Outdoor Living

I'm not sure how I deleted the entire post I was almost done with ... but I did. Here's my best attempt at recreating it:

Unlike my Little Dog, I love birds.

While she enjoys nothing better than to dart around screaming ferociously about the audacity of their very existence with the fervor of a religious zealot, I'm content to sit quietly and watch as they do their birdy things.

However, most of the time I'm outside, there's a couple of dogs who expect to be by my side ... a fact that hasn't gone without notice in the bird community.

For ages now, I've wanted a birdbath. I'm pretty sure it dates back to one fateful walk in Inwood Hill Park (a miraculous place, which happens to be home to the only remaining natural forest in all of New York City). The dogs and I were finishing up our hike, and we'd come out of the woods on the north side of the park by the soccer fields.

As I walked, I happened to glance over to a nook between the trees and the brush on the steep incline of one of the many rocky cliffs that makes up that wondrous place. There, a tiny waterfall created by a recent rainfall had a miniature lagoon collecting at its base, and in that pool played several little birds.

I stood, somewhat rapt, watching as those little flyers splashed the water up onto their backs then shook their feathers and primped and preened. It was such a delightful sight, and one I was allowed to quietly enjoy as Little Dog hadn't yet discovered her deep loathing of everything that resembles birdkind.

Inwood Hill is partly responsible for my intense need to have my own yard, so it stands to reason that the root of my birdbath longing would also originate there.

When I moved, I started shopping the birdbath aisles, looking for just the right thing. I also began checking out feeders, figuring I could set up a little birdie bar and grille in my backyard. There were a couple of K-Mart spectaculars that caught my eye -- one an "antique stone" (or regular cement) number with a lion head on the back (I really liked that one) and the other the standard mosaic fare. However, I couldn't ever find myself justifying the expense.

But this weekend, at that Bargain Barn (seriously, the Bargain Barn ... a.k.a. the "K-Marts North" a.k.a. "my favorite store ever") I found my bird feeder:

I brought it home and Matt helped me hang it in the tree right next to my patio. He and my dad sat and shook their heads as I tried time after time to talk birds into going to it and having a snack. I couldn't understand why they didn't all flock their immediately.

A tip on the bag of seed said that water draws the birds, so by Monday when still no birds had come to the feast, I decided fate had intervened to tell me it was time to get my long-desired birdbath.

As the Bargain Barn didn't have any birdbaths, I had to turn to another delightful staple of my rural northern Michigan town, a new store called Family Farm and Home. I'd been in there a couple of weeks ago and seen a birdbath I didn't really care for, but for only $12. I figured it had to be worth it if only the birds would come take their lunch break in my yard.

When I got to the Farm store, I couldn't find the birdbath I didn't really like, but this one, which I think is awesome, was there for only $11.19:

It's like old-timey metal, but in plastic form. It looks really good until you get up close and see the old-timey metal colored brush strokes. But that kind of thing doesn't bother me.

I bought it on Monday, and by Tuesday morning there was a bird-bash going on at my patio. Birds were snarfing down the seed at the feeder, splashing around in the bath and primping and preening on every available perch.

Caramelizing Concerns

It's 2 a.m. and I'm going to bake a cake. And I'm not taking the easy route, either. No boxes, no cans of frosting. I'm baking this puppy from scratch, and it involves caramelizing pears and everything.

I had a challenging day, and I thought to come home and write, because I've been away from this so long. But, in addition to writing, I discovered I need to DO something, too. The motivation isn't there to clean (which is what I really should be doing -- 2nd wave of family coming in two days) and I've been meaning to try this baking thing since Monday when I gathered all the ingredients.

Most of the gathering took place at the grocery store, however I needed a small amount of brandy or bourbon for this recipe. I didn't want to buy a whole bottle because I'm not allowed to have bourbon ever again. Luckily, I live a half a block away from my favorite bar. Admittedly, I felt a little bit strange walking down the street to ask for a couple spoonfuls of booze, but I reasoned that it's no different than asking a neighbor for a cup of sugar (something else I've never done before). It all worked out, and any thoughts that my walk home carrying of those condiment cups of Jim Beam was even stranger that my walk to the bar were erased by my excitement over my certainty I was about to embark on a path toward baking genius.

I didn't get to it for a couple days, but the determination is overwhelming now.

First off, I should mention what we're making. I recently read Molly Wizenberg's "A Homemade Life" and loved it. In fact, it's part of what got me to thinking about doing this blog. She's writes the blog Orangette, and this recipe was in her book. I also found it on her site, so here's the link:

http://orangette.blogspot.com/2005/10/how-i-hit-hard-ball-stage.html

Here I go, for real.

