Super Easy Zucchini Hash

Why not post a recipe? I'm used to making things up as I go along in the food department, but these turned out really well.

Serving size: 4
Prep time: 5 minutes
Cooking time: 9 minutes

shredded zucchini - 1/2 to 1 cup (use lesser measurement if your shreds are smaller)
2 large eggs
1/4 cup minced onion (more if you're an onion lover, none if you hate onions)
1-2 Tbsp oil (if you have an old electric skillet like me, you'll use 2 or ruin your skillet. For good pans, you can use less. Use whatever oil you like to taste. I used canola, but olive would work)
salt and pepper to taste
Optional: shredded cheese, salsa, guacamole

TT: See, this is why I hate recipes. Everything depends. This is food, for heaven's sake, not engineering.

-Heat skillet until oil is hot but not shimmering. Do the rest while the skillet is heating (about 5 minutes)
-Crack eggs in a breakfast bowl and beat with fork until blended. Give shells to nearest cat to lick clean before composting. Mine go to Skuttle.
-Shred zucchini. Give remainder of unshredded zucchini to dog, because you'll have more zucchini to harvest in the morning. Why did you plant 5 zucchini plants, you idiot?
-Blend shredded zucchini into eggs until it's all the same consistency.
-Mince onion. Add to eggs and zucchini. 
-Drop four big spoonful of egg mixture into heated skillet like pancakes. Salt and pepper each cake.
-Leave alone for 3 minutes (enough time to put hair into bun clip and return) then fold in half like an omelet and flip to let second side cook.

-Clean up prep area by allowing cats onto counter. I'm kidding. Cats shouldn't eat onion, so only do this if you hate onions and didn't use any. Otherwise, clean the counter first, then let the cats on it.

I made sure the spatula had no onion on it.

-Turn down heat and flip cake again. That zucchini is moist stuff and no one likes a soggy hash brown.

-This is the time to grab your favorite egg condiment. These would work equally well with sweet (toast with jelly) or savory (salsa and sour cream).

I ate all four of mine because I normally eat two eggs for breakfast, but they make a "serving size" of meat, so you could plan them as part of a full meal.

I suspect you could also double and bake the hash as a casserole but I don't have an oven, so I'm unlikely to try that.

There you go. Super easy zucchini hash. If you need zucchini to try it, I'll mail you some.

Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell

I bought this book on the recommendation of a co-worker, and it must have been cheap enough because I don't do expensive Kindle books.

TT: $8.99 is as high as I've gone so far and that was on the recommendation of Kat the Hacker. Fortunately, she was right. Patrick Rothfuss is worth reading even at that price.

JS&MN is a long book, too, because I've been reading steadily for at least a week and I tipped the halfway point last night. It has a blend of fascinating tedium that appeals to me. The oddest part so far is I don't actually like any of the characters. I don't actively wish them harm, but I wouldn't want to sit in a drawing room with any of them, either. Maybe Arabella. In this sense, it reminds me of Pride & Prejudice. I dislike most of those characters, too. I'd pierce my own eardrums with a knitting needle rather than listen to Mrs. Bennett for any portion of my life.

I don't know if the author is British, but she's got the British style down pat. It's the story of two English magicians who bring practical magic back into use during the Napoleonic war.  I keep comparing it to the Hornblower books set in the same time frame and find no real fault with either story for the comparison. We meet the Duke of Wellington (I think he's in the Hornblower books, too, as Lady Barbara's brother?) and King George. The mad one.

I fear the ending. After so many pages with these characters, I can't help but feel a little sorry for them and what's coming. I don't actually know what's coming, but the track so far is reminiscent of Lemony Snickett's Series of Unfortunate Events and I hated the one book of that series I read. Plus, this is British, not American, and Brits face the bittersweet end with determination, not defiance. The best I can hope for is a draw. 

