January 1    SM#2 buy SOILED REPUTATIONS today
Come back in April (just kidding, but don't expect too much garden stuff). This is zone 5b -- snowplows, salt and slush -- and that's just the rosebed!  I apologise for the miserable look on the pansy's faces. They don't like winter either. If you have any funny garden stuff, I'd love to hear about it. Meanwhile, enter the... NAME THE WORM CONTEST.

January 2
It's going to be hard filling this garden diary when there's no gardening to do. I could shovel the driveway -- nah! I do have a few things growing under lights, but it's not the same is it? I know, I'll show you a limerick. It's not gardening but it is original, so don't go mailing it to your friends. At least not unless you send me cash for copyright -- oh! go ahead, steal it. Stick it on your fridge or your desk or as many places as you can find. Hey send it in to a magazine. Just give me credit, this is my living you know.
 

January 4 
If you're already a regular reader, you may be wondering why the garden diary appears to be posted a day ahead -- the January 1st entry was posted on  December 31st etc. You may be wondering if perhaps I'm in a different time zone as well as a different plant zone, or a different zone altogether.  No! no! no! What I have done is to move my biological clock ahead by twentyfour hours. This way spring comes a little sooner. I don't recommend it to everyone. It was a very painful operation which I performed on myself without benefit of anesthetic. It's going to pay off though, because the millenium is coming up fast and the hype is building. Can you imagine the media attention when it's discovered that I'm going to be the first person in the world to arrive at the year 2000? They'll be lining up to patent me. I'll make a fortune.

random garden content

January 6
How do you like the little "new"gif? Bit redundant in a diary. They seem to be sprouting up everywhere -- like stickers on fruit. Unlike the ones on fruit, I tend to ignore everything without one, so you won't see many around here -- unless I put them on everything. Next thing you know they'll be sticking them on plants! What? They already are!
    Don't believe that rubbish I wrote on the 4th about the millenium. I was just rambling. The real reason the date is advanced is because I'm using the same  publishing trick magazines use to always have their content appear current.
Too bad Visa, Master card and the gas bill don't use the same technique. The deadline for payment always coincides with the date I open them.
Garden content here? I used a credit card to pay for the potting soil.
 
January 7
My friend Nancy, a wonderful poet, sent me this haiku. It doesn't exactly make me feel spring is on the way, but isn't it lovely? I think she's trying to tell me to be a little more zen-like toward the season -- uuummmm -- I feel better already.
Send me more garden haiku!
 

January 9
Late night at the garden club last night. We watched a video of a man walking round a coniferous tree sanctuary. Although we could see, he still described each one in detail and told us the names -- all sixty three of them. He knew more latin than the pope. Most people were bored and felt it a blessed relief when it ended. I enjoyed it. My TV has been broken for three months and I miss the action.

January 10
I've been thinking about this latin thing with plants. I know it's very useful for keeping order in the plantworld, although they seem to manage quite well without us. I happen to like the old fashioned names for plants. They can be so poetic. Gardening and poetry share a tradition stretching back to -- oh -- Roses are red, violets are blue. There aren't many people speaking latin anymore. In fact there're probably more people speaking klingon. Now there's an idea -- how would you say marigold in klingon?....
jIH'taH tlhInganpu'. I can't wait for the next garden tour!

January 11
I'm going to buy seeds today. I have to prepare carefully. I make a list of all the varieties I want, usually the ones which won't be on the shelf when I get to the store, and I settle on a fixed amount to spend, which in reality is just a percentage of what I will spend. I know I'll end up with stuff I don't like that germinates prolifically, leaving me without space for anything else (I don't have the ruthless nature to cull as I should), and a packet of something I'd die for, but only contains one viable seed in a thousand which I have to pamper like the last emperor 'til spring, only to see it anointed in August -- before it flowers, by the neighbour's cat. 

January 12
They're everywhere at this time of year -- fungas gnats, those nasty little flies that originate from larvae in house plant soil. Everyone complains about them, but nothing seems to kill them -- other than highly toxic petro-chemical industry by-products. Here's a sure-fire way to zap the larvae -- and I do mean zap! Take a nine volt battery -- even a car battery if you like to be extreme, a set of jumper cables and two steel meat probes. Attach the cables to the battery terminals, other ends to the probes, yell, "CLEAR" (just like on E.R.), then plunge the probes into the soil.* This should fry the larvae nicely. I haven't tried it yet, but I'm sure it will work. Have an extinguisher handy though. I did say it was a sure-fire method.
If you see this on a late night infommercial, remember you saw it here first.
* WARNING!  (don't use anything that plugs into the wall, in fact, don't even try this, you may wind up in E.R.)

January 13
I started seeds today. It's still to early for most things, but too late for one of my favourites (Lisianthus). I should have started it in November for summer flowering. Now it won't flower until September. I do this every year. I should really keep a garden journal.
 
