Flooding Disaster, Baptisia, Staking the Betula Youngii

I've been away, psychologically, from this blog for a while now. Wanna guess why? Ever since the chaos and intensity of this last, final term of grad school, I'm still in the process of coming down, though the smallest things seem so large. My sleep pattern is all haywire, most likely still stemming from my 8-10 hour workdays to finish my book in January. But I feel glimpses of normalcy again. And then things happen to disrupt them. Read on.

First, it's been a while since I posted garden shots. I dislike close ups of flowers on other blogs, usually, because I want to see the garden--but you can't see the garden in a picture. You can't move and focus in on something that catches your eye (or nose, or pant leg). Like, look at this 2.5 year old baptisia finally blooming, and blooming like gangbusters.


















That's Baptisia 'Twilight Prarieblues.' Although it's so smoky you can't see it from far away, seeing it up close is way neat.














'Black Stockings' Meadow Rue. Very seductive and kinky. Right? Hello?














I've no idea which of my Iris sibirica this is, but it's cool.


















First year in the ground and blue flag iris is growing fast and blooming beaucoup.














Globemaster allium tearing itself open. Reminds me of this blister I had last week....














Globemaster. (A possible name for a GI Joe or HeMan character?)














Amsonia hubrichtii about to bloom. Freaky. Click on the pic to expand it and see the hairs.

And below, please find the nightmare I've had this week. Most everything was going well this year, much less loss than the previous spring. Although I'm about to rip out the two 'Ruby Spice' Clethra which are languishing (what do I replace them with? 'Winterthur' Viburnum where it's damp clay, yet more dogwood shrubs?).

So, I woke up one morning this week to find I left the water hose on. No big deal, except the hose sprung a leak--the threads, with nozzle attached, ripped out of the hose. I bet 100s of gallons of precious water were lost. The ensuing stream went to the dry stream bed I have for the gutter downspout, out under the fence, along 40 feet of my neighbor's yet-to-be-sodded yard, and vanished underground in a waterfall. My clay soil was nothing but mush as far as I could dig.

So I rushed in and yanked out two shrubs and a perennial before they drowned. The dwarf arctic blue willow should be fine, but not sure about my wife's clematis or an itea. She said the whole area looks like someone was searching for a body. I was. Mine. My heart sunk into that muck, and I hope it dries out (the soil) in the 90 degree weather to come this weekend, but doesn't kill the potted shrubs (like the 'Ogon' spiraea, which after 2 years was FINALLY getting going).
































But, I did accomplish one goal I set out to do 12 months ago: stake up the contorting young's weeping white birch that I got dirt cheep at Home Depot in 2007 (it pays to look). Some things just take a while to think about. You be the judge on my work. The bottom part of the trunk is so heavy it shouldn't go anywhere, and the top part (about 6' off the ground) seems snug against the hose and the velcro tape.

Trim Your Vagina Topiary

I just saw this commercial tonight and couldn't believe it. There are other, more blatant commercials for this product, but this one seems trim enough to me. And here I am helping them promote their product. Argh.

ISLE is Publishing My Dandelion Essay

Wooooo freaking hoooooooooooo! You should wait to buy a copy, but you can read it here.

Interdisciplinary Studies in Literature and Environment (ISLE) is, in my opinion, one of the top journals on critical and creative environmental writing. It's published by / through ASLE, The Association for the Study of Literature and Environment.

Watch for "The Lion's Tooth" at an invisible bookstore near you.

Here I Am Graduatin' With My PhD

I can't believe I have a PhD. Then again, it's the most natural thing in the world. I have two arms, a nose, brown hair, and a PhD.

Commencement (May 8) was pretty quick, and my advisor stuck it out with me--such a good sport. We cracked sarcastic jokes with one another for 2 hours as my family made faces at me from the stands. One caveat to those who come after me: the doctoral hooding used to be more intimate, both in setting and fan fair, and this commencement felt too undergraduate-ish to me (the basketball stadium, and the chancellor, tongue in cheek every year, asking for alumni donations?). Plus the address stunk. But I digress--have some pictures of the joyous day. Can't believe it's over.