Step 1: Do dishes. OK, so I did have to do some cleaning. It's like multi-tasking ... sort of.

Step 2: Assemble ingredients.

Step 3: Bake.

Step 4: Make caramel pear sauce stuff.

Seems simple enough, and so far, so good. I have to say I was incredibly concerned because when I put the batter in the cake pan, it was sticky and lumpy and didn't look great.

I was a little apprehensive of the batter, also, because it smelled kind of funny. But it tasted good, so I licked the bowl clean.

Several hours later ...

A lot of this was nerve-wracking. Aside from the lumpy sticky batter, I was obsessively worried while making the caramel sauce. Don't let anyone tell you a watched skillet doesn't caramelize. It does. It just seems like it won't.

As the cake cooled, I decided since I didn't have to show anyone, I could slice a bit of the edge off and give it a try. I was delighted! It was really nice and crisp. Sweet and tangy with the lemon zest, ginger and molasses really making it distinctive.

All of this was surprisingly easier than I ever would have thought it would be. It looked like it was going to turn out!

OK, I got too excited as the time to eat the cake neared. I decided I had to share. At exactly that same moment, my boyfriend called and said he would eat some cake if I brought it over. So, I put the cake in bowls, drove it over to his house and tried to protect it from the drizzling rain as I searched my keychain for his key. Unfortunately, my innate inability to find keys isn't just limited to when I've set them down and can't remember where. Apparently, it extends to when they're in my hand, I'm balancing two bowls of cake on my arm and it's dark and raining.

It's now 5:31 a.m. The light's starting to break outside, just the slightest bit and the dishes are done. The birds are chirping and I have this deep satisfaction that I cooked something and it turned out right. It was really lovely. The flavors complemented each other perfectly. I enjoyed it, and Matt said he did too. I'm quite sure he would say so no matter what, but I think he really did think it was good.

The best part is, I forgot all about the challenges that were weighing me down when I got home from work, and I believe in a very few moments, I'll be able to lay down and not worry about anything except how much cake I get to eat for breakfast.

The Countdown is On

I'm about to embark on family visit mania.

One of the highlights of living in a summer paradise is the family likes to come visit. All of my adult years, I've lived somewhere other people want to visit and up here, it's fun to gain a fresh perspective on my quaint little town.

So often, it's easy to dwell on the day-to-day minutia of it and forget to look around and appreciate what I have.

But, when the family comes, I'm offered the opportunity to be thankful for living near the beach, having a yard that's easy to hang out in, having a house and enough air mattresses to throw big slumber parties and just generally living in a completely beautiful place.

While all that is great, there is a problem. I am in no way shape or form ready to have these guests! I have a list a mile long -- the above is just a sample -- of things I want done before they arrive. Plus, most of them haven't visited for quite some time and there isn't much different since they saw the house last.

A couple of months ago, when the visit talk started, I thought to impress everyone with how much progress I'd made since the last time they were here. I thought to wow with my home improvement prowess, sending everyone back downstate with awe for what a little Debbie Domestic I've become.

Now, I'll be lucky if it's clean!

But, my family is very low key, and I know they won't judge me ... at least not to my face. But tomorrow I must get started on some of the things on my list. I probably won't get to all of them, but I can try.

My dad will be the first visitor, and he's coming solo so it'll start out slow. I have a project planned to complete with him, probably on Saturday.

When I was little, my dad used to make the best pickles. I was thinking of things I wanted to do for this site, and I asked if he'd be interested in making pickles with me. He doesn't have the same recipe, but I figure the Web is sure to deliver something we can use.

I'm actually pretty excited about the shopping. I've always loved Mason jars.

Anyway, that's the plan. But first, I must clean up. All of the working on the yard has turned the inside of the house into a sty. Wish me luck. I've certainly got my work cut out for me.

I cooked. Seriously

Here's the evidence, right next to the picture from the cookbook:

Not exactly the same ...

Moving to rural northern Michigan from New York City has its ups and downs.

Considering I'm not from this area, upon finding out I spent a number of years living in big cities, people always wonder how -- and why -- I ended up here. There really is more to it than I wanted to live by Lake Michigan (though not much), but that's another story for another day.

Today's story is about curry.

Aside from missing my friends like crazy, there is very little about my choice to move that I'm not satisfied with on a daily basis. The pace of life here is comfortably laid back, the cost of living is so much beyond cheaper I can't even begin to describe ... and did I mention Lake Michigan?