In those moments when the tedium becomes too great and I put the Kindle down for a bit, I wonder what kind of person would write such things. As an author, I love my characters. I have to. We spend a lot of time together in the course of a book and I don't want to be around people I don't like. This author must love these annoying people to have spent so much time with them. That alone inclines me to continue, in the hopes that the tiny bits of goodness in them will somehow connect at the end to bring about good things instead of disaster. 

Happy Tuesday, dear readers, and happy reading. 

Gardens Take a Lot of Time

I had no idea. I mean, I kinda did, because one of the reasons I've never grown vegetables is it's a lot of work and "work" equals "time in the garden."

If I don't check for zucchini every morning, I end up with huge, rotted zucchini clogging up my production space. Harvesting zucchini every day means dealing with zucchini every day. Those suckers don't store, and I don't can. So, I'm cooking every night: frying zucchini, chopping zucchini, chopping onions to go with the zucchini before they go bad.

Last night's dinner took two hours and it was basically a vegetable casserole. Yes, I did stuff in between the microwave cooking (love my Pampered Chef stone baker, btw!) but that stuff was mixing and applying insecticidal soap on the zucchini to battle squash bugs and hopefully not kill any of my wasps, bees or beneficials.

I also suspect my lower grocery bill will not offset my higher water bill. It's not like I buy zucchini every day in season. This is an attempt to eat more fresh vegetables, not a money-saving measure.

My one purple bean struggles on, but it's by no means thriving. My tomato plant has plenty of green tomatoes but nothing is ripening.

One of my magazines said good dirt is key, and that may be where The Swamp fails. My dirt isn't good enough. Yet.

My plan for end of season is to remove all the dirt from my raised vegetable bed and spread it on the flower gardens. I'll refill the bed with compost and manure, cover it for the winter to "cook" and use it and only it for vegetables next year. I'll plant more attractive flowers for the critters and wait for my dirt to improve.

Happy Friday, dear readers. Eat those vegetables.

Down the Stairs, Around the Corner, Welcome to Hell

Have I told you my theory that dreams about houses are actually dreams about your life? If I haven't, it's because I'm afraid of losing those dreams by sharing. That can happen sometimes.

Ponder a bit. Do you tend to show up in the same place over and over in your dreams? Do you have a "house" you visit constantly when your eyes close? Do certain decorating themes recur enough to give you deja vu upon awakening?

I have a couple of places I have mentally visited enough times to be able to provide a map if you're interested in a dream travel getaway complete with blowing sheers, arched ceilings and open access to the underworld.

One feature in my "dream houses" is the basement doorway to Hell. It's never an actual doorway. In fact, there is nothing preventing any hellspawn that takes a fancy to an above ground stroll from doing so except possibly a narrowing of the unfinished concrete walls. This narrowing might make a human pause, but it would be a day in the death of any demon accustomed to navigating the bowels of the deep.

Usually my dream basements are unfinished. Concrete floors. Cement block walls with or without a water barrier coating. Bare lightbulbs. They aren't generally crowded with boxes or junk. It could be a space anybody could work in. But...in one of the corners, half-hidden by the shadow of an I-beam, there's an opening...

If you peek in, you might see a narrow corridor curving gently away from the light as the concrete floor turns to dirt. It might open into a crumbling, musty cellar that stretches far longer than a cellar should in a typical neighborhood. Once it was just a hole in the wall. Always that space is set apart by the absolute certainty that if I continue into the darkness, I never escape, or if I stray too close, I will draw some unspeakable horror out of its pit to hunt me down.

I'd say I was reading too much Lovecraft, but I suspect it's more a case of Lovecraft capturing what I fear - the unknown depths where evil lurks.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Pleasant dreams.

Dangling Justice

Yep, that's the working title for the prequel to Star of Justice. I pulled it out this week and scanned the 84 pages I've written over the years. Would I be able to pick up where I left off? How much is worth keeping? Is it as funny as I remember?

