Our House Makeover and the DIY network

When I first starting writing in this blog, the tag line was: "A blog about our first house, our new baby, and our adventures along the way." Four years later, this tag line is quickly becoming outdated.  We're expecting the arrival of a new tiny vomit machine baby any day now, and there is a For Sale sign in our front yard.

Before long, we will be moving from our first house, leaving our amazing neighbors, and headed back home to North Carolina.  Part of this move is job related.  Since President Trump has apparently chosen to ignore my top secret advice about renewable energy despite my promises that he could see Kate Middleton's boobs, it looks like all the progress on the "preserving a livable planet" front is going to be in the private sector.  So, Sean got an awesome new job with Solar company in NC, and we are selling our house.

As such, I've been reflecting a lot about the changes we've made to this place.

When we moved in things were a little *ahem*-- unkempt. From the front, our house looked a bit like a crazy old witch lived here. These days, our house is looking like a totally cute babe. If Cher, from the movie Clueless could see our house, she would describe her as a "total Betty." Look at those flipping window boxes!  Breathe in the trendy adorableness of our board-and-batten shutters!

All women love a good makeover montage, and I'm no exception.  Actually, I think men like makeovers too, which is why the DIY network has captured such a brilliant market. It repackages the makeover into something vaguely masculine by disguising it with power tools, then rakes in a fortune by advertising back-splash products to its hypnotized unisex masses.

We didn't invest in any backsplashes while we lived here, but we did watch a lot of DIY network, and I think one thing is for certain: If Mike Holmes were to come to our house when we first bought it, he would have been concerned.  He'd be all like "what kind of a contractor would build such wobbly deck railings for the sweet old witch lady who is living here?"  Personally, I'm more like Cher from Clueless. I saw an opportunity for a makeover montage, and I went for it.

The photographer is coming soon to take photos of the interior of our house.  When those come in, I'll update this post with some "before" and "after" movie magic.  In the meantime, I'll be cleaning frantically for our upcoming open house, and maybe watching the DIY network.

Mother's Day, 2015

Don't get me wrong.  I love Mother's day.  This year, Sean bought me 200 feet of soaker hose and helped me build an irrigation system for my vegetable garden! I'm all for any holiday that celebrates my awesomeness, and almost guarantees that I can go to the lawn-&-garden store and buy irresponsible amounts of shade perennials, but still--- the whole idea of celebrating all mothers on a single day seems fishy to me.

I think the traditions of mother's day-- the brunches, the flowers, the truck-loads of horse manure* ** ***--- should take place on the birthdays of that mother's children.  After all, she was the one who endured hours and hours of horrific pain in order to bring them into this world, and then, once her prenatal yoga class was over, she had to have childbirth! Shouldn't we celebrate mother's day on that child's birthday?

* I have a weird family ok.
** Yes, that is a real mother's day present my mother received from my father one year.
*** she loved it.

But instead, we live in a messed up world where, rather than relaxing on the anniversary of their child's birth and perhaps enjoying celebratory cocktail for keeping that child live for another year,  mothers have to spend that day experimenting with unnatural color's of frosting for their toddler's birthday cake.  It seems unfair, right?

That's why next February, I will insist that we celebrate mother's day early.  On Millie's birthday, I will enjoy 8 hours of relaxing-while-reading-heirloom-seed-catalogs, in order symbolize the 8 hours of time I was in labor with her. Then, I'll go to a prenatal yoga class and shout encouragement at all the expectant mothers. "Don't worry!" I'll lie,"Those will go back to normal!" and, uproariously-- "It's going to be hard work, but the pain is manageable!" Finally, we'll wind up the day with a little party in which all Millie's friends can all bring her shade perennials in lieu of traditional presents. I have a feeling they are really going to like the outdoor activity---a rousing game of "Spread the horse manure on Millie's Mommy's Garden!"

