"I think the only things left to do is: 1) enter publish date in Kindle version, 2) receive and pay invoice from you, and 3) deliver horse poop."

I received those words in an email from a client this morning.  (I do Kindle and CreateSpace conversions for other authors.  It's not on my pay list, but it does pay. 😉)  

I have to believe that I'm the only mystery writer in my neighborhood--or county, state, country--who received such a notice.  But, I'm pleased.  I'm growing an organic garden and making every effort to learn the methods.  Part of my gardening plan is to accumulate my own compost, and there are some very specific restrictions on what can be included in the pile.  

The material needs to be occasionally mixed for aeration--see the tool on the left of the bin.  Gradually, the bottom layer turns to a rich thick compost.  The sliding doors on the lower part of the bin provide access to the finished compost.

The West garden box is almost all planted.  The East box has five vacancies.  Some vegetables can't be planted until October, and with others, I'm anticipating wanting a staggered crop--if I can call a 12 inch square a crop.  The white box in the middle is for carrots, which I'll plant next week.

That concludes the poopy-conversation.

Later.
GEB
 

In the middle of November, I blogged about my impending retirement and included a list of things I planned to do.  Scroll down.   It’s one of the first entries I posted on the service.  

It isn’t a bucket list—I don’t need one of those yet—its more of a Pay List.  I’m paying myself to do what I want.  I am giving a bucket list some thought, however.  More on that later.

A couple of years ago, I took a fancy to orchids.  It started with a very old vanda that came with the house.  The previous owners left it hanging in a tree, where it stayed without more than a “look at the pretty flower” when it bloomed every so often.  I’m not totally uncaring, I did move it inside during storms to prevent flying objects.  Along came Wilma, and the tree joined the ranks of the dearly departed flying objects, as did our front yard tree.  (It was ugly, I didn’t care.)

When the new front yard bulnesia finally spread its limbs, I moved the vanda into it.  I even gave it a bit of fertilizer a time or two.  Gradually, I acquired a few more orchids as gifts, and finally the tree would hold no more.  Last March, Steve build an Orchid Arbor for me in the back of the house—I suspect orchid enthusiasts would call it a shade house.  I bought books, found the Green Barn Orchid Supply, acquired more inexpensive orchids, and purchased equipment and fancy products to care for my girls.  I also discovered Brad’s Greenhouse on YouTube where he dispenses words of orchid wisdom along with video suited for the novice.  Each bud and bloom brings me cause for celebration and each dropping flower causes mourning.  Ah yes, I grabbed an aerial root and sailed off the edge.

I joined the local orchid society.  Overall, the people are friendly and welcoming, and the content of the presentations is interesting.  I expected mostly older folks, but that isn’t the case.  There are several regular attendees who are approaching rather than exiting middle age.  

At the last meeting, I chatted with a lady about my progress.  She identified a couple of varieties for me at the display table.  I told her many of my orchids are in bloom and look healthy.  I also mentioned that I am a novice and bought most of my orchids at places like home depot and the outdoor market.  Her comment:  “You’ve only had them a year.  They’ll all die.”  Bare in mind she did not ask one diagnostic question to see if I cared for the plants properly.

I’m crushed, not by the fact that she may be right.  I will, no doubt kill a couple.  No, I’m crushed by the cruelty of the statement.  I rushed home and scrutinized each and every plant for signs of trouble.

Adding to my dismay, the orchid I won in the raffle—donated by an expert—was full of snail eggs and black fungus spots.  I’ve been having a self-researched lesson on disease and pest treatments.

GEB

What's with this anyway?  I have a little garden patch.  Well, that is perhaps an overstatement of reality.  What I have is a flower bed.  I pulled out most of the flowers and planted two tomato plants, thyme, parsley, two non-bearing strawberry plants, and a green pepper plant as an afterthought.  I also planted a rosemary bush and a small sage plant on the other side of the yard.

My neighbor has a beautiful choquette avocado tree.  My branch hangs over the fence into my yard.  Herbie doesn't prune it, at my request, and the fruit it bears is mine.  This year the tree produced an abundance of meaty, juicy, delicious avocados.  We have feasted.  My friends have feasted.  And the squirrels have feasted.  Due to the abundance, no one is concerned about loss of a goodly number to little, furry thieves.  I suspect the squirrels have invited their friends, neighbors, relatives, and distant cousins to partake in the bounty.

As you can see, the tomatoes are ripening in my garden.  And the vine ripened little beauties are delicious.

The squirrels think so as well.

The Internet offered a plethora of guidance on dealing with the little beasts.  One recipe involved specially purchased hot peppers, soaked in oil for days, then sprayed around the area.  A chicken wire cage might work.  A big dog could be useful.  (I'm here to tell you that two eleven-year-old King Charles Cavalier Spaniels are useless in the squirrel chasing-away department.)  I especially enjoy the suggestion of spraying predator urine.  (Where would I get fox pee?  And why would I want to anyway?)  One article suggested sprinkling red pepper around the plants or soaking rags in vinegar and hanging them near the plants.  I did both since I had the makings ready and available.

I believe the little SOBs like spicy, vinegar smelling tomatoes.

Perhaps the best suggestion is to plant three times more than I need.  One-third for the squirrels, one-third for the deer, and one-third for people.  Since we don't have deer, I'll have more to give away next time.

GEB