Good news is I like what I've done. I didn't see any major issues and corrected the minor ones (mostly verb tenses I've been smacking other people for, so be assured, not only do I have those issues, I smack myself for them). I continue to think it's funny. Not sure anyone else will, but I chuckled a lot.

Better news is I've decided to play with all those "getting in touch with your roots" stuff in this book instead of in the likely never to be revised/published Past Ties. I'm surprised and excited at how easily this book lends itself to those themes. I should have a good balance of funny and bitter.

I'm leaning toward this book at this time for two reasons.

One, Star of Justice has a lot of surprises and anything coming after will build on some of those. I'm not sure I'm ready for that, so going backwards lays different groundwork and gives more readers a chance to read SoJ without spoilers before going forward.

Two, Dangling Justice should be a faster, funnier read than SoJ. It's fantasy, but more RPG than epic and I'm hoping that makes it easier to write while part of my brain is engaged in my day job. C.S. Lewis did something different with every Narnia book. Why can't I? 

I've hesitated to switch WIPs because I book-hopped as a lass, changing projects anytime I got bored and ultimately never finishing anything. However, two years stalling out on one mss is enough for now. We'll see if switching projects this time gets things moving again in the writing department.

Usually, good news comes with bad news, but I don't have any at the moment. The way forward is fairly clear. I just need to sit down, start writing and see what happens. Sounds easy enough.

Happy Friday, dear readers. Stay cool and eat your vegetables.

Well, I Survived...

the 4th, that is.

Independence Day is my most hated holiday (although I loved the movie). I've hated it as long as I can remember. I hate the loud, I hate the explosions and I hate the absolute inconsideration of normally nice-seeming folks. It's like everybody acts like a cigarette smoker for a day.

I don't stay up to the wee hours of the morning. I get up in the wee hours of the morning. I also work July 5th, so setting off sonic booms after midnight is not how you get on my good side.

I've had worse years. The year the college students in the rental across the way shot Roman candles at each other at 2 AM. The year the neighbors right behind me shot bottle rockets (then illegal in the city and now illegal in the state) into my back yard because they were trying to be sneaky. Last year when the drought and 100 degree temperatures weren't enough to prevent anyone from using open flames because, apparently, some people can't live without being completely stupid at least once a year.

My favorite year was the year thunderstorms shut down the fireworks display at the lake. No one could shoot anything in that deluge. I slept like a well-fed baby.

For the most part, my neighbors behaved themselves. Only one household three houses down was determined to celebrate personally, but they set off enormous, loud explosions in their backyard starting at 7:30 and didn't stop until about 12:30 (half an hour after the fireworks curfew). On the other hand, they did stop finally so I could get four hours of sleep.

Neighbors behind me left their poor dog on the back porch until sometime around 11:30. I assume they went to the lake for the evening. It howled and howled for four hours straight. If I didn't think they'd be the kind to sue, I would have trespassed, stolen the dog for the night and brought it back this morning with a lecture.

This year we've had enough rain that I wasn't overly concerned about burning alive in my bed. I just can't sleep through that kind of battlefield noise. I also have the weekend to look forward to, when the morons who don't care about law and order illegally set off all the fireworks they'll buy at half-price today.

I don't know whether I should hope work is boring or exciting. Either way, I'll be half-asleep.

Happy Friday, dear readers. And Happy Birthday, America. Love you. Hate your inconsiderate party guests.

I'm Breezy

Weird thing happened last night.

Let me back up. A weird thing has been happening all week. I've been thinking about stories. Snatches of dialog have cropped up in my brain randomly throughout the past few days.

That's how I write. I start with dialogue and expand into description if the dialogue is worth keeping.

This hasn't happened in a while. My brain has been mushed pretty much all year, so I don't know why it would choose this moment to firm up. 

Last night's weird thing was I opened the laptop and started reading Kerby's POV in Price of Justice with the intention of adding something.

TT: Y'all don't know Kerby yet, but you will. You will.

I even feel like adding a little more today. Nothing huge. Nothing ground-breaking. Just a little forward momentum where no momentum has existed for a considerable amount of time.

