Current Blizzard Conditions

This is a game of “What’s Wrong With This Picture?” Do you see it? Even if you do not currently live or reside in the Black Hills, you can probably figure it out.

No, it isn’t the second Latest News headline inserted to correct a typo, which typo was then not removed, though that’s also pretty funny. Here, let me highlight it for you:

Right. Now here, to illustrate what 115 degrees and foggy looks like, is a picture out my front window:

I know what you did last spring…

It wasn’t until a chamber mixer this evening that I realized how many people I know who are expecting babies in the next couple weeks. I know four of these women personally, and heard about three others at the above-mentioned mixer. Before I could stop myself, I said, “was there a storm?” Happily, I don’t think anyone quite understood what I meant (since one person answered, “yeah… the moon must be full”). But by then I was curious.

I’d like to share with you an excerpt from my Twitter history.

Today will probably be spent by everyone in the state in anticipation of the Storm To Come.
10:57 AM Mar 22nd from Echofon

** Does the Blizzard Dance **
9:23 AM Mar 23rd from Echofon

No gloves or fuzzy hat. So much for that snowman.
12:37 PM Mar 23rd from Echofon

Only in SD when a blizzard is approaching would there still be plenty of milk and bread in the store but absolutely no ground beef.
3:09 PM Mar 23rd from Echofon

Snuggled in cozy at grandma’s house with a fire and a jimmied-up internet connection. Let the snow day begin!
3:10 PM Mar 23rd from Echofon

Going to make an epic trek over to the Gulch for some dinner. Yes we called. They’re open. Hehehe.
6:26 PM Mar 23rd from Echofon

I was worried the Gulch would be closed but it was the happening place to be! A nice man with a plow offered to drive us home. We walked.
9:23 PM Mar 23rd from Echofon

Blue skies, smiling above me! Nothing but blue skies, and a four-foot drift in front of the door…
12:34 PM Mar 24th from Echofon

I rest my case.

The slug who wanted to ruin my marriage

She either wanted to ruin my marriage or just get rich and run off to Rio. Not sure exactly which.

There she is. The slug who stole my wedding ring. I was picking peas, you see, innocent as could be. My wedding ring was on the pinky finger of my right hand to serve as a reminder that I had to write a check to pay off my credit card that night, or it would be dooooooom. This is an excellent reminder system. I’ve been using it for three years to great effect. My wedding ring fits on my pinky finger (though not as well as my ring finger), but it isn’t comfortable there, so every time I think about putting it back where it belongs, I remember whatever it is I’m supposed to be remembering.

So la la la, Dustin is mowing the jungle grass and I’m picking my peas. There’s a plump one! I reach out and grab it and the pea goes SQUISH!

I go “Eeeeeeeeek!” and fling my hands in the air. I feel my wedding ring as it flies off my chilly finger. I freeze. I turn around and look behind me (the direction in which the ring flew). There is the thickest, jungliest part of my back yard. It’s hard to mow around the pea plants, you see, so some of the grass is nearly a foot tall. Lush, thick green grass that has just swallowed my wedding ring.

But I felt it fly off, so I knew right about where it must have gone. When a quick survey revealed nothing, I called Dustin over and asked for his assistance. He thoughtfully refrained from saying anything to make me feel bad. Good husband! But no ring. The sun was setting alarmingly fast. I got out a pair of scissors and begin hand-trimming the lawn, figuring the ring just sunk down under the canopy (seriously, my grass has a canopy) and while mower-trimming was a bad idea, a little free-style clipping would be very helpful.

But then it got too dark to see. I gave up for the evening, but not in despair. My ring was lost, yes, but within a confined space, surrounded by a six-foot fence. The only things that might wander by and swipe it included the original fiendish slug and my cat. I figured neither would really be all that motivated. Besides – I have friends with metal detectors.

The next day, I bummed a metal detector from Jerry the Head Senior Supervisory Archaeologist. Of course, it was a metal detector he picked up for $15 at a garage sale, and he had never gotten it to work because he couldn’t get the battery panel open to install new batteries…

At home, Dustin deconstructed the metal detector (literally. The battery panel just refused to come off) and we got some batteries installed. The little needle jumped into action… sort of. It hung at the “1″ mark and thereafter refused to budge. We metal detected Dustin’s ring, some pop cans, and my kitchen pots. The metal detector didn’t make a peep. Curious about whether I had the settings wrong, I tried googling the thing. Turns out it was manufactured some time around 1963. There were no instructions on how to use it, because people don’t want to use metal detectors from 1963, they want to collect them.

We gave up on that and I called Friend With Metal Detector #2. Coworker Amanda brought her husband’s metal detector to work the next morning. It was several decades more advanced than Jerry’s. I took it home with optimism. Of course, we got home rather late and there was almost no daylight left, but we gave it a go anyway. Turns out my yard is full of things that go “blip!” and “bnerrrr!” But the darkness got the best of us and we had to give up.

