By LYNNE IRONS
Uncle! I have tried to do too much with this baby boomer body. It is remarkable how many different body parts hurt every morning. I hobble around for a couple hours when, not very long ago, I could hit the ground running. No matter! I’ll rest when I’m dead.
Memorial Day being early this year threw me. I am not quite ready but am feeling pressured to get tomatoes and peppers planted. Mine were started late and for some unknown reason I failed to put them on the heat mat. They are still teensy, but nonetheless healthy.
Never one to be confused with pesky facts, I only write what pops into my mind. Never take my advice as gospel. I planted Early Bird corn this past weekend. For some reason my seed company sent me a bunch of free early seeds — corn, beans, cucumbers and tomatoes. Apparently they didn’t think I had enough to plant after practically remortgaging to purchase seeds and plugs. At any rate I planted every one into large plug trays. At about two weeks tall, I bumped the corn babies outside. I have found that it is the only way to confound the crows. They love to pull up the barely emerging corn, beans, and peas.
I also have Stowell’s Evergreen, Golden Bantam, and Country Gentleman ready to go. I only plant the old-fashioned non-hybrids. They need to be planted a distance from each other to prevent cross-pollination if I plan to save some seed for next year. Corn is wind-pollinated. Each of the little strands of silk is connected to a kernel. Fall pollination is required for the ear to fully develop. Several short rows are better than a long one, to insure more pollen floated between ears.
I love to stand in the field stripping corn and eating it raw — that is if I beat the raccoons to it. They will completely strip every plant at the moment of perfect ripeness. I loathe them.
I planted a few varieties of hostas last year. They are absolutely spectacular this spring: Dancing in the Rain, Deja Blue, Eskimo Pie, and Old Glory to name a few. They are nice with astilbe and the about-to-bloom Lady’s Mantle. Hostas can take a fair amount of neglect. Notice the pathetic whiskey barrels in the parking lot of the Vineyard Haven post office. There is a hosta in the center surrounded by Gold Angelina sedum living in utter squalor amongst cigarette butts and Cumberland Farm rubbish. Tsk, tsk! I promised not to criticize anyone, but the postal department and/or Cumby’s are fair game in my opinion.
My friend Randy fractured her leg with the assistance of a large horse’s hoof. Call it what you may — cockeyed optimism, hope springing eternal, or triumph of the human spirit, but in less than 24 hours she was grateful it wasn’t worse and was in a place of acceptance. Good job, Randy!
What’s up with the round-the-clock coverage of former vice president Dick Cheney? Why now? We never saw the guy while he was in office.