Gettin' hooded, yo.


















After commencement I immediately began "PhDing" to my family. This is my new word for "complaining."













I felt like a model having to strike too many poses. Then at one point my family felt like paparazzi, so I fought back with my own flashy camera.













My parents on the left, me, my wife, and my wife's parents on the right.













Mmmmm doctoral cake.

I received so many gifts from my family it felt like it was my 12th birthday or something. A rain barrel. Clever t-shirts. Personalized M&Ms. Garden journal. Commissioned artwork (more to come on that in 3 months). Good books. Monarch rearing thingy dealy. Trip to the nursery. I got spoiled.

Check out the post below with video from my wife's flip camera.

Now, can I catch up with blogs and emails and my breath?

Graduation May 2009

With a hood I feel like the dark knight.

Status of a Writer

Let's review the last, oh, two weeks:

-- Three major literary journals, one that starts with an O, absolutely love my nonfiction time after time, but once more it's still a no.
-- Place as a finalist in a poetry chapbook contest after years of trying to get some love for my manuscript, and many re-orgs. Maybe I finally got it.
-- One poem places as an honorable mention, another a finalist, in a contest.
-- Four rejection notes.
-- Three poems accepted for publication.

Some times I have to remind myself that, as bipedal humans, we perceive and experience the world as up and down. That is, as we walk we constantly rise and fall. This is maybe why I often feel dizzy if I'm not paying attention to where I am and where I'm going. Or, why I almost faint to and from the mailbox every day as I eagerly rip open SASEs.

Go read this little piece on rejections by Judith Kitchen--fun, true, sad, nice.

By the way, in two days I will have a cute little diploma I will sleep with. You can take that any way you want.

Of Crabs, Eupatorium, Smokebush, and Garden Vistas

May the pictures commence (as I will be doing in just a few days!).














The new bridge.















My maybe favorite plant, Eupatorium altissium 'Prairie Jewel.' Lovely golden spring foliage turns into speckled cream and green turns into thousands of white flowers insects adore.














'Prairiefire' crabapple blooms are actually more purple than this in sunlight.













'Coralburst' crabapple is growing left.













Corlaburst blooms begin red, turn rose, end in pink.















The only color of tulips I will ever have.














Can't remember the name of this smokebush, but the spring and summer leaves are gold, and in fall they turn to most of the colors in the rainbow.













'Autumn Brilliance' Serviceberry blooms and buds.


























If I had fewer perennials I wouldn't have to wait until fall for things to look magical. But I can wait. It's worth it. Boy is it worth it.

Last Day of Grad School

It's ironic that the last month of grad school, and now last day, simply involve me being a TA, teaching two classes. It makes 9 years sorta anti climactic. Grading finals isn't much of a celebration.

Thursday will be my last day as a TA. 8 years teaching at:

Ohio State -- 9 classes (TA, 3 yrs)
Doane College -- 3 classes (Adjunct, 1.5yrs)
University of Nebraska -- 15 classes (TA, 4 years)

I've met some incredible students, nay, writers in that time. It's been a privilege to work with them, to spot diamonds in the rough, to convert some to English majors, to be a hard ass and push others to where they should be. Nothing pleases me more than being a thorn in their side--if I got paid more maybe I wouldn't be as "encouraging."

And in all this time I wrote three books, which was the main goal of grad school:

Indelible Marks (poetry) -- 32p
Afterimage (poetry) -- 62p
Morning Glory (memoir) -- 241p

This is as sentimental as I can get before a crazy weekend of grading, house cleaning, and general preparation of visiting family. Maybe it'll hit me harder in September. But I'm ready to move on, be all I can be (or an army of one), so it might not hit me at all.

I need a 10' tall ironweed. Now. But Plant Delights is out of them.

Tree Chilling Hours

Learn something new every month. This from Jeff Gillman out of the University of Minnesota:

"Trees have developed a tool to tell them that winter has passed and it's safe for them to open their delicate buds. Here's how it works: Although trees may look dormant in winter, certain important chemical reactions are taking place inside them. When the temperature is between 45 and 33 degrees, certain chemicals are produced in most trees. The longer the tree spends between these temperatures, the more of these chemicals are produced. Only when the chemicals reach the right level is the tree ready to respond to the warm air rushing through its branches.

