Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gardening. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Cut the Stems, Then Plant Them

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs
. . .and Fingers
Clip. Clip. Clip. 

That's what the Mama has been doing among her geraniums lately. Pruning off old and decaying branches so that new growth will take place by spring. Just doing her magic among the geraniums, both in the front and back yards. 

Always the recycler, the Mama doesn't throw out all of the pruned branches. No, sir-eeee, Bob. She snips off the geranium stems to plant in bare spots in the yard, front and back. They take root, then several weeks later. . .Voila! Flowers!

Which stems have a chance of rooting, you may ask? Because, I surely do. Shrugging is her answer. So, I watch her choose the stems to plant. Her selection is based partly from her many years of gardening and horticulture experience. Part is from a feeling, an instinct. And, part is from the geraniums telling her.  At least, that's what I like to think.

The Mama is humble. She is surprised as everyone else when plants under her guidance burst forth with abundant flowers and fruits. Just because she plants something, she realizes they may not grow.  She does her best to help them along, as well as hopes and prays.

I'm hooking up with ABC Wednesday today. It's the letter C. Click here to read other C posts.

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

Bag It for Next Week

My ABC Wednesday theme: The Mama and Her Authentic Green Thumbs
. . .and Fingers

The Mama saves the empty plastic bags in which potting mix, garden soil, and wild bird seed come. I'm not talking about small plastic bags. They are bags that once held 1.5 or 2 cubic feet of dirt or 40 pounds of bird seed.  Once upon a time, I threw the bags away only to learn that the Mama fished the bags out of the garbage can and hid them in the garden shed. "I can use them for something," she said,  when I found the bags.

Yup. The tiny, 90+, always-resourceful lady did find a use for the bags for her garden work. When she's in cleaning mode, which is pretty much every day, she carries a bag in which to throw leaves, twigs, weeds, and other green waste. When the bag gets too heavy, she leaves it for me to pick up and empty into the green waste recycling can. 

Some weeks, the green recycling can gets filled within two days because we've been pruning trees or pulling out vines or such. Then, the Mama tells us to bag any green remains to put into the recycle can next week.

Today, these huge plastic bags are stored in their own container next to the recycle cans. We have about 20 empty bags. Yesterday, the Mama wanted the Husband to rake the leaves off the front lawn, but he couldn't because there were no more bags. She sighed.

Ah, but this morning, she found a bag behind the shed. "Here," she said, throwing the bag at me. "Go rake the leaves."

I'm hooking up with ABC Wednesday today. It's the letter B. Click here to read other posts.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

Mama Was Up the Ladder. Again.

Sawing. Clipping. Raking. Sweeping. Pushing dried limbs, branches, vines, leaves, and seed pods into plastic bags. That's how I spent most of my afternoon.

It wasn't what I had planned. When the Husband and I left this morning to do the errands, the Mama was reading the newspaper in the living room. Ninety minutes later, I looked out the back door to see a high limb on the miracle tree precariously hanging above the Mama, who sat beside the tall ladder, stripping dried leaves from skinny branches into her bucket.

I was furious. One, the Mama had been up the ladder. And, two, I had asked her the other day, after cutting back her banana trees, if she'd like me to prune the rest of the miracle tree. "No," she said. "The green (recycle) can is already full." Good, I thought, I'd prune the tree next Thursday.  Ha!

"You know we don't like you on the ladder," I growled, throwing my purse on the ground, and hurriedly climbing the ladder to saw off the limb. I proceeded to cut away at whatever else I could reach. Knowing that I was annoyed, the Mama toddled into the house when I asked her to take her medicine. Peace finally reached my head and I went into the house to put some groceries away and change my clothes.

About ten minutes after I was back on the ladder, the Husband came out to help. He took over pruning the tree, while I stripped the branches of seed pods and cut them into pieces that would eventually fit the green can.

"Why did you do this?" I asked the Mama, after reminding her that she didn't want me to finish pruning the tree yet.

"I didn't want you to work so hard," the 93-year-old woman said.


Friday, November 21, 2014

Don't Take My Picture!

Lately, I've been helping the Mama pick up the leaves in the backyard. Even when it's about to rain or when the wind is being blustery. Why? Because the Mama is out there. And, she'll stay out there until she is a) satisfied that she has picked up as many leaves as she could before more fall from the trees,  or b) tired and has begun ranting about the next door neighbor's dirty tree that sheds lots and lots of clusters of red berries and skinny hard leaves, which are quite difficult to pick up.