This isn't a plunge back into relationship. I'm not ready to pick up where we left off. I'm breezy.

We'll just see where it goes.

Mental Exhaustion

Writing has been less than a trickle here at the Turtle household. I've set aside the becoming-more-ridiculously-complicated-every-time-I-look-at it Price of Justice for the moment, and geared up the simpler (I hope) and funnier (I hope) Dangling Participles, which shall be henceforth renamed - something else. Can't remember at the moment, but it has to do with "justice."

See, that's where my brain is. Mush. Can't remember words. Can't remember yesterday. Why is that?

When I wrote Star of Justice, and Daughter of Anasca, for that matter, I worked at Florists' Review as the customer service representative. I answered phones, took orders, opened mail, handled the deposits: standard administrative stuff. I loved doing it, too, but the brain power necessary was, shall we say, less than that required by a monkey opening a banana. I could come home and devote two or more hours to heavy thinking because I hadn't done any during the day.

I switched jobs in 2011. I was File Clerk #6 and I handled all the new business entity filings for the State of Kansas. As far as types of business entities, if they were sold at Walmart, you could buy them all at the express checkout without guilt, but the Big Six were the most common filings: LLCs, corps, not for profit corps, and their foreign counterparts. "Foreign" in this context is any entity not born in Kansas.

That brain rearrange took a little time, and my writing suffered. Can't plan new worlds and snappy dialogue while reviewing the LLC statute to determine who can and can't be listed in the "member" line on the form. At least, I can't.

Just as new filings were becoming second nature and a tiny bit boring, I switched jobs again. Yes, I'm a dumbass, but the pay was better and theoretically the work was more interesting. I'm now the Audit Administrator for the state (although I'm lobbying for "Graveyard Investigator") and the brain power required has increased exponentially.

Not only am I learning statutes about how to do my job, I'm reviewing and creating new ways to track cemetery income and outflow for permanent maintenance funds and merchandise trusts. If those phrases mean nothing to you, welcome to the Dumbass Club. They meant nothing to me last September, either.

I'm getting a handle on the newness of it all, and I suspect one day the job will be boring as Ivory soap, but at this moment in time, I don't have a brain cell to spare for being creative in the written world. I spent Monday staring at a spreadsheet trying to work out how to track 20 year payment plans of $5 a month on multiple pieces of merchandise whose costs are refigured at least once a year to maintain 50% of retail value. If that sentence means nothing to you, yeah, welcome to my world. I collapsed when I got home and stared at the ceiling for an hour before falling asleep for the night. Thankfully, I did not dream of spreadsheets.

The old File Clerk #6 position looked pretty comfy Monday. 

The simple truth is I need to stop feeling guilty for having no brain left when I come home. I wanted this job, I like the money and I intend to do it well. By October, I'll have been through every cemetery on my books at least once and I'll have (God, please let it be so) developed some kind of tracking mechanism for all of them. After that, my brain can relax a bit and start mulling other things, like lawsuits for all those cemeteries doing it wrong.

Just kidding. Except I'm not.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Remember to put the trash out.

22 Things Happy People Do Differently

I've never heard of these before this morning, don't know where the list came from, but I'm happy (huh-huh) to say they aren't unfamiliar to me as a way to live by grace in Jesus Christ. Yeah, I'm a Christian. I have to bring Jesus into it.



1. Don’t hold grudges.
2. Treat everyone with kindness.
3. See problems as challenges.
4. Express gratitude for what you already have.
5. Dream big.
6. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
7. Speak well of others.
8. Never make excuses.
9. Get absorbed into the present.
10. Wake up at the same time every morning.
11. Avoid social comparison.
12. Choose friends wisely.
13. Never seek approval from others.
14. Take the time to listen.
15. Nurture social relationships.
16. Meditate.
17. Eat well.
18. Exercise.
19. Live minimally.
20. Tell the truth.

