Wednesday, February 13, 2013


When family and friends hear my name and gardening they think of a television, NOT Martha Stewart...but rather...yes, 'Green Acres.'

You see, my grandmother and my mother are known for their gardening skills. Give them any sickly plant and they can bring it back to health. 

I, on the other hand, seem to be missing this necessary hereditary gene. I have actually been known to just look at a plant, and you can see it breathe it’s last breath.

Even so, Hub had ‘the boys’ over to build me a concrete planter in the front yard.

Hub looked at the finished product and asked...‘So, what are you going to do with it? I mean really.’

“Grow our own vegetables of course! We have dirt, sun and water...what more do you need?”

Hitting the outdoor shower he calls over his shoulder...‘Your mother would be a good idea!’

Ignoring him, I go about planting the seeds for our future dinners.

‘Hey Martha Stuart! I think it’s overkill when you plant 2 rows of tomatoes and use two packages of seeds!’

“It’s the cycle of life! Some will die and some will come forth and produce fruit! Now get out of my way, I have work to do!”

Two weeks later, while watering my 'babies' I'm heard up and down our hill, as I holler from our front yard... “I SEE SPROUTS!”

Hub saunters out carrying his ever present coffee mug and gives me his me his words of wisdom...‘They look pretty tight. You better separate them soon!’

“And you got your gardening degree from where???”

A month later Hub peers into the 10’x3’ planter... ‘Linda! When are you going to separate these plants? They’re getting big enough to walk and move themselves into the rest of the garden!’

When he finally goes out, I grab my tools and go about carefully moving my precious tomato plants into the rest of the garden before he returns.

Watering faithfully every day since their birth, I'm suddenly face to face with the enemy! White flies/aphids are making a home in the plants I’ve raised from seeds.

Quickly we make a trip to the hardware store for a new container of insecticide, the one we’ve used before and I immediately go about saving my crop. 

Standing back I feel I a sense of accomplishment... “I can do this!”

Later, while making dinner, Hub calls to me from the front yard... ‘Your crop looks pretty weak Linda.’

Ignoring him I continue working on my culinary skills in the kitchen.

The next day I head out to my little crop of gold, or red, as in tomatoes in this case, to water...and I stop dead in my tracks and scream... “OMG HUB...get out here!!!!”

Opening the door slowly Hub shakes his head and informs me that...‘I told you yesterday they didn’t look good, but you chose to ignore me!’

“But you didn’t tell me all the life has drained out of them!! Don’t you think this would be information I should know???!”

Peering down, over the lifeless plants, with small green tomatoes hanging on by sheer will, he starts.....‘What the hell did you spray them with?’

Grabbing him I shout...“OMG they're all dead, dead, dead!!!”

And it was true, as we discovered. The guy who actually mixes the insecticide from the hardware store arrived at our door, and on time. 

He looked over all our 14 plants, examining their limp, brown leaves that once were green and vibrant. In our broken Spanglish he gave us his expert opinion...‘Yup, their dead!

The next day Hub ripped out the dead plants as I threw my fist into the air and announced...“As gawd is my witness, they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, I'll never be hungry again! 

‘You wanna stop being so damn melodramatic! Just stop using that insecticide next time.

Just a day in the life of 2 Canadians, living and loving it in Mazatlan, our home in paradise.

Linda and Hub