After years of calling out the back window, "Come in, Mama, it's too cold!" Or,  "It's windy! Just wait until the wind stops." Or, "It's raining!" I now step outside, followed happily by Molly the Cat who has been cooped inside because the Mama decided it's too cold, windy, and/or rainy for her to be outdoors.   I usually head to the other side of the yard  with my favorite rake. The sooner the leaves are picked up, the sooner the Mama -- and Molly the Cat -- will come indoors.

Some days I bring my camera with me. Between building piles, I click away. Both the Mama and Molly the Cat dislike my taking photos of them. Today was no different. "Don't take my picture," the Mama said, bending to pick up another stray leaf.  Molly didn't say anything. She merely walked away or turned her back to me.

So, fine. I took a photo of my shadow. It reminded me of Peter Pan. By the way, notice Molly the Cat's tail in the picture?

Sunday, May 4, 2014

Things to Do Today

The first, okay, maybe it was the fourth, thing I did this morning before breakfast was write that To Do list.

I did finish the mystery I've been reading at breakfast. I diligently stuck with the story although I didn't care for the protagonist who was too much of an insecure whiner. But once I learned who the suspect was, I skimmed through the final scenes. I closed the book and purposely went to complete something else.

For about the next two hours, I topped off the Mama's outdoor potted plants with potting soil. It was something I had been thinking about doing for the last two summers. The other week, while the Mama was watering her plants, she mentioned that they needed more soil.

"Uh-huh," I said, glancing at them and thinking I need to do that before she got to it. Fortunately, for me, a few days ago, the Husband and I bought three huge bags of potting soil. The Mama requested one, but I bought two extra bags. Not because I was going to add soil to the potted plants but because I have plans on building a planter box to replace the broken-down one full of roses. And, I would need those bags for the new planter box.

Yup. You got it. I used up those two extra bags topping off the Mama's potted plants, and I didn't even get to all the pots. They will have to wait for another day and maybe it won't be in the distant future. 

The items on today's written To Do list? We shall see.

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

How's the Mama?

The Mama, as some of you dear readers know, is in her nineties. The tiny, fragile, slow-stepping Mama is doing well, thank you very much for asking. She's as fit and magnificent as the flowers and vegetables that she grows. The only medication she takes is for her thyroid. I can only hope that I haven't screwed up the genes she gave me too awful much.

This morning, I found a poem that I wrote about the Mama two years ago when she was rushed to the hospital. The Mama is amazing.

The Sleeping Mama
Slipped into her ER room.
She was fast asleep,
Hooked up to the IV, heart monitor, and oxygen.

In one moment,
she could not move
no matter how hard she tried.
And, she tried, and kept trying, to stand up.

"Walking pneumonia," the doctor said.

What did she say? 
"This is going to cost me a lot."
© 2014 Su-sieee! Mac

I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here. See you tomorrow.  

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Itty-Bitty Bananas

Itty-bitty bananas are growing in our backyard. It's quite amazing. Don't let that photo fool you. I took it close up. They are truly very small bananas.

Bananas have grown before, but normally they sprout at the end of summer, then before you know it, the weather is cool, and so much for the fruit. This year though, ooh la la, we may be eating bananas from our trees.
I'm participating in the Blogging from A to Z Challenge this month. To check out other participants, click here. See you tomorrow.  

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

Pruning is Done

Snap. Snap. Snap.

"Mama's always finding something to snap in the backyard," I said to the Husband, as I peeked out the back door to see what she was snapping.

"She'll always find something," said he.

The temperature was in the 50s. Very cold, she would complain, if she was inside the house.

Outside, she doesn't feel how cold it is because she says she's always moving. Always doing something in her garden. She has already dug up her vegetable boxes. I won't be surprised if she starts planting beans next month and then complains a month later why it takes so long for them to sprout.

That's the Mama. Keeps her strong, I know. She is, I believe, healthier than the Husband and me right now.

At least all the trees are pruned. The apple trees. The persimmon trees. The apricot tree. The miracle tree. The avocado trees. The ornamental pear tree on the front yard. Too bad we didn't have a prune tree to prune.

Of course, there is the lemon tree. However, I can't see any limbs sticking out that may be driving her buggy that they must be cut. But, then, what do I know.