But, I miss my friends and I miss going to watch them be talented. I miss the diversity of New York. And I so incredibly miss the food.

I was never in a position where I could afford to go out to eat much. Not proper-like, at least. But, there was a lot of take out in my life. And a lot of variety.

And I recently realized it has been three years since I ate Indian food -- and I don't mean the casino buffet. Not Native American Indian, I mean the kind of Indian from India.

So, here is the retelling of my first attempt at real cooking.

I've cooked other stuff, but never anything more complicated than pounding and flouring a pork chop, opening a can of green beans and throwing together one of those boxes of au gratin potatoes (a delicious meal, mind you, but not exactly a challenge).

The recipe I used was from a cookbook I picked up in the grocery store last year. I love cookbooks (pretty hysterical, considering last night was the first time I actually used one), and this was one of those glorified magazines, all about chicken. Well, what did I have to lose?

There were several things in the recipe I didn't have in my cupboard, so I made my shopping list and went the the grocery store. I'm hoping, through these cooking experiments I intend to do, I'll be able to build my cupboards into something that is somewhat functional. Something where, if I want to make a recipe, I don't have to go out and spend a ton of money collecting ingredients I've never heard of before.

The recipe said the prep time for this was 8 minutes and the cook time 24 minutes (did I mention the cookbook is "quick and easy" recipes?), which is actually kind of funny because I spent over two hours on this meal. Given the fact that I didn't start cooking until after midnight and hadn't really sat down all day, I was really tired by the time I ate (between 2:30 and 3!).

There were some really interesting moments in the process -- like when I wondered how I got the knobbly thing that was under the sign at the grocery store that said "ginger" to look like something that belonged in a sauce.

These Internets really are a wonder, because all I had to do was Google "how to chop ginger" and click on the first thing I saw. On that page, there was a link showing how to peel ginger, which apparently is the first step of chopping it. This trick with the spoon is brilliant, so I copied the link: http://allrecipes.com/HowTo/Peeling-Ginger/Detail.aspx.

I noticed some of the time frames in the recipe were pretty short, like adding ingredients then adding more ingredients two minutes later, so I decided to prepare everything in separate bowls, putting the stuff together that needed to be added at the same time.

Perhaps this sounds a little elementary, but this cooking stuff is terrifying business, and I really thought this whole process out.

My favorite part was adding the spices, because the recipe said to "cook until fragrant." There was no doubt what that meant. It smelled so delicious in my house, I couldn't help but hope that was some sort of good sign of what was to come.

I have to say, the entire process was pretty entertaining. I did do some things wrong, though.

The sauce ended up being way too thin, and I think there were two factors involved. The recipe called for frozen spinach, thawed, and said to squeeze out the excess water. I don't think I did a good enough job with this. My hands got really cold, and I was already over an hour into the process and getting hungry. But, rushing is not worth ruining the giant vat of sauce. The other factor was, I mistakenly used diced can tomatoes instead of crushed. I'm wondering if crushed might give it a thicker consistency.

There was one other issue with this. It said to stir the chicken into this mess, and cover simmering for 10 minutes. The chicken most certainly wasn't done that quickly. And besides, doing it the way the recipe said sort of created this boiled chicken that had kind of a squishy consistency.

I've decided the next time I make something like this, I'm going to brown the chicken a little first, and then finish cooking it in the sauce. I think that would work a lot better.

In the end, it tasted pretty good. I love cumin. I didn't realize that until yesterday. But, it wasn't spicy enough, and as I mentioned, it was really too thin. But, I'll keep searching for the recipe that reminds me of sitting on my office floor in New York with Ann at midnight the night before the big hair show, eating curry and complaining about how much work we still had to do.

I'll still miss my friends. In some ways, I'll still miss New York.

But, this week, I won't be missing curry.

New Friend

I met this fellow tonight on the side of M-22.

I was driving along, enjoying the beautiful stretch of highway and I saw movement on the side of the road. I slowed down instantly, prepared to slam on my brakes for whatever was about to dart out at me.

However, there was no darting being done by this old man.

When I noticed the sheer enormity of this creature, I had to pull off and take a picture. I wish I were a turtle expert and could tell you how old he is -- or even what kind -- but, even with a shocking lack of turtle trivia in my arsenal, I was able to enjoy the few moments I spent in his company.

He just looked at me like, "What?"

And I answered, "You better be careful if you're thinking about crossing this road."

And he was like, "Oh, you're giving me advice?"

Which, I have to admit, he has a point.

In the meantime, he totally made my day. And I am so glad I was able to snap a picture, because he is one of the coolest creatures I've ever seen. I'm thinking I should print this picture out and put it in a frame.

