Tag Archives: cactus

The first yank

My trusty machine, red like the house.

THE RAINY SEASON arrived this week with a splash!

Three days ago I was enjoying a nice café Americano negro at a sidewalk table downtown when the skies opened with a vengeance.

In short order, the street vanished, and a lake took its place. Passing cars pushed waves onto the sidewalk, so I retreated closer to the wall with my chair and table.

The temperatures have dropped. The dust is washed into the gutters, down the drain pipes and into the lake.

And now my grass is greening. Soon it will need mowing and edging. Yesterday I pulled the mower from under a table on the Garden Patio and wiped it off with paper towels.

I poured fresh gas into the tank. I primed the carb (three times), and I yanked on the rope. Roar! The first yank!

Craftsman makes good stuff.

That leaves the weedeater, which I bought just last year, a Stihl, which is also a good item, but all weedeaters are a bitch to crank. The Stihl is just a little less so. But it has a rather complicated process you must observe to start it.

And being along in years, my arm is not what it once was. If the Stihl does not crank  quickly, I’m out of the game. I have not tried to start it yet. I am procrastinating.

Stihl weedeater, better than most.

While I let Abel the Deadpan Yardman mow the grass with the Craftsman, I am hesitant to put the Stihl in his mitts. The last time I let a local use a weedeater, it ended up in tatters.

Mexicans tend not to take care of things owned by other people. It’s a cultural trait and not one of their better ones. But I may be forced to hand it over to him.

Happy cacti.

After shooting the mower and Stihl, I photographed these cacti. I’m a cactus man. I planted them in Houston, but they never did squat.

Here, however, they’re right at home. I planted these cacti when they were small. The ones at the far end are  now taller than I am.

So summer and its accompanying rains are here. We love it when that happens after the stuffy, dry, dusty spring. But by soggy September we’ll be praying for an end to it.

Dust of spring

IF YOU STROLL across our yard this month it’s like stepping through a lawn of dead, crunchy locusts.

We keep the large window in the living room shut to keep the dust out. The equally large one in the dining room, however, is opened because you need some fresh air.

All our springtimes are like this, the polar opposite of our soggy, green, slippery summers.

Yesterday about noon, I sat myself down on the Jesus Patio with the intention of reading, but I didn’t read anything. The Kindle just sat on the glass-top table as I stared around.

I had the Canon, so I photographed the clay head that sits beside the cactus. He’s not a man to be messed with.

Later we lunched at Tiendita Verde, and then we headed downtown, the two of us in separate cars, leaving a larger carbon footprint. It can’t be helped.

We ran into Jaime there. He’s 11, and the son of our nephew who died recently of cancer at 32. My child bride and her sister have taken him under their wings of late.

Jaime is a remarkably good kid. I like him.

Paddling to heaven

nopal

AND NOW we turn to gardening news.

There’s a rosebush in Tombstone, Arizona, that’s billed as the largest rosebush — tree, actually — in the world.

I have stood beneath it. Zounds!

Little did I know that one day I would be bringing similar fame to my mountaintop town. But in the form of a nopal cactus, that most Mexican of plants.

I have mentioned this monster before, but it just keeps on growing. I attempt to control its horizontal growth with clippers, but its vertical size increases yearly. And now even its horizontal girth is beyond me.

In Springtime, it sprouts red blooms and lots of additional leaves, which are, a reader told me, called paddles. The red blooms will come mostly next month. Sweet.

I planted this big mama about a decade back. There were only two paddles at the time. It was quite small, but it really liked its new location. I planted one in half a whisky barrel in my Houston yard in the 1990s, and it never did squat.

It just sat there lamely.

My wife trashed it after we divorced because she said it was bad feng shui. I do not believe in feng shui because I don’t think the Goddess cares which direction your house faces or if you have cactus in a whisky barrel. Or anything about mirrors.*

The Goddess has larger issues on her plate. She doesn’t care if you eat pork either or clip your baby’s ding-dong. Actually, she greatly prefers that you don’t.

I sat on the ground to take the photo because I thought it would accentuate the nopal’s height, but I think it did just the opposite. This big mama is about 14 or 15 feet high.

No matter. Look at that blue sky.

The cactus below sits in a pot on the edge of the veranda. It’s reveling in Springtime too, as you see.

It’s today’s bonus cactus.

cactus* Mirrors serve only three purposes. 1) Fixing yourself up. 2) Spotting zombies behind you. 3) Lighting fires in the wild.

Tip of April

scene

WE’RE APPROACHING the edge of April, which — along with its friend called May — are customarily the warmest and dustiest months of our year here on the mountaintop.

Today’s item is primarily the photo, a view I noticed while sitting in the rocking chair with fruit juice after returning this morning from our 20-minute exercise walk around the nearby plaza.

A sharp eye will notice the Birds of Paradise and behind that is a teenaged bottle-brush tree with its red brushes, and beyond that are banana trees abutting the rock wall. I tossed in the parked car for a touch of modernity and high-tech. And then there’s that pole cactus and something I believe is a begonia, potted, on the right side. My father used to plant lots of begonias, so I’m not a fan.

Family conflict.

But there’s no conflict here today. There is color, cool air, happy thoughts and a sense of gratitude.