It’s New Glove Day! I wanted to take a glamour shot for the eleven seconds they were pristine.
It’s supposed to get cold tomorrow night. It maaaaay not be cold enough to kill some of my weird new salvias, but then again, it may. So I’m taking cuttings of the ones that have thrived, just in case, and will grow them out under lights in the garage.
A couple will come into the garage in containers once it gets Really Truly Cold, but I gotta get the cuttings before the leaves drop, which the cold snap might cause even if the roots are fine.
The garden is no longer a Wild Green Rumpus, but has settled a bit, as the pine needles dropped during the windstorm and carpeted everything with burnt sienna.
Still color, though! These are the ragged remains of the Tithonia, an annual I grow every year because they’re just so tough and fabulous.
Still feeding pollinators, too!
I desperately love lantana, which is a terrible plant for people like me to love because it is extremely invasive in warmer climates. So I am very careful to only grow reliably sterile cultivars, like Miss Huff here.
(For hardy lantana, that is. Annual lantana drops dead in winter here, so is safe for a few more decades, until our zones have shifted completely.)
The problem is that growers will happily tell you a lantana is self-sterile but neglect to mention that in the presence of another cultivar, they’ll set fruit. This gorgeous low-growing variety is everything I wanted, but dammit, it’s getting sexed up by Miss Huff.
(Miss Huff won’t set fruit, but is a cause of fruit in others, let us say.)
So, alas, if it overwinters, it’s getting pulled out. Which sucks, because it’s lovely and tough and all, but I’m not gonna run the risk of spreading a hardy invasive, even one that I love.
But on the native front, delighted that my climbing asters have established nicely! These are weak climbers but vigorous growers, and do fantastic threaded through a trellis. I planted one on each side and one’s even getting ready to flower!
Rather more earthbound aster is blooming out front. These plants are probably on their way out because they’re getting smothered by some taller stuff, but a few poke through a bloom and as long as they do, they get another year.
Right, enough blather! Time for cuttings!
Rare salvias are one of my great passions, and I really hope this weirdo overwinters for me, but it’s worth stacking the deck to be sure.
Okay! Cuttings taken and assembled. I used to think cuttings were some weird mystic Real Gardener thing that I couldn’t do, until I watched Gardener’s World and @TheMontyDon did a whole segment on it and it seemed...easy?
So I took a couple from a plant I was pruning anyway, and they took! They were real plants with roots! So I took more, because it couldn’t be that easy and next thing I knew, I was hip deep in cuttings!
Anyway, there’s lots of guides online, but the best trick I learned from Monty Don was to put the cuttings down along the sides of the pot, not in the middle, as was intuitive. For some reason, plants seem to really like that.
If you’re ever feeling guilty about not cooking a fresh home-cooked meal, a reminder that people in cities historically either had cooks or ate at food stalls, going back to Ancient Greece. Ancient Egypt, too, although since everybody ate bread, beer, and onions, less of a thing.
It’s a weird quirk of our obsession with nuclear families that everybody is expected to have time, skill, and equipment to cook daily and that if you’re a woman, particularly, you are a lesser person if you aren’t casually able to cook every day with random fresh ingredients.
Don’t buy into that. People since forever have hired cooks, gone to inns, lived in extended families where it wasn’t always your turn to cook, or ate such simplified diets that it was less of an issue.
I am having a Day, Internet. I will spare you the saga of my attempts to find a working ATM in a windstorm, but it culminated in getting sideswiped in a Burger King parking lot by a man going approximately two miles an hour.
You know how they say “That’ll buff right out?” My truck will buff right out. He barely scraped the paint. His minivan...not so much. The fender was pretty well corrugated.
His wife was furious and yelling at him and I felt terrible for the guy.
I was like “Dude, it’s not a big deal, nobody’s hurt, it happens to all of us, just photograph the scuff so you know I’m not gonna take a hammer to it or something.”
Anyway, related, I was doomscrolling the fires the other day, watching places that I used to know cease to exist, and I nearly cried for a second and then I didn’t, because it wouldn’t help and there was too much shit to do. And damn, when this is all over, we’re all gonna break.
We’re all doing the thing where you shove your emotions down to deal with the crisis. And that’s actually useful, because a crisis is not made better by having Feelings. So it’s healthy to do it, and then when crisis is over, you cry and move on.
Morning at Wombathaus begins with a three-way wrangle over whether I am Lawful Good or not.
ME: I always play a paladin!
SHEP: Oh no. You’d totally murder a small child to save a rare plant. Lawful Evil.
ME: Is that evil? It’s internally consistent—
LIZ: *facepalm*
SHEP: MURDER
ME: Ok, now are we talking actual murder or just letting someone die? Because murder would be evil, but if the kid and the plant are dangling off a cliff—
SHEP: That’s murder!
ME: No it isn’t! I took Intro to Philosophy and it’s God doing the murdering in that case!
SHEP: That is SO Murder!
LIZ: Also rules lawyering which is Lawful Evil.
ME: If you don’t act, then it’s technically God doing the murder! You technically aren’t morally liable until you insert yourself into the trolley problem.
SHEP: That is so Lawful Evil.
Apparently certain parties are tweeting about how colleges are just left-wing indoctrination again, and god, it’s like the universe just WANTS me to rant or something.
Fine. Let me tell you the saga of the time I actually got in-indoctrinated about something in college.
Although you would not know it from my twitter feed, O internet, I’m actually a very chill individual in general. I don’t get really incandescently angry often. I don’t yell, I have never thrown a toaster, and there’s very few things I get really genuinely worked up about.
(I mean, obviously I have the same low level seething rage as everyone these days, but I mostly just sit in my garden and sigh heavily and donate money.)
I spent a good decade of my life writing and illustrating books targeted to reluctant readers. Obviously lots of other kids read them (and adults!) and I’m thrilled, but they didn’t *need* those books the same way reluctant readers do.
There’s enough wrong with education in this country to fill a hundred textbooks, but one of our great sins is so often turning reading into an instrument of torture.