21. Establish personal control.

22. Accept what cannot be changed.

Happy Wednesday, dear readers. Don't sweat the small stuff. 

Loss of Interest

I wonder if I'll ever regain my equilibrium.

The secret to longevity appears to be zeal. I think it was Art Linkletter who interviewed on Focus on the Family some years ago about his zest for life. He was a man who woke up a 3:30 AM to prepare a news cast and kept going until midnight every day of his life, apparently. He loved meeting new people, and learning new things and rounding every corner he encountered. His interest kept him alive for 97 years. I'm sure of it.

My grandfather never sat around. He was a farmer most of his life, but even when he retired, he gardened. He went to the community center to play pool. He mowed lawns well into his 90's although he had to rest between each strip.

My dad couldn't stand to be idle. He spent his evenings in the garage building things we later played with on the weekends: a pontoon boat, a dune buggy, a roadster, a small plane. He didn't sit around.

My brothers got the itch. Their lives are whirlwinds of activity and the only time they lie down, apparently, is when they fall down from exhaustion.

TT: They would assure me that is no way to live, but from this side of the fence, it looks pretty green some days.

Why am I not like that? Why do I look at the world and sigh? The depression is over, I'm sure, yet I fear this is as good as I will ever feel, which is worse than the last time I went through this 15 years ago. I wake up with what I'll call "generalized anxiety." My eyes open and my stomach turns over as I wonder what horrible thing I'm not prepared for will attack me.

I work in The Swamp, and I love it, but the loss of a bean plant brings on tears, recrimination and heart ache. I sit down to write and get up again with nothing written. The zeal isn't there anymore. When I started blogging, I couldn't post fast enough. Now, I struggle not to bore myself as well as you with repetition. 

I'm empty. I keep hoping the well is refilling without my noticing, but I sound hollow when I test the depths. I ask God to give me His purpose, but I must not be listening hard enough for His answer.

I've reduced my stress load once again by resigning from one of my social groups. I'm hoping that frees up some emotional resources.

I thought I'd get stronger and more capable as I aged. I feel like I'm growing weaker and more anxious.

Somewhere ahead is inspiration. I just need to keep waking up to find it.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Thank God for His direction in your life. Without it, you're lost.   

Friday Update

The Week of Severe Weather is almost over. Thank God.

It hasn't been that bad for me personally. The tornadoes that formed in Kansas, although big (EF2 and EF3) were far to the west or north and impacted very limited areas, although they impacted those a lot. The worst so far was the weather radio going off every 15 minutes starting at 2:30 this morning to tell me it was hailing.

Here's a hint: I already knew that. Hail makes a very distinctive sound against the roof, the rain gutters and my van. The Swamp isn't quite as upright and colorful as it was last night.

Really wish the phone camera hadn't chosen the screen as its focal point.

I am grateful for God's protection. My storm phobia continues to abate with a lot of prayer and behavioral reconditioning. I'm making progress.

Last week's cold has hung on and hung on, and I'm taking cold meds again. I'll suffer from dry mouth, but I can't take the headache and stuffy nose anymore. I hope the upset stomach will go away, too, but no guarantee on that.

I'm planning on going back to a strict blood-type diet until I feel better. No wheat, no red meat, no potatoes, no tomatoes. Lots of red fruit, greens, rice and fish until I get my immune system back. It's hard to eat a salad when I'm nauseated, but I'll try. The Swamp is swimming in my Early Spring Mix Lettuce. Bit of a hint at how off our weather is when Early Spring Mix is growing well in late May.

I'm in the final stretch of proof-reading P.A. Baines' second book, Alpha Redemption. This one's a keeper so far. I hope to have that finished this weekend and get back to proof-reading a second Splashdown book slated for publication this year.

Happy Friday, dear readers. Eat those greens and keep your head down.

Under Stress

Except for NAF posts, I haven't been around much, have I?