Beer totally ruins slug parties

When I was little I had two pet slugs named Beauty and Spot.  We were pretty poor back then-- too poor to afford a pony-- but Beauty and Spot were always there for me, waiting underneath the cinder block in my back yard.  I remember thinking how pretty they looked in the sunshine-- all spotted and multi-colored-- like two miniature (and very sticky) rainbow trouts.

A lot of time has passed since then, and you might say that my views on the slug issue are EVOLVING.  That's because I've recently become interested in growing hostas, which apparently fill the same dietary role for slugs that Queso Dip fills for humans.  The slugs in my backyard have been gorging themselves each night while I'm asleep, in what appears to be an all night movie binge and hosta snack-a-thon.  As I look at the decimated, hole-filled remnants of my former hostas, my only consolation is the knowledge that my slugs are probably filled with self-loathing when they consider how much they ate the night before.  I know it's vindictive, but I hope my slugs are no longer able to fit into their cute jeans, and are lurking underneath my stone-work right now with their give-ups on.

Here's what my Hostas look like now :(

It must be upsetting to think about my beautiful shade garden getting eaten, but don't worry-- I have a plan!  You know how, at a normal party (that is to say a party among humans,) when someone shows up with beer, the party only gets better? Well, I happen to know that beer has the exact opposite effect on slug parties.  Beer totally ruins slug parties!  At first it makes things pretty exciting, when one of the slugs first notices the beer.

"Hey guys! What's this over here? I think it's a buried tunafish can filled with beer!" the slug exclaims.
"AWESOME!!!!" The other slugs chorus.
And then, somebody yells "CANNONBALL!!!" And all the slugs pile in, having the most fun of their slug lives.

Then, when the first slug decides that he's swam enough and he wants to get out and eat some more hostas, he realizes that he's TRAPPED IN THE BEER.  That's when the party gets ruined.

In essence, that's what I have planned for the slugs in my shade garden. You may think it's cruel, but I actually think it's a pretty humane death.  In all honesty, if we were allowed to pick our own death's I think Sean would likely choose DEATH BY BEER. My only hang-up is the loving memory I have of Beauty and Spot. They would be so appalled if they knew what a monster I have become. So, in remembrance of them, I have decided to dedicate a small corner of my garden as a slug sanctuary, which I vow never to contaminate with slug bait and beer.  RIP Beauty and Spot.  You will be missed. As for the rest of you, I know how much you are missing your fallen brethren.  It would mean so much to me if you would join me for a drink in their honor.

Zucchini Hash Browns

Zucchini Hash Browns with Yogurt Dipping Sauce

If you're like me, this time of year you are probably up to your ears in surplus zucchini.  Let's say, hypothetically, you forgot to harvest your garden for about a week because you were too busy cleaning up baby vomit and reading terrible baby books.  I mean-- still hypothetically speaking-- these books were so terrible that you can only assume that they were written by a drunk chimpanzee, or possibly a robot programed to mimic a drunk chimpanzee, in some sort of algorithmic formula based on black and white farm cows.

Then, you realize that you haven't harvested your garden in a week, and you suddenly have a zucchini roughly the size of a whiffle ball bat! Your brain has two immediate reactions:

Reaction number 1:  I am a master gardener.  I should take this zucchini to the county fair, because it is surely the grandest zucchini in all the land, and I will be showered with blue ribbons. All the farmers will want to know about my innovative agricultural techniques of severe neglect, which allowed me to produce this prize zucchini.

Reaction number 2:  Oh Shit Balls! How on earth am I going to consume all this zucchini? I mean, how much zucchini bread can I honestly expect us to consume? Do I even really like zucchini that much?  Does anyone?  How can I con my neighbors into taking some of this zucchini?

This is the horrible state of zuchinni-ness I found myself in this summer.  I immediately went on the offensive, and spent an entire morning chopping, shredding, and otherwise dismembering my zucchini, which I named GORGOTH THE ZUCCHINI.  Then I took some of the remains of Gorgoth, which I scattered among my garden as a warning to any other zucchinis who were developing aspirations of grandeur.  Finally, I was ready to begin cooking.

