The usual garden story

A few days ago, I transplanted three squash seedlings. They’re doing fine, but …

Volunteer squash

… I now see six. Hmmm. And when I check on the first of the tomatoes I transplanted,

Volunteer squash

I see six more. On the second transplanted tomato,

Volunteer squash

SEVEN squash plants! I had given each transplant a healthy amount of the compost I had taken out of our bin just prior, which a few days later

Volunteer squash

looks like this. Maybe I can get some of these starts to grow at our chacra, where we have plenty of room for sprawling squash vines.

So this is how my garden grows!

Volunteer cilantro

The tomato seedlings are in a bed with a fair amount of cilantro, which I also didn’t plant this year.

And yes, I do need to do some weeding.

Sick trees?

On our dog walk today, Syd pointed out how unhealthy many trees looked — should they appear like this in spring? I agreed. The more you look, the more you see. And those strange hazy skies? Syd thinks it’s the result of aerial shpraying, as a certain German we know insists.

After I got home, I took my camera as I walked to the feria (street market). Wow! Lots of unhappy-looking trees, indeed.

Damaged/unhealthy trees, Atlántida, Uruguay

Right across the street from us.

Damaged/unhealthy trees, Atlántida, Uruguay

Then, in the feria, I ran across Pilar, host of blueberry picking and the feria orgánica (see Atlántida Events in the menu bar above), and asked her.

Yes, she said, the wind has been horrible, regaling me with stories about her torn-up shade arbor, piles of plums on the ground and lost blueberries as well (I’ll see on Saturday morning) because of the recent winds. She says the wind damages branches, allows contaminación and hongos (fungus) and insects to invade the weakened parts of the tree.

Pilar knows her stuff. She advises the Uruguayan government on hemp and marijuana production (former promising, latter disappointing because the chosen distributors — pharmacies — apparently want nothing to with marijuana. Hmm, less profitable than pharmaceuticals? Or something else?).

Anyway, weather’s getting weird, and it may be the result of some “geoengineering.” But for now I’m going with weather, and not aerosols, for the damaged trees. We simply have nothing here like the shpraying I so clearly saw in North Carolina, Spokane, and later developing in Mexico.

Benji’s 4 seconds of fame

Tiranos TembladTV posted four days ago its first Summary of Uruguayan events in seven months. The narrator explains that during this period, more than a thousand videos have accumulated, too many to show all. And then — drum roll — starts the summary of events with a dog barking at a balloon (1:40).

In case you’re new here (or to refresh your memory), here’s where that clip came from (added long after Syd’s comment):

The Summary is fun to watch all the way through. Even if you don’t understand the narration in Spanish, you’ll get the drift. There are a few bits in English.

So — if one dog year equals seven human years, Benji should have gotten 2.14285714285714 minutes (128.5714285714284 seconds) instead of 4 seconds. But the clip I posted originally was only 24 seconds long, and it was the “lead story” here, so good on ya, Benj. You’ve still got potential years of silliness ahead to claim your remaining 124.5714285714284 seconds of fame.

Dog-proofing the garden area

I’ve put this off far too long. With destructo-dog I absolutely have to have a fenced garden area. I’m not the most enthusiastic gardener, but I do have a bunch of seeds started, some of which (squash) will require substantial space.

fence-1

Using what I had at the chacra, I cut posts to have 80 cm exposed. I had a roll of 120 cm fence wire already, so I figured I take off the top 40 cm and double it when I ran out of the roll.

fence-2

It was pretty close — 2 meters shy! Had I not made a circular compost bin in the country earlier with the fencing, it would have worked out almost exactly right.

fence-3 — Where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise.

Benji, meanwhile, decided this was a nice place to hang out. No more. I trimmed the top 40 cm, leaving spikes, and built a gate. It’s not a pretty fence, and it’s not particularly well made, but it doesn’t have to be. It just has to keep out the dog and cat.

No excuse now.

A good stick is hard to find

When we began to walk with Syd’s dogs, Syd pointed to an area that would flood, come winter. That seemed unlikely at the time, but sure enough —.

