and perky despite the wind.

Fingers double-crossed. No, wait; that didn’t come out right -

It’s been a good day, mostly. After the usual cocoa and mobilizing exercises I headed off to the office, which is to say Village Inn, where I had breakfast (yeah, at 1:30 in the afternoon. Sue.) and wrote plenty on Annja.

Fortuitously, the battery capacity on my Toshiba notebook [...]]]> Well, they promised us awful winds today…

It’s been a good day, mostly. After the usual cocoa and mobilizing exercises I headed off to the office, which is to say Village Inn, where I had breakfast (yeah, at 1:30 in the afternoon. Sue.) and wrote plenty on Annja.

Fortuitously, the battery capacity on my Toshiba notebook and my bladder’s ability to contain all the water and coffee I suck down both tend to run out about the same time. As usual when those things happen I called it quits.

I packed up and headed out. Went to the grocery store, to get some necessities such as fresh garlic. Can’t do without that.

As I parked I saw a stocky, red-faced woman wandering the lot carrying a clipboard. Never a good sign. After I turned off the car I hauled out my Pilot to write in the date and time for a cool Baroque trumpet piece they were playing on KHFM, so I could look it up later on their website.

She came right up to my window and, despite the fact I was doing something, said, “Are you registered to vote?”

“No.”

“Would you like to register to vote?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a vile thing to do.”

She made a face and a dismissive gesture. Fortunately she didn’t argue. She turned and walked off toward Carlisle. I kind of hoped she’d wander into traffic but this didn’t happen, at least soon enough for me to see it.

When I was done getting the garlic and whatnot I remembered tonight was garbage night and I likely needed more cat litter. That indicated a possible trip to Wal-Mart, which is fortunately just across the street and a block or two down. Since their parking lot was not appallingly crowded I went ahead in.

After snagging the litter and sundry supplies I headed for the Garden section. I was hoping to find a compost thermometer, but not too surprisingly they didn’t have one. What they did have that I needed was a sprayer wand to fit on the hose. Appropriately, it’s a kind of scary looking one, all black and chrome, with a trigger. They had others but that, of course, was the one I had to have.

It’ll fit right in with the Scary Tools I got the other day. By the way, yesterday I found another use for the tetsubo, which proved to be just the thing for poking holes in the ostensible compost for aeration. I still may have to drill some holes in the sides.

Why the tetsubo doesn’t feature more in martial arts films, I don’t know. It usually only shows up used by Benkei, the giant warrior-monk who hung out with the legendary hero Yoshitsune, who was by way of one of your original bishounen. (Story short: it all ended in tears. Do I even have to say that? It’s Japanese!) The tetsubo is about the most phallic-looking weapon possible, unless you were to just go and flat out cast the thing to look like a giant Mr. Happy. In which case you’d have to call it Shiva’s Cosmic Lingam of Doom and it would be used in an Indian martial art by some dangerous Hindu sect.

Anyway … where was I? … Wal-Mart, of all places. As usual there wasn’t anybody in line at the Gardening section check-out, so I paid for my stuff there. Then I realized I had to pass through the register area to get to the external gardening area, which is a pretty goofy way to do things.

But I went on out to peruse the plants and equipment. In particular I was looking for some kind of trellis so I can plant my potted honeysuckle that I grew from a cutting – I love honeysuckle. They had various options. I decided to go for the 5′ x 8′ nylon mesh that you string between stakes. I also got two 6′ green stakes upon which to string the trellis. Then, annoyingly, I had to go back inside to the same checkout stand to pay for the new purchases.

Fortunately no one was in line. The big bearded college guy mentioned that the one form of weather he really can’t stand is high winds. I told him truthfully I’m the same way.

So I paid again and headed out into the wind. Which had really picked up. About the first thing that happened was it plucked the new receipt out of the bag and whipped it away. It wound up beneath some plats or whatever you call them of little potted plants. Fortunately I had a six-foot stick to fish it out with.

I forged out to the car with my shopping cart. And damned if, just as I reached the car, the wind didn’t whip the other receipt out of my pocket and away. Leaving the cart by the car, fingers crossed no one would steal my cat food or plastic hangers, I gave chase. The wind then carried the receipt over the parking lot wall toward Carlisle, now well clogged with early rush hour traffic. I gave up the chase.

Wouldn’t you know, it was the big receipt? So now I’m concerned about my sleek and lethal water wand. It’s Chinese, you see. And the PRC government has recently been publishing manufacturing-policy papers with titles like (I kid you not), “Pushing the Envelope of Shoddiness.” I was taking a calculated risk even buying the thing, based purely on my adolescent attraction to its appearance. Which, granted, is really cool. But now if they’ve pushed the damn shoddiness envelope too far and the thing only dribbles like … whoa, let’s just forgo a simile here, shall we? … anyway, if it’s junk, I’m stuck with it.