I did the all of the usual zucchini tricks.  I made Zucchini Bread.  I made Zucchini muffins. I chopped, seasoned and sautéed zucchini, then froze it for consumption later in the year. And--after an entire day of cooking-- I still hadn't made a dent.  I still had two enormous ziplock bags of shredded GORGOTH zucchini.  Undaunted, I rashly invented this recipe for ZUCCHINI HASH BROWNS--- which sounds fancy, but it's really not.

Zucchini Hash Browns:

10 cups shredded zucchini (patted dry with a paper towel)

1 cup flour

1 small white onion

2 cloves garlic

2 eggs

salt

pepper

vegatable oil

Here's what I did:

Start with 10 cups of shredded zucchini (use a cheese grater to easily shred your raw zucchini)
Chop up 1 small white onion
Chop up 2 cloves of garlic

In a small pan, sauté the onions and garlic with a little bit of vegetable oil for about two minutes.

In a large mixing bowl, combine the raw shredded zucchini with the onions and garlic you just sauteed,  and then add:
2 eggs
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon pepper
1 tablespoon salt

Stir together vigorously.  Your batter is complete.

From here on out it's a good old fashion fry up.  I used vegetable oil to pan-fry mine.
Using your fingers, grab a glob of batter and form it until it's about the size of a biscuit, and about an inch thick. Throw it in the hot oil until it's browned on one side.  Then flip. Once the hash browns are browned on both sides, set them on a paper towel to soak up excess grease. When ready, throw them on a platter and voila!

I served mine with a yogurt sauce (just mix greek yogurt, lime juice, cumin, and paprika,) and fresh heirloom tomatoes.   The result was pretty delicious.  I took them to a neighborhood party (yes, another one-- my neighborhood LIKES TO PARTY,) and even Tammy, Queen of the Confectionary Arts was impressed.

Hopefully, next year I'll remember to harvest my zucchinis before things get out of hand.  But, if not, at least I'll be ready---butcher knife in hand--to battle the GORGOTH and serve some delicious zucchini hash browns.  Perhaps the drunk chimpanzee who writes my daughters children's books will be enticed to try a few.



add to bowl of shreeded zuchinii, then add flour and eggs.  Stir.  Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Guest Blog!

This week I wrote a guest blog for my sister Kelly's West Virginia based CSA.

• If you live in West Virginia, you should totally enroll in her CSA. 
• If you don't live in West Virginia, but are enrolled in a different CSA, you should probably still frequent her website, because there are lots of recipes, including ones for cocktails.  So, when you are all "Oh! What am I supposed to do with these organic marketmore cucumbers?"  She will tell you EXACTLY what to do with those organic marketmore cucumbers. (answer: soak them in vodka.)
• If you are reading this and thinking "What is a CSA?" I want you to go out and buy a book with a foreword by Michael Pollan. Right now. 

Anyways, here is the link!  You should read my post because it's funny, and it will tell you how to cook chard without it tasting like dirt!

*In addition to being one hell of a farmer and cook, Kelly is a bad ass community organizer.  Be warned, she uses cocktails as an offensive tool for social domination, and is the only person I know of who has managed to weaponize Limoncello.

Growing Perennials From Seed

A few weeks ago, I finally got around to starting my seeds.  I do this every year, and I mostly grow vegetable seedlings because---like every other person who has ever read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle-- I am now an insufferable locavore and aspiring farmer.

This year was different however. For one thing, we haven't put in our deer fence yet, and I have nothing to protect my would-be vegetables from the posse of spoiled teenage deer that terrorize my backyard. For another thing, we are relatively impoverished, having recently gone from DINKs (double income, no kids,) to CHUMPs (Children-Having Undertakers of Mortgage Payments) and need to landscape our yard on almost no budget.

