Cast of Characters: FRANK!!!

Frank is a groundhog.







All groundhogs are Franks.







Frank, in various manifestations of size and gender, has plagued me since my beginning days as a gardener - except for the gardening I did entirely in containers on the second floor balcony of that apartment complex. Even then, I'm sure there was a Frank or two, rubbing his meaty little paws together while staring upwards and formulating a plan.







But really, all this humanization of animals does nature no justice. Groundhogs are not evil, conniving wizards. They are simply hungry little rodents with somewhat magical powers. For example, I believe groundhogs are capable of completely dissolving their skeletal systems at will so as to shimmy under a 2 inch fence gap, Mission Impossible style. They also have some sort of otherworldly endless appetite. I'm amazed by their ability to settle into a nice dining experience in the grassy fields next to a 65 mile an hour highway, completely oblivious to the rattling earth and rushing wind caused by passing 18 wheelers. However, should I even step out of my back door when a Frank is busily snacking on my weedy lawn, he shoots me the "whatchoo talkin' bout Willis?" suspicious one-eyed stare, and then he waddles off at top speed into the woods. Historically, all of my past Franks seem to prefer take their chances facing off with a truck rather than dealing with me. Look out boys, that crazy bitch is out again! The most impressive and newest stunt I've seen was just today when I watched him scrabble 40 feet up the mulberry tree with an almost bored self-confidence. I could practically see him peeling off his furry skin to reveal the spiderman suit underneath.







You see, I have a love/hate relationship with Frank that stems from my daily dealings with humans. I am nice. Too nice. I am nice to store clerks, customer service agents, and even (gasp!) medical claims specialists. I wind up being a repressed pent-up stew of anger and resentment. And then an innocent Frank crosses my line of sight, meandering about the yard nibbling on this flower or that weed. Aha! Got him! I tear out of the house screaming and brandishing kitchen utensils, with the fury of a thousand unpaid medical bills and bad customer service incidents, and shout "FRANK! YOU FAT BASTARD, YOU GET THE HELL OUT OF MY GARDEN!!!". And poor Frank does one of those cartoon poses where the shocked animal leaps straight up into the air in fear and starts running in place before his little paws even hit the ground. As he flops into the woods as if being chased by satan himself, I smile and let out a little sigh of relief. Ah, that felt good. Think I'll get more coffee.







Around this time of year, Tom and I start referring to Frank as though he is a family member. "I saw Frank at the swing set today" or "Frank seems to prefer the baby squash to the baby cucumbers." This is also around the same time that our friends and family start to consider us clinically insane. "Why don't you just get rid of him?" they ask, and immediately start offering up their personal cache of weapons from poison, to traps, to pellet guns and beyond. But I always turn them down. Why? Three reasons.







#1.) What would you have me do instead? Unleash my anger out on the humans who actually inspire it? Lose my insurance coverage because of the string of expletives I used on the Horizon rep after calling my fourth 800 number to be told "we don't handle that"? Pull a hammer out of my diaper bag and matter-of-factly smash to bits the device my clerk is too busy OMG!!!ing on to ring me up? Trust me people. The world is better off with me as the crazy lady running around my yard chastising rodents, than with me as the crazy lady running around Michael's chasing down store clerks shouting "What do you MEAN it shows 17 in stock but they are on the truck??? They were still on the truck last week! Where is this truck? Does it ever stop driving? Does WONDER WOMAN drive this truck? AM I THE ONLY SANE PERSON IN THIS PLACE???" And so on.





#2) Sure, I could off Frank. But Franks are like gray hairs - you pull one, five more come back in it's place. Maybe not in Frank format. Maybe they reappear as deer, rabbits, moles or squirrels. Don't even get me started on the countless bugs and diseases. My point is, if mother nature has some sort of cosmic judicial system, the void of one murdered Frank is sensed by the hungry deer on the prowl for beautiful hosta leaves, or that fleet of Japanese beetles that just hatched from your neighbor's lawn. You're surrounded. Just put the weapon down, and back away slowly.



But let's say you keep your gun and your can of spray and set up shop on the edge of your garden. In the end, you might get more vegetables than I will. But you'll wind up having to do that all day, every day, and what fun is that? Better to just jump in with both feet, and muck around in the yin and the yang of it all with the rest of us - aphids & ladybugs, tomato hornworms & parasitic wasps, groundhogs & anti-groundhog fencing ... or maybe a barky dog. The enemy of my enemy is my friend - if not in global politics, at least in gardening. So for now, I will find ways to use Frank's natural tendencies against him while engaging in my own trifecta of weaponry - menacing looks, degrading insults, and generally scaring the bejeezus out of him whenever possible.



#3.) If I kill him, how many hilarious stories will you miss out on in the coming seasons? Ok, maybe they are not that funny, but they are funny to me. Being the star of my own self-deprecating comic melodrama, I need a character who can be the butt of my jokes while accentuating my own neuroses. In other words, if I am the Kathy Griffin of organic gardening, Frank is my tour manager, Tom.



