Jersey Girl

I’ve always thought that gardens are really just one garden, popping up wherever gardeners enable them. Now I know that the Boardwalk is just one boardwalk. At the beach. At the shore. Atlantic City. Now in Venice. I could go all cosmic on you. Okay, I Will ALWAYS go there at a moment’s notice. The moment is now. It’s just one Whole Earth, right? It’s the Mandelbrot scenario. Patterns repeat.  

Here's a picture: my dad pushing goofy-bonneted little me in a carriage on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. My grandparents had an apartment above a saltwater taffy place there. I remember the odd combo of wrestling flickering on the old black and white TV, and opera coming through on the radio. I think that ambience was Grandpa’s. Grandma Tuba was baking Mandelbrot (!) (they’re Jewish biscotti) and poppy seed cookies in the linoleum floored formica countered kitchen. Grandpa Dave smoked cigars. I can fondly remember that stinking stench and be tolerant, even misty at the assault . I remember feeding the pigeons peanuts from the Mr. Peanuts store. (Twenty’s me later referred to him as something rude…). There were lots of weekends spent strolling "the boards."


Much much later, there was a romantic ride on bicycle handlebars, clopping along on that same boardwalk. I was old enough to appreciate that romance when I found it. There was also faint aroma of cigar…


I’ve lived in Florida for years but Jersey still feels like home to me.


I’m a Jersey girl, in the Four Seasons /Sherry Baby kind of way. And I needed some garden paths. What was really needed was to replace my darling shredded newspaper mulch that proved to be darling AND delicious to the horrible millipedes that will forever haunt my nightmares. It held the weeds down, but those critters are milli-times worse than any weeds. Like bats: So they eat mosquitoes!? I say Bring on the mosquitoes!


Anyway, I needed paths. I looked at brick. I considered cement and shells. It had to be bare-foot friendly. I looked at recycled plastic. I looked at the cost of that recycled plastic and remembered Wood. Boardwalk Wood. A wooden Boardwalk! Of Course!



It had to lay flat to the ground. I’ve got snails. They like the cool dark underbelly places. And no snake hiding places, either. Have you realized? I’m the Squeamish Gardener. I love the nature. But only my selected selections. I think God could use an editor. No spiders. No rodents. Not even earthworms. They can stay. I’m actually glad to see them when they turn up. But I I’m not touching anything. They can beg, but I’m not going there. Have I mentioned that I’m single?



Now my Boardwalk is done. It took the guys about a week. As always, there are “outcomes” we never expect. The garden used to be all curves – curved pond/succulent garden, rounded spaces, curvy paths. But the boardwalk frames the beds. It’s geometric. There are corners. I think it must look like a beautiful organic finished puzzle from the tiny airplanes casing the joint from their pleasure flights out of Venice Airport. It’s so seldom that these outcomes meet and exceed our expectations.


And somehow, I have more space to plant things. I used to have to wait (not all that long) until something died, to open up space. But the meandering curviness just ate up the beds. The geometric controlled boardwalk whips everything into order. My garden felt wild to some visitors. (Not that that was a bad thing to me.) There was profusion and riotous color. But there was no lawn. I think that it was too different from anything that they knew.



It doesn’t look or feel wild any more. Now there are new corners, where there were none - to plant maybe some new white roses, or some other sentry/Wal-Mart Greeter plants to add to the mix. I got a variegated pony tail palm to plant at one of my new corners. I did hit the ever-lurking drain bed, but just have to believe this is the far edge of it. Time will tell if this is going to be stunted. I hope I remember it's challenge and think to move it someplace more hospitable if the time comes.

This past weekend my grandbabe was here visiting. And cartwheels and backbends happened. Up and down, back and forth on the boards. They say you can’t go home again.  But they might be wrong.  This was today meets yesterday. I’ve entered the time/space continuum, whatever that might be… I've always been a creature of this moment. I Be Here Now.

We all have so much to deal with. There’s not a one of us who gets out of here alive. We are sad, lonely, and ill, grief-consumed and suffering. But if we notice the moments, where nothing bad is occurring just for that one wonderful bit, and string them together, we have a shot at some Peace. I have so many really wonderful moments amidst the agony, that I can think at times, I really couldn’t be happier. Call me shallow. Call me Queen of DeNial. Just don’t call me late for Mandelbrot.

My daily bug

When I wake in the morning, I tippy-toe to the kitchen and lean in, flick the light on, and pause. I'm not a ballet dancer. (though a certain amount of alone-type dancing DOES occur…) I just don't want to step on Things that have "passed" in the night. The flicking gives the monsters a heads - up that their party is over. It's time to call it the day. And they need to get out of my sight. Those that can, do. Those that can't lie on their backs legs up and wait for the grim reaper. That's me. Eyes looking anywhere else, after assuring my target, with a wad of half-a-roll of paper towels, bend and gather, praying I don't feel, princess-and-the-pea-like, through the layers to the monster within. I've found this is also a good rule for picking up vomit and other atrocities. I raised some kids, grew up in the 60s. It's a handy hint. Just take it and don't ask questions.

Rose Apples June 2, 2009

Rose Apples.