This was last night. The overnight forecast was for some pretty impressive freezing rain and snow. Not great ring-hunting weather.

I got up early (amazing!) and headed outside in my pajama bottoms, hoodie, boots, and winter coat. Brr! It was cold, but only mildly damp. Within about five minutes, Dustin and the metal detector found the ring. It was about a foot away from where I’d been standing when the slug attacked. I probably would have found it eventually, using my grass-clipping plan, but the metal detector definitely made it easier.

Whew.

I’ll take no revenge on the Evil Slug. I figure the first snowfall of the year will probably take care of that problem for me. Sorry slug. You can’t have my ring, my man, or a free vacation to warmer climes.

My Wilted Thumb, or, My Poor Pumpkin

So back in May, as I goo-ed and gah-ed over my giant baby pumpkin, I promised updates all summer on her progress. There haven’t been any. I’d like to put forth the argument that I didn’t really break my promise, because – pitifully, there never really was much progress. First, here is the pumpkin plant as of last Saturday:

It doesn’t look so bad, save for one notable exception: do YOU see a giant pumpkin? I sure don’t. I don’t even see a little pumpkin. Problem is, none of my pumpkins seemed motivated to grow this year. Not even the regular-sized ones.

By the last week of August, I finally had a baby pumpkin on this plant. I figured that maybe if the fall was nice, I’d have a month to let it grow, and even a month ought to be good for a giant pumpkin to get sort of big, right?

I forgot one little detail. I have a beautiful 6-foot fence around my entire back yard. This pumpkin is not in my back yard. Here is the status of my pumpkin at present:

Poor pumpkin. It is a cruel fate, to be gobbled by deer then tossed aside like so much flavorless squash…

It was about the size of my fist when this happened.  Here’s my next-best pumpkin:

We’ll see how big it is when the deer get to it. I guess I’ll have to take a pass on this year’s Pumpkin Festival (unless I want to try clocking in with the world’s smallest pumpkin).

In other cool pumpkin updates, look what’s hanging out in my pumpkin flowers!

There’s no perspective in this photo, but each of these bees is about the size of my thumb. There were two bees in every flower that I peeked into. So strange! With that much polination action, you’d think I’d have more pumpkins. Maybe the beese waited until September to get busy this year.

The “Arrangement”

This post is for my brother, my only devoted fan. Well, devoted enough to accuse me of never updating. That’s worth something, right?

I got a call this afternoon at the office. It went like this.

ME: Bob’s Blue Boxes, this is Laura.
LADY: Hello this is Fiona Maple.* (expectant pause)
ME: Hello Fiona, how can I help you?
LADY: (a little confused stammering) You, uhm, had an arrangement for me?

Pause conversation.

At this point, silly things started popping into my head. An “arrangement”? of what sort? The first thing I thought of was straight out of 19th century English lit. But no… I have not been advertising for a nanny. Not that sort of arrangement, then.

Ooooh, she doesn’t want me to kill someone for her, does she? What did she say her name was? I should write it down for when the police come asking…

Resume phone conversation.

ME: Uhhhh…
LADY: Oh, um. Let me look at my caller ID. Do I have the wrong number? I was sure… You are Black Hills Floral, right?
ME: Oh! No… I’m sorry. You do have the wrong number. No flowers here.

Nor children who need minding nor hitmen for hire. Try again next time.

*Name changed at least half because I can’t remember her actual name.

Greenpeace Storms Mt. Rushmore

From Dustin’s office came the call: “Laura? Your dad’s day is about to be ruined.”

I immediately started worrying about more deaths in some national park somewhere, or a foreign park administrator challenging my dad to a drink-off. It was nothing so heinous as either of these things.

Greenpeace had managed to climb to the top of Mt. Rushmore and hang a banner stating “America honors leaders, not politicians. Stop global warming.” They were streaming live video to their site, and I got to watch the last ten minutes or so as the banner flapped in the breeze and was finally cut down by park rangers.

Exciting!

From the voice-over on the video I learned that they had put up a couple barricades to try and keep the authorities at bay as long as possible, including a bike-lock around a gate and a human chain somewhere along the way. Sounds like they succeeded for about an hour, which is pretty impressive.

The Black Hills fan page over on Facebook got wind of it early and put up a link to the video stream which started generating a lot of exciting debate. There are folks raging agains Greenpeace for daring to “deface” a nationa monument, then other people smacking on them for honoring a monument that defaces the Black Hills, other people railing about misguided patriotism, and a few lonely souls who think Greenpeace is doing a wonderful thing. It’s really a pretty educational and entertaining.

