How does my garden grow? As far as the asparagus is concerned, damn fast. I tried to take some pictures of it.

Last Monday:


Tuesday:


Wednesday:


Thursday:



Friday:


Saturday:


Sunday:


Today:



It grows like bamboo! Okay, so it's not much of a meal, but I don't grow this stuff to eat, I grow it to gawk at. What was about 3 inches a week ago is eighteen inches today. That's over two inches a day! Of course, now it's too tall and woody to eat, (I should have picked it at about 10 inches) but it was all for the sake of science.

For those of us who garden to learn patience, plants like this are a boon to the spirit. Also a boon to the spirit: asparagus wrapped in bacon!

Some day, they will grow asparagus on Mars.

Although he said further tests would have to be conducted, Professor Kounaves said the soil seemed "very friendly… there is nothing about it that is toxic".

"We were all flabbergasted at the data we got back," said Sam Kounaves, Tufts University.

"It is the type of soil you would probably have in your backyard - you know, alkaline. You might be able to grow asparagus in it really well."

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That's about how I felt at 4AM when the Little Digger woke me up, mad that he wasn't invited on last night's birthday pub crawl. Humble thanks to all who attended. (Special thanks to those at Churchill's who did not buy me that last round I had my eye on.)

Also, wanted to add that I share a birthday with this fine woman, who says she has "one more dance left in her". God bless her.

How and why the seven foot octopus got in the fourteen inch box is here, if you're wondering.

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I just can't resist posting this:


Had a heckuva birthday yesterday. It reached a low point when I took off my glasses to wipe the sweat off my brow, and then promptly smashed them to bits when I stepped on them with my steel-toed construction boots. Oh well. Add a new pair of sunglasses to my birthday wish list (which never expires, btw.)

Anyway, does that ever happen to you? Not the glasses thing. The other thing. You're dressed like Vader at the beach, knee deep in the ocean, and you're trying to filter the seawater through a Britta and into an old plastic jug? I mean, hey, sometimes the Force powers just don't work, you know? Happens to me all the time.

Went to Stone Brewery for dinner and beers last night, and despite the fact that the last time I went there I came home and threw up for six hours (it wasn't their fault) this place has got to be the coolest brewery in the known universe. Here's a photo link. The grounds are just beautiful, and you'll never guess what the primary landscaping motif is... okay, maybe you can. The place has all grown in since I was there last and wild animals have moved onto the grounds. The lighting at night is wonderful. The Little Ditchman chased rabbits as we sipped a fine craft brew and listened to the croaking frogs and the water tumbling twixt the reeds and over the rocks. The moment couldn't be beat.

Excepting perhaps tonight's moment which will be with some friends at The Lost Abbey Brewery. It's not as ritzy a place, but the beer is the best in the world (my world.) Here's a link to the tasting room BrewCam (a work of inspired genius installed, no doubt, by the brewers' wives) so if you can't make it tonight, check out the BrewCam and we'll wave to you.

Have a tasty, beer-swillin' weekend. I may hit Oceanside Ale Works tomorrow, just to put the trifecta in play.


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At 4:59PM today I turn 39! Which means that I will have exactly a year left to do all those things I was going to do before I turned 40. Some of the things I was going to do -like invent high-definition television, start an internet auction site called eBay, and invade Iraq and depose the tyrant- have already been done, so I got a good out on that. There's still the robot-vacuum that does stairs, the cheap solar-generating interlocking roof tiles and road pavers, and the viable technology for remote-controlled toy helicopters that need perfecting, so I'll be busy through the summer. Also, I've been meaning to disappear Kim Jong-il, the bastard. I'll get right on it.

Like Kim Jong-il, I have my own cult of personality on Facebook, where I have received today more birthday greetings than any other birthday I've ever had. (Thanks!) Unlike Kim Jong-il, my birth was not foretold by swallows or heralded by the miraculous appearance of double rainbows across the land and a new star in the heavens. I am rather, the quiet, unassuming, middle-child born around the Ides of March when Caesar was assasinated. I share a birthday with the guy who painted this:


and the actor who messed on my childhood with this:


...but also this fine actor, who was knighted by the Queen:


...and won an Oscar for perfectly uttering one of the best final lines in any movie: "Where the devil are my slippers?"