People who grow fruit refer to the time the tree spends in this narrow temperature range as "chilling hours," and they select trees to plant based on their requirement for chilling hours. For example, a tree grown in Minnesota might require 1,200 chilling hours, while a tree in Florida might require 150....

To avoid late frosts, some trees also use what's called warm days. Even after they've met their chilling requirements, trees such as oaks wait until we've had plenty of warm days before opening their buds. This ensures that oaks almost always avoid late frosts. That's a good thing because oaks are not good at producing new buds. Other trees, such as maples, break bud soon after their chilling requirements are satisfied. If maples lose leaves to a late frost, they can produce more."

http://www.startribune.com/lifestyle/homegarden/42192267.html?page=1&c=y

Of Tams and Blossoms

Did you know academic caps are called tams? And that if you want a PhD one it'll cost you $70, plus shipping? I do not want to look like the other riffraff so I bought it--no 4 square mortar board for me, luxurious octagonal velvet here I come.

And since it's too hot outside to garden, I took some pics. Stuff is growing by leaps and bounds even though we're well over 3" short on rainfall this spring.













The neighbor's seven pears are abloom













All kinds of insects, lady bugs especially, are enjoying the 'Prairie Cascade' willow blooms













'Prairie Fire' crab leaves emerged maroon, but are already fading to green, alas













At least the NWA planes don't say Delta yet













'Coralburst' crab about to burst













Lysimachia ciliata 'Firecracker' has spread from its now-dead center













Lysimachia punctata 'Alexander' spreading nicely this year













Aronia arbutifolia 'Brilliantissima' (Red Chokeberry) looks more like milkweed about to bloom













Ninebark 'Coppertina' looks the best this time of year

Mr. Mows All the Time...

...is across the street. Not even May yet. And his yard is MAYBE 2/3 green, but more like 50%.

He will mow 2-3 times per week until November. Rain or shine. Grass or no grass.

Viva pollution. We all gotta have something to do in life. (Guess what my thing is?)

--Gas mowers waste 17 million gallons of gas each year in refueling spills, and comprise 5% of the nation’s pollution (this does not count weed whackers, blowers, et cetera).

--1 mower running for 1 hour puts out as much pollution as 8 new cars driving 55mph for the same length of time.

--Gas mowers are damn loud and damn annoying.

ADDENDUM 4/22 -- Mr. Mows All the Time scalped his yard, pretty much, and has spent the better part of this warm, sunny day watering it. He must wonder why it burns in August, too. Poor guy. Maybe it needs more fertilizer.

I Want to Be a Bride and Wear the Fancy Dress and Flirt with the Groomsmen

A very lovely, reputable, delightful literary journal has rejected me for the 4th or 5th time in a strongly encouraging way. But that makes it all the more painful. I don't get it--lots of wonderful comments on work from my memoir from here to there, but no bites. This is seriously like fishing. Every time you send new work to a journal (fishing spot) you know has some good action (they seem to like your work to some decent degree and you know where the bottom is, the sunken tree, the weeds), it's like trying to guess what style / theme (lure color, action, style) might work that day. Fortunately, in both instances, there's always candy bars, chips, and beer to fall back on to pass the time. I wonder, could I go all Crocodile Dundee on this and TNT the water (literary journal) and get fish (acceptance letter) to float to the surface? Would I go to prison?

Petunia With Human DNA

"Ready or not, a Chicago artist and a University of Minnesota biologist have concocted just such a petunia, called "Edunia," after artist Eduardo Kac, whose DNA runs through its veins. The pink-ruffled flower is the shy star of an exhibit opening tonight at the university's Weisman Art Museum.

With lush green foliage and cascades of pretty flowers, Edunia looks like any ordinary petunia. The blossoms' delicate red veins are the result of DNA manipulation that integrates a protein-coding sequence from a chromosome in Kac's blood....