I've been on the tall ladder quite a lot this winter.  Been enjoying it, too. The Husband's back mended just in time for him to get into the act a little bit.  Pruning is a family affair could be our motto.

Happy New Year, Dear Readers!

Monday, August 5, 2013

Sweet, Sunny, and Sour

This has been a great summer for the Mama's backyard jungle. Trees, vines, and plants are producing like crazy. This is just a bit of the Mama's bounty—Sweet Asian pears, sunny sunflowers, and sour, but yummy lemons.

Today, I'm participating in the photo meme, Monday Mellow Yellows, hosted by Gemma Wiseman. To check out other participants, please click here

P.S. 'Tis the month of the Mama and Molly the Cat.

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

I just love it when technical things come together. After all, I am a non-techie, regardless of what others may say.

Early this morning, or late last night (depending on your point of view), I received an e-mail saying that my domain names had expired and if I wanted to keep them, I need to renew pronto. So, that I did. I decided to forgo the URL for the old blog and purchase a domain name for Don't Be a Hippie.

Purchasing was quite a cheap thrill, I tell you what. Yep. I figure I can always use the URL for something else down the line, should I ever cease writing Don't Be a Hippie. For once, I'm looking ahead.

Anyway, a few minutes ago, I keyed in the right combination of words and numbers to have Don't Be a Hippie appear in the browser when I plug into the appropriate bar. Whooo-hooo! Another cheap thrill.

I think I will count this feat as a Doing 60. The little things count, too, in my book.

So, as not to totally bore you with today's nothingness: How about these sunflowers in the Mama's garden?

Monday, April 15, 2013

The Miracle Tree

The tree on the right is the Miracle Tree. If you look closely, you can see
the Mama behind the rose bush.

The First Husband gave the Mama a package of seeds that a Native American tribe had sent him as part of a fundraising campaign. Mama, always the curious horticulturist, sowed them in her backyard. From those seeds grew the Miracle Tree, which today is more than 20 years old.

It would be monstrously huge  if the Mama did not cut it back nearly every year. She can't stand the idea of the branches hovering over the roof or even being near the gutters. No matter how much it gets hacked back in the late fall, its branches are full and ready to provide sufficient shade for the summer heat.

During its early years, the Miracle Tree produced a lot of seed pods. Let me repeat: A lot of them. The seeds are flat and shiny and difficult to clean up once they're on the ground. Every year, Miracle Trees sprout some where new in the yard. Most times, the Mama pulls them out.

The Miracle Tree is not its actual name. The Mama and I like to call it that because it grew from a few seeds. We are not sure what the tree is  called. The Husband and I have seen trees that look like the Miracle Tree in Hawaii. Koa trees, I think they were called. The Miracle Tree could be a Mimosa Tree or related to it. Herbalists make a tincture out of the Mimosa flowers. An acupuncturist had me take the tincture to help mellow me out. (I was a bit angry when we first began our sessions. But, then he was always late. That's for another tale. Maybe.)

The Mama says that Miracle Trees grow in the Philippines. The old folks, she says, harvested the leaves and flowers to feed to the pigs. And, some of the women made purses out of the seeds.

Check out other A to Z Challenge
participants by clicking here.

On some days, the Mama gripes about the constant trimming she must do to the Miracle Tree. She threatens to pull it out now and then, but I doubt she will. She enjoys sitting beneath its shade in the summer. And, now, she has a new purpose for the tree. Last year, she planted a chayote at the foot of its trunk, just to see what might happen. Chayote vines grew upward into the tree and produced a large crop of chayotes to the Mama's delight. Last week, she planted several of last year's crop around the Miracle Tree.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013


The apricot tree had fewer blossoms than last year.

"You pruned too much," said the Mama.

Sigh. I needed to cut the low branches so I wouldn't get stabbed in the forehead or the Husband wouldn't get poked in the chest as we wandered through the yard while following Molly the Cat. I also wanted to clean up the tangle of branches now rather than later when it would be too difficult to do.

I want to think the Mama understands all that. But, all she can think of right now is that we will have fewer apricots to eat this year.

Check out other A to Z Challenge
participants by clicking here.
"Next year the tree will have a lot of blossoms," I said.

She didn't say a word. 

We can only hope.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Spring! Spring! Spring!