So, instead of starting vegetables this year, I bought some packets of flowering perennials, ornamental grasses, and a few annuals I couldn't live without, and decided to give it a shot.  I figured how hard can it be to grow ornamental grasses?  Really F-ing hard as it turns out. I doubt even Queen Galadriel herself could make these barren, lifeless seeds germinate. It's GRASS for goodness sake! If you took literally ANY piece of dirt, and killed all life on it, and did NOTHING to seed, water, and care for it, eventually grass would colonize it.  So why can't I make mine grow?  I think maybe they sold me a defective seed packet. Ok three seed packets. Of different varieties.  Oh hell.

So, as it turns out, there is a reason that Ornamental grasses cost $30.00 a bucket at your local garden store.  The good news is, I'm having moderate success with my other seed starting endeavors. Here's what I'm growing.

Black Eyed Susans: These beatiful flowering perenials are doing quite well.  I was very proud of this, until I learned that they are somewhat invasive, and that it probably does not indicate any sort of skill on my part to produce healthy seedlings.
Purple coneflower- These flowers will help me acheive the "cottage garden" look I am going for in front of the house. They too are doing quite well.
Blue Fescue- This is one of the smallest of the ornamental grasses, with a bluish tinge that looks great along borders, pathways, and rock walls.  Needless to say, it is not growing at all.
Deschampsia- This is my favorite of all the ornamental grasses that we failed to grow. It clumps nicely with a purplish haze at the top, and tolerates partial shade.
Pony Tails- This bright greenish/yellowish grass would have created a soft, feathery look for the window boxes I have planned. Instead, it mocks me from the attractive, beautifully clumping photo on the cover of the seed packet.  No ponytail seedlings have emerged so far.  
Poppy- The variety I am growing is called "oriental Red," and it's a gorgeous red flower with a dark, almost black center. I had under a 50% germination rate with these seeds, but luckily, I don't hold my seed packets accountable to the same high standards that I have for my heart surgeons, seat-belts, and parachutes.  I'm ok with 40% germination in these beautiful flowers, and it was well worth the $1.29 I paid for the seed packet.
Delphinium- Oh my god I love Delphiniums. Their beautiful tall spires will look great in my cottage garden out front, and I'm happy to report that, of the 5 containers that I started, 2 seeds germinated.

In other news, Sean is still dreamy and handsome.  Here is the coldframe he built for me to start my seeds in.  The high back creates easy access for watering, and can be flipped open for ventilation on hot days.  We just cover it at night with a plastic drop cloth to protect from frost.

So, for all you other CHUMPs out there, I'd definitely recommend growing perennials from seed as a way to get more bang for your landscaping buck. In fact, to help you get started, I've got some ornamental grass seeds you can borrow. Happy growing!

My First Mother's Day, My Own Mother, and a Long Overdue Thank-You Note.

Yesterday was my first mother's day, and-- like parenthood-- it was filled with highs and lows.  Millie forgot to get me a card, but Sean saved her by buying one for her.  A definite high was the gift from my in-laws-- a "shopping spree" of sorts in their beautiful shade garden.  They had excess hostas, lungwort, ferns, black-eyed-susans, bee balm, and other perennials and they loaded us up. They took me around their property, letting me pick out the things we wanted for our yard. I responded exactly like a shark in a tank full of chum, and went on a sedum-induced feeding frenzy.

The definite down side was our drive home, in which Millie screamed for 3 and a half hours, probably in protest to the fact that I hadn't let her pick out which hostas we wanted for the side yard.

I also had the opportunity to speak to my own mother, who is the strongest, smartest, funniest woman alive.  Lets be clear---if my mom got in a fight with any of your moms--- she would win. Likewise, if she got in a math competition or a dirty limerick writing contest, she would win. SHE IS A WINNER.  Yesterday, I was thinking a lot about the ways in which my mother has prepared me for motherhood, and the areas I have fallen short. Here is what I've come up with.