Maybe it will remind me of this advice from a turtle: When crossing a road, be big enough so people can see you and go slow enough that they have to go around you. Keep your armor in tact, but understand that it's a wonderful thing that your insides are soft and vulnerable. And remember, your shell slopes down, which helps everything roll right off your back.

If all else fails, wield one of your dinosaur legs in a threatening manner. Some are bound to be intimidated by that.

Anyways, the Chickens are in the pot. So are the Hens! It started raining though, so I wasn't able to take a picture. But I do have this to share:

I called Sis to tell her about trimming my bush for the first time and started laughing so hysterically I couldn't manage to continue. So, I didn't get any tips from her on bush trimming, but I imagine it's a lot like when I started cutting my own hair.

The first time (cutting my hair that is), I started with my bangs. And cried. And immediately called a hair stylist and made an emergency appointment. When I got there, he made fun of me and what a bad job I did cutting my hair the whole time. I guess that kept him busy, because he didn't fix my bangs at all. I cried again.

(I should probably mention that I worked for a world-class stylist in New York for almost three years, and during that length of time, had the best hair ever. The instance I mentioned was my first post-working-for-the-salon experience.)

I tried a couple other people out, but had this problem where, every time I told them, "Please don't give me a mullet," they would give me a mullet. So, one day (probably a few beers in) I picked up the $7 Goody scissors I'd bought at the grocery store and started hacking. The scissors were so dull the hair kept slipping out the ends. But I kept hacking.

I have fairly short hair, so to see the back, I took a little makeup mirror and held it up, grabbed chunks that looked uneven, set the mirror down, switched the chunk into the other hand, picked up the scissors, and hacked again.

About a year later, I wouldn't say I have it down to a science, and I still cry every once in awhile while I'm cutting, but I upgraded to $25 scissors from Sally Beauty Supply and they're actually sharp enough that they cut the hair. Overall it's better than a mullet.

I'm thinking trimming my bush (still laughing, sorry!) is going to be the same way. I ran away the first time I tried, after I realized I left big holes in the overall shape of it. But, once I calm down, and think about how I want it to look, I'm sure I'll be able to make it look at least better than it does right now.

Maybe I'll try tomorrow. Come to think of it, my hair really needs a trim, too.

HUGE DISCLAIMER: I don't really recommend anyone cut their own hair. Most people have a much higher level of success going to salons than I seem to, and my years working at one made me realize that hair stylists are often extremely talented and well-trained people. HOWEVER, something about me must scream mullet ... so, if anyone out there finds themselves in a similar predicament, I guess a good way to gauge whether or not cutting your own hair is a good idea is by asking yourself this question: "Could it look worse?" If the answer is yes, chances are cutting it yourself will get you there. If the answer, like mine, is no, then what do you have to lose?

Solace and Tools

To say it's been a challenging week would be an understatement.

But as I was sending a complainy e-mail to a friend tonight, I told him about this blog and I realized something. I've already started to look forward to this. It's like, fun. It's fun to think about, to plan and it's actually fun to write.

This, my gardens, my grand plans for food I'm going to cook and just the idea of projects that are all about me and what I want have given me something that resembles light at the end of a sometimes long and dark tunnel. It's a certain solace that I didn't have before.

And tomorrow, I can look forward to planting these:

Hens and Chickens!

D6 gave them to me. She's given me lots of wonderful plants since I moved into this house, which I promise to write about in more detail soon. But, these Hens and Chickens are the latest, and from my perspective, one of the greatest.

I remember being fascinated by the barrel of Hens and Chicks that were in our backyard growing up. They are just the neatest thing. They are a succulent, which according to Merriam Webster, means they have fleshy tissue that conserves moisture.

They spread, too. I can't wait to see how they do. For now, I'm going to put them in these pots I got a couple of years ago, before I moved into my house, and have yet to use. I'll have to keep my eye out for a big, old barrel for them.

And, I have to send a nod in D's direction, because as she has told me (so many times, but my exuberance seems to get the better of me every single time), it's bad luck to say "thank you" when someone gives you plants. You're just supposed to nod, and then they know you feel grateful.

Speaking of gratitude, and I think I'm allowed to in this instance, I am so lucky to have my master gardeners giving me advise. Between D, Sis and Mommy, I have learned so much already! Some time soon, I'll have to write about their gardens, because they truly are spectacular.

They are giving me the tools I need to do this, and as I'm learning in other aspects of life, without the proper tools and knowledge, life can be extremely frustrating.

