QUE RESTE-IL DE NOS AMOURS?

There remain poppies, lilacs, tree peonies. Those do not seem to please Bambi and family as much as hosta, creeping phlox, and day lilies. The Turkish tulips are gone along with lily of the valley. Those made up a feast for the resident voles, whom the cat Ha Motzie pursues almost incessantly and whose sad little remains she brings to my doorstep. The garden is a battlefield and slugs make up the latest wave of insurgents. What am I to do, pledged as I am, not to use pesticides or any sort of chemical ides? Should I try diplomacy? Would Ban Ki Moon mediate a parley with these creatures bent on destroying my less than perfect paraideza?

My garden is not my castle. The constitution does not guarantee my right to hosta. I could poison the heck out of this little space where I try to grow flowers, fruit and vegetables. I am fairly certain that poisoning gardens is every Americans constitutional right. That poses a bit of a problem for those of us in Macondo by the Potomac. Our geology is one that makes it possible for the great limestone Swiss cheese that lies beneath our houses to leach poison from the soil and send it into our water supply, so tells me my friend Bob who knows what is what about geology and clean water.

Why struggle to garden organically when the municipality creates environmental havoc with the little park across the street? This is a question I repeat along with my plaintive refrain about the frequent violations of my community's right to quiet. I think it all comes down to personal responsibilty. I cannot control what the Town Hall does, though the mayor and Town Council are said to represent my neighbours and me. All I can do is take care of this little piece of land as well as I can. That means that I have to make peace with the fact deer eat hosta and voles eat most bulbs--daffodils are an exception. As for other environmental problems, maybe I should tend my garden and ignore everything else. Who needs the tsuris of dealing with politicians, academics and all the big folk who run little Macondo? Why not stop worrying about anything besides deer and voles? Ah, that is the big question every citizen must ask herself. Does anyone need to challenge authority when authority clearly neglects the welfare of the community it represents? I don't really know. All I know is that it is an exhausting business. If it did not sound so pompous, I would say that it is a Sisiphean struggle. The good thing is that if enough of us put our shoulders to the boulder we might stop it from rolling back. Hope springs eternal, no?

As the temperature drops to 37F I worry about its effect on my little garden. The seeds I planted outdoors in a an wheelbarrow--pak choi, mustard, bunching onions--have germinated and put out leaves the size of a ladybug. They are cold weather crops known to thrive in even lower temperatures. It is the infant fig and tender banana trees that worry me. They live out in the open, in whisky half barrels that offer them zero protection from gusting windows. Ideally, they should have been heavily mulched, but I operate a tough love garden where plants receive precious little coddling. Nevertheless, I hope against hope that these tender imports from warmer countries will survive this unusually chilly April.
As for me, I am also an import from a warmer country and I do not thrive in cold weather. For me, 37F feels positively so Siberian I must wrap myself in woollen shawls and feather comforters if I am to survive at all. Good hot chocolate helps keep hipothermia at bay and so do the comfort foods of the tropics. Piping hot black beans spiced with cilantro, garlic and onions, served over rice with orange salad or bananas as a side dish, are very good for the morale. So are Persian dishes perfumed with saffron and seasoned with sumac, Spanish stews and rich French soups. This is no time for delicate cups of consomme unless it contains generous dollops of cream and sizable splashes of cherry. It helps to read about warmer climates, too. Camilleri's mysteries, which are set in Sicily are rough and brawny and their main character, Inspector Montalbano is as coarse as new grappa and just as welcome when the thermometer drops.

Carpet rose Appleblossom, pink lilies and Baby Snooks geranium bring color to the summer border.

VINCENZO FIGHTS ON

Who would have thought that such a small animal--no larger than the palm of my hand--would have such reserves of strength? Vincenzo fights on, seeming to get better every day. Today he ate some chicken, part of a strawberry, some egg and broccoli. Unfortunately he seems to have an eye problem--possibly conjunctivitis--which though not life threatening, adds to his discomfort. Junior has found a very who treats reptiles and we are on her waiting list for Thursday. Should another client cancel an appointment, we will rush our little patient to the clinic. We expect a miracle.

Meanwhile the New Dawn roses began to bloom and a new clematis made its debut. This is the first time I have had clematis bloom the year it was planted. In a moment of fiscal abandon ordered four different ones from Son Sparrow Farm and to my surprise every one was in bud on arrival. Generous rainfall has helped these new additions to the garden as well as being being beneficial to our budget. Water is an expensive commodity in our village. For years the powers that be have been caving in to real estate developers whose need for sewer and water hook-ups exceeded the capacity of the existing sewer and water plant. Not surprisingly, a new water plant will have to be built. Its estimated cost will be twelve million dollars and guess who gets to pay for it--we the little folks who did not profit a whit from the explosive growth that plagues West Virginia's Eastern Panhandle.

Gardening is an expensive proposition in our area. As the price of food soars, it makes sense to plant vegetables to feed the body and flowers to feed the soul. The catch is that unless one plans carefully, one's budget can to hell in a garden basket. I happen to own a rain barrel. That trims the water budget a bit but I still depend on town water to keep my plants going. I have been trying to learn more about xeriscaping and plan to add more native plants to my garden.

Next year I intend to transition from almost organic to completely organic gardening. Since I have yet to master the art of transforming old newspapers and kitchen scraps into compost, I did use commercial fertiliser this season. Gardening takes time and willingness to learn. Most of all, it takes patience. Vincenzo can teach to cope with bad gardening mistakes, crop failure, bug invasion and other predicaments. Just seeing how bravely he endures the trauma of his battle with the evil Pepper is a lesson in perseverance.