I'm having one of those mornings where I wander around almost starting things and getting distracted by the other thing I ought to do first. I should write a blog post, but I should run the sprinkler at the same time, but that means I should put clothes on, but I don't know what to wear, and I can write a post in my night clothes. So it goes.

I've been under stress lately. Not nervous breakdown levels, but persistent, pervasive stress. Stress at work. Stress with a group I belong to. Stress with the weird weather and my plans for The Swamp. Even stress with Zynga, which has led to the much-needed and long-awaited weaning from Farmville and the stress that comes with losing that outlet. Even my mouse is causing me stress. I think it's broken. It keeps over-clicking things, which may have led to my stress with Zynga.

Long ago, I would have relieved my stress by bringing it to this blog and venting for a while. I can't really do that anymore.

My job is confidential. I am the cemetery and funeral home auditor for the State of Kansas (they won't let me call myself Graveyard Investigator, but I keep trying). I look at bank records and whatnot to make sure the money people prepay for their funerals is where it needs to be to fund those funerals when they happen.

Yeah. I don't know how I got this gig, either.

Anyway, I can't just show up here and pop off every time I get irritated at work. It's unprofessional, and inappropriate and I plain won't do it. Same goes for the group I'm working with. I can't vent here. People in that group could read this blog. It's unlikely, but possible. Unfortunately, I don't have anyplace else to pop off. I've lost My Dear Friend to new love, my Best Friend to her job and family (not her fault, she's a teacher), and the Fam have lives of their own, although I truly appreciate their efforts to include me. Turtles don't clump.

I studied Human Development in college. When we got to this age, the 40-50 range, I remember thinking, "That'll be my time. My married friends (even then, I knew I wouldn't marry) will be launching their children. They'll have more time for socializing, for rediscovering the world outside their little nests."

Didn't occur to me all my friends would be divorced and working on creating new nests with totally different people. This is why you can't count on humans. They continuously interrupt your plans.

Happy Thursday, dear readers. Put your good clothes on. You'll need them today.

Where to Start?

Ah, the trials of writing the Epic Fantasy. I dissect it a bit over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

The Perfect 10...K (vs the 150K)

I discuss a growing pet peeve over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

Warm Monday

This morning I awoke to temperatures that apparently will be higher than the highest temp for the week starting Wednesday. We have a chance of snow (yes, in May) and a chance of frost. Winter won't let go in Kansas.

I'm going to try to stop talking/writing about it. I'm tired of listening to myself, so I know you all are tired of hearing about it. You're cold, too. And if you're not, I suggest you keep it to yourself. I'm in no mood.

I bought a van-load of flowers this weekend, some perennials, some annuals. I have until Tuesday to get them in the ground before the snow and frost will kill them. I'm writing this while I wait for the sun to come up. I can get a few planted before work. I'm going to spend as much time outside during the next two hot, sunny days that I can.

It occurred to me yesterday my sleepless nights might be caffeine-related. Due to the cold weather, I've been drinking hot tea in the evenings and hot lattes whenever someone offers. That all stops. I'll drink hot water instead. I also took Valerian root last night and slept until 4:30 without waking up for the first time in seven days.

While turning the compost piles yesterday, I realized I may not get any more shreddable leaves out of last year's bags to use as mulch. Thanks to the rain and snow - yes, I'm trying to be grateful - the compost is composting quickly. If I don't add more to the pile I've got, I might get usable compost in a few weeks at this rate, and that's as good as mulch, I guess.

Well, the sun's up and I can see the ground. That means I'm out into The Swamp to plant.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Catch a few rays if you can and think of me.

Relief in Sight?

I'm tired - literally and figuratively - of waking up around 1 to 2 AM and not going back to sleep. It's happened to me every night this week, so it's little wonder why I'm bouncing back slower than usual.

I don't like it when my schedule gets disrupted. Maybe it's my propensity for motion sickness, but turning my world upside down makes me angry and upset. I don't like being out of control and I avoid it whenever possible. Not saying this is a good thing. Just sayin'.

