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Geister |
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 of the Giant Bulb Catalogs! |
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It was a classic duel:
Mower-man vs. Bulb-lady
By PATRICIA J. GEISTER
of TheColumnists.com
Autumn is upon us with cool nights, an onslaught of
falling pine needles, plus the arrival of a gazillion flower
bulb catalogs. St. Rupert the Husband used to go wild in this
season.
"It's the attack of the bulb catalogs! I'm going to make
a sign that warns that guy he's risking his life every time he
leaves one of those things for you. Maybe I should give him a
choice. Either he pays for all the flower bulbs you order, or
he quits leaving the catalogs."
"Okay, you do that. I'll make sure you never see a tool
catalog or Playboy again. Deal?"
He backed off in a hurry. Years of wifery have taught me these
methods of self defense.
Up until the first year after I left my day job I couldn't care
less about seeing anything in our yard but green grass--and only
then if I didn't have to cut it. When the kids left home I sold
the push mower, bought a power mower and learned the fine art
of lawn mowing. What's wrong with grass half way up to your knees
anyway? Why deprive the dog a good roll in the green? Big dogs
need big grass.
Then came St. Rupert, Scourge of the Turf. One fine Saturday
in April he informed me the order of the day was to acquire the
latest and greatest grass demolisher Home Depot offered. The
power mower led to a power blower, which led to a leaf and limb
chipper. This resulted in building a storage area for his new
toys. Oh, excuse me. Yard implements, not toys, is more appropriate.
So he enclosed what was once a patio, built shelves, put up hangers
and latches for all our hand tools and lawn food.
Now, backtracking to that Saturday, a splash of color caught
my eye as we entered the emporium. Petunias, marigolds, lobelia
beckoned me to have a look. Maybe a spot of color here and there
would liven up the landscape I thought. I didn't need many of
them to tend, only enough to make a border around the Hannon
iris my cousin Rita had given me. One of these, no, two. Why
not add a different color between them?
And that's how it all began. I was addicted to the flora, and
Rupert was proud of his new authority figures.
Sunday we got up bright and early to begin our landscape improvement
project. He took the grass guzzler to the front yard. I got down
on all fours in my then tiny iris bed in the back yard. In order
to prepare the area for more flowers meant pulling grass, digging,
planting and applying bone meal and Bengay. Bengay went on me
from briefly below my hairline down to the soles of my feet,
not on the flowers. "Beauty knows no pain," according
to the choreographer for the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders. Yeah,
ya think? Lady, you never pulled a blade of grass in your life!
Suddenly the air was filled with the sound of a man sneezing
loudly and whimpering, "Help me! Get me a paper towel and
a glass of water, please." Rupert was sitting on the porch
steps, his face was bright red, nose and eyes streaming bodily
fluids as he sneezed and wheezed violently.
My poor man was allergic to grass dander and freshly cut grass.
I had to help him into the house, give him some of my hay fever
pills and prop him up with pillows. When he got over this horrible
episode of yard work he informed me either I could go back to
mowing the yard or hire someone else to do it. I found out in
short order that my body could barely survive the rigors of flower
gardening. Something had to go. The lawn mowing went.
That spring and summer I discovered bulbs, bedding plants, bare
root plants, and every nursery in two counties. I lined both
sides of the walkway from the parking pad to the back porch with
lilies. Iris of all sizes, colors and species graced the yards
front and back. My theory is the more flowers you plant, the
less grass you'll mow. The slugs and squirrels loved me madly.
I'd plant, they'd eat. I've won the battle with the slugs, but
the squirrels continue to feast on my tulip bulbs.
"Good Lord, woman," Rupert said when the biggest credit
card bill came in. "Have you considered swapping your addiction
from flowers to cocaine? It would be a lot cheaper."
He was right. In that first year I spent spent more on flowers
and related necessities than I spent on groceries. Those expenses
evened out and groceries took back the lead. Since I began growing
only perennials rather than annuals, every other year it's cheaper.
Well, not always. There was the year when our sewer line collapsed
and, before it was repaired, I had to hire help to move over
one hundred iris from the back to the front yard.
Iris have to be separated and replanted every two or three years
or they won't bloom. That's why the two dozen I first planted
turned into the hundred that were relocated. Sick children and
flowers in need can't be ignored. Children grow up and leave
home. Flowers don't.
Rupert's grass guzzler and power blower got sold in my late mother's
estate sale. He used the wood chipper twice. His first foray
produced seven huge bags of chips that we took out to Mom's place.
The last batch became my fall mulch. The leader of the crew that
did our roofing job made him an offer on the chipper that he
couldn't refuse. Good. That gave me more storage space for bigger
bags of bone meal.
I'm still in the flower gardening mode. Mother Nature and her
bad boy Arthur Ritis have reduced me to hiring someone else to
do the weeding and most of the planting. Experience has smartened
me up, though. No longer do I leave a paper trail for St. Rupert
the Bill Payer to know exactly what our color spots cost. Remember
those movie magazines I used to buy with my allowance? Cash doesn't
go as far on flowers as I'd like, but it makes me happy.
I won the attack of the bulb catalogs with a brilliant strategy.
Joe the mailman and I have a secret code. He rings the doorbell
and when I answer he says, "The snow is falling in Russia,"
as he hands me a catalog. After dark I sneak around the north
corner of my bed of hostas and snatch up all the catalogs. Joe
knows I'll leave him a nice bag of my home made pecan cookies
at Thanksgiving. Such a deal.
©2003 by Patricia J. Geister. The drawings are from IMSI's
Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael,
CA, 94901-5506, USA.
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