Today I got a good look at Tina, the lizard who lives in my garden.
She has blue eyes, like my wife.
Guy looking at vines at the nursery: *Grunt*
Me: That one is nice and clingy if you want something that will climb brick.
Guy: You know about ivy?
Me: Just from my days at Harvard.
Guy: You went to Harvard?
Me: Lots. I used to deliver pizzas all over New Haven.
Guy: Walks away
A neighbor I’ve never met before knocked on my door tonight and gave me this. She’s moving out, and found it in her refrigerator. She’s admired the garden on my balcony, and thought I might take care of it, since she’s leaving.
Over my wife’s objections, I have put it in a pot with some dirt, and we’ll see what happens when it has sunlight to work with, and not just the dim bulb of a refrigerator.
I can’t imagine what the rest of her refrigerator looks like.
A butterfly came to visit my garden tonight. Itʼs called a common buckeye, but to me itʼs most uncommon, because I donʼt get very many butterflies.
I decided to see why the holes in my Swiss cheese plant are so much larger than they should be, and found this little guy curled up in the garden.
I guess I should squish him or spray him or something. But I think Iʼll just let him have the plant. I can grow another. And the world needs butterflies more than I need yet another plant. Plus, birds gotta eat, too!
I shall call him “Herman.”
It is said that in Houston, you can plant broomsticks and grow brooms. Itʼs a way of saying that the cityʼs location, geology, and weather are so well-suited to growing plants that if you canʼt grow something, the problem is you.
Thatʼs mostly true, but only if you get enough light. If youʼre in a north-facing apartment, youʼre just as hampered in your growing efforts as someone facing north in Chicago, or Los Angeles.
To grow plants in Houston, you need a lot of sun to counteract all of the excess moisture you have to deal with. That's why under the city's proud canopies of oak trees, the vegetation is usually sparse, or in varying states of decay. If you get dappled sunlight, you might have luck with foxtail ferns, but the important word there is still ”luck.”
A good example is at Houston City Hall, where the mighty oaks spread their branches, bogarting the sunlight and leaving everything underneath to rot. It all looks really bad. But in the sunny spots, you can see the landscapers are doing a great job with the flowers.
There are parts of Houston that are really ugly. But there are also parts that are really pretty, and very often those are places where the city has made an effort to plant flowers.
I wandered through Main Street Square in the rain today, and the flowers are in full bloom.
I spent the morning at the tree museum. I think the Houston Botanic Garden will be really nice in ten years or so. Today, it looks a lot like itʼs just barely gotten off the ground. Lots of saplings on bare earth. Bulldozers. Sections cordoned off for construction. Urban hillbillies riding quads over the exhibits.
I became a member last year, but probably wonʼt renew. The benches that were nice for sitting on and looking at nature have been removed. Itʼs doing concerts now, farming for restaurants, and charging unwarranted prices to walk through its Christmas lights display. Even members have to pay, which is very unusual amongst serious musea.
It has a good location, and lots of potential. I suspect that the financial pressures of COVID have caused its leadership to lose its way in the forest.
The two sunflowers Iʼm trying to grow in three-inch terra cotta pots have gone from silly to ludicrous. Oneʼs about four feet tall, the other about three-and-a-half. The seed packet said theyʼd grow to between 12 and 20 feet tall. Theyʼd better get a wiggle on if they want to reach that height before I move.