Prepared:
Cussing:
When you are a new mother, you have a lot of new emotions, fears, and hormones coursing through your system. For instance, when I first had Millie, I had to confront a crippling fear of not having chocolate ice cream at every meal. Luckily, I knew exactly what cuss words to say in order to make my sentiments known. This is all thanks to my mother.
My mother grew up on a farm in rural Georgia with four older brothers who schooled her in the use of pill-bottle-based explosive devices and colorful expletives. Soon their young apprentice began to outpace them all, and demonstrated such mastery of the four major cuss words of the day (shit, damn, ass, and hell,) as to claim the title of prodigy.
Hilariously, I had no idea of my mother's genius until I was 13 years old, at which point my parents allowed me to cuss, and my mother taught me to shout "who dealt this shit?" when playing spades. My mother is very VERY good about controlling her language in front of children, so up until this time, I had no idea that I was to become a young padawan to such a  powerful language master.
Now that I am a grown up and have a daughter of my own, I am thoroughly enjoying the golden months when Millie is still oblivious to my sailor mouth.  Very soon, I will have to retire my impressive vocabulary until her young and impressionable ears are more developed.  I can't wait to see the look on Millie's face on her 13th birthday, when she discovers the truth about her mother and grandmother, and I can't wait to teach her to say "who dealt this shit?" ---a feat for which I am totally and completely prepared thanks to my own Mom.

Not Prepared: 
Writing Thank you notes: 
I didn't grow up in the sort of house where we wrote thank you notes.  In fact, I didn't even grow up in the kind of house where we exchanged birthday cards. Perhaps the most glaring example of my unpreparedness for motherhood is my absolute inability to keep up with even the most basic mail correspondence. This is normally not much of a problem, as the good lord saw fit to invent email during my lifetime, graciously sparing me from a life of social shame, and--as a bonus-- allowing for the distribution of cat videos among my g-chat friends.  However, when you have a baby, you receive gifts from absolutely everywhere.  I am not making this up when I say that we received at least ten beautiful and thoughtful baby gifts from persons who we have never met, ever in our lives.  This puts a lot of stress on me, a person who is already handicapped in the thank-you-note-writing area, and I've often had this conversation with my mother: "We are receiving a gift from who? The friend of your coworker's dog groomer? They are getting us what? Oh wow! How lovely of them-- will you try and get their address so I can write them a thank you note?"  To be honest though, even if I have the address, I'll most likely never send the note because I am too distracted watching cat videos on the internet.  So, if you have given us a baby gift and are still waiting on your thank you note, please accept this one on my behalf:

Dear (please circle one) Person who I have never met/ Close friend/ Relative/ Dog groomer of relative, 

Thank you so much for your adorable gift of (please circle one) bibs/ tiny dresses/ tiny dresses with matching bibs.  We love them and Millie looks adorable in them.  Your thoughtfulness overwhelms us, and we are so grateful to you for thinking of us during this momentous time in our lives. 

Warm Wishes,

Sean and Katie

Now, there was a moment in which my areas of preparedness and unpreparedness came full circle, and that moment was when I wrote the thank you note to my parents after my baby shower. To put them at their ease, I made sure to include plenty of cuss words. It went something like this:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Thank you so much for the beautiful and thoughtful cloth diapers.  I will always think of you when I am up to my ears in baby shit. Also, thank you so much for all the times you wiped my ass, as I'm sure that could not have been fun for you. 

All my love,
Katie


Now that it's mothers day, I am inspired to write a different sort of thank you note to my Mom.

Dear Mom,

First of all, thank you for enduring the horrific pain of childbirth and subsequent sleep depravation that accompanied my entry into this world. Also, you are a Bitch for lying to me about how much that would suck.  Thank you so much for keeping me alive until I was thirteen, and then teaching me to cuss-- that was really fun.  Thanks in short, for all the ways in which you prepared me for being a mother, and for teaching me that---although I will probably have to wait for thirty years for a thank you note from my own daughter-- she will definitely be grateful to me for putting up with all her bullshit. I love you.