So anyway. The wind is really going mad out there. No puttering in the yard this evening for me. Nor are Emma and I going to get our walk, it seems. Not that she’s even going to want to go out in the backyard in this damn wind. She’ll probably make me feed her in the kitchen.

Ah, well. It’s been a productive day, anyway. I’ll write some more on Annja and some on dinosaurs, and see about getting started again on getting the house in order. That’ll be good.

Actually got up when I intended to – my sleep pattern, to give it more dignity than it deserves, got all out of whack when I was finishing off my recent Rogue Angel novel. I’ve had a terrible time trying to get either enough sleep or regular sleep. To one degree [...]]]> Today started off very well.

Actually got up when I intended to – my sleep pattern, to give it more dignity than it deserves, got all out of whack when I was finishing off my recent Rogue Angel novel. I’ve had a terrible time trying to get either enough sleep or regular sleep. To one degree or another I’ve had trouble with that most of my life; I need, and intend, to get it squared away soon.

Did my mobilization exercises, then some kettlebell. To cool down I did the Long Form of Yang taijiquan. TJQ works great for that.

I drank my morning cocoa. Then I packed up the notebook PC and headed to the Village Inn over on Menaul near University, a regular haunt, for huevos rancheros and coffee. VI does surprisingly good huevos rancheros, at least here in Albuquerque. Never, never order them anywhere outside New Mexico. Trust me on this.

I wrote for a while, most productively. Well-pleased, I headed out into a cool but lovely day. By which I mostly mean, calm. We’ve had some cold, explosively windy days the last couple of days. I was glad to see the wind abate.

First I went to Costco and dropped 160 bucks and some on fripperies like food and necessities such as coffee. You understand the priority, yes? Sadly, I could probably live a Neptunian year off stored body fat, but evolution has cruelly and senselessly neglected to provide our bodies the ability to store caffeine. This constitutes the single best refutation of intelligent design I know of.

(Oh, and by all means, guys, feel free to drop the whole “Flying Spaghetti Monster” gag any time now. It was never that great to start with; it’s long since tipped over into pure boring asshattery. If your goal was to prove that people who claim to favor science can be just as annoying, irrational, and sometimes outright scary as the loopiest Fundie loonball … mission accomplished.)

Fifty bucks of the expenditure went to getting Roundup weed killer concentrate – fortunately, I get a lot of uses out of a bottle. I’m going to decapitate the weeds that have got an early start in the front yard one more time with my Rotary Nylon Scythe of Retribution (+2). (Yes, I have played too many role-playing games. Thank you for noticing.) It gets the +2 from being powered by lightning via the Orange Cord of Utility. Anyway … what, I digressed again? … I’ll toss the amputated weed-tops in the rolling composter and then douse the stubs with Roundup, mainly in hope of killing the roots. When the bastards’re good and dead I’ll chop ‘em off level to the ground with my faithful Scuffle Hoe.

I know “scuffle hoe” sounds like a person who keeps too much company with gangsta rappers. It’s really a most wonderfully useful garden tool. Especially if you have to deal with sprawling evil like our goatheads. Try to get those out with a shovel or a conventional hoe and you’ll wind up whacking yourself in the head with it. Which’ll do about as much good. But the scuffle hoe, also called the circle hoe, will just shave those bad boys right off at the ground. It’s great.

Unless, of course, you totally overdo it, give yourself elbow bursitis that gives you a fever for two weeks and messes up your arm for four months. Don’t do that.

Not content with dropping all that dinero at Costco, I went across the street to Home Despot and plunked down another $56 indulging my childlike love of scary-looking tools. Or perhaps I should say, actually scary: a resin-handled pick-axe and a six-foot digging bar – basically the old Japanese martial arts weapon known as a tetsubo, or Iron Quarterstaff, but with a point on one end and a chisel tip on the other. To deal with our lethal North Valley combo of clay and caliche, or what we might call “concrete,” you need weapons.

It’s not really iron. Rather it’s serious steel, drop-forged, heat treated, and tempered. Which is good, because if it wasn’t properly tempered it might shatter when I hit one of our harder rocks with it and fire a nice six-inch splinter into my shin. I wouldn’t like that. I’ve never done it but I’m just sure. The manufacturer calls the thing a “San Angelo Bar.” Spoilsports. We know it’s really a tetsubo.

So anyway, I just got all this stuff out of the car, and Emma sufficiently greeted – always a production – and got most of it put away, when the phone rings. It’s El Joe. He wanted me to come over. I went. He talked about some personal matters, and then he gave me some hot new ideas for how some of us New Mexico writer types can promote ourselves and our books. Excellent stuff.

But more of that later. Heh, heh.