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Unwritten rules of gardening ... by David Hobson, www.gardenhumour.com

  • The best way to garden is to put on a wide brimmed straw hat and some old clothes. And with a hoe in one hand and a cold drink in the other, tell somebody else where to dig.
  • Compost is best aged a little like a fine wine. I mean, would you prefer to drink a nice 97, or something that was made last Thursday.
  • When weeding, the best way to make sure you are removing a weed and not a valuable plant is to pull on it. If it comes out of the ground easily, it is a valuable plant.
  • A weed is a plant that has mastered every survival skill except for learning how to grow in rows.
  • Spring does not arrive until the ice is out of the compost heap.
  • Winter does not arrive until the ice is IN the compost. Until then, all bets are off.
  • Any self respecting rock will break at least one shovel before accepting its new home.
  • A good compost pile should get hot enough to poach an egg, but not so hot it would cook a lobster.
  • Gardening requires a lot of water most of it in the form of perspiration.

Submitted by Andy, Gettysburg, Pa.
 

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God Finds Out About Lawn Care

"Winterize your lawn," the big sign outside the garden store commanded. I've fed it, watered it, mowed it, raked it and watched a lot of it die anyway. Now I'm supposed to winterize it? I hope it's too late. Grass lawns have to be the stupidest thing we've come up with outside of thong swimsuits! We constantly battle dandelions, Queen Anne's lace, thistle, violets, chicory and clover that thrive naturally, so we can grow grass that must be nursed through an annual four step chemical dependency.

Imagine the conversation The Creator might have with St. Francis about this:

"Frank you know all about gardens and nature. What in the world is going on down there? What happened to the dandelions, violets, thistle and stuff I started eons ago? I had a perfect, no maintenance garden plan. Those plants grow in any type of soil, withstand drought and multiply with abandon. The nectar from the long-lasting blossoms attracted butterflies, honey bees and flocks of songbirds. I expected to see a vast garden of colors by now. But all I see are these green rectangles."

"It's the tribes that settled there, Lord. The Suburbanites. They started calling your flowers 'weeds' and went to great extent to kill them and replace them with grass."

"Grass? But it's so boring. It's not colorful. It doesn't attract butterflies, birds and bees, only grubs and sod worms. It's temperamental with temperatures. Do these suburbanites really want all that grass growing there?"

"Apparently so, Lord. They go to great pains to grow it and keep it green. They begin each spring by fertilizing grass and poisoning any other plant that crops up in the lawn."

"The spring rains and cool weather probably make grass grow really fast. That must make the Suburbanites happy."

"Apparently not, Lord. As soon as it grows a little, they cut it _ sometimes twice a week."

"They cut it? Do they then bale it like hay?"

"Not exactly, Lord. Most of them rake it up and put it in bags."

"They bag it? Why? Is it a cash crop? Do they sell it?"

"No, sir. Just the opposite. They pay to throw it away."

"Now let me get this straight. They fertilize grass so it will grow. And when it does grow, they cut it off and pay to throw it away?"

"Yes, sir."

"These Suburbanites must be relieved in the summer when we cut back on the rain and turn up the heat. That surely slows the growth and saves them a lot of work."

"You aren't going believe this Lord. When the grass stops growing so fast, they drag out hoses and pay more money to water it so they can continue to mow it and pay to get rid of it."

"What nonsense! At least they kept some of the trees. That was a sheer stroke of genius, if I do say so myself. The trees grow leaves in the spring to provide beauty and shade in the summer. In the autumn they fall to the ground and form a natural blanket to keep moisture in the soil and protect the trees and bushes. Plus, as they rot, the leaves form compost to enhance the soil. It's a natural circle of life."

"You better sit down, Lord. The Suburbanites have drawn a new circle. As soon as the leaves fall, they rake them into great piles and have them hauled away."

"No! What do they do to protect the shrub and tree roots in the winter and keep the soil moist and loose?"

"After throwing away your leaves, they go out and buy something they call mulch. They haul it home and spread it around in place of the leaves."

"And where do they get this mulch?"

"They cut down trees and grind them up."

"Enough! I don't want to think about this anymore. Saint Catherine, you're in charge of the arts. What movie have you scheduled for us tonight?"

"Dumb and Dumber, Lord. It's a real stupid movie about..."

"Never mind I think I just heard the whole story."

Submitted by Debbie, Middletown
 

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You Know you’re A Master Gardener When:
  1. You rejoice in rain...even after 10 straight days of it.
  2. You have pride in how bad your hands look.
  3. You have a decorative compost container on your kitchen counter.
  4. You can give away plants easily, but compost is another thing.
  5. Soil test results actually mean something.
  6. IPM rules!
  7. You’d rather go to a nursery to shop than a clothes store.
  8. You look for gardens open to the public whenever you go on vacation.
  9. Your non-gardening spouse is actually getting involved with your garden endeavors...digging ponds, building bird houses, watering, pruning, turning compost piles, planting...

And you definitely know your a Master Gardener when...

  1. You are surrounded by terrific people who share your passion!

Created by Audrey, Emmitsburg, Md.
 

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A Week in the life of a Gardener's Spouse

She dug the plot on Monday, the soil was rich and fine
But she forgot to put the dinner on, so out we went to dine.

She planted roses Tuesday, she says they are a must.
They really were quite lovely, but she forgot to dust.

On Wednesday it was daisies they opened with the sun,
All pinks and whites and yellows, but the laundry wasn't done.

The poppies came on Thursday all bright and cherry red,
I guess she really was engrossed, she never made the bed.

It was violets here on Friday in colours she adores,
It never bothered her at all, the dirt upon our floors.

Saturday I hired a maid, I'd not admit defeat,
She can garden all she wants now and the house will still be neat

It's nearly lunchtime Sunday I cannot find the maid,
Oh I don't believe it. She's out there alongside my wife with her own spade!

Submitted by Lindsay, Blenhiem, New Zealand
  

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