Happy Mothers Day,
Katie

Hugelkultur

When Sean and I first bought the house, there was a giant cottonwood tree that had fallen in our backyard. When I say giant, I mean GIANT, and if you don't believe me, check out these pictures of a few cross sections of the tree, which we now use as benches around our fire pit.

This behemoth of a tree posed several challenges to us right off the bat.  First of all, it had fallen directly into the drainage ditch that ran across the back of our property, turning both our backyard and the yards of our upstream neighbors into a woodland water-park/mosquito brothel. The other big problem was that the tree had fallen directly on top of the only spot in our yard sunny enough to be a vegetable garden.  

So, we knew we'd have to get the tree out of there, but that wasn't as easy as it sounds. In order to remove it, Sean had to first chainsaw it into pieces, bravely removing poison ivy and other hazards as he went. Then, he chopped it up BY HAND. Let me repeat that. Using only his brute strength and a new axe he ordered on amazon, he chopped up this entire tree by hand, achieving the same approximate level of burliness as Paul Bunyan, and the same level of attractiveness as Ryan Gosling.  Because I was extremely pregnant at the time, and because I wielded an axe with the same approximate dexterity as Babe,  Paul Bunyan's giant blue ox, I stayed in the house, and avoided the ordeal altogether. Here is Sean, pictured with the remnants of his vanquished foe:

So, as you can see, we still had one major problem-- our backyard was now a giant woodpile. What to do with all that wood? We thought about burning it, but most of the wood was so old, buggy, and waterlogged that it was useless. We couldn't grow edible mushrooms on it, because it was already full of mycelium from god-knows-what kind of fungi. Desperate for ideas, Sean ran into our friend Glen one day and asked him for advice.

"Hey Glen, you don't know of any uses for about a dump-truck's worth of chopped up cottonwood tree, do you?" said Sean.

"You could always burn it." said Glen.

"Nope." said Sean.

"You could grow mushrooms on it." said Glen.

"Can't." said Sean.

"You could always try Hugekulter." said Glen.

"Bless You." Said Sean.

But, as it turns out, Hugelkultur is a farming technique, not a sneeze.

Here's how it works.  Apparently, Eastern European farmers needed a way to grow potatoes in climates so cold, that even the reindeer were all like "I'm freezing my balls off up here!" What they did is built mounds using rotten old trees, sticks, and other decaying wood, and then piled dirt on top of that.  As the mounds decayed, the heat helped to heat up the dirt in the mounds, allowing them to extend their growing season.  One other advantage to this method is that you hardly ever have to water it, since the old wood absorbs so much water.

To us, it sounded a lot like the method of raised bed lasagna gardening, which is currently so popular.  We had gotten excellent results with Lasagna gardens in the past, so we decided to give it a shot.

Here are some photos of the garden site getting laid out.  This was extremely satisfying, as the whole thing went together in a single day.

Here is the final design.  We came up with this shape so it would be easy for us to run drip irrigation continuously throughout the beds.

The next step is for us to pile more manure, dirt, and compost on top of the beds.  Then, we will rock in the garden beds using stone, and cover crop it for this year.  The last step will be to build a VERY tall fence, because unfortunately, the deer here in Ohio are NOT freezing their balls off, and there is a rapidly reproducing herd of them that patrols our yard.

So far, we are really happy with the results of our first foray into Hugelkultur.  The neighbors are happy because the tree is gone and the mosquitos have decided to host Spring Break Panama City on someone else's street.  The passers-by on the bike path are happy because it no longer looks like our backyard is inhabited by a moody, out-of-work beaver. And, most of all, Sean and Katie are happy because we are one step closer to a Paul Bunyan sized harvest of fresh, delicious vegetables, right out of our own backyard.
______________________________________________________
Update!  The fence went up, and here is what our garden looks like now!

