All we want are the facts, ma’am: Horticulture crime drama, episode 2

Plant Code 2447B: “Subjecting Plants to Embarrassment”:

Think about it. What if all the other bougainvilleas on the block looked like plants, and you had to look like an Apollo space capsule.

Detective Billy Goodnick is on the case, and pruning crimes are his specialty.

Ok, we northerners will have to swap out the bougainvilleas (jealous!) for some shrub that actually grows here, but the spirit of the crime against horticulture is the same.

Lookout you “people perpetrating pointlessly pitiful pruning on peaceful plants”, the plant police are coming for you and your pruning shears. In my dreams.

Gardening: More fun with guns

This has to be the ultimate expression of redneck gardening.

…there’s a new way to sow your seeds: blasting them into the soil with a 12-gauge.

Flower Shell is a shotgun shell filled with flower seeds that will produce anything from daisies to sunflowers to poppies to meadow flowers.

Yes, you too can plant a garden without shifting your backside off the rocking chair on your veranda. The developer claims the shotgun shells really work and says of his planting efforts – with pride:

This flourishing field was my creation, it was all done with 142 shotgun shells.

LINK: For extreme gardeners, shotgun shells full of seed

How I Learned to Be an Imperfect Gardener

Interesting essay on the development of a garden and its gardener:

…making a garden is a gift of letting go and giving nature a chance to teach me what works and what doesn’t.

A garden, by its very nature, changes and evolves. Sometimes we work too hard to keep it how it is — like a static painting with every plant remaining in the same place, with the same size and same blooms every year. That’s impossible. If we can learn to let go and embrace the changes in a garden, we’ve made the first step toward gardening in a way that constantly surprises and grips us on a deeper level.


Why Did My Plant Die?

You walked too close.
You trod on it.

You dropped a piece of sod on it.

You hoed it down.
You weeded it.

You planted it the wrong way up.

You grew it in a yogurt cup
But you forgot to make a hole;

The soggy compost took its toll.

September storm.
November drought.

It heaved in March, the roots popped out.

You watered it with herbicide.
You scattered bonemeal far and wide.

Attracting local omnivores,

Who ate your plant and stayed for more.

You left it baking in the sun

While you departed at a run

To find a spade, perhaps a trowel,

Meanwhile the plant threw in the towel.
You planted it with crown too high;

The soil washed off, that explains why.

Too high pH.
It hated lime.

Alas it needs a gentler clime.

You left the root ball wrapped in plastic.

You broke the roots.
They’re not elastic.

You walked too close.
You trod on it.

You dropped a piece of sod on it.
You splashed the plant with mower oil.

You should do something to your soil.
Too rich. Too poor.
Such wretched tilth.

Your soil is clay. Your soil is filth.

Your plant was eaten by a slug.

The growing point contained a bug.

These aphids are controlled by ants,

Who milk the juice, it kills the plants.

In early spring your garden’s mud.

You walked around!
That’s not much good.
With heat and light you hurried it.

You worried it.
You buried it.

The poor plant missed the mountain air:

No heat, no summer muggs up there.
You overfed it 10-10-10.
Forgot to water it again.

You hit it sharply with the hose.

You used a can without a rose.

Perhaps you sprinkled from above.

You should have talked to it with love.

The nursery mailed it without roots.

You killed it with those gardening boots.

You walked too close.
You trod on it.

You dropped a piece of sod on it.

Geoffrey B. Charlesworth