WTF Friday: The vegetable edition

So. In my brief years of vegetable gardening, I've eschewed growing squash. First, I don't like most squash species. Second, in the shared-garden gardening world, aka When Pigs Fly Farm and Think Outside the Box Acres, squash take up quite a bit of real estate. . . real estate I'd much rather dedicate to heirloom tomatoes, green beans, cucumbers, etc. etc. It's obviously a fair point of debate, given the volume of squash still available at our  community garden and farmers market.

 Just an observation: A lot of friends become scarce this time of year if you grow zucchini.

So. About 5 weeks ago, I noticed a new sprout in "front yard."  (I'm at a loss to actually describe the "front yard." Front slope? Front cliff? Front abyss? You decide.) I put my money down on "hollyhock." Holly-hardy-har-har.

As we quickly approach our first anniversary here in The Beav, I can report there have been surprises (mostly delightful and pleasant) almost every week -- including what grows (or doesn't) here on The Lane. The horticultural epiphanies tend to be the most entertaining.

Case in point: Our "hollyhock" has turned out to be a squash, courtesy, we think, of bird poop. Arrrgghh. You can run, but you cannot hide. Especially when it comes to squash.

It appears to be a pumpkin. Or so I like to think. It is much better behaved than last summer's Mr. Pugly -- my pumpkin project that essentially ate a 12-by-12 vegetable patch. Which is good. Well-behaved pumpkins help keep us on the grid in terms of good-neighbor-relationships-because-zucchini-isn't-involved. Or so I like to think.

It's not on the landscaping plan we submitted to our esteemed homeowners association. I'd hate to be drummed off The Lane because of a squash. But nobody has noticed this unintended squash-y squatter. Or so I like to think.

And we have a pumpkin. Or so I think.

It's shaping up to be a good fall.

Groundbreaking

The Beav's much-anticipated (much-needed) spring rains have arrived. It's wet, wild and windy today -- an unpredictable mash-up of gully-washing rain and explosive bursts of sunlight.

And I have a head cold -- the first of the year. It's the perfect day to blog and binge watch Food Network and Home and Garden Television.

The perfect afternoon to talk about groundbreakings.

Groundbreaking #1

Ladies and gentlemen, meet Think Outside the Box Acres. (Yes, yes. I realize they bear a strong resemblance to a pair of coffins, but they are raised community garden beds and they are all ours.)

We weren't counting on getting a community garden spot this year Community gardening appears to be a crazy popular spring and summer sport in The Beav, and we've been on two waiting lists since the beginning of the year. But, lo and behold, we got the magic email -- and we were in! Best of all, the garden is within walking/biking distance of The Lane.

And one more little dividend. We just heard from our garden steward: There will be barbecues and other garden get-togethers! Bring it. Please note, however, that we carefully check the backseat of our car for unexpected little "dividends" during zucchini season.

We've been prepping the beds for about three weeks. This has involved removing some very impressive, very petrified onions, and cracking into a very hard, very resistant very thick crust of top soil. Ground breaking has taken on a whole new meaning.

We've also had our first introduction to one of Oregon's most hated beloved gardening resources -- clay soil. Don't ask me how clay ended up in two raised beds filled with store-bought soil, but it has. Hint: It looks like chunks of giant cat poop.

There are now many chunks of giant faux cat poop under the hedges on the north side of our community garden. And 6 cubic feet of soil amendment worked into the raised beds.

We're ready to plant -- beans, beets, radishes go into the left bed. . . and when good-size plants are available at our local farmers market, tomatoes (heirloom and cherry) will reside in the bed on the right.

There will never be anything quite like When Pigs Fly Farm, but the coffins beds at The Acres will be fun. Let's barbecue!

Bwahahahahahahah! Get it?
I love it
when vegetable gardeners make funny.

Groundbreaking #2

When we moved onto The Lane last fall, the Postage Stamp Patio consisted of two imperturbable clumps of Japanese sedge grass and one anorexic bamboo stalk. It does step down into the Sad Side Yard, which is nice -- but it's so sad that we aren't even dealing with it till next year. Instead, our focus will be the PSP.

Last fall, and well into the winter, we thought we would be creating the ultimate shade garden. It was shade, shade, shade morning, noon and night. I dreamed of ferns, hosta, varigated Jacob's ladder, foxglove and other luscious shade plants all winter long. But surprise! Although the PSP is mostly shady in the morning and early afternoon, it turns schizo on us in the afternoon -- with bright sunlight from the west dividing one-half to one-third of each bed into late after/early evening.

Really?

Really.

Hmmmmm. Back to the drawing board with a few sun-lovers -- sedum "Autumn Joy" and Tuscan Blue rosemary. They've joined some maiden hair fern and two Tasmanian pepper bushes. Yeah. They're small. They'll grow. Smaller plants are cheaper. And I'm cheap.

The bigger issue was the considerable slope of the PSP's west bed -- sloping right toward the patio. Problem solved during a weeding session. . . or perhaps, more accurately a rock-ing session. I kept turning up rocks as I weeded, which led me to look at the west bed with a speculative "What if?"