A nice stage name. And delicious. I've had the tree, bought from Kevin, the Master Gardener years ago as a babe. (Me AND the seedling). The plant which didn't do a whole lot of anything for YEARS, had occasional near-death experiences as I considered what else I could do with it's allotted plot. A decade went by and it finally grew to a tree. And it bloomed. Glorious mysterious fancy, fancy white blooms

Then the fruits. Indescribable. Let me describe them to you: (I know…) But here's what they're like: Apricot-sized. A bigger than you'd think hard round seed in the middle. At first, just to get familiar with this strange new fruit, cut it gingerly around the equator. Take out the seed. Sit down and rest from the ROSEY ROSEY smell. Taste it. Go ON. It's kind of appley in texture, or like honeydew melon when it's not quite ready. But, believe me, whether the fruit is a little greenish, or yellow, or blushing pinkish yellowish - it IS ready. If you could bite a rose without getting a mouthful of petals (or worse), it would taste like this. Your brain, nose and heart say you've eaten a rose. They must share some chemicals, these fruits and roses. Okay. I've revealed enough of my ignorance. But it's so other/this-wordly! It's so different but familiar.

I've announced my engagement to this tree. It's a perfect love. Start shopping for a dress. Gather them by the arm-full. (Better yet, carry a basket…) They can be sliced and eaten just plain, put in salads… I've had them cut up in my oatmeal. A gentleman came by the other day and recognized the tree, also called a Rose Apple in Jamaica. He said they make jelly out of it, or just eat them out of hand while playing by the rivers where the trees grow wild.

The Rose Apple seems to have been fruiting for about a month now. I'll try to notice when it stops. (I wrote this yesterday, went to get some today to bring to the vegetable stand, and there were only about 5 within reach. The season is over!) But next year, if you come by, and Rose Apple has fruit, you WILL be force-fed a piece of heaven.

Plant Sale this weekend.

It's really too much! The two Jasmine trees are just LOADED! Frangipani also going to town (in a stationary way...). The Jasmines are not only blooming to the max, but letting the petals drift down. The best kind of (Florida) snow! Picked some flowers to give. Come and get some at plant sale this weekend.

(oh yea: had to be told to post this!):
110 Zephyr Rd. Venice 34293

Snail flinging.

Dewy morning. Saw one snail next to the toppled pepper plant, so knew there'd be more. Donned my Michael Jackson uni-glove, got my brass collecting pot and picked the suckers off by the dozens. Then to the driveway, where I dumped the pot from my height. whap, whap, whappp... Pretty yucky, but better than the salt/melty wicked witch protocol. The lie to the broken-hearted/disgusted grandbabes: This is where they come to get their new shells, (kind of a slimey Macy's).

This May day in my Florida garden.

Looks like it may be stormy later, but right now, the air is electric. Just saw a pair of cardinals (Mr. and Mrs. C). He was the reddest red I've ever seen. The old ricrac cactus I moved to the back yard under the oaks is about to bloom, too. Guess it WAS getting too much sun. This is a picture of when it bloomed years ago.

If Molly didn't have my camera somewhere in Europe, I'd have to show you the frangipani/ plumeria/ Hawaiin lei flower tree outside my bedroom window. It's just blooming its fool head off. The air is literally perfumed! It's almost dizzying! (My father used to say, don't ever let them give you anesthesia, because they won't be able to tell the difference - so dizzy might be subjective here...).

Houseplants Gone Wild

Or
You really CAN Go Home Again

This is Paradise: Florida - where escapees from past lives of pampered prissiness in the rarified atmosphere of, well, hothouse flowers - come to GO WILD! Welcome to Paradise! You’re HOME! Now get outside! No need to wipe your feet. Just plant ‘em.

Phil O Dendron. You’ve got the top bunk. Climb right on up into the tree canopy. Yo! Snake! (I’m from Joizey originally¼), Ms Dieffenbachia! There’s the shade. Stay put and be quiet! You fancy Orchids, you’ll be hanging around in that oak. No sweat. No greenhouse torpor. Relax. You’ve come to the right place. See you next week!

Coleus! Shade or sun? Your choice. Begonia! Impatience! Cool it. Iris, take the plunge in the pond. (You seem different, somehow!) Herb! Didn’t think you’d make it but there you are, feet in the sand, basking in the sun. If you don’t want to get down and dirty, you can pull up a pot. If you come on too strong, you’d best stay in that pot. I’ll water you more often, if you insist. It’s my pleasure, really.

Rose! WATCH OUT! There are spider plants creeping around your feet!

What I’m trying to say is that here in sunny southern ( middle, western) Florida, houseplants we spent fevered hours acclimatizing do quite well turned loose on the outside. No more: Which window? - What exposure does this need? - If I mist, will it bloom? Do you think this new curly hose thingy will stretch across the house? – Here is where genetic memories beckon from the goo of collective pasts. At last Flora has returned to her birthplace from the miles and millennia.