TT: Most people would agree with the above statement, but it's been my observation that most people handle stress better, or invite it into their lives faster, than I do. Why else would people marry and have children? Or join social clubs? Or date? Pure chaos, all of it.

All the areas of my life are swirling this week. The job is getting more stressful, and, while answers are coming, they don't seem to be coming fast enough, which leads to stress about failing at what I do. Normally, I would go out into the garden to restore some perspective, but the weather has been less than cooperative, which leads to more stress. Finally, my "alone" time is being infringed by social demands I'd rather not meet but must, which leads to more stress.

In short, I'm having a bad week.

However, I have learned that eventually everything smooths out again. Stress, like life, is cyclical.

Happy Friday, dear readers. I feared it wouldn't come but here it is. Let's make the best of it. 

Why Writers Are to Writers As Florists Are to Florists

This has been floating about in my head for a while. Decided to let it out over at

The New Authors' Fellowship.

No Stress Relief for the Weary

I garden to reduce stress. That hasn't been working for me lately.

For the third time this month, I have covered my lilac bush with pillow cases to protect the five potential blossoms from killing frost. Why? Because that lilac has never bloomed before. Thirteen years it's lived here without blooming, and the first year it tries, we get 25 degree lows and 40 degree highs in April on a regular basis.

I've laid awake this month thinking about the garden. How to protect the plants. When to harden the seedlings. How many more should I plant because these might be frozen to death in May? When can I shred leaves that won't result in electrocuting myself or ruining my Leaf Hog? Is the whole year going to be wet and cold or should I buy mulch while I can because May will launch the Summer of 100 Days of 100 Degrees?

I'm not kidding. I'm more stressed about The Swamp this month than I have been the last two years of my depression.

I have no business being upset. We desperately need the rain, so if it comes with unseasonably cold temperatures, I should just suck it up. Lower temps also mean less likelihood of damaging storms, so I'm getting a pass on storm phobia in April. That should make me happy. It doesn't.

I want Winter to be over. I want sun-drenched Kansas skies, not snow. I want to open my windows and stop paying heating bills for one month before I have to pay air conditioning bills.

Most of all, I want my lilac to bloom this year. I don't think that's too much to ask.

The Swamp April 22, 2013

If the universe revolved around me, I'd say some Higher Power doesn't want me to grow beans this year. I'm pretty sure the four I planted outside are dead, the seven Skamper chewed on are near dead and the twelve more seeds I planted last week aren't sprouting. Even if they were, I wouldn't have a place to put them because we seem caught in the Groundhog Daymare of a cold front a week sweeping in snow and freezing temperatures. In late April. In Kansas.

In the way of humans, I'm not rejoicing that all but one pea plant is doing well. I even like peas better than beans. What I don't like is failure, and, yes, apparently I believe I have the power to make things grow.

This weekend involved a myriad of projects. The south side planting was intended to be low maintenance, but when bermuda grass is involved, there's no such thing. I've not fought it as hard as I should because I don't like being on the south side of the house. It's hot and the neighbors are weird over there. But, those neighbors are selling their house, so I need to pretty up the south side.

I've broken my own rule and started using grass killer. It's really the only way to keep bermuda grass in check. If you're not familiar with this Kansas jewel, bermuda grass grows anywhere, spreads through seeds and runners (both above and below ground) and can smother existing plants in less than one season. I hate it. I don't know if it's a native plant or an invasive import, but it's a pain in any gardener's back and I will do what's necessary to kill it.

The south side has barberries, a rose bush, lamb's ear (unintentional but it thrives, so I'm leaving it) and maroon chrysanthemums. The mum had split into several tiny mums so I transplanted them. Now I have to mulch and water heavily this year to keep them, but it's worth it. I'll be checking on the stupid grass anyway.