What if we leveled things off and added a small, stone "retaining wall" with all these flippin' rocks I was digging up? My date joined in the rock hunt (much to the neighbors' entertainment, I think), which soon encompassed the front and side yard, and this is our finished product:

Boom. (Pre-pansies.)

Next stop. A camelia per chance? Definitely a climbing hydrangea. And hostas? Of course.

The Postage Stamp Patio simply demands it.

Cell phone tripping

Prior to our last trip north for an audience with His Royal Highness, I thought it might be judicious to clear out the photo gallery on my cell phone:

From the Bobcat Chic Department

This fellow (stuffed, I should add) greets us each time we pull into the city library parking lot. New trend in apartment decor? Gargoyle surrogate? The Beav -- epicenter of cutting-edge interior design.

From the Holiday Cheer Department

We dropped in on The Beav's annual city Christmas tree lighting earlier this month. It was quite festive:

There were carolers (well, we THINK they were carolers -- the sound was a little dodgy where we were standing, but we tapped along anyway because it's CHRISTMAS, dammit!). . . .

Pictures with the Disney princesses (sans, thankfully, "Let It Go). . .

And the tree: I will leave it up to you to decide what it resembles. . . .

From the You Can't Go Home Again Department. . .

Behold the mighty -- and vacant -- Oregonian building. I had dinner with a friend at a restaurant across the street from the old newspaper building. Back in the day, between my junior and senior years in college, I spent a summer working in the newsroom as a "copy kid." I worked the 3 to 11 p.m. shift and, aside from having my car towed one night, it was a glorious job. The city editor, Virgil, brought chocolate-coated popcorn and zucchini bread in almost every night. 'Nuff said.

My dinner mate Oms, whose dad, coincidentally, was an editor with Portland's evening paper (yes, two papers! those were the days!), and I observed a quick moment of silence before concluding they must now produce the paper out of the back of a late-model VW van.

And, finally, from the Peaceful Coexistence Department. . .

We are back in the bird business on the lane. I know that will make many of you happy. (Hi, Katie! Hi, Gay!)

We started with the black sunflower feeder. The chickadees, nuthatches and juncos love us. . . flying into the kitchen window -- not so much. There were a few awkward days involving regular, audible thumps as the little buggers overshot the feeder perch, but I'm happy to report they got the navigation down, and everyone's tiny avian heads are fine now.

More recently, I learned Anna's hummingbirds stick around all year in Portland so we added the hummingbird feeder. Come to find out -- Portland hummingbirds are just as territorial as their Bermtopian cousins.

There were a few tense moments while Attila the Hum II figured out the chickadees, nuthatches and juncos were not too interested in sugar water. Now we've got one big happy bird family.

Group hug! Tis the season, right?

Whee-eee-eee!

Yes, whee-eeee-eeee! Somehow we did it.

Somehow in the matter of about 12 weeks, we bought a single-family attached home condo, sold a 73-year-old house in 9 days with no conditions or major repairs, divested ourselves of almost all our furniture; arrived in Portland armed with Ben, a bedroom set, antique chest of drawers, wooden rocking horse (priorities!), some random bookshelves and approximately 1.5 billion cardboard boxes;

and, oh by the way, our first grandson arrived on the scene.

Somewhere in there, I also up and retired, bidding a fond farewell to a 37-year career in marketing and public relations. At least I think I did. Otherwise, we have a somewhat awkward situation in that I'm sitting here in The Beav, working on my 7th cup of coffee, while a sad community college cubicle sits empty somewhere in Bermtopia.

Needless to say His Royal Highness The Grandson trumps all.

My name means "bright, insightful and wise" in Japanese. Got it?

Kei (pronounced "Kay") is perfect. (Of course, I realize all grandchildren are perfect. Isn't that why they're called "grand"?) I cannot describe the joy of gathering up that 6 pounds of love for the first time and realizing you're his grandmother, fully licensed to spoil, coddle and indulge. . . before returning to his parents. There will be many Kei stories to come.

Disclaimer: I did not push Kei down the steepest hill in Everett, Wash., to achieve the "action photo" above. I accidentally clicked the shutter as I was putting away my cell phone after taking my 804th photo of the little peanut. 

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We are gradually settling into life in Portland. After three weeks of sitting on the living room floor, we have a sofa and chair. We have a kitchen table and chairs. We have a new washer and dryer that serenade us each time a load is done. Still getting used to that one.

And I have a dedicated writing desk. "Bermtopia" now resumes.

Folks have asked me about this -- how can I write about Bermtopia since we don't physically live there any more? But, of course, I can: In its essence, Bermtopia is a state of mind. There are still seasons, dogs, kitchens and gardens (wait till you see what I have to contend with out back!) to navigate here in Portland -- along with The Beav (a little corner of suburbia that My Date and I are vaguely surprised to be enjoying), homeowner associations, the aforementioned musical home appliances and The Mom Unit, who now lives about 6 minutes away instead of 6 hours. And so much more.

So, yes, we're back. And ready to rock and roll. With Bermtopia: The Portland Edition.

I have my very own creek.
And I am happy to report there are squirrels in Portland.