I have a lot more Frank information to share, but for now I'll leave you with this new twist. This year's Frank has a girlfriend Frank, and I'm sure the little Franklets are on their way. Bring it on, Franks! It's going to be a fun summer.

Cast of Characters: Ma'am, Sir & Family

Last week I trudged out into the garden after a week's vacation at the shore, and grimly surveyed the damaged. The trifecta of disease, poor gardening skills, and a rock-star style drunken orgy thrown by our resident groundhog had combined in a perfect storm of disaster. My trellises were groaning under the weight of enormous San Marzano sauce tomatoes which were still producing, even though a wilt was yellowing and killing the leaves. My adorable stand of corn was overtaken by some sort of bizarre Chinese long bean that I had planted, and in a display reminiscent of the recent Olympics, the beans proceeded to climb the corn, knock it over, and then march relentlessly and perfectly in-sync towards the sunflowers. But the worst was easily the result of Frank the groundhog and his buddies. Taking advantage of vacationing humans, the zucchini and cucumber plants were feasted on down to the stem by the raucous bunch, leaving only miniature smashed guitars and tour bus skid marks in their wake. As I approached, the last of the slightly drunk and partially clothed groundhogettes started home on the long waddle of shame.

As I added up the amount of hours and physical strength that would be needed to bust the place back into shape, my spirits sank. Where to begin? The overgrown dying tomatoes? The (clearlyy underage yet creepily strong) Chinese bean vines? In my depression I decided to take the path of least resistance and weed the flower bed that didn't really need much weeding, just to feel like I accomplished something. I stuck my hand into the tangle of nasturtiums, nearly crapped myself in shock & fear, and then gave a whoop of joy. Ma'am was back!Are you scared yet? Don't be. Ma'am is a garden orb spider, not dangerous to humans but a real super ass-kicker when it comes to annoying bugs that cause trouble in the garden. Ma'am is appropriately named, because I feel that if she was ever given the power of speech, I would probably actually crap my pants, and then say "Yes ma'am!!!" to whatever directive I was given. I mean, I know she's not dangerous, but still. YIKES! Not appearing in this picture is her husband/boyfriend/partner, the aptly named Sir. He is about a third her size, takes up residence in his own mini web somewhere on the outskirts of hers and is generally good for only one thing. Clearly, I need to finish this paragraph with a zingy one liner about married life, but, as is often the case with other marital activities, I'm simply too tired to bother. You finish it. And happy fall gardening to you!

Question of the Week: Stink Bugs

In order to be a reputable and information oriented gardening blog, I've decided that I need to do a "question of the week" segment - or question of the month, as is more likely the case. This is the part where I field legitimate questions from my loyal readers so as to spread my wit and wisdom far and wide. The only catch will be that the answer to said question is likely to be filled with a few random facts surrounded by fantasy, exaggeration and outright lies. Sound good? Come on, let's play!


In a previous comment, Andy writes:

"Are stink bugs real, or is this another one of Tom's personalities?"


Excellent question, Andy. Stink bugs are in fact real, and do indeed stink. According to Wikipedia, stink bugs are also called shield bugs, and are in the Hemiptera order of the Heteroptera suborder. According to me, they are strange prehistoric looking insects with ridged backs and inferior reasoning abilities. They are in the phyla of bugs that feel the overwhelming need to slam themselves repeatedly into light fixtures, not quite realizing they can never go into the light, as they are all instructed to do by the bug version of the creepy "Poltergeist" lady. If that's not annoying enough, they fly as though piloted by drunken five year olds, and as a result, I've caught a stink bug to the head on more than one occasion. The good news is that they are so loud when they fly, that you can usually hear them coming and duck.

However, stink bugs in general seem to prefer plodding around morosely to flying. I once described a parade of Mummer style stink bugs marching around my house, but really, the Mummers are way too "up" for a stink bug. I imagine the internal monologue of a stink bug sounds a lot like Eeyore, with some depressed mutterings about not being able to get into the light ... again.

Oh yeah, and the stink part. They emit some gross type of defense-mechanism stink when faced with aggravation, which is likely why my idiot cats won't bother them - that and the fact that they move so slowly, they are of no real interest to chase down. Not that the cats COULD chase anything down - Captain seems to be reaching Jabba the Hut capacity and will soon need to be hand fed from his permanent throne in Sophia's beanbag chair, and Tennille is much too busy following me around howling for treats and trying to trip me.

Although Tom does have many personalities, some of them as of yet unnamed, I am not embarrassed to admit that stink bug is all me. Although I do not fly drunk or slam my head into my desk lamp, I highly recommend to all the married ladies reading this post some defense-mechanism stink factor to avoid, uh, nightly extracurricular activities. A weekend of gardening and no showers works every time!

YOU are welcome.