Tag Archives: Green bean

Bambi, You Blew It

Image from Jean-Louis Servais from Pixabay.

As a child, did you watch the Walt Disney film, “Bambi”?

I didn’t, but my second grade class read the adorable fawn’s story. I hoped a friendly deer like Bambi would let me ride on his back. However, sightings during the 1960s in Indiana, even at my family’s woodland cabin, were rare.

Years later, when deer overpopulation resulted in state park hunts, I was appalled. How could they shoot Bambi?

Image by OTH Amberg-Weiden from Pixabay.

A herd in Oregon’s Willowa-Whitman National Forest helped me realize why. Our children opened car windows to pet them. Those hijackers tried to poke their heads inside. If Hubby hadn’t closed the windows, we’d have lost both kids and upholstery.

Also, my dad’s truck and a deer collided. With big-time damage to the animals, as well as vehicles, you’d think they’d look both ways.

Riding our tandem bike, Hubby and I have managed to spot deer before they get too close and personal — except for one incident, when a fawn ran alongside our bike for 100 yards.

Lovely creature, with trusting eyes.

He almost reconverted me — until we and our garden moved near town’s edge. Groups hang around our nearby church. Holy instincts? No. Those thieves never learned the Ten Commandments.

Images for WikiImages from Pixabay.

I imagine their eating-out conversations:

Stag: I’m sick of corn.

Doe: Eat soybeans.

Stag: Same-o, same-o. Let’s go to Phillipses’ Golden Corral. Now, there are beans.

Doe: They’re wonderful, but the servers aren’t very nice.

Stag: That weird one swung a hoe at me.

Doe: Maybe if you tipped her—

Stag: Why? She’s an animal!

My weirdness as well as deer repellent haven’t saved our green beans. One deer apparently stuck its head in a tomato cage. Hubby and I, puzzled at the cage’s disappearance, searched without success. A neighbor brought it to us, mangled almost beyond recognition.

Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay.

Have the deer learned their lesson?

In a word, no.

The Internet bristles with suggestions of how to get rid of them: grow marigolds, garlic, lavender and mint, or hang soap, old CDs and pie pans nearby. Avoiding chemicals, gardeners spray concoctions of egg, liquid dish soap, garlic and/or hot sauce. Engineering types suggest motion-activated flashing lights or ultrasonic deer repellers. Others build ten-foot fences.

I could add a watchtower. And order a bazooka from Amazon Prime.

Bambi, you blew it.

This “server” is about to get serious.

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Is Bambi still your BFF? Why or why not?

Help for Gardening Addicts

Image by Mohamed Hassan from Pixabay.

Gardening addicts. Never leave them alone at a garden center or nursery, where obliging, devious personnel help them take out a second mortgage to buy the last bougainvillea. This, though the tropical lovelies prefer Argentina over Indiana.

Younger junkies fall victim to buying binges after watching HGTV. However, gardening addiction does its worst damage in women of a certain age.

They should know better than to trust this mad urge to nurture. Most spent decades caring for little humans. They’ve repressed memories of endless feedings — and the waterings with which baby sprouts responded. These women dealt daily with mountains of fertilizer. Eventually wising up, they limited the number of nurturees they’d cultivate.

However, spring gardening regenerates the madness. While spouses are playing golf, the women load up with 35 flats of annuals, 37 bags of potting soil and barrels of pansies, adding just one more hanging basket here. Another there. How can they ignore wilted tomato seedlings? With their TLC, the weaklings will flourish.

Addicts.

Image by Marin from Pixabay.

With symptoms listed below, I hope to alert family and friends of this malady.

Signs of Gardening Addiction

Early Level

  • Switching from a regular cart to one the size of a brontosaurus.
  • Bragging to strangers about how many green beans she grew last year.
  • Fibbing about extra trips to garden centers.
  • Claiming kids/grandkids are responsible for dirt in the car.

Second Level

  • Bragging to strangers about how many zucchinis they forced on friends last year.
  • Buying seeds by the pound on the Internet.
  • Claiming proud ownership of 234 flowerpots stacked in the garage.
  • Delighting in the $1,000 tiller her husband gave her for their anniversary.
Okay, so I filled the brontosaurus-sized cart. If Hubby hadn’t been present, I might have filled five.

Third Level

  • Hijacking a brontosaurus cart at gunpoint.
  • Shoplifting bags of manure.
  • Buying seeds by the barrel.
  • Claiming proud ownership of 9,781 flowerpots stacked in the garage.
  • Organizing neighborhood kids for a dandelion-blowing party at a rival’s gardens.

Final Level

Image by Opal RT from Pixabay.
  • Buying an authentic Sweet Juliet Rose. The original plant sold for $15.8 million.

I am proud to inform readers, as well as my spouse, that today, I didn’t brag to a single stranger about green beans or zucchini. I bypassed needy tomato seedlings. I kept my regular cart and made a single purchase.

“Only one?” Hubby blinks in disbelief.

“Only one,” I assure him.

“A rosebush.”

These plants just had to go home with me. Who could resist?

Your Extraordinary Ordinary: Are you a gardening addict?