Like all research involving the creation of transgenic organisms, Edunia had to be approved by the university's biological safety committee and conform to guidelines issued by the National Institutes of Health. That means, among other things, that no leaves, seeds or blossoms escape into the natural environment. Ultimately Edunia will be destroyed, though some of its seeds will become part of the Weisman's permanent collection."

And OMG:

"A professor at the School of the Art Institute of Chicago, Kac, 46, is internationally known for his work in technology and bio-art. His most famous creation was Alba, a genetically modified white rabbit whose fur glowed green because of an infusion of fluorescent jellyfish genes."

Look What's Poking Up in the Garden

Men who garden at least 30-45 minutes per week halve their chances of experiencing impotence.

This according to several studies, and you can read more here.

I have an idea for new commercials that could tout ecological thinking AND help that guy from 1950 dressed in a santa suit. Can you picture poor Joe Blow (ahem), all depressed and alone, working in the garden--but then after a few weeks things start to take off in the compost-enriched soil. And no pesticides, please. I can imagine buxom brunettes tackling Joe and reaching for the water hose and... oh, I have to go outside now....

V is 8 / 48. Time Flies When You Meow

Happy birthday my feline fellow. (minus the snip snip of course.)

You're 8 years old today, or 48, and you can still tackle M ferociously after chasing him through the house. You love to have conversations with me (are they conversations or polite ultimatums?). You're a constant companion, sitting on the chair with me in my office as I read manuscripts or write something that no one will publish. Take for instance the below picture when I had just finished using you as a head rest. Now, that's friendship.

Here's to the manx breeder in Cleveland, our move from OH to NE, and our move from NE to NE (a distance of 3 miles). And to the little circular brown spheres you leave on the bed sheets because manx are predisposed to not getting it all off the back end (no tail, you see, to wiggle things loose). V, you're Z and S rolled into one--and that's high praise.

Spring Does NOT Mean Gardening

It means Minnesota Twins baseball. Screw gardening, warm weather, nature, end of school year. Bah--all over hyped. This is the last year of the dome in Minneapolis, and I for one will miss the 100% chance of no inclimate weather or blood-sucking insects the size of blue jays. This year no loss in a 1 game playoff to see who makes the postseason, just a nice 7 game lead to win the division (and the joy of knowing the Yankees failed once again after spending the equivalant of Brazil's GNP).

Dr. Me

Of course my defense was a fairly low key conversation about my writing, my future plans, daffodils, the sad state of affairs with poetry book publishing (the only way you can get a book deal is if you enter a contest for $25 and hope you win the lottery of a lottery of a lottery).

This isn't a pithy post--it's all so surreal and subdued. I think I'd feel different if the defense came with a book contract (that will INDEED be a happy-naked-dance-through-downtown-with-chocolate-sauce-glistening-on-my-hairy-chest day). There are some very important structural changes which need to happen in the memoir, some narrative tension and pressure that needs to be pushed a bit more--as well as some smoothing out between the various hybrid sections--and this could take a few weeks; my plan is June 1, however, and then on to publishers. I think it'll be a little hard to get back into the rhythm of the book, but I need to do it now. The poetry manuscript needs some trimming, but that won't take more than a day or a weekend I think--I just wish that darn thing would at least be a finalist somewhere.

9 years of grad school, straight. 8 years of teaching. 3,527 books read. 104 classes taken. 1 million stress-filled evenings. But I did not go to grad school for anything other than to work on my writing and leave a solid and confident writer, and I've done that. The next book project starts late this summer, and it'll be set in Oklahoma.

This post is almost as bad as the end to Battlestar Gallactica. Seriously. Could that switch directions any more suddenly, cover things any more quickly (or completely omit them), and confusedly end--all with tears in my eyes? I need a BSG toaster.

Eau de Star Trek

These are the scents of the starship Enterprise....


"Hoping to profit from the May 8 release of J.J. Abrams' new "Star Trek" film, Maryland-based Genki Wear will release three Star Trek-themed scents on April 24.

Soon, Trekkies will be able to channel their inner Starfleet commander with Tiberius, based on Capt. James Kirk's character. The scent, which carries the tag line "Boldly go," is described as having a "warm vanilla, white musk and sandalwood" base.