A glorious first day of Spring to you, dear Readers. It's overcast with the hope of more rain, rather than just sprinkles, in my neck of the woods today. Having a nice steady, but gentle on the fruit blossoms, beat of rain would be perfect for right now.

Yesterday, the Mama sowed her bittermelon seeds in a pot. That means the time for the Husband and me to start preparing the Mama's veggie garden plots is very, very near. If the Mama still had her strength and endurance, everything would've been done a few weeks ago. That's okay though. She has been distracted with transplanting different flowers from elsewhere in her back and front yards to the one particular patch of ground that you see in the photo below.

"I want all flowers here," she said."Lots of flowers."

It's gonna look amazing.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

Doing 60: Planting Garlic

Garlic cloves all in a row—kinda.
The Mama definitely has something-to-plant radar.

This morning, I decided to plant the garlic cloves that were sprouting on the kitchen counter. I always wanted to grow garlic, just for the heck of it. Hmmm, I may have inherited the "mad horticulturist" genes from the Mama. Anyway, I put the chosen garlic in a yogurt container (which was probably the clue to the Mama that something was about to be planted) and put the container out on the back step. I would plant them after I picked some lemons.

The lemon-picking task quickly created the additional task of pruning the branches that were touching the tops of the apple tree. To the Mama's delight, because that meant she'd have something fun to do in the garden.

As I was walking by the Mama at one point of fetching pruning tools, she had this where-is-that-thing-I-wanted? look on her face. I thought it was the empty basket  for the lemons that I was holding, so I gave that to her and continued down the path to the lemon tree.

"Do you want me to plant the garlic?" she called.

I turned and saw her holding the yogurt container, wondering how did she know there was something to be planted in there. I had asked her earlier how deep should garlic be planted, but I never said I was going to plant some. When I was picking lemons, I was figuring whether to plant the cloves in pots or directly in the ground. And if in the ground, where could I do it without getting into the Mama's planting space.

"I want to plant them, " I said, waiting for her to argue that it would be better for her to do it because I don't know what to do.

But, nope. That didn't happen.

Without a hesitation, she said, "You can plant them in the box where the Filipino onions are." Then, she proceeded to show me how to plant them. Just stick the clove into the dirt, butt end down, and be sure not to cover the top.

Wow. A first. She gave me a bit of her prime growing space, without me whining.

So, after I pruned the lemon branches,  helped the Mama clip them into smaller pieces for the green recycle bin, and put away the ladder and pruning tools, I planted the garlic. Darn fun, it was. Loosen the soil, add compost full of worms from the compost bin, stick the babies into the ground, and sprinkle them with two yogurt cartons full of water.

As I admired my planting job, I realized that I'd committed myself to caring for the garlic babies until later this summer when they would give us fruit.  Gulp.

Yes, this is another Doing 60  for me.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Doing 60: Planting Banana Trees

Last week, I planted my first banana trees. That's another Doing 60 for me.

The banana trees are transplants from the Mama's banana grove in another part of the yard. Click here to see where they originally stood. They were the clump on the far left side. 

Usually, I dig out the banana trees and leave them for the Mama to replant. No more. Not that the Mama can't do it. But, why let her have all the fun, right? Besides, I need to increase my strength, if I want to keep up with her come veggie gardening time.

The Mama supervised the job. I lugged them across the yard, one by one. In the photo, the banana trees look like they weigh nothing. Hah!

The Mama marked the spots where she wanted them. And, I dug.  Ping! Rock. Ping! Another rock. Ping! Ping! I enjoyed the challenge of getting the rocks out. It was so much easier than sitting in front of the computer screen and trying to think of a word that would precisely describe what I needed to say in a sentence. Ping!

It was very satisfying to place each plant into its hole and cover the hole back up with dirt. I forgot how much I like to play in the dirt. "Don't put the rocks back in," reminded the Mama now and then. She made sure the banana trees were snugly in the ground, and then made water canals around them.

I feel like naming the banana trees. Pilar, Maisie, Zebby, and uhm, LaLa, perhaps?

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

How's the Mama?

When we meet up with friends, they eventually ask about the Mama. They've come to expect a doozy of a response about the tiny, not-so-frail 90ish gardener.  For example, one time I replied: 
We were gone 90 minutes to do errands. Only 90 minutes. Do you know what she did while we were away? She whacked off the tops of the banana plants. With her machete.
Ba-dum-bump. Tishhhhhh.