Sunday saw more transplanting. I broke up a healthy patch of lemon thyme. If the basil I planted lives (highly doubtful at this time), it also goes into the herb bed. The bees and I loved the basil last year, so I hope to triple the number of plants I put in. You can't really see the thyme in this pic, but this is the herb bed. The containers hold my "peas in a pot" seedlings. Glad they're cool weather plants.

Finally, I did something I've meant to do for a while and broke up a few big clusters of plants into several small clusters of plants.

The far left plant is a pink shrub rose. I'll regret putting it here because it grows like bermuda grass and sports more thorns than your average cactus, but it survived the arborists, so I kinda respect it. The green onion looking things are daffodils. Wrong time of year, I know, but the weather thinks it's fall, so I'm going with it. I divided the grape hyacinths, too. The bright green babies are variagated hostas, and the fluffy, parsley looking things are true geraniums, bloody cranesbill by common name. The only problem is these are shade plants and this spot is no longer shady. They may all die in a month or two, but they survived last year's drought and 100+ temps, so they may not. I'll mulch the crap out of them, too.

My biggest garden concern this year is the lack of earthworms. I don't know where my little garden buddies have gone, but I've found precious few. I can only assume I'm not mulching enough to give them cool, moist earth to work. That will change this year.

Happy Monday, everybody. If you see the sun, think of me. I'll be dreaming of seeing it again.

The Swamp April 16, 2013

Since the only part of Spring showing up this year is the longer days, I've decided I'll garden anyway. Yesterday I pulled on my sweatshirt and heavy socks before trudging out back after work. If it's not raining tonight, I'll use earmuffs, too. Would you believe we have a chance of accumulating snow by Thursday night? Normally, we'd be in the 70's.

I spent about two hours unwinding from a day with cemeteries by - what to call it? cleaning the garage? It's going to take about four weeks' worth of trash pickup for that to happen, but I started.

See, I like my newest van, and I'm concerned about hail damage, but I have never, ever parked one of my vehicles in my garage. The garage is sliding off its foundation and down the gentle slope of my back yard, so the door is tricky and not worth fighting with on a daily basis.

TT: I wish I had the expertise to repair the garage. Whenever I ask a man/contractor, I get a look that, well, let's just say I'm tired of getting that look. To my untrained eye, I need to jack up the building, remove the broken concrete slab with a jackhammer, pour a new slab and new concrete supports and put the garage back down. Then I could have a solid garage I could electrify and convert from a wild animal shelter to an actual place for my vehicles. However, I don't know how to do any of that and most men seem to believe the cheaper and easier version is to demolish the garage and put up a new one. That's assuming I could get a permit for another garage, something I'm not convinced I could do. Not many houses around here comparable to mine have garages. Since I'm not made of gold, I guess I'll just let it demolish itself.

Where was I?

I have about four cubic yards of horse manure left, and I raided (with permission) the departing neighbors' compost pile for another six, and I dug through my own compost pile until I found the useable stuff way at the bottom, so I'm good with dirt for a bit. I'm setting up all my bins, too. They've been stored long enough. Time to remember who I am.

The four green beans I planted last weekend are hanging on, barely. I don't know if they'll survive snow. Should I pull them up and bring them inside until the weather warms? Except Skamper has a taste for beans now. I doubt they'd survive him. Another excellent reason to have a garage.

Oh, well. This post has turned into a bit of a downer. My apologies.

After filling my trash bin with garage overflow, I mowed the lawns. I need to rake up fall debris out front to add to the compost bins and maybe do some reseeding, but I have seed and dirt, so that's doable. While mowing the tiny strip in the back, I saw the seeds I planted in March are sprouting. That pleases me.

I finished the evening's workout with the section of garden around the "Early Girl" tomato plant, where I pulled enormous dandelions, worked compost into the soil and set up the beginning of the support trellis. That's the trick with The Swamp. One bite at a time, one bed at a time, one plant at a time.

It's a journey, not a destination. We'll grow beautiful and strong together.

Happy Tuesday, dear readers. Look for the happy today. We all need it.