For those living like the next workday could be their last, there's "Red Shirt." This cologne, with the tag line, "Because tomorrow may never come," is in honor of the unnamed Enterprise officers who don't typically survive past the TV show's first scene. It's described as having a "leather and gray musk" aroma.

The "Pon Farr" perfume is for the ladies. A great gift for Mom for letting you crash in the basement for 50-some-odd years? Maybe not. It refers to the Vulcan mating ritual, which occurs every seven years. So maybe this one's only for special occasions?"

--Associated Press

Naomi Shihab Nye Poems

This week and next I have been / will be in a writing workshop with visiting writer Naomi Shihab Nye. This will be my last "class" ever as a student. I was thinking of dropping it because I'm just so tired, and there's grading and PhD paperwork to format, but I'm glad I stayed in because she is such a lively, inquisitive, passionate person. For example, I think she is on a mission to eat at every locally-owned restaurant in town, and this weekend is visiting the sandhills and the migrating cranes. And she really, really likes W.S. Merwin and William Stafford. Check plus plus.

Here are two poems of hers I particularly enjoy for their silences (which is what makes a good poem so lasting and meaningful, not the words):


The Art of Disappearing

When they say Don't I know you? say no.
When they invite you to the party
remember what parties are like
before answering.
Someone telling you in a loud voice
they once wrote a poem.
Greasy sausage balls on a paper plate.
Then reply.
If they say we should get together.
say why? It's not that you don't love them any more.
You're trying to remember something
too important to forget.
Trees.
The monastery bell at twilight.
Tell them you have a new project.
It will never be finished. When someone recognizes you in a grocery store
nod briefly and become a cabbage.
When someone you haven't seen in ten years
appears at the door,
don't start singing him all your new songs.
You will never catch up.
Walk around feeling like a leaf. Know you could tumble any second. Then decide what to do with your time.


Streets

A man leaves the world
and the streets he lived on
grow a little shorter.

One more window dark
in this city, the figs on his branches
will soften for birds.

If we stand quietly enough evenings
there grows a whole company of us
standing quietly together.
overhead loud grackles are claiming their trees
and the sky which sews and sews, tirelessly sewing,
drops her purple hem.
Each thing in its time, in its place,
it would be nice to think the same about people.

Some people do. They sleep completely,
waking refreshed. Others live in two worlds,
the lost and remembered.
They sleep twice, once for the one who is gone,
once for themselves. They dream thickly,
dream double, they wake from a dream
into another one, they walk the short streets
calling out names, and then they answer.

Drugged Up Fish Found Near Water Treatment Plants

Fish caught near wastewater treatment plants serving five major U.S. cities had residues of pharmaceuticals in them, including medicines used to treat high cholesterol, allergies, high blood pressure, bipolar disorder and depression, researchers reported Wednesday....

A person would have to eat hundreds of thousands of fish dinners to get even a single therapeutic dose, Brooks said. But researchers including Brooks have found that even extremely diluted concentrations of pharmaceutical residues can harm fish, frogs and other aquatic species because of their constant exposure to contaminated water....

...tested fish caught in rivers where wastewater treatment plants release treated sewage in Chicago, Dallas, Phoenix, Philadelphia and Orlando, Fla....

Much of the contamination comes from the unmetabolized residues of pharmaceuticals that people have taken and excreted; unused medications dumped down the drain also contribute to the problem.

They found trace concentrations of seven drugs and two soap scent chemicals in fish at all five of the urban river sites. The amounts varied, but some of the fish had combinations of many of the compounds in their livers.

In an ongoing investigation, The Associated Press has reported trace concentrations of pharmaceuticals have been detected in drinking water provided to at least 46 million Americans.

The EPA has called for additional studies about the impact on humans of long-term consumption of minute amounts of medicines in their drinking water, especially in unknown combinations. Limited laboratory studies have shown that human cells failed to grow or took unusual shapes when exposed to combinations of some pharmaceuticals found in drinking water.

Wooden Stick USB Drives, Roadkill Rug, Fake Blooming Plants

A computer with a stick up its.... Cool. But 60 euros.