And since I'm sure it's been the burning question on so many people's minds, I did finish planting the marigolds yesterday. I also mowed the lawn.

I was on the phone with my darling fellow yesterday when I pulled up to my house and said, "Wow, look at what a nice yard that girl has!" Luckily, he finds me charming (I think). But, it really does look nice.

It's supposed to rain Saturday, which is probably a good thing for my plants, and the inside of my house which has become frightfully neglected. I need to clean something awful!

Also coming Saturday: I'm going to try to make this chicken curry I have a recipe for. We'll see. It looks fantastic in the picture in the cookbook. One of the hardest things about moving from New York City to a small town in northern Michigan is the lack of food choices. I miss Indian food so very much! So, I will have to learn to recreate it. I promise to report on the details.

A Million Down, Eight To Go

One little, two little, three little marigolds
Four little, five little six little marigolds
Seven little, eight little ... really, only eight little marigolds left?

After proclaiming for days on end that I'm going to finish the planting tomorrow, I really am going to finish the planting tomorrow. Even if I stick the eight marigolds I have left in the middle of the front yard, they are going in the ground tomorrow. Even if it's pouring rain AND thundering AND lightning ...

Today, I planted the perennials. I think I am the most excited about this cluster I planted today.

After trying to determine where I should put these plants, I called Mommy pitching a fit about how I really thought the tags that come with flowers should tell how tall they're going to get. I had remembered, last minute, that I knew what hollyhocks were, because they grow to be really, really tall. So, I examined the tag and nowhere did it say a height.

So, I examined the other tags from the other flowers, and still nothing. How could this be? Are you just supposed to magically know how tall these tiny plants are going to get?

I'm not sure what exactly made me turn the tag over and wipe away the dirt, but there it was. Plain as day -- the height range of each plant.

I arranged what I had among the myrtle already growing there, with the very tall hollyhocks in the back and the much shorter meadow sage in front. I am already imagining how they're going to fill out and how pretty they're going to look when they all start to bloom. There are going to be so many colors in this plot. This week sometime, I'll write out exactly what I planted in all these different beds, with pictures. I think it will be so interesting to see how they do and track their progress.

I got lucky today. The rain held off until almost the exact moment I was done for the day and ready to get going to work. It was lovely of it to rain for mostly the rest of the day. My plants all needed the water, especially after the Miracle Grow debacle.

Perhaps my reading skills are not what they used to be. Sunday, I decided to double check the amount of Miracle Grow I was putting in the gallon jug I've been using to water. I was certain I was just being extra cautious, because surely it said two of the big spoonfuls per gallon.

Not quite, actually.

It said you should use two tablespoons per standard 2-plus gallon watering can, and oh yeah, by the way, the big spoon in the package is 1 1/2 tablespoons. So, I was using at least twice as much as I was supposed to. So far, the consequences don't seem to be devastating. I was lucky it rained since then. Not a ton, but more than it has for awhile.

Tomorrow, I'll let you know where I put those marigolds. Mommy said it's good to put them around tomato plants because they repel some kind of bug, but as I mentioned yesterday, spacing around the tomatoes is at a premium. Hmmm ... maybe I'll put them just outside the garden by the tomatoes. That just might work.

Whatever I decide, I'm going to decide. Tomorrow. Then, all the planting will be done. Finally. Completely. Done.

Thrice As Long

Everything I plan takes three times as long as I think it's going to. No matter what it is.

The vegetables are in. They look really lovely, but like everything else, it took at least three times longer than I thought it would. I worked for hours and hours this weekend.

Since last posting, I went out yesterday to rake and clean up the plot. I got it all looking really nice, brought my vegetables over and realized that I have 48 plants. Figuring I should plant them all a foot apart, I started doing basic math and realized my 5- by 6-foot plot was simply not going to cut it.

So, I got the shovel back out and started digging again. I was just eyeballing it, but I dug about 2 more feet out from one side and another foot from the front and it looked like it was about 6-by-8. Just perfect for six rows of eight plants. (I love when math is THAT simple. Someday, I'll tell you about the more complex math that the router required.)

It's amazing how short a sentence can look -- oh, I just dug out a couple more feet here and a couple more feet there. But my back is telling me today exactly what hard work it is. I'm not sure if you can tell from the pictures how much bigger it got ...

So, once I got the extra footage cleared out, I set to planting. Here's how it goes:

First Row: 8 tomatoes
Second Row: 8 green beans
Third Row: 4 green peppers, 4 eggplants

Fourth Row: 4 yellow medium/hot peppers, 4 jalapenos
Fifth Row: 4 broccoli, 4 cauliflower
Sixth Row: 4 fancy lettuce, 4 buttercrunch lettuce.

