Greetings from the Pacific Northwest, the upper left hand corner of America. On this rather crazed day of economic chaos, I’m starting a blog about gardening. A blog about gardening from my point of view, the point of view of a somewhat demented gardener. Some people plant orderly gardens. They know what to expect from season to season. They divide their perennials at the proper time. They trim up and tidy the annual beds instead of leaving huge, browned, ghosts of cosmos past. I am not one of those organized gardeners. My garden is exuberant. Sometimes it looks like an exhibit of botanical warfare. The flowers crowd one another, searching for the sky and sun. The raspberries years ago escaped their bed and forged into the field. Mystery squash sneak into forgotten corners and hide another generation of mystery squashlings under their huge leaves.
And this wild garden is not just filled with plants. Two dogs romp through on a daily basis. Three cats prowl about and set up their feline fortresses under the rhubarb or under the cascading branches of the Camperdown elm. And there are horses, six of them, large and small. The small ones wander through the garden but attempts are made to confine the full size equines to the pastures. This is the setting. I’ll go from here and relate the adventures, botanical and biological, of the creatures of this energetic homestead.