Symptom and root cause

Having mowed the grass and fertilized the flowers, vegetables, and roses earlier in the week, I began the task of reclaiming the front beds from the vines that have flourished and trimming the hedges under the windows. Only a few weeks after I have pruned, I pause by the living room window and suddenly it's as if I'm looking out of the window of Sleeping Beauty's castle, except the prince has already rescued me and now it's my job to keep the brambles cut back.

For three days, I pulled vines, knowing it would be a job to be done over because I could not get all the roots on the first pass. However, by the front corner of the house, I did succeed in digging up an enormous smilax root that just went on and on, bulb after bulb. If I have left even a piece of it, there will likely be a smilax vine there again. As I worked on this project I reflected how many processes follow this pattern: if I don't get the root, the vine will grow back and it will be to clear all over again. The vines can have the back yard; in the front I must have some semblance of order.

To follow up on the last post, the sasquatch has become a better judge of ripeness and has eaten two more cantelopes successfully, leaving only the rind and seeds.

Cantelope 2

Bob is excited to hear about the scratches on cantelope. This new evidence adds to his conviction that a sasquatch has been visiting our back yard for over a year. First the nightly raids on birdseed and suet, and now the parallel scratches inside the cantelope.

I wonder if sasquatch also eat roses. 

Cantelope 1

The garden has been quietly growing. Night time raids by the deer have subsided with the help of Milorganite and frequent rains. A week ago something mowed three parsleys down. All quiet since then. The parsleys are coming back up. Even the roses in the back yard are allowed to grow for now. But last night, in a stunning reversal, a cantelope got the better of someone. All evidence points toward the raccoon.

The cantelope had been neatly opened on one end and the seeds scooped out. Parallel claw scrapes along the inside surface of the fruit looked about the right distance apart for a raccoon paw. There the project ended. The fruit remained uneated. Did the raccoon decide it doesn't like cantelope after all? Too bad. That one was just right for picking. Perhaps the raccoon is merely a good judge of ripeness and not a fan of fruit.

I am tempted to make something out of this opened cantelope, a little globe grown on a vine, an opportunity left unwrapped.