And then there was the time I got to tell our friends this story.
We were gone most of the day. We came home to find that the Mama had pruned the apple tree next to the small shed.

"Did you use the ladder?" I asked.

"Only my small one," she said. "You'll have to prune the top. I couldn't reach the branches."

I looked at the tree. I couldn't figure how she got the middle branches without climbing the taller ladder.

"How did you get those middle branches?"

"Oh," said the Mama. "I stood on the roof of the shed."
Ba-dum-bump. Tishhhhhh.

Monday, February 4, 2013

The Mama's Roses

The theme is still the inability to get started. That is, the brain of my mine.  

Plutter... Pletter... Splutttttt....The sounds that the brain of my mine has been making.

So, on Saturday, I tried to jump start the brain of mine by snatching up the camera and going outside.

Some of the Mama's roses are in bloom. Take that cold weather, they seem to say.

And, yes, the roses, the snapping of photos, the doing of something creative seems to have sparked something in the brain of my mine.

Of course, dear readers, I must share with you the Mama's roses.

© 2013 Su-sieee! Mac. All rights reserved.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Mama and the Leaves

My strategy used to be: Wait until all the leaves have fallen off the trees and then gather them up. Sure, it would be one murder of a day, raking and bagging literally tons of leaves....I say literally because obviously tons of leaves do not fall from less than a dozen trees. Maybe, thousands of leaves, but then I would just say that and not "literally thousands of leaves" because there are thousands of leaves on the ground. Yes, I think people overuse the word literally.

Okay, back to leaf-gathering strategies. The Mama's strategy: Pick up leaves every morning. Depending on the season, it may take her less than 30 minutes to several hours before she is satisfied that her garden is neat. The Mama dislikes the sight of leaves on the ground. She actually grumbles and shudders when she passes people's yards that are full of leaves. "If that was mine," she always says. "I wouldn't stand it." The husband or I usually respond, "Look away."

The Mama is a neat freak when it comes to her gardens. She also sweeps out there. The Mama has pretty much swept the top soil away between her rows. I gave up years ago trying to convince her that she wants to use the "mess" she sweeps as mulch. "See, look, it's already making soil," I'd say, letting the dirt fall through my fingers. "Hmmph," she'd say, pushing her broom.

People are impressed with how smooth and clean the garden pathways are. You can eat off the ground in the Mama's garden. Literally.  Or, would that be figuratively?

When the Mama was in the hospital this summer, I went out and raked leaves every day. That way she wouldn't shudder when she first looked out the window. More importantly, she wouldn't feel compelled to go out there and start raking. And, she would.

Twenty-some years ago, the Mama was in a horrible car crash. So terrible that the first responders used the Jaws of Life to pry her out of her car. Then she was flown by helicopter to the emergency department at the Stanford Hospital, which was 60 miles or so away. The first responders were concerned by all the blood that they saw around the car, but it turned out that the blood was from the butchered pig in the trunk, which the Mama and her brother had  slaughtered at a nearby ranch. Fortunately, both of them just had the wind knocked out of them.

While the Mama stayed overnight in the hospital, I made arrangements for her cousin to stay with her until she got better. Ha! Instead of her cousin taking care of her, the Mama was taking care of her cousin because, after all, her cousin was a guest in her home.  So, I learned. Even sick or injured, the Mama will do what the Mama wants to do or believes she must do.

It has been raining lately. The backyard is too muddy to get to the leaves to rake. Not that the Mama hasn't tried. I have found footprints in the mud. At first, I thought the neighbor's son had climbed over the back fence again. Nope, it was the Mama's footprints. That goodness the Mama can't stand walking in mud. For her, that's worse than seeing leaves all over the place.

But, you know, I'm itching to rake the mess of leaves, too.  I've come around to the Mama's strategy. That's right, I enjoy the time raking leaves in the morning before breakfast. It's zen. It's instant gratification of accomplishment. It's more bonding with the Mama.

© 2012 Su-sieee! Mac. All rights reserved.

Thursday, July 26, 2012

Digging Canals for the Mama

Several days ago, the Mama fell twice as she was watering her vegetables. I didn't see either fall, but fortunately she told me about each one just after it happened.