Also, this guy was born on the same day as me and in the same year but on the other side of the country:


(John Frusciante, guitarist for the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I'm not much of a fan, but he's all right.)

Also on this day in history: John Belushi committed suicide when he OD'd on cocaine and heroin in bungalow #3 of the Chateau Marmont, 5 civilians were killed at the hands of British troops in what became known as the Boston Massacre (sparking the American Revolution) and the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty went into effect after ratification by 43 nations, (though it arguably didn't do any good.)

So I carry that with me. In college, I was rooming with a guy from my home town who was born the day before me, on March 4th, also in 1970. We were laying in our beds staring at the ceiling in the dark one night, chatting, and we discovered that we were born in the same hospital, hours apart. The two of us were probably in the same maternity ward cry room in a couple of beds, a few feet apart, and here we were 21 years later, a couple beds apart. Life is amazing that way. For all the times you notice moments like that, there must be a thousand near-misses when you don't.

What do I want for my birthday? A new SUV, a new boat, a new iPhone, World Peace after the defeat of all the enemies of America, and Global Climate Change limited to the four seasons and a hella storm every now and then so we can be reminded of our miniscule place in the universe and still get some good pictures. Also: free gas for life. What do I really want? The day off to work in the garden and gift certificates to every nursery in town. What am I really getting? I get to work on someone's patio cover, which is more than I can ask for, but I'm going to not rush anything and demand that everyone on the job site kindly back off. (Come to think of it, I may just do that every day from now on.)

Birthdays and holidays are troublesome to so many. All the magic and wonder and power they had in our youth, is somehow distant and misplaced in adulthood. The truth is it's the adults who made all that wonder and magic happen when you were a kid. Now that you're old, it is you who are the conductor of the wonder, the one with the wand. Use it, or be miserable. But be miserable on your own time. The hardest part of growing up is being put in charge of that wand, and then being surrounded by all the other grown-ups who neglect to use theirs.

The Little Ditchman just came up to me and grabbed me by the cheeks with both hands, planted a kiss on my mouth and said simply, "Happy Birthday, Daddy." And then she gave me a hug and high-fived me. If you were planning on getting me a gift, don't sweat it. You won't be able to top that. (But I'll accept your high-five all the same.)

I'm looking forward to her next birthday way more than my own. It's what keeps me young.




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Sometimes I get so preoccupied with gardening that I completely miss important events. For example, yesterday was "Square Root Day" and I totally failed to celebrate it. If mathematics humiliates you into a quivering bowl of liquefied offal like it does me, then I will explain: yesterday was 3/3/09. 3x3=9. Square root of 9 is 3. Awesome. The last Square Root Day was on 2/2/04,and was totally overshadowed by Groundhog Day. Don't worry, the next one is on 4/4/2016 so you don't have to fret about party planning for a while. And considering that the Mayan calendar runs out on 12/21/12, I would wait to see if the world really ends before you start baking that square root cake.

If you'll recall, last year the Chinese celebrated the opening ceremonies of the Olympics on 8/8/08, which was sure to induce peace and prosperity into the world. Then the Olympics ended and the world stopped looking at China and they stopped working on their infrastructure and the bottom of the recyclables market fell out. Here's to 9/9/09!

I have a friend who recently started celebrating Sexagesima, because the Pope cancelled it and so no one was celebrating it anymore. Sexagesima is the second Sunday before Ash Wednesday, about 60 days before Easter. It should not be confused with Quinquagesima or Septuagesima, which are totally different Sundays. What do you do on Sexagesima? According to the official site (on Facebook): "We celebrate by sharing great food, ridiculous quantities of great wine, and one really terrible bottle." I'm sorry we missed it this year, as it sounded totally profound, though I'm pretty sure he just celebrates it because it's a religious holiday that has the word "sex" in it. All the power to him! Anyway, less significance has been ascribed to less momentous occasions. I, for one, am always looking for something to celebrate.

Like this work day. I'm going to celebrate it by dropping the kids off at the sitter and busting my butt on that rooftop in Coronado. That's right: today is "Coronado Rooftop Aluminum Cover Day" (or "CRACD") and it's celebrated on the first Wednesday of every March by building an aluminum patio cover on a rooftop in Coronado, California and then going home and "crac"ing open and polishing off four lukewarm domestic beers (symbolizing the four installed columns) while watching Lost. See you there.


