Greetings everyone, and boo. Yes, once again, it is I, Chess the purebred border collie, who’s totally against anything even remotely scary. You may remember me from such posts as “A Close Call” and “The Happy Elephant”, among so many others.
Here I am in a characteristically noble pose. I know I have something on my nose, but I don’t think it detracts much from the essential nobility.
Hardly anything has been done in the last couple of days. Those are the best kind of days. The guy I live with got a few lily bulbs in the mail from B&D Lilies, and planted them yesterday. “The roots go at the bottom”, he said, which was good to know. He’s not much into lilies but they had some species lilies (Lilium martagon) which, of course, being a snob and all, he had to have.
He admits that he also got bulbs of a hybrid, ‘Mrs. R. O. Backhouse’, which these are bulbs of. (The guy I live with says that isn’t proper English, but I typed it anyway.) They’re supposed to be planted in “deep, leafy soil” which he doesn’t have any of, either. (So there.) This is despite 25 years of working leaves and stuff into soil to get “leafy soil”, but nothing has really happened. Like when gardening books say to dig in a bunch of “leaf mold” and the guy I live with makes all these phone calls to get some and no one knows what he’s talking about even though he read it in a book, so it must exist.
He did not get the lily with the color of women’s old underwear, which he still wants, but nobody has. The lily, not the underwear. You know, Lilium × testaceum, the Nankeen lily, supposedly the same color as Queen Isabella’s underwear which she refused to change until the siege of someplace or other was lifted, and, well it’s not really a true story anyway, even though it’s been told before on this blog (telling it twice doesn’t make it true), but the color, isabelline, is real. “Who doesn’t like a good underwear story in the middle of talking about gardening?” the guy I live with said, and I think the answer would be me.
The guy I live with did spend some time bolting the fence around “the enclosure”, or at least the part that’s falling over, or part of the part, and then he got this “brilliant” idea to cut some champagne bottles in half and use the bottom halves as sort of stepping stones, or something like that. He’s not sure he likes the way these look, but he says he’ll cut more tomorrow and maybe show pictures and everyone can see how awful this really looks. Picasso he is not.
So it’s Halloween. My least favorite holiday after Fourth of July. Scary little kids coming to the door again and again. The guy I live with is desperately trying not to eat all the Kit Kats he bought for the kids, but it could be a losing battle.
It’s really windy and kind of chilly, dry leaves are blowing all over the place, and so we have a movie sort of showing that. It isn’t scary or anything, not like “The Conjuring” which the guy I live with saw recently and said was really scary, but at least it is seasonal.
The guy I live with put off raking leaves because the forecast said it would be windy, and he says “wind is a good way of getting rid of leaves” except that they’re blowing into the garden, not out of it. Well, what can you do?
I guess that’s all. Maybe tomorrow he’ll have something interesting to say. It has to happen eventually, huh.
Until next time, then.