What’s up with the salmonella on tomatoes? I have several thoughts on the subject. Bear with me as they are somewhat disjointed. First of all, big farmers are plowing up their fields as the market is so bad and they are trying to get another crop of something else into the ground while there is still time.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

Nothing makes me more relaxed than a rainy Saturday in July. Last weekend, in my opinion, was perfect for us gardeners. There is a country-western song out of the West Texas cotton fields with the following refrain.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

Holy Traffic! I completely forgot what summer brings to the Vineyard. I wonder why, at the first hint of cloudy conditions, everyone jumps into their automobiles and heads to Vineyard Haven or Edgartown. Timing becomes everything. If promptness is one of your virtues, you’re in trouble. It becomes, for me, an excellent opportunity to column-write. I try to make some noteworthy observations while wasting oil. I turn off the engine as much as possible. Statistics have proved that starting and stopping the engine is actually more fuel-efficient than idling. Plus, I hate exhaust fumes wafting into my open windows.
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I am crazy about the Kousa dogwood. They seem to be everywhere. I have two just out of infancy and hope for them a long life as well as for me. The one in front of Morrice the Florist is particularly impressive.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

I loathe raccoons. Nothing will wipe out the entire flock of chickens quite like them. I am positively religious about closing the hen house at dusk against them. However, the other day I must have inadvertently left a two-inch opening on the top of my meat-bird pen. Sometime around 4 a.m., I heard a ruckus outside — as luck would have it, my bedroom window was open. Clad in my nightgown and untied workboots, I must have been a sight. Sure enough, a teenaged coon was inside the pen trying to kill some breakfast. I encouraged the dog to “sic ‘em” and tried to do the raccoon in with a shovel. Being younger and much more agile than either the dog or me, he made an escape.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

Don Brown is a marketing genius. There is a gorgeous Golden Rain Tree in North Tisbury. Don put a large number of them for sale along the road at the newly reconstituted Middletown Nursery. I practically wrecked the truck pulling in for a walk-about. There are some interesting plants for sale and it is worth stopping by.
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Bragging rights to Lee Scott. Her white tree peony has 42 blossoms. I get smug when mine has one or two. I think the blooms last less than a week but in the big picture of the garden year it is worth the purchase price. One has to clutch the chest and exclaim, “Oh, my God!” at the sight. Tree peonies are, in fact, deciduous shrubs. The term is rather misleading. The herbaceous peony dies back in the fall and the new shoots emerge in the spring. Peonies can be years’ worth of garden column writing material. China is home to the wild Moutan tree peony from which all others are bred. Sadly, the tree peonies are a bit more temperamental than the herbaceous ones. They do prefer a little shade from the midday sun. You will never regret planting one near a traveled walkway.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

Since I write this column a week ahead, I am always a week behind. Now there is a statement describing my life. Nevertheless, I have a few offerings concerning Memorial Day. I guess memory might be the key word.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

T.J. Hegarty accused me of being a political activist in the Vineyard Haven post office last week. Where did he get that idea? Here is the original . . . Mark Twain said, “Sometimes I wonder whether the world is being run by smart people who are putting us on or by imbeciles who really mean it.”
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While enjoying my morning cup of Joe, I looked out at my blooming white rhododendron, fragrant viburnum, fully budded miniature lilac, weeping crabbapple, mature old apple in all its glory, the remnants of the flowering quince, and watched a pair of orchard orioles flitting about in the apple tree. Now there is a sight to write home about. I confess I don’t do that as often as I would like. Good thing the folks receive the Gazette weekly. Hi Mom and Dad . . . . Love you!
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

I love living on the Vineyard. What with all the depressing news in the world, we have a fairly idyllic lifestyle. There is a bustle of activity out and about preparing for the onslaught of summer guests. It is wonderful to live somewhere that others choose to live on their summer vacations. National Public Radio aired a segment the other day about Massachusetts being in much better shape than the rest of the nation.
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How is it even possible that the weeds have already overtaken my gardens? You have to admire them. They get pulled, cut, cultivated and mulched and yet they persist. I wish I knew my weeds better. I need to give Abigail Higgins a ring and get some identifications. I have several with which I am learning to live. They bloom and provide living mulch, so to speak. One is jewelweed. The foliage is attractive as well as the yellow flowers. The orange juice from inside the stem somewhat relieves poison ivy itch.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

I have always loved keeping up with current events. I like to know what goes on in the world around me. I am partial to gabbing in coffee shops and in checkout lines. I used to practice saying names of foreign leaders so I looked good in conversations. This raid on the fundamentalist Latter Day Saints’ compound in Texas has my attention. Aside from the moral and legal implications, I am following the sociological and physical aspects. Granted, the photographs are few. There is a notable absence of men, also known as the perpetrators.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

The other day on the radio, they were discussing the rising cost of rice and how it is affecting a great deal of the world’s people. In fact, many cultures eat rice at every meal. They blamed part of the problem, of course, on the price of oil needed to haul that rice around.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

Those in the know hear this little song every week on the Prairie Home Companion (Saturday at 6 p.m. or Sunday at 1 p.m.) on National Public Radio.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

I was considering taking a garden hoe to my attic last week. The weatherman predicted four days of rain and I figured it was my last opportunity to get rid of years of collectibles before gardening chores take up all my time. The other alternative is to hope my children torch the place in the event of my demise.
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I love Easter. Not only is church filled to capacity, but it is the real turning point between winter and spring. It doesn’t seem to matter that it is particularly early this year. Main street is getting its annual makeover. Especially lovely is the store front of the Two Susans. There is a shocking number of tête à tête daffodils. As I recall, that bed looks spectacular all summer.
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It is an uphill climb from every direction to my hometown of Rew. It is one of the highest points in the state of Pennsylvania.
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Prudy Burt sent me this little poem. She said it came on a mug that Heidi Schmidt brought her from England.
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There is nothing like carefree youth. While driving near the Tisbury School, I saw a young boy with a broken foot on crutches riding happily on a skateboard. I laughed out loud — only because I wasn’t his mother.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

I have been wracking my brain to come up with a garden topic this week. Should I stay with some sort of winter theme or get fully into the gear-up for spring?
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Last Saturday was one of those perfect winter days — cold and crisp — not a cloud in the sky. An impressive crowd turned out for the memorial service for Bob Flanders at the Abel’s Hill cemetery. It couldn’t have been a more beautiful day to be laid to rest.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

I have had five memorable dogs. Each has lived over a decade and a half. My all-time favorite was Emma Jones, the beagle of my childhood. After college and moving to the Vineyard, I found Emily, who was also a white beagle mutt. She helped me raise my little children. Larry, a blue-tick hound, was always in need of a diet. He was fond of lying on the side of the road, much to the consternation of passersby. He had a habit of going up to the old Woodland where he begged donuts successfully.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons

I am a slave to tradition. For starters, I hate to shop so when I find an article of clothing that I like, I buy four or five so I do not have to buy it again for years. I am a uniform dresser (as was Albert Einstein.) I eat the same foods . . . eggs for breakfast, supper leftovers for lunch, and a chicken or pork roast for supper that lasts the week ending with some sort of soup or gruel. I have a rotary phone, hang my laundry outside, and like only the old hymns at church. I plant seeds from the same place every year.
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This marks my first anniversary as the writer of the garden column. I’m following in the footsteps of Jean Wexler, who wrote the column for many years. Great job, Jean, how did you do it? For me, the column has been challenging at best. Hopefully, one can forgive me my shortcomings, especially repeating subjects and waxing political.
» Full Story By Lynne Irons