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"I don't want to work. I don't want to go to church. I just want to go outside and get down on my hands and knees and weed," a friend of mine said the other day, and I can understand the sentiment.

Of course, I get all philosophical about weeding, which may or may not bore you out of the blogosphere, so I'll try and stick to the facts. (Didacticism is a cursed weakness of mine. Such writing is best left in the Personal Growth/Self Help section, in my opinion, but who knows? Maybe that's my unborn career path.)

WEEDS are those things growing out there in the garden that you wish would just grow elsewhere. I am always weeding. I walk out across the lawn, see one, rip it out, toss it, continue. I weed when I'm eating lunch, I weed when I'm on the phone, I weed whenever I'm doing anything else outside. It's a mindless, repetitive task, monk-work, and one good for contemplation, communication, and communion -which is why I could understand doing it in the place of church or work. After all, it is work and you are down on your knees, but you do it because you're getting something accomplished without any burden of the obligation to finish. Like any Christian work, there's no obligation to finish because you never will, (and the good Lord forgives you for it) but you must never stop. They're weeds. They'll take over.

I'm getting good at weeding. The trick is to pluck them when they're young, when they come out easily without any fight, but you also have to be able to tell the difference between a weed and a plant you want growing there. It's a heady concept. Sometimes when I'm weeding, my daughter will come out and "help" by pulling out all the flowers and vegetables I just planted. But if we plant enough seeds and let everything grow we'll learn all the important leafy differences. Planting is necessary with weeding. Don't plant anything and you'll either have all weeds or nothing but barren and empty ground. (And it's never really empty. Look closely: more weeds coming.) Some folks think that Roundup is the best thing for weed control, but it's not. The best thing for weed control is a well-planted and well-tended garden that crowds the weeds out and down to a manageable level. It really is possible.

Something funny about weeds: one man's weed is another man's flower. I looked over my fence the other day and saw my neighbor mowing his "lawn" but it was more that he was mowing his property, which was covered with weeds. I saw dandelion seeds shooting out of the mower with reckless abandon but then drifting gently on the breeze with their tiny little parachutes, right over the fence, and onto my fertile lawn. And I tossed around handfuls of lawnseed a few weeks ago, in order to replant some bare spots. I got some of the seed in my garden boxes, where it is now sprouting healthily. On the lawn it is grass. In boxes it is a weed. Life's confusing that way.

I actually bought and paid for a weed the other day -it was the damnedest thing. I was at the Spring Garden Show at the fairgrounds on Sunday. Perfectly manicured, vibrant botanical displays as far as the eye could see -and not a weed in sight! I was perusing several flats of herbs when I came across a dark crimson and yellow-flowered Oxalis, the likes of which I had never seen. Oxalis is an aggressive weed, with a shallow root system and a fascinating Darwinian propulsion device that can blast weed seeds as far as 6 feet. The stuff is ground-colored when it first takes root and sprouts, so it's tough to spot and clear. I've spent many hours tearing those knitted roots out of flower pots and corners of the yard that I'd considered conquered only days earlier. So here was a pretty weed, and I got sucked in and plopped down 4 bucks for it. I put it in a nice pot and fertilized it, like a drunken priest nurturing a sole vice. That priest will wake up with a hangover and head to confession, and I'm sure I'll be ripping that pretty Oxalis out of my lawn by the handful later this season. Interestingly, one species of Oxalis is also the Shamrock, which must be the national weed of Ireland. Perhaps the Irish just gave up on the weeding altogether. And hey, find the mutant weed with four leaves and guess what? It's good luck! See what happens? Don't let the weeds define you.

And sometimes you just don't know what to think. You're playing on your nicely-weeded grass with your three-year-old and she suddenly stops and yells cheerfully, "Look Dad! A pretty yellow flower!" and she rips it out and brings it to you.

She's not weeding, but she is. Life's confusing that way.




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It is still Winter, as we reboot here, but March in California is surely Spring. Daylight Savings is a week away, and the Equinox not for another three, but don't tell that to my garden...

Broccoli:

Corn:

Lettuce:

Radish:

Asparagus:

Grape:



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