I was responsibly putting away clean dishes this morning, stacking two glasses together prior to shelving them, when one of them exploded.
Well I suppose it got bumped by the other glass but still.
These tumblers are made of a kind of special material which breaks into tiny pieces, because big shards of sharp easily-located glass are a lot more dangerous than unfindable, hopelessly-small chunks which can show up in your food for the next month or so and also get lodged in every crevice inside of the open dishwasher so probably the dishwasher is ruined too.
But enough of that bleak broken-glass story.
Really I wanted to share with you about the dead kiwi vine.
It was the girl vine, so now the other one is a widower.
Which brings up the question: why did just one of the two identically planted and watered vines perish? Now in the interest of full disclosure I will add that, just prior to the female vine’s miserable death, I treated BOTH pots to some appropriately diluted liquid fish fertilizer. Nourished one and decimated the other? Perhaps male kiwis are from Mars and female kiwis are from Venus but in any case I won’t be doing the “treat” thing again this year.
When I removed the Deceased I noted that the soil was NOT dry, just damp, aka perfect, but an autopsy revealed that some of the roots looked less than vibrant which is to say squishy.
The very tan woman at the plant nursery suggested an underground virus, which I found troubling but which could be a great premise for an HBO apocalyptic gardening series. (Creepy side-note: I replanted the dead vine in a new pot to see if it might inspire a botanical zombie series.)
The male kiwi has taken the loss remarkably well.
In fact he has already remarried.
The new bride is a little stressed looking– I think, at the nursery, she was given drugs for growth but not for color. I replaced all the suspect soil in and below the rusty raised bed and I envision the new Mrs. Kiwi getting greener or at least not dying right away.
I will not write today about birds except to note that there is a robin’s nest in the grape arbor and whenever I put laundry out to dry on the nearby line the robins yell at me and I am just so glad that I don’t understand a single word of Robin– although I sincerely regret having so little formal study of French.
Now here is something. The new blue penstemon, of which I purchased two plants…
…and they are called “Electric Blue” although when I look up “Electric Blue Penstemon” on Google images the flowers shown don’t seem to have the lavender element but it could be they just forgot to plug them in, I don’t know.
I’ve also added to the garden one plant of this nice red penstemon which I call “Francine’s Penstemon” although I am not talking about hummingbirds today, at all.
In other news, there has been a blessed event in the Fern Department. See the baby?
I’ve had this thick, lacy fern for years, a gift from a gardener who propagated it from a fern that was a gift from another gardener… So you see I have every reason to not know what sort of hardy fern this is and actually I’ve always just called it Leif’s fern.
By now you have likely almost forgotten about the dead kiwi and the broken glass–isn’t that nice?
We will finish today with a short movie (57 seconds), kind of a general garden movie just for your viewing enjoyment and also to introduce you, briefly, to the perspective of The Six-inch-tall Person. (This could be important later.) Perhaps too, consider the movie as a light ending following the sometimes nightmarish content of this post which you must at least admit had something to do with gardening and very little to do with hummingbirds and was really hardly at all concerned with hedgehogs or even dead hedgehogs.