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My house is on an extra-large corner lot west of Portland Oregon. I have room for gardening and landscaping. I've used strawberries in many locations for a ground cover because they fight for territory with their aggressive stringers. Please continue reading below the orange root tangle for the story of my downfall.
In the center of the following photo, for instance, you can see the green of low-growing strawberries under the white-blossoming dwarf apple tree. All photos in this Diary are in lighthouse mode, so please click on them for greater clarity.
(There are bonus points for any sharp-eyed readers that spot birds in the preceding picture.)
I have to get on my hands and knees if I want to pick those shoelace-level strawberries. At my age, some day I'll get on my hands and knees, and not be able to stand back up. I need a better system.
I decided a couple of years ago to dig up all of my low strawberries, and transplant them into 18-inch high elevated beds, newly constructed from building stones, like these:
This year, when it finally stopped raining for a few moments last weekend, I started on my latest project. I moved all the strawberries from under the apple tree and along the pond path to another existing elevated bed, murdered the quackgrass, and produced the space pictured below. It is begging me to fill it with fresh dirt and then transplant in the strawberries that are currently under the blueberries.
In the following picture I wasn't quite finished digging up the Lamb's Ear (Stachys byzantina). Lambs' Ear is another good ground cover; it grows densely, so dense, in fact, that I doubted small critters could thrive underneath it. And that led to the following nightmare.
I spent an exceptionally busy day at hard labor, and expected to sleep solidly that night, having shoveled and lifted and dug tons of soil and stone for hours.
In bed later, I drifted away to sleep, counting the chorus frogs' calls; rivet, ribet, ribbet, ribbthe Court to Order, the Defendant shall rise.
I felt cool scales on my arm. "Stand up now."
I looked over at the brilliantly colored, 6-foot-long garter snake who nudged me, and stood up.
"Who are you," I asked.
"I'm Mr. Garter Snake, your attorney," the snake replied.
A crow began speaking from the prosecutor's table.
"We charge the defendant, known as 6412093, AKA Redwoodman, with unauthorized destruction of habitat."
The Judge frowned. I think it was the judge. It was a darned big bullfrog, sitting on the Judge's bench.
The crow continued, "Last April weekend, the defendant destroyed habitat for the junco and the tree frog. I introduce Exhibits A and B, which are photos, respectively, of the uprooted juncoe nest, and the frog who lost his home."
Well, it was true that I had found that abandoned nest in the middle of a lamb's ear thicket. It lacked eggs. The red paver under it is a foot across, for perspective. The internet identified juncos as the only likely ground nesters in my vicinity. I would have noticed if it was killdeer.
And in the next picture, it's also true I rousted this tiny striped tree frog, shown in the upper middle of the photo, from his resting place in the Lambs Ear. I didn't hurt the frog, who hopped away, and he was croaking merrily that very evening.
"Call your witnesses," the bullfrog croaked.
A desultory-looking junco flew into the witness chair.
"Isn't it true that since the defendant destroyed your historic nest, that you currently are so traumatized that all you do now is you peck at your own reflection in the window all day?" asked the crow.
"Yes, and I also shit on the defendant's doorknob," added the junco.
"Do something! Object," I hissed, elbowing my lawyer snake (but I repeat myself).
"You can't expect me to outsmart a crow," my snake lawyer hissed back.
Mr. Garter Snake lawyer did speak, finally, "May I approach the bench?" he asked.
"No you can't," croaked the frog judge. "I'm a frog. You're a snake. Ain't gonna happen."
"The defense would like to call a character witness, Doug Squirrel," the snake riposted.
"Under court rules, a squirrel's testimony carries no weight," sneered the crow.
"I insist the judge consider these precedent cases," my snake lawyer continued, moving forward. Suddenly, Mr. Garter Snake lunged, his jaws widening to comic porportions, and he latched onto Judge Bullfrog's leg. Chaos began. Chairs flew.
I slipped out the court room doors in the confusion, determined never to sample uncooked fly agaric again.
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Now It's Your Turn What's interesting to you? Please post your own observations and your general location in the comments.
Thank you for reading. I'll work this morning so I'll respond to comments before lunchtime, PDT.