Seriously, green beans. Chill out.

What the flying figgity lawdamn cuss word?

Neglect your green beans for a few days of margaritas, a modicum of partying in the back with visiting friends…

and partying in the side…

…and maybe the other side, too…

The point is, leave your green beans on their own for just a little while and they will hide out in the shadows, multiply, get full of themselves,

AND BEGIN TO BELIEVE  THEY ARE ZUCCHINI!

Wiggle wiggle it.

Green beans. Don't be alarmed.

To put this into perspective, I have man hands.

 

Hand on the left = grown 6'5" man. Hand on the right= me. So don't mess.

Hand on the left = grown 6’5″ man. Hand on the right= me. So don’t mess.

So these beans, nearly as fat as my man fingers and twice as long, are not goofing around! These are some meaty beans. They got some junk in the trunk. They are, however, still delicious–surprisingly, not pithy or stringy at all. I’ll cut them up tonight with a batch of beets I harvested today, too.

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See? My hands are so big, I can’t keep them out of the picture.

In other news:

1. Screw it. You win this round, weeds.

She is of zero use pulling weeds.

She is of zero use pulling weeds.

2. Gladiolas wpid-20140731_111558.jpg

3. Bell pepperswpid-20140731_111533.jpg

4. Who knew squirrels would dig up your onions? And for no reason other than squirrels are assholes.

5. Speaking of assholes, Paris Hilton the Cat is gone. Her family has moved to West Virginia and now there is a poop-in-my-garden-box sized hole in my heart. Sure, she was a mean-spirited, filthy, spiteful, pink-collared, entitled, brat of a cat, but she was my Nemesis. I guess you could say: Paris Hilton, you completed me.

Once.

 

 

 

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Paris Hilton: The enemy at our garden gates.

First off, y’all should know that Paris Hilton is a cat. An adorable cat. With a pink, rhinestoned collar. Which is the first reason I’ve named this deceptively adorable cat, Paris Hilton. But the second and third reasons are the reasons why Paris Hilton is my enemy. My nemesis. The Big Bad of my garden’s 2nd season.

Reason number 2 (there’s a pun here, you’ll see why in a minute) I call the cat Paris Hilton: Remember when Paris Hilton the Socialite ordered the pilot of her private helicopter to touch down on some poor German family’s farm?

A source told Britain’s More magazine: “She gave the farmer a bit of a shock. Her bouncers even blocked the farm door so the family couldn’t go inside their own house while she was using the loo.” The star then allegedly spent another ten minutes on the startled farmer’s porch, so she could smoke a cigarette. The unnamed farmer said: “She was cold as a fish, and cursed about the weather.”

Well, just like Paris Hilton the Socialite who feels entitled to pee wherever she wants, Paris Hilton the Cat thinks she’s entitled to use my garden boxes like her own private loo. And she smokes. Okay. She doesn’t smoke. But if she did, Paris Hilton the Cat would leave her butts everywhere.

photo credit: PerezHilton.com

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And Reason 3 I call the cat Paris Hilton: SHE WON’T GO AWAY!

So, right now I’m sitting in my garden chair, keeping watch. Paris Hilton the Cat will slink in, that’s sure, but I’ll be ready. WE WILL HAVE BEETS!

In other news:

1. I threw a tantrum, so the kids helped me weed.

2. Last night we ate homemade strawberry shortcake with strawberries fresh from the garden.

Homemade shortcakes, y'all! And real whipped cream.

Homemade shortcakes, y’all! And real whipped cream.

3. The Stella d’Oro daylilies look lovely in the strawberry patch:

Stella d'Oro daylilies

Stella d’Oro daylilies

4. The plum sticks are growing leaves. Yay!

Japanese Plum Stick. Now with leaves.

Japanese Plum Stick. Now with leaves.

5. I treated the columnar apple tree with Neem Oil. We’ll see if we lose it to the Fire Blight. (“Out, damned spot! Out I say!”)

6. We’re already on our second harvest of radishes.

It's a radish.

It’s a radish.

7. And this is our front-yard garden, Year 2 Day 26:

Year 2, Day 26

Year 2, Day 26

 

 

Our Front Yard Garden. Year two. Day one.

May 15th, the first safe day to plant thy tender seedlings, so sayeth the Farmer’s Almanac. This is what our front-yard garden looks like today.

DSC_0618

Meh.

DSC_0613

But. We had NEGATIVE 22 degree weather this winter! Whaaaat? In Athens, OH, our little sub-tropical Appalachian hill town? So, you know, some things are bound to go to shit. My thighs for example. It was a loooong winter.

The pee teepee. I mean, the pea teepee went to shit. (Or whatever–let’s face it, we have kids, dogs, cats, drunk college students roaming the sidewalks, a construction worker who brings his crew home to drink beer(ssssss) in our yard, and me who’s just old enough not to give a damn anymore. So both things, pee and pea, are probably true)

DSC_0638 The quaint little arbor we made from the branches of a Rose of Sharon tree we cut down?

It went to shit. Though we probably should’ve used something better than hot pink dental floss to lash it together. It wasn’t classy. Or effective.

 

DSC_0630

This is one of our dwarf peach trees. Yep. Gone to poops. There was some sort of gross jelly-like orange goo all around it’s base, which is probably a strong indicator that the weather wasn’t entirely to blame. Seriously, the goo–it looked like marmalade–and it was disgusting.

DSC_0629 (Also, look close. That’s actual bird poops on the dead peach tree. Talk about adding insult to injury.)

 

 

 

 

Good news is the strawberries are doing great.

DSC_0624The blueberries have buds.

DSC_0609And the Nanking cherries have tiny little fruits clinging to the branches.

DSC_0612In a very adorable side note, my six-year-old calls the Nankings “pie bushes.” But then again, she has a rich inner life. With an imaginary mother who bakes. She also has a stuffed cat named Muffin, which is maybe supposed to make me feel guilty or something.