For the last few months (it’s spring now) the dogs have joyfully frolicked in the water there, Benji settling in like the water dog. Yesterday he not only did that, he also rolled in it. Unfortunate, because the “pond” is drying up, and becoming mud. And, given cows that sometimes graze in the area, rather smelly mud at that. Cleaning a dog that smells of cow dung is not my favorite thing, so …

… today I took him to the beach instead. Our usual walk is about three kilometers (a bit under two miles). Depending on the hour, sunlight level, and wind, we walk one direction or the other, but one thing is certain: during the half kilometer on the beach, I will be throwing a stick for Benji, into the waves, the entire time.

But only if he drops the stick directly in front of me, or very close. Which he does. Sometimes he actually throws it in my path.

And good sticks are not always available. Much of the crap that washes up ends up breaking. So, when I get a good stick, I like to leave it in the dunes at the end of the walk. I took a picture a few days ago at the east end; thinking it remarkable that one in the foreground had been with us for at least four walks (good stick!).

sticks for the dog, Atlántida, Uruguay

Today we started again at the west end (afternoon; bright sun behind), and I was amused to find a collection of three sticks, obviously mine, at the west end, the buried boardwalk.

sticks for the dog, Atlántida, Uruguay

Here one has joined the collection at the east end.

For some reason, brings to mind T. S. Eliot, “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons.”

No, sticks. Silly dogs and sticks.

Not playing dead

It’s been clear for a while that a comadreja (possum) had been getting into our compost barrel.

comadreja (possum), Uruguay

Its last visit was indeed its last.

dead comedreja (possum) in compost barrel, Uruguay

Since lately I’ve only taken compost out after dark (without a light), I don’t know how long it had been there. But I expect I would have heard it moving when I emptied scraps on top of it. The last time this happened, I actually tipped over the barrel so it could escape.

I just recently bought a book, Compost Everything: The Good Guide to Extreme Composting, whose author would have left it there. I’m not there yet. I took it to the overgrown corner lot to let nature do its thing there.

Obviously it couldn’t climb out. But why did it die?

The jacketed dog

A couple months ago, we approached an older dog, complete with dog jacket (almost an obsession in Uruguay). Benji was eager to engage the target. I told him, no, we don’t hassle older dogs, but it turned out to be young, and very eager to play, and though loose, more or less inclined to stay within the borders of its large yard.

I say its large yard — I actually have no idea even now to what house it belongs. Its owner cares enough to worry about him being warm, but not about being loose and possibly hit by a car. Go figure.

We saw him the other day, and the two chased each other around that yard. The little guy has a tighter turning radius, so it’s not as one-sided a chase as might appear. However, when I noticed Benji grabbing the little guy by his jacket, I decided enough is enough,put Benji on the leash, and continued toward the beach.

The little guy followed. So, next thing I know, he’s followed Benji into the water (Benji loves it when I throw sticks for him, and loves to splash around in the water).

dog-jacket-1

Something in me says that a jacket designed to keep the dog warm in the air might have the opposite effect in the water. Maybe not. It’s probably polyester.

dog-jacket-2

And with all the running, it probably makes no difference. But it’s winter here; this was a t-shirt/thin hoodie/windbreaker day. Not for the first time, I had to ask myself, is this dog in the water with its jacket my problem? Is it my responsibility?

Answer: absolutely not.

A block shy of our exit from the beach, little dog turned tail and headed home.

We’ll see him again.

Parque Kennedy, Lima, Peru

Beach. Wheel. Dog.

OK: granted, one of my more worthless posts: but here in the off-season, odd shit washes up and you have to (maybe) wonder about its origin. In this case a wheel.

tire-1

In context, with the Oriental Spinky-faced Sand Hound.

tire-2

Create a short story based on this in 50 words or less? Not sure I can. But try?

Dead snakes in the dunes

dead-snakes

A few days ago, at the end of the boardwalk, edge of the beach. Why snakes would have been there is beyond me. No obvious evidence of what killed them. A month or so ago, I encountered a local man trying to kill a snake at the other end, near the parking area. I told him it wasn’t harmful. But he wanted to kill it anyway, “por las dudas” — just in case. Idiot!