GARDEN VARIETIES

July, 29 2013I joked to a friend the other day that I deadhead my plants nearly as often as I cut my hair, which can be hourly! So, it was with some trepidation that I left my babies for two days last week, to go to the sea.As we are in the middle of a heat-wave, I took the precaution of putting some of the pots and containers around the back of the house which not only faces east, but is shaded by three huge leccio trees. I also made arrangements to split watering duty between Silvia for the first evening and Luana for the second; the watering taking a good half hour and necessitating the wielding of a 150 feet of hose.So, off we went to La Residensa Pineta, our third visit to this little inn by the edge of the coast, a place we have come to refer to as ninnananna, or lullaby, and although we spent less than 48 hours there, it truly felt as though we’d had a week’s vacation. A vacation from what, you might ask, to which I would reply, mainly from insects.A couple of readers recently expressed a little envy of our time here in Europe and although I may at times write of death and disagreement, I suppose it’s true that this site is often a report of the wonder and adventure of this moment in our lives. I found myself a little defensive at first when I heard one person say that it’s sometimes hard to read about all the good times we’re having. If this were a novel, it would be a total bore, and maybe it borders on that anyway, but what I really want to say is hey, we sold our house, paid off our debts and decided to ride the wild horse of liberation. The reason for writing about it is to encourage, maybe even, dare I say, inspire.Inspire what, you might ask? To which I would reply, to listen to yourself; to hear what it is you keep saying you want or wish you could do and find a way to do it. Yes, I know, there are limitations, for all of us, and as we age, the limitations of loss of loved ones and physical mobility and health indeed limit desire and hamper the manifestation of dreams, in which case we must dream anew.Joel and I are extremely aware of our good fortune, some of it having come from making good decisions and finally accepting the true responsibilities of life, and some of it no doubt for reasons we can never know. But we are daily aware of the possibility of imminent loss of the other and this spurs us to be even more honest, with ourselves and with each other…to be honest to the point of what could be called selfishness, not only in order to make the most of each day, but hopefully to strengthen ourselves so that whoever is left behind is a whole person capable of surviving grief while continuing to live whatever is left of life to the fullest. But I digress, wildly.Let me disabuse any reader who thinks we are living in Paradise. We’re actually living on a farm in the middle of a heat wave. There are 50 head of cattle, an unknown quantity of sheep, goats and chickens ergo a vastly unknown number of attendant insects. By the beginning of last week we had reached a Zen place of being able to sit outside with our lunch or dinner without swatting at any of the hundreds of flies landing on us, and our food; although we did become mass-murderers inside the house where no fly has the right to life. We actually got to the point where we were announcing our kill count to each other and wondered if perhaps this was how the Mafia came into being.What we couldn’t rise above, if you’ll pardon the pun, was a type of insect that mysteriously seems to have escaped being named; a rather excellent example of the level of Italian denial when confronted with anything they are powerless or unwilling to change. These insects make no-see-ems look like blimps. They are particularly fond of the ear canal where they not only relentlessly tickle, but also produce a whine so high-pitched it sounds like the scream of distant murder. They also seem to have a strong liking for my hair gel which they feasted on one evening while I was watering, leaving behind 32 bites on my head, bites the size of chickpeas and which caused my entire scalp to itch with such intensity that I resorted to antihistamines and a valium.Fortunately, like all horror, insects have a time limit. We know from last year that these insects vanish after a couple of weeks. Not so the black aphids which are devouring my nasturtiums, nasturtiums which, until 2 weeks ago, were the glory of the garden and the envy of the locals. So much for pride.And so much for control; when we returned from the sea all was not well with the garden. Evidently a mere 2 hours after we left, a storm arrived. It lasted for 2 hours, blew out the fuses, turned the area around the house into a lake and the attendant winds knocked down almost every plant, including one of the climbing roses which I had rescued from drought and disease. It was 8 in the evening when we pulled up to the house and I immediately donned my boots, wrapped my head in a scarf and went to work. As the saying goes; what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger and so it is with plants. Everything survived and within 2 days of trimming everything back, new shoots and buds, leaves and branches were pushing back out into the world. We humans are no different.However, it has changed my thinking about gardening, or rather, my desire for it. When we left our seaside garden on Cape Cod behind nearly two years ago I was heartbroken. Now, when we move up the hill next year the garden there will consist of banks of rosemary and lavender, both of which grow abundantly well with absolute neglect. We’ll prune the olive trees, tend the existing roses and dig in the ones we have here. And, judge me if you will, but I will most definitely be putting in an automatic watering system.I am not only too old for children, I’m also too old for pets and plants. I’m at peace with becoming a selfish old biddy and want only that in my life for which I am capable and willing to be responsible.