And Yes: Memory still exists. Impaired, fuzzy around the edges, ‘way the worse for wear and tear, but here it is. Pay no attention to those rotting floors and those mushrooms sprouting in that musty corner behind the plant tray! (It really happened!) I also had Swedish ivy rooted to the baseboard of my old Vista Cruiser, stowed away, while en route to a “plant party” years ago. It might have been that same party wherein I transported a lizard to this nice lady’s living room amongst the plants for sale, where it deplaned (DE Plane! DE Plane!) and set a room full of women screaming and scurrying for their lives. It started innocently enough with one dowager exclaiming: “There’s a FROG on the wall!!!!”

I had a dome greenhouse back then, accumulated from the ex’s pool business. This was the site of much passion. Not between aforementioned 23rd letter and your devoted memory-less auteur. (unless I just can’t remember, and then just how passionate could it have been?). Anyway: Aunt Alice was visiting and became the unfortunate voyeur to the tryst of a couple of snakes. (reptilian, not herbaceous or matrimonial ) (repeat the shriek: “There’s a FROG on the wall!!!”)

In that domed greenhouse, I nurtured a Passionvine. I don’t remember how it came into my possession: This was the ‘70s in New Jersey. But there it bloomed in all its kaleidoscopic wonder. That greenhouse was a major loss when x stopped marking the spot and the kids and I moved down here to Venice.

Another bittersweet memory lights the corner of my gardeny consciousness: My lovely compost pile. Formed like the mashed potato mountain in Close Encounters from said unconsciousness and topped, (no kidding) with a giant bocce ball sized, doo ball. I had accumulated my pile’s crowning glory after watching it drop right out of the wrong end of an elephant, when the circus came to town and the girls and I went Trick-or-Treating. (It wasn’t Halloween but I took plastic bags to beg some tiger bedding/deer repellant(?) and whatever circus stuff they’d give me to add to my garden. (The girls refused to get into the car with the very intense-smelling stuff). Anyway – the elephant’s contribution topped the compost pile, a steaming, eventually dried out cherry on top, direct from the elephant to me. I used to walk around that compost pile meditating. (Again, I blame the 70s, and the 60s for that matter...) It was the center of the garden. Heaven’s bull’s-eye. So. I’m walking and breathing deep when all of a sudden, there’s a very big (about the size of a half-dollar) flat stone of pink quartz crystal in my hand. (60s). But it really was there! And I owned it until we made the move down here. I have a picture of the pile. I’ll show it to you.! Look again at the beginning of this post! Look closely!

(But I digress. Kind of. We moved to Venice now over a decade ago. That same year Venice lost the circus. This was the circus’ winter home and the elephants used to take part in the home-town Christmas parades down Main Street. So I lost the elephant connection Big Time that first year.)

But the Passionvines bloom here all year long, each a three-dimensional miracle. There are passion fruits hanging on the vine, the pony tail palms and Sheffleras bloom and the skies are not cloudy all day. Bananas and papayas grow their flowers and fruits and join the rest of us happy fugitives, returned now to the primeval garden, living the good life. Running wild (or as wild as we wish at this late date...) Reminders are everywhere, that it just takes time and following your heart to begin living up to our birth right, our true potential. Memory doesn’t leave. It kind of just gets buried in the goo. But the Call of the Wild exists in us, waiting to say “Welcome Home”.

Florida Gardening seeds to plant for January and February

SEEDS FOR JANUARY AND FEBRUARY

Here are some seeds you might want to start during January and February: Beans, Beets, Brussels Sprouts, Cabbage, Cantaloupe, Carrot, Cauliflower, Collard, Corn, Cucumber, Eggplant, Endive, Kale, Kohlrabi, Leek, Lettuce, Mustard, Onion Seed, Onion Sets, Parsley, Parsnip, English Peas, Pepper, Potatoes, Radish, Romaine, Rutabaga, Spinach, Squash, Swiss Chard, Tomato, Turnip, and Watermelon.

Newspaper mulch.

Here is my newspaper mulch! As close as I'll get to Florida snow. The oldest part is about three months old now and the occasional weed does peak through. But I'm saving loads of time and back bending and it's much nicer to walk on barefoot than the pebbly, stick-y sand.

Recycling Newspapers in the Garden

Now I don't feel bad about buying the Sunday newspaper just for the TV guide. Got a shredder and am now mulching the paths in my garden. Neighbor just brought HIS stash. Looks great, like Bizarro World snow. Seems to be matting down and keeping any weed seeds from sprouting. I get about 3 square feet per Sunday Herald Tribune! And Oprah magazines, Prevention, any usable junk mail. Pretty good! Will take some pictures soon.

Florida Cool

First cool morning - temperature in the 70s - low 70s even! Florida "snow" - Jasmine petals on their ground, still on their branches, but air heavy with that perfume. Silvergold light. Love the mornings. Still some frangipani blooming, still some butterfly weed blooming.

About me

My dad used to call me Sprout! I grew up in New Jersey - The Garden State and moved to Florida so I could garden year-round. I grew up in the 60s - and so am a Flower Adult now. It's Peace and Love, Baby!
My house is surrounded by garden. No lawn. Just garden.


I'm a garden writer and garden Yenta - I want to know every gardener and hear about your gardens. I'll help you where I can and be so glad to know you!