I figured something out after rows 1 and 2: If you know how many rows you want, and you know how far apart, measure first. I don't mean with a yard stick, you can just eyeball it, but plot it out.

I didn't do this. My first two rows are very close together, and I'm nervous that they will crowd each other, but my garden guru friend D6 told me that those do well next to each other. She also gave me a bunch of new tips today:

• BROCCOLI: When the florets are ready, you can cut them off and the plant will continue to produce more. (I'm not entirely sure how this works, but I will ask more questions and document more as I go.)
• CAULIFLOWER: When the heads are grown, pull the leaves up around them and tie them off. This will keep them white and keep the bugs out.
• GREEN BEANS: NEVER PICK WHEN THEY ARE WET! She said they will rust, and the ones that you don't pick will rust, too.
• ONIONS AND CARROTS: D said to never plant these next to each other because the carrots will pick up the flavor of the onion.

You can probably guess why she's my gardening guru. She's full of helpful tips like this. There is a very neat surprise from D coming in an upcoming blog, but it's so very cool, I want to do the story justice and I am just far too tired tonight to tell it.

Again, because of the tiredness, I hope I got these tips right. I'll double check with her tomorrow and post any corrections I may find out then.

Though I said I was going to have the planting done yesterday, it's of course not. It's not even done today. I've got my full-sun perennials still, and not much full sun to put them in. However, I am clearing out a spot next to my house and I'll be putting those in tomorrow. Like everything else, it's taken me even more than thrice as long as I thought.

I have to admit, I thought I'd be able to do all this planting in a day. A long day, but a day nonetheless. It was a week today since I bought the plants, so I guess you could figure it actually -- given I finish tomorrow -- will have taken me EIGHT times as long. But, they've been an incredibly fun eight days.

Before the Rains Came

I'll admit, I was once a fan of violets.

They are so pretty and as spring begins to break they carpet the world, poking their happy purple faces out from their lush green leaves. They, along with crocuses, are one of the first tell-tale signs that winter is mostly over.

But don't be fooled. They are like a scourge across my yard. They are lovely and pretty and make for an excellent ground cover -- until you don't want them somewhere. Then, they infiltrate the soil with their spidery roots, which you will never find the end of.

The other bane of my existence is the honey locust tree. I say tree because there is one in the front yard, and it's lovely and provides excellent shade and has cute little white blossoms on it right now. But weren't locusts one of the plagues God rained down on the Egyptians?

Surely, my yard hasn't done anything like enslaving God's chosen people, so I don't understand how this plague came to spread it's monstrous destruction. If the tree in the front yard had kept to itself, I'd be glad to have it. However, this tree spread. And spread. And spread. And spread. Until every time I go to sink my shovel into the dirt, it hits one of the millions of roots running like some sort of plague-spreading interstate just underground.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, they have thorns.

I must have hundreds of these little saplings growing all over my yard. Last year, I tried to dig a bunch of them up and wound up looking like I'd tried to give one of my cats a bath. The trees attacked me, their roots nearly broke my back, and though I got what seemed like a ton of them out, there are several tons left.

For now, they provide a nice screen between my yard and the empty lot next to my house, which people walk through to get to the street behind.

So, as I began digging my much-anticipated vegetable garden today, these two beasts of Beelzebub reared their not-terribly-ugly heads, making my progress so much slower than I anticipated.

Before I started on the vegetable garden, I worked for quite awhile on another bed Uncles Keith and Pat built in the front yard. I didn't take a before picture of this one because it was too horrifying to document, but the picture above is after. I'm actually quite pleased with the outcome.

I planted some of the perennials I got on Monday. They all said sun to part-shade, so I hope they do OK. They're under the shade of (ahem) the honey locust tree, but I think the sun filters down fairly steadily. We'll see. I really hope they don't die.

I'd say the planting is about half way done, and one more day of solid work should see everything safely in the ground. I had hoped to finish today, but it started raining just in time for the Tigers to start playing, so I figured it was fate. Here's what I got done before the rain started:

It doesn't look like much, really, but it was incredibly hard work, especially with the honey locusts and violets getting involved. And actually, after the rain started, I dug up some more but I didn't take a picture because of the wetness going on outside.

Tomorrow, there's some raking to be done, and some further attempts to get the massive remnants of violets and those horrible, horrible trees out of there, and then planting -- my favorite!

Once everything is in, I'll take pictures of each plants and post them with their names so we can properly track how they are doing.