I had gone out to give her a juice drink. It was a hot day and my mission was to keep her hydrated whether she liked it or not.  As I waited for her to gulp her drink (Sipping? No such thing when she's on a task), she mentioned that she was wet because she slipped and fell on top of the beans. If she hadn't said anything, I wouldn't have noticed she was wet. When I looked at the beans, I couldn't tell that anything was wrong. The woman is that light.

"Here, let me finish watering," I said, reaching for the hose.

"No, I can do it," she said, swerving away from me.

After three times of going back and forth, I let it go. After nine years of living with her, I have finally learned to choose my battles. Assured that she hadn't hurt herself, I went back inside to work.

About 45 minutes later, I was back outside with a cup of water and her medicine. (She knows that she has to take it at noon, but when she's outside working on something, she won't stop to come inside for medicine. See, this is the advantage of working at home for me.) Mama was now sitting down as she watered her flowers.

"I do that when I water this section," I said, handing the cup of water to her. Out of her whole backyard of vegetable and flower gardens, she lets me water a small part of the yard.

"I'm almost finished," she said, as she wiped a hand on her pants and held it out for her pill.

"I'll water the chayote this afternoon," I said. "When it's cooler."

She nodded. Then she said, "I fell on the onions. That's why they're flat."

"What? You fell again."

She nodded.

I put my hand on the hose. "Let me finish watering."

"No. No. This is it. This is the end."

"Why are you falling so much?" I asked.

She shrugged. I walked around her garden, noticing the muddy patches around the rows. Something had to be done. She waters her garden by hand, which means she drags the hose behind her as she walks on the uneven soil between the rows. She's fine when she's not impatient or tired. Sigh.
I don't want to take over watering her garden until it's absolutely necessary. I don't think that time is here yet.  Her garden is her domain. Her sense of peace. Her last sense of independence. I saw how depressed and angry she got when her brothers took over her garden many years ago. The Mama will be nine years shy of 100 soon. Gardening makes her happy and keeps her strong and healthy. I want her to to do it as long as she is able. 

"I'm going to dig the canals deeper," I said.

"No,"she said. "I'm okay."

"I don't want you to fall."

"I fall, I fall."

"You can break your leg or something. You know you don't want to go to the hospital."

Silence. I took that as a good sign.

"With deeper canals, you can make the water go slower. The vegetables will get more water that way. You know, the way Daddy did it. Remember."

Still silence. I proceeded to dig the first canal. I am my Daddy's daughter. I not only went with him to the fields that he irrigated, but I also helped him put up his garden every year when he got older. I enjoyed digging those canals for the Mama, even though it was a hot day. I liked getting my hands dirty as I dug and molded the canals, and then later getting them muddy as I guided the water through the canals. I quite understand the Mama's love of working and being outside.

So, now, if the Mama is willing to be patient, she can sit on her stool and watch the water go down each vegetable row, helping it along as needed. It may not stop her from falling in the backyard completely, but maybe it will be fewer times.  I can only hope.

© 2012 Su-sieee! Mac. All rights reserved.

Thursday, June 21, 2012


I'm old. Old. Old. Old. Old. Old.

Well, we're both hold. The Husband and me. Oh, he won't like me saying that. But, it is true. We are old.


Yesterday, we pedaled our cruiser bicycles against that defiant wind for several miles to buy three pounds of freshly-picked locally grown, sun-kissed cherries.

Very yummy cherries indeed.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining about getting older. As wise folks say, "What's the use of complaining?" I'm just stating the fact today to myself, and you happen to be in on it.

Still, no matter how old I am, the Mama is older.

As many of you know, nothing is going to stop her from doing what she wants to do.  Example: The back yard that is her jungle of a vegetable garden. The better description is the mad scientist's horticultural sandbox. Any day, I expect her to tell me that she tore out all the bean plants and sown new seeds. Why? Because she can't stand that the plants are producing two and three inch beans, which the Husband and I are happily consuming one meal at a time.

Here's a look at her garden today.

Here's how it looked one month ago. Believe me when I say she does the garden by herself. She only lets me water the chayote vines (which aren't seen here) and that's after I whined I had to learn some day. Maybe next year, I'll get promoted to watering the bittermelon rows.

Here's a closer look of the Mama's garden today:

And, there she was at it one month ago!

I hope that I will be able to reach much older.

© 2012 Su-sieee! Mac. All rights reserved.