The Whittier Garden Communicator is hard at work, culling votes on Whittier Garden's motto. Votes (all The Communicator's) narrow it down to three:
#1: "Eh, whatever"
#2: "Manana"
#3: "What's that smell?"
The Communicator will hear other suggestions till midnight tonight. Not that The Communicator gives a tinker's damn what anyone thinks. After all, The Communicator is in the habit of COMMUNICATIN'. You has just been Communicated with.
Garden news: last Communique, dispatched by your very own Communicator (also known as "Beloved Divine Uncle Communicator") The Communicator figured a word regarding not letting the garden kids chase each other with the new garden hatchet would have been clear enough. Recent events cause The Communicator to clarify, asking gardeners too, please refrain from this activity. It does nothing for our image, tarnished enough by the Easter Incident (whoever laced the pageant crown with goat-heads, confess to Wendell. You owe band-aids). Thank you for your attention to this matter.
The Communicator, however divine, gets a little .... cranky at the cold spring weather. IS IT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR TWO SUNNY DAYS IN A ROW??
Evidently.
Like all gardeners, The Communicator yearns for warmth. The Communicator gets just a little moody with the cold spring weather. Yet in his benficience, mercy, boredom and angst, The Communicator asks his self "What can I do to spruce up the common areas? What blooms early?"
Why, Poison Oak! Some of Whittier Garden's core values are ingenuity, and selfless devotionialism. Call The Communicator crazy (really just a little S.A.D, it usually passes) but The Communicator has seeded the fence strip with this hardy climber, and early lush ground-cover. Watch the seedlings; pretty potent stuff.
This augments the jimson weed, datura, and also the hemlock starts put in during fall clean-up (note: Whittier Hemlock Society meeting on April 23 was a smashing success, altho whomever was last one standing forgot to shut off the chipper).
Cadaverously speaking, The Communicator asks gardeners to watch for stray dogs in the garden. There has been ... some digging. Not completely sure, but wasn't our dear garden the Denver County cemetary in the late 1800s? We've been seeing .. well ..... The Communicator is no expert at anatomy (yes, hard to believe), but was that a FEMUR posted on the Whittier Bulletin Board last week? Chewed as it is, sorta hard to tell.
Not that The Communicator puts anything past SOME gardeners. The Communicator has SEEN "Hot Fuzz". Makes The Communicator suddenly muse over what's really going on with the hatchet. It cannot be overstated not everything gets completely taken care of by the wood-chipper --Hemlock Society, you are on notice here-- but for normal skeletal remains, just rebury. Especially you spinach gardeners; the starts will LOVE it!
Yours, as ever
Whittier Gardens Communicator.
PS: yes, those are real fire-ants nesting around the south perimeter. Remember, you can out-run them. But only if you are awake. Rocking-chair gardeners pay attention!!!
PPS: abandoned-plot gardeners are still responsible for appearances. Resembling litter-boxes, neighborhood cats find abandoned plots irresistable. Arguably, they don't dig as much as dogs, but do unearth some pretty odd business. Digits, the occasional rib ..... please! Keep your plot tidy.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The Whittier Garden Communicator --April 11, 2011
OK. OK. This is Whittier Communicator. The Communicator is communicating here. Listen up.
First, for the oblivious, there's a roll of twine, and baling wire too, nailed up on the back of the bulletin board. Its high up; rug-rats can't reach but you can. Wire nips are in the drawer. Good stuff! Use it for whatever.
Also new is a small hatchet --for stakes and such. The Communicator is tired of whittling with his vintage 1984 Buck-knife, bought in Willimantic Connecticut many moons ago (trivia: Willimantic, Indian for "land of swift running water" demarks NY mob from Providence mob. Bet you didn't know that) --Do The Communicator a favor, make sure it gets returned to the tool-bucket. DON'T let the garden kids (kinder-garten??) chase each other around with the thing. It's unseemly.
The Communicator is covertly reinforcing a few plot borders around the Great Circle. The Communicator is tired of muddy watering-wash sluicing down the sidewalks. The Communicator's hide severely chaffs at this. Try and not be watering slobs. It upsets The Communicator.
Another peeve is GOATHEADS. I realize this is a PERSONAL problem. If you don't know what one looks like, see The Communicator. I'll show you the ones in your plot. Fact of life --they are EVERYWHERE. But, The Communicator will have no truck with them. Nor will his anyone who loves The Communicator, all three of you. Each time a loathed goathead is yanked by The Communicator, an angel LOSES his (or her) wings. Do you want that on your hands? Didn't THINK so. Yank a goathead. For puppies and goodness. For crying out loud, dost thou not ride a bike? Dost thou not HATE goatheads??
The Communicator adores his fans. He knows he isn't always popular; The Communicator is even a little *stanky*; just ask The Communicator's squeeze. "Phew", she says. "Get some @#&!%!! deodorant. You smell like horse-hockey".
OK. The Communicator is reviewing this.
That is all for now. The Communicator wishes you happy gardening. Within reason.
Ok. Ok. That is all.
The Communicator loves y'all. Sorta like The Fakawi Tribe.
"Short Men in a tall prairie, jumping up and down, chanting "we're the fakawi, we're the fakawi!"
OK, The Communicator is gonna fold his laundry, and go to bed.
First, for the oblivious, there's a roll of twine, and baling wire too, nailed up on the back of the bulletin board. Its high up; rug-rats can't reach but you can. Wire nips are in the drawer. Good stuff! Use it for whatever.
Also new is a small hatchet --for stakes and such. The Communicator is tired of whittling with his vintage 1984 Buck-knife, bought in Willimantic Connecticut many moons ago (trivia: Willimantic, Indian for "land of swift running water" demarks NY mob from Providence mob. Bet you didn't know that) --Do The Communicator a favor, make sure it gets returned to the tool-bucket. DON'T let the garden kids (kinder-garten??) chase each other around with the thing. It's unseemly.
The Communicator is covertly reinforcing a few plot borders around the Great Circle. The Communicator is tired of muddy watering-wash sluicing down the sidewalks. The Communicator's hide severely chaffs at this. Try and not be watering slobs. It upsets The Communicator.
Another peeve is GOATHEADS. I realize this is a PERSONAL problem. If you don't know what one looks like, see The Communicator. I'll show you the ones in your plot. Fact of life --they are EVERYWHERE. But, The Communicator will have no truck with them. Nor will his anyone who loves The Communicator, all three of you. Each time a loathed goathead is yanked by The Communicator, an angel LOSES his (or her) wings. Do you want that on your hands? Didn't THINK so. Yank a goathead. For puppies and goodness. For crying out loud, dost thou not ride a bike? Dost thou not HATE goatheads??
The Communicator adores his fans. He knows he isn't always popular; The Communicator is even a little *stanky*; just ask The Communicator's squeeze. "Phew", she says. "Get some @#&!%!! deodorant. You smell like horse-hockey".
OK. The Communicator is reviewing this.
That is all for now. The Communicator wishes you happy gardening. Within reason.
Ok. Ok. That is all.
The Communicator loves y'all. Sorta like The Fakawi Tribe.
"Short Men in a tall prairie, jumping up and down, chanting "we're the fakawi, we're the fakawi!"
OK, The Communicator is gonna fold his laundry, and go to bed.
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