I had also hoped to fit my first cooking experiment in this weekend, but with the coliforms, I'm not ready to use any unnecessary dishes. In fact, tonight my dashing fellow bought a pizza, which we ate on paper plates. So, that solved that dilemma. Hopefully only one more day of boiling water to go!

Coliforms -- Not Colorforms

I was always an avid listener when Mommy would tell me about what things were like when she was a kid. In fact, I would sit rapt when anyone who was older would tell me about their childhood.

A favorite school assignment of mine was sometime in elementary school (surprisingly, I can't remember what grade). We had to interview members of our family for social studies, and we had to have one member from two or three different generations. The list of questions tended towards the "how much did bread cost" variety.

One of the best conversations I ever had with my grandma and grandpa was the result of that assignment.

In any case, I remember Mommy telling me about Colorforms and just like the other things Mommy talked about -- the paper dolls, the Easy Bake Oven and the hairpiece-wig-thingy -- I wanted some Colorforms. Also surprisingly, I can't remember if I ever got any.

Maybe the breach in my otherwise uncanny memory has to do with the fact that I just did dishes for 2 hours. Seriously.

It all dates back to 3:15 p.m., a mere 12 hours ago, when a fax came through at work. I was busily trying to do something or other when I heard my co-workers start buzzing. "Boil water notice ... boil water notice ... boil water notice."

Then, much to my delight, the notice was thrown on my desk with a hurried, "It's a city thing." Two quick notes about work. I'm the city editor, so the "it's a city thing" was an extremely valid reason for depositing the fax with me. The other tidbit about my life: I start at 3, so I'd only been there a very few minutes and was already staring blankly into the chasm of another high school graduation, set to begin at 7 p.m.

But I should have known. In fact I did, kind of. Breaking news on Fridays is like what they say about death -- it always comes in threes. So, I thought about my horrible last Friday, and wondered what would come of today. It didn't take long to find out.

So, I got on the horn (there's an olden time theme here, it's just yet to really release itself in full force) and started talking to the head of the water department. It seems there are coliforms in our water.

Now, I've already written plenty on this subject today, so I'm not going into the details. I'll just say, it seems a mechanical malfunction made the water main clean itself out, unleashing an unacceptable amount of bacteria into the water.

Unlike Colorforms, which are fun, coliforms can make you sick and make the Department of Natural Resources and Environment tell the city to issue a boil water notice.

I wish I could say that I was thinking of the repercussions of this event, wondering if anyone had suffered ill consequences -- literally. But, nothing that noble was taking place in my mind. All I could think about was the dishes.

There were loads of them.

They were piled like a filthy shipwreck in my kitchen sink.

You see, as I was weeding all week long, what I wasn't doing was my dishes. Or anything involving cleaning my house. This is not practical perfection-like behavior. But, I paid. Oh, did I ever pay.

I got home, looked at the dirty mountain, and decided there's no time like now. (I conveniently forgot that there was a time, much more like now, when the dishes first became dirty.) So, I set to boiling some water. And I boiled some more. And some more. And a whole ton more. It's amazing how much water fits in a sink and a little plastic bin-thingy. And it's amazing how hot water is after its been boiled.

(Now for the theme!) It was a lot like the olden days, doing my dishes in standing boiled water. At least that's what I told myself, to try to keep myself entertained as I spent 2 HOURS doing dishes. I also tried desperately to find any, ANY similarities between coliforms and Colorforms. But, as yet, I'm still at a loss.

On a happier note, the dishes are done and tomorrow I'm buying paper plates. Hopefully they won't be all sold out like the bottled water. In the meantime, here's the lesson for the day (and apparently it's one I have to keep learning over, and over, and over, and over ...): Do the dishes as soon as you're done using them.

This step simplifies life so very much. But, I'm quite sure I'm not the only one who hasn't fully figured this out yet. Tonight, though, I got several steps closer to graduating from that class.

Sidenote: I also realized tonight that there were clothes still in the washer from several (I refuse to say how many) days ago. To combat the smell AND the coliforms, I used bleach. We'll see how it turns out. I'm hoping OK, because my two favorite sweaters were in there.

COMING TOMORROW: I'm going to build the vegetable garden and plant all my plants. This is a picture of the site of the garden. I've seriously got my work cut out for me. ... I'm hoping I can get them all in the ground, because I worry about them out there in those little trays on my rotting picnic table. I'll report on the outcome.

Please Don't Show My Uncles

I literally have spent every available moment of daylight I've had for three straight days weeding.

Though this isn't the most fun I've ever had in my life, I do find weeding incredibly cathartic. Uprooting all the unwanted sprouts that shoot up and ruin our perfect picture kind of puts my mind at ease. However, it is really hard work.