Personally? I couldn’t care less about either side of the debate, but I can’t help but be impressed with Greenpeace’s organizational skills. It’s no small feat to get (illegally, I might add) to the top of Mt. Rushmore with a banner that big, which is just big enough, manage to somehow strap it in place, keep the authorities away for an hour, and get the whole thing on live video. Certainly many of the participants will be arrested, as they should for breaking various laws, but I imagine Greenpeace expects that, and that their volunteers go into it with their eyes open and willing to make that sacrifice for the public awareness they mean to generate. As long as they’re willing to accept those consequences of their actions, I say good for them! No lasting harm was done to the monument, and they are certainly getting their (current) fifteen minutes of fame.

But the moose always cheats…

This photo was taken by my friend Rachel up in Alaska, and I’d like to dedicate it to my mother in law, who is currently stalking wild mooses with her camera up in Maine.

If a moose charges or chases you, hide behind something solid such as a tree. It is okay to run from a moose if you have a head start.

My friend Corey replies: “But the moose always cheats!”

Giant Baby Pumpkin Comes Home

It’s here, it’s here! My giant pumpkin has arrived!

Isn’t it cute and inconspicuous? Well… that is a gallon ice cream bucket it’s in. I suppose “inconspicuous” is relative.

After a whole week of back-and-forth with Giant Pumkin Guru Matt, I finally managed to arrange a seedling hand-off this evening. The reply to the question “what does one do with a 300+ pound pumpkin?” : feed it to the deer, or possibly to bears. Of course. The whole week of back-and-forth was largely due to trying to answer this question. Turns out giant pumpkin growers simply assume you mean “how do I get this thing out of my garden?” (The answer involves a fork lift, by the way.) What happens after that is not nearly as important. Unless you’re my husband. But satisfied that we could feed it to the local bears, he agreed I could try this craziness.

Turns out these things are pedigreed. Check it out:

That’s the seed packet. These seeds come from a 798-pound pumpkin grown by someone named Biga in 2006. THAT pumpkin’s parents were 500-pound and 820-pound pumpkins grown in 2004 and 2005? I’m a little baffled about that, actually. And how do pumpkins come in male an female? Hm. Apparently I have more to learn about pumpkin breeding.

Mostly, I just want a really giant pumpkin to make my neighbors jealous.

I’m going to plant it tomorrow. I expect there will be updates all summer about this thing’s progress. I’m like the annoying cat lady, but with a pumpkin. Speaking of which, “this thing” clearly is not an acceptable reference for my giant pumpkin. It will need a name. Any suggestions?

Lest I be fired…

I’d better get a post up before the end of May. Two whole months missing from the archive is just too much to excuse. What can I possibly say that is witty? I blame my recent silence on the dead batteries in my camera. Dustin’s got a great camera, but if I take pictures with it, I have to find a way to get pictures OFF it, and that’s a little more tricky. If pictures were just a little easier to get to, I could tell you all about my recent adventures in Music Man, kite-flying, onion-shrinking, and giant pumpkin envy.

Hmm. I can find a picture of a giant pumpkin somewhere online. Let’s do that.

Photo filched from blackhillsgiantpumpkins.com

I wanna grow a giant pumpkin. There was an article in the Rapid City Journal last week about growing “extreme pumpkins,” and now I have pumpkin envy. Who doesn’t need a 700-pound gourd in their backyard?? Though seriously, if I was going to grow a pumpkin that big, I’d have to do it somewhere where the neighbors could see it too. Y’know… so they’d think I was overcompensating for something. (What do women overcompensate for? Hmm…)

But there’s a problem. I searched the Giant Pumpkin Website and found no answer to it there, so I sent an email to the Giant Pumpkin Gurus, Lisa and Matt:

I saw your article in the RC Journal last week, and I’ve been daydreaming about growing giant pumpkins ever since. I have the space and the interest – there’s just one problem. My husband says I’m not allowed to grow anything that weighs more than I do unless I have a plan for what to do with it at the end of the year. I know you have a pumpkin fest where I can come show it off (assuming I can even find a way to GET it to the pumpkin show… I don’t think my Toyota Camry will quite cut it), but then what? What becomes of all these prize-winning pumpkins? Do they get baked into 6000 pies? Sold as playhouses? Mulched for canabalistic fertilizer of next year’s crop?

I’d love to hear back from you. Thanks!

I am waiting anxiously to hear what they might have to say.

In the meanwhile, I’m going to have to assume I may not be allowed to grow my pumpkin after all (or that it may simply be too late in the year to start) and will have to content myself with trying to grow spaghetti squash – the newest addition to this year’s garden.

Updates to follow.

The Pickle Ladies

So after discovering our parts last week, Anne took to calling me the Principle Pickle. I can’t blame her. “Pick-a-Little” sounds a lot like “pickle ” to me. And so I was inspired to a flight of artistry. Check it out:

The Pickle Ladies! Hahaha. I think I’m very funny.

And, because we’re the Principle Pickles (by our own designation, not by any sort of actual superiority):

Pickle Anne

Pickle Laura