Also, check out the solar birdhouse that attracts bugs for birds to eat:















The roadkill rug (I REALLY want this):














And fake blooming plants, like gum tree, red coral, and lettuce (just add water!):

Fisherman Refuses Rescue, Fish Were Biting

A fisherman floating on a Lake Winnebago (Oshkosh, WI) ice slab refused to be rescued, telling authorities he wanted to stay because the fish were biting.

Winnebago County sheriff's officials say Joseph Dake used a ladder across open water to get to the ice slab, about a quarter mile from shore.

Lt. John Zimmerman says the slab was connected to ice that led to shore, but a large crack had formed.

The Oshkosh Fire Department sent a rescue boat to Dake Tuesday evening. But, the 35-year-old Oshkosh man refused assistance, saying the fishing was good.


1) I do miss them hardy northern folk
2) I do miss them stubborn northern folk
3) I do miss Battlestar Galactica already

Free Pot & Honeybee in Bird Feeder

Over 200 I imagine. See?















That's 1.5 seasons, and the #1 reason why a few people say my garden looks like it's been here longer than it really has. $$$

And what's this in the bird feeder? A honeybee?


















The elm is blooming (above), though I'm afraid the development graders might have ripped up too many feeder roots, and hence its many dead branches.














Chokeberry is budding. And so are the three various willows. And just this weekend the martagon lily has come out of the ground--may she bless us with dozens of blooms this year.


















And here is the latest and last tree--I swear, really--I will ever plant on this property: a 'Prairie Fire' crabapple (I now have 13 trees). If you go to Campbell's nursery the price ain't bad for this lovely 8 footer, and for just $10 they deliver later that day. Suhweet. This crab will, some day, umbrella itself over the entrance to the garden with its sweet rosey blooms, delicate red fall fruit, and lots of bird droppings. It is already just barely leafing out.

That widget to the above right is really starting to freak me out.

Rats Want to Be Eaten By Cats

But it's not their fault. It's a parasite, one which we also carry.

Tree Trimming, Crabapple Search, Spring, and Pushcart

Our neighbor's pond has, overnight, become its annual, throaty (froggy) self. Intense emanations of sound echo from the water's surface. It's time to get it on, the call says. The spiraea has green buds. The tansy has green shoots. The chokeberry buds are swelling....

Yesterday, during our second plus-70 degree day in a row, I trimmed up two river birch trees. They've been in the ground not even a year, but many many dead branches were on them. The clump birch probably because the nursery delivered the tree parched. That's not even a strong enough word. The single trunk birch because I either overwatered or underwatered it--apparently the symptoms are the same, a loss of lower leaves and branches.

I do HIGHLY recommend Cass Turnbull's Guide to Pruning. I needed to know how to make cuts, and when and on what plants. But I really needed to know how. Her advice, and humor, were spot on and I feel confident about my choices outside. I will forever remember the 2/3 rule--leave 2/3 of the canopy, and if 2/3 of the branch is dead just cut the whole thing off to avoid those little sprouts that go straight up.

I've also been searching for a small flowering fruit tree to grace the entrance to the garden and block out the neighbor's front porch. My results:

1) Dogwoods -- just too finicky, and need more shade than I can give them.
2) Redbud -- Me thinks they dost protest my clay too much, and may perhaps branch too low (I need them to clear 6' almost right at the trunk).
3) Crabapple -- here we go. 'Royal Raindrops' sounds delightful. Get's purple leaves early in the season, lovely red / purple flowers, red berries, interesting branch structure, adapts to clay, loves sun, very disease resistant (particulary to apple cedar rust--the neighborhood cedars do have rust). And its leaves are deeply-lobed so look like some laceleaf Japanese maple--perfect for my "Japanese" side garden. If I can find one. Otherwise I got backups.

I was also thrilled this week to discover on a blog--because they didn't notify me--that the literary journal Hayden's Ferry Review has nominated a poem of mine for the Pushcart Prize. Every journal and press can nominate just a few pieces of writing each year to this annual prize anthology, so it's cool. Really cool would be to get a prize. A fellow poet and UNL grad student was also chosen by the journal, same issue even. Go Nebraska.

Now it's time to get my hair cut and remove the winter mullet.