I'm sure the fact that I worked for three days -- and this was just on the bed in the front and side of my house -- tells you something about how bad the weeds had gotten. Which makes me feel awful.

You see, the beds were a gift. Not the land itself. That obviously came with the mortgage. But the plants, and the labor that went into changing the difficult little strips of grass into a beautiful flower bed, were a gift from my Uncles Keith and Pat.

Last year, they visited for a Fourth of July family reunion spectacular, which was also an early surprise birthday party for Mommy. My uncles didn't come without a surprise for me, too, though.

Everyone had really been pulling for me to buy a house. I'd wanted to for years, and it was quite a struggle getting to the point where I could (I'll tell that story another time). So, upon arriving, they indulged me as I gave the tour of my brand-new first-home-ever. They oohed and ahhed in all the right places and nodded and added tips as I talked about what I hoped to do. Thinking back, and knowing Uncle Pat, I bet he was just a flurry inside the whole time, impatient to show me what was waiting outside.

They took me out to where their car was parked at the curb, to give me my housewarming gift. I couldn't imagine what it could be until they opened the trunk.

The entire thing was filled with plants.

As if that wasn't the dearest thing I've ever seen, Uncles Keith and Pat proceeded to spend hours -- of their vacation, mind you -- digging up the strips of grass, and building me my first-ever flower beds. And before I knew it, as many members of my family that would fit in those beds were clomping grass tufts together to shake the dirt off, laughing, shouting and having fun.

And Uncle Pat was spectacular in all his gardening glory.

The old adage about many hands -- well, in my family, it doesn't make light work. It makes a party. We have fun together, no matter what we're doing. And it very seldom is sitting still.

So, it was with shock, horror and a fair amount of embarrassment that I realized Monday I had a significant amount of work to do before I could give my beds, in which the hostas from Uncles are thriving, a bit of color in the form of Marigolds from Weesies. I hadn't been honoring the present I'd been given.

Three days later, the beds are weeded, the Marigolds are planted and my gift -- one of the very best I've ever received -- is looking absolutely lovely. And I'm feeling like a much more deserving niece.

A tip from Mommy on weeding: (Mommy hates weeding, so she tries to make it as quick and painless as possible.)
WATER FIRST. The weeds practically jump out into your hand.

Also, it's nearly impossible to just pull some weeds. A lot of them will just break right off, so use a trowel -- you know, the little shovel thing -- to loosen them up first. It makes a world of difference.

Buying Flowers

Of all the projects I hope to accomplish during this endeavor, this is the one I'm most nervous about. Which is interesting, because it's not the writing I'm afraid of, exactly. After all, I'm a newspaper reporter. I write every day, on deadline.

It's not that I'm afraid I won't reach perfection, even in the practical sense. Perfection, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, and this beholder is her own worst critic. I'm not afraid of the projects, or that I will fail in what I attempt. I probably will sometimes, if not often.

I guess I'm afraid of the newness, actually. My stomach was in knots the first time I interviewed someone. I worried through the entire first city council meeting I covered. And when I went out to cover my first fatal accident last Friday, I was terrified. So, every day that brings a new experience is scary. But it's also brings knowledge.

I know that, no matter how unprepared I am, I can get someone to talk to me -- and that makes for the best kind of interview. I know that I can dissect budgets and retell engineering jargon to make it accessible to the masses. I know that I'm not afraid to make a congressman yell at me and I know I will not look as they pull a 17-year-old girl from a car wrapped around a tree.

But I wouldn't have known any of those things about myself without a scary first time.

So, here's my first-time blog. It won't be the best I ever write, but my experience at the newspaper has made me certain it won't be the worst either. That, like the best, is always yet to come. I put this off for a couple of days, worried about how I would make my mark, make my fortune, make a difference. But all that did was find me excuses for not doing it. And that's not what this site is about.

This site is about setting your mind to something and making it happen. It doesn't matter what you don't know, because you can learn it. Specifically, I want to learn how to cook and garden. I want to do home improvement projects, and I want to write a blog.

But nothing new -- experience or knowledge -- can exist without that first time.

I bought plants yesterday. It was my first time walking into a greenhouse and buying plants to plant in my first backyard. And it was scary. And exciting. And new.

There are little plants outside (I didn't have time to plant them ... that's yet to come). They're as new as this blog, and I'm just as afraid they'll shrivel up and die as I am this will. But I want to learn how to garden. So, I will. And next time I go into Weesie's Brothers Garden Center, it won't be my first.