Worst Permaculture Guild Ever

In permaculture, there is a term called a guild—a grouping of plants that interact together in a mutually beneficial way. The most classic example of a guild is the three sisters: corn, beans, and squash planted together.  The corn stalks provide a trellis for the beans to grow up, the beans help to fix nitrogen in the soil, and the squash plants spread out, covering the ground with lush vegetation and shielding the soil from evaporation. All three plants benefit from the neighbors around them.

When we bought our house, we didn’t initially notice that there was a thriving guild on the hillside immediately adjacent to our future garden spot.  However, once we set to work clearing it, we noticed that our hillside was dominated by 4 plants--- which seemed to be working in tandem to squash out all other life on the hillside, and to increase our misery by constantly trying to take over our yard.  These four plants formed an elegant guild:

Upper tree Layer: Black Walnut- The beautiful assassin of the plant world.  Black Walnuts look gorgeous, but they emit a toxin called juglone which, kills all other life including tomatoes, asparagus, puppies, and pretty much all worthwhile living things. Ruefully, poison ivy is immune to juglone.

Secondary tree Layer- Buckthorn-The Jar Jar Binks of the plant world. This small tree pops up everywhere.  It is obnoxious, and absolutely no one likes it. Buckthorns make approximately one ga-jillion berries per small tree, which fall into my lawn in such abundance that instead of grass, we just have tiny buckthorn trees coming up everywhere. I’m not sure which I would rather run over with a lawnmower—baby buckthorn trees, or Jar Jar Binks himself.

Shrub Layer- Multi-Flora Rose- The Sitcom Mother-in-law of the plant world.  You know the show Everybody Loves Raymond? Multi-flora Rose is kind of like the Mother-in-law from that show. Sure, she smells kind of good, in a floral old-lady sort of way.  In fact, you may even want to invite her over, but pretty soon she becomes invasive—not respecting your boundaries, and criticizing the way you load your dishwasher. It’s best to eradicate her immediately.

Vine Layer- Poison Ivy- The Poison Ivy of the plant world.  I gave it this title because I can’t think of anything worse than Poison Ivy.  Let’s be clear. Poison Ivy is the ABSOLUTE WORST.  I hate everything about Poison Ivy.  If I could obliterate poison ivy from the face of existence, I would do it without a second’s hesitation. When I was a little girl, I got poison ivy in my EYEBALLS.  One of my husband’s many charming qualities is that he doesn’t get poison ivy, and he can go before me into the fray, wiping out any poison ivy in our path and clearing the way for me to do yard work. He is a total hero. 

The way these four plants assisted each other was really quite impressive.  The Black Walnuts released juglone, which cleared the understory of any competitor plants.  The multifloral rose created a thicket of inviting bird habitat for the feathery invaders that gorged themselves on buckthorn berries and dropped the seeds across our lawn. The poison ivy provided a calf-high groundcover that thwarted any enterprising young home owners who foolishly dreamed of cleaning the area up.

That is, until Sean entered the picture. I'll never forget the sight of him--in his carhart overalls, charging across the landscape with his chainsaw and his work gloves, and his beard blowing in the wind.  He chopped, sawed, shredded, and dug-- looking exactly like Hercules-- and protected his sweet wife (and her eyeballs) from the perils of the monstrous poison ivy and it's botanical cohorts. Maybe the plants will move on this Spring--seeking out backyards with less rugged heroism and fewer eyeball vendettas-- but maybe they won't be so wise.  Maybe they will come back, and if they do, we'll be ready for them. Oh yes, we'll be ready...

Here is the hillside when we moved in. I know it looks lush and green, but literally everything living on it had to be destroyed.

Here is the same hillside now pre-spring.  We've planted paw-paws, mulberries, redbuds, wildflowers and much more to replace the invasive buckthorns and roses.