Nitty Gritty Dirt Man — Blog — Hortus

It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t include my garden failures on this blog. Hard as I try, from time to time things just don’t work out as planned. Take for instance the photo above. This was Buxus microphylla var. japonica ‘Morris Dwarf’, common name: Morris Dwarf Boxwood. Known for its compact form and sun tolerance, I thought it would be the perfect solution for this spot beside the port cochere.

I acquired the plants in the spring of 2011. By late spring the following year, they were showing signs of stress. And one by one, starting from left to right, they declined. One slow painful death followed by another, then another, and so on. As I witnessed their demise, I couldn’t help wonder if it was something I had done. Well planted? Check. Well watered? Check. I cross-examined myself to the point of aggravation. Was I overzealous in my amendment of the soil? Possibly. Perhaps too much organic material.

Well, what’s done is done. No sense in fretting about it. A new season awaits and with it new challenges and plants to try. I’m really enjoying the winter downtime, but there is a little part of me that is excited by the few minutes of daylight that are added to every passing day. Mishaps or triumphs- bring it on!

And speaking of bringing it on, head on over to the Nitty Gritty Dirt Man’s blog this Wednesday for an exclusive interview with one of gardening’s greats- Margaret Roach. Her new book The Backyard Parables has just been released and she will be stopping by Kevin’s on her blog tour to talk about this and that, and gardening of course.

Photo courtesy of http://www.entomology.umn.edu

It’s positively steamy outside. I’m watching the sprinkler water the zinnias on the far side of the pool, and completely drowning out the sound of running water is the non-stop, rapid-fire droning chirps of the Cicadas. Some might consider the sound a nuisance or torture, but I find the chirping can trigger memories and it sparks my imagination.

As a kid, we always incorrectly referred to these buzzers as locusts — but no matter what we called them, no sound reminds me more of the dog days of summer than the Cicada’s song. It’s like a sizzling sound effect, perfectly accentuating the sun’s rays scorching the garden. A never-ending sizzle, that forces me to stand as still as the hot, humid air. As one chorus whines to an end, another starts up, and so on and so on.

I remember being captivated each time we found the shell of a Cicada’s discarded skin. Looking like a miniature Alien creature, they would be hooked under chairs, patio tables, plants, branches — anywhere. In fact, they attached so easily to anything that they were perfect for scaring your sister or aunt into thinking an enormous bug was crawling on their shirt.

The chirps are actually a conversation of sorts, with topics ranging from danger warnings to mating calls. While I have not had the opportunity to translate the various pitches and range in volume, they do make me imagine myself in a Tennessee William’s drama, like Cat On A Hot Tin Roof — the kind of setting where all you do is fan yourself while sitting on the veranda, drinking an icy lemonade, listening to Big Daddy go on and on — only to be upstaged by the maddening chirps.

I think what impresses me about Cicadas is that where I live, most insects are normal sized — nothing too prehistoric. Of course there are June Bugs (not a fan of those) and Praying Mantis (love them!), but the Cicada looks like it’s pumped up on steroids. My father caught one once and carefully tied a string to it. It was like a toy helicopter circling about him — just a guy taking his Cicada out for a spin. (The Cicada was released, unharmed, but probably a little dizzy.)

Apparently, my father and I are not the only ones who are fond of Cicadas. There is a website, Cicada Mania, devoted to all-things Cicada, the ancient Chinese culture regarded the insect as a symbol of rebirth, and other cultures consider them a delicacy. As for me, I’ll take my Cicadas on the porch with an ice-cold lemonade — none of those no-neck monsters — just me and Maggie and Brick and that endless song.

This post was written by Kevin Loud, AKA The Nitty Gritty Dirt Man. As Kevin puts it, “my gardening blog is about the incredibly true misadventures of a home gardener who does not have a horticultural degree or his own HGTV show.” I think you’ll find his blog posts will resonate with you and put a smile on your face. Please visit his blog at: nittygrittydirtman.wordpress.com