January 14  (Two weeks and still rambling)
Almost the middle of the month and finally it snows. Thank goodness, now it
looks normal out there. El knee knee yo has relented. I was almost wondering
whether to start some seed for Bougainvillia or Bird of Paradise (Strelitzia
Reginae), just in case this did turn out to be a total climate change. Thought I'd
toss in the latin name there to make my point. I hate to harp on this, but really,
which is more descriptive, Bird of Paradise or Strelitzia Reginae -- sounds like
something you'd drink in the change room after losing a russian hockey
tournament.

January 15
I walked through the phony phlower section at the local craft store today. Masses of flowers were already arranged in an Easter display. As a true gardener, I'm usually disturbed by plastic petunias. I think if the average consumer accepts
that nature can be replicated so easily, then why care about the environment --
kind of like kids in big cities not knowing that hamburgers used to be cows, or
french fries used to be potatoes -- maybe.  Anyway, I must be getting desperate
because I found myself standing back and scrunching up my eyes. You know,
I could almost smell the fragrance.

January 16
I'm trying to maintain my interest in garden things as I await a winter storm
I must endure -- it isn't easy, so I picked up Gardening for Dummies at the
local library (people always say local library don't they. I mean, it's not as
though you'd drive to New York to borrow a book is it? -- just an irrelevant observation). The book may be okay, and is probably very useful to dummies
and non-dummies alike, and I'm sure it's likely full of fascinating garden lore,
but you'll have to buy it yourself if you want to find out. I'd prefer not to
comment on it, at least not until I've read Criticism for Dummies.

 January 17
Lumbricus Terrestris, or Lumbricus something (it sounds like a medical condition -- falling on the ground and hurting your back -- after drinking too much Strelitzia Reginae). I thought I'd mention that that's the latin name for  the worm at the top of the page, the one in the contest. I apologise for harping on about latin, it's just that I've been reading so many garden books and seed catalogues, it's getting to me. Worm is a perfectly good word to describe a worm, and after the contest we shall have lots and lots of wonderful personal names for our buddies below (depersonalization is the strategy of the oppressor). I may even use them in a book, kind of a Watership Down of the worm world. It did wonders for rabbits. There's a winter project for me. I shall restore the worm to a place of respect, fight to improve its image, make the worm a creature we can all look up to. To think, this noble cause all began with a simple contest. Soon it will be a movement  -- a wriggling movement. Worm lovers unite!
I must write to my member of parliament. I doubt he'll help though -- he's such a worm. 
If I could garden all year round, I wouldn't have to think these thoughts. Heard of cabin fever?

January 18
I really don't think I'd want to garden all year round.  I need the the break, I love the uniqueness of the seasons, winter isn't so bad, it's beautiful after a fresh snowfall, there are no weeds, no mosquitos, no slugs. You can see where this is going  -- self-hypnotism as a means to get me through it. I wonder if hypnotic software is available -- that would be great. Just think, I could sit in front of this little screen every morning and be hypnotized by a professional into feeling good about winter. I'd gaze at a spiral (like the one on the Dilbert page), and respond only to flashing images. My family would call to me -- I wouldn't answer, I wouldn't eat, I'd drink lots of coffee, I'd be in a daze. I'd forget all about flowers and compost and delicious tomatoes. I think I'd better go sit  under the grow light  for a while with the Lisianthus.

January 19
It's happened again -- life imitating art. Anyone who can sort cornflakes would see that the ridiculous story of January 4th is the product of mind that is:

A. suffering from S.A.D*
B. in a different zone
C. time-burdened
D. bored
(This is not a test. Do not attempt to circle a letter)

But ... along comes a Cornell University researcher to provide scientific support for my idea about moving my biological clock ahead. If you read it at the time you probably thought I was having trouble sorting my cornflakes. It has been shown that a person's biological clock can be adjusted easily. It is being done. I heard this on C.B.C. radio (so it must be true) -- last night, January 16th, on As it Happens). And it was in Saturday's Globe and Mail  (might be true). You can probably find the same information somewhere on the Net (probably false). What's more, they are using a much simpler method than I used. All they do is shine a light behind the knee. Apparently, it can help relieve S.A.D.. I am not making this up. Why do I feel like the little boy who cried wolf. I just hope this doesn't lead to depressed people dropping their pants in front of a car with the headlights on high beam.
It'll certainly give a whole new meaning to "flashing". Does this mean I have to wear shorts when I shovel snow? 
* Seasonal Affective Disorder
 
January 20
I'm cured, at least temporarily. I went out X-country skiing yesterday. I know this is slightly off gardening, but at least I was outdoors. There isn't a lot of snow cover yet, so I went to the local golf course. It was just lovely, and I really enjoyed it, although I did exercise caution. I'm only too aware of the malignant side of nature -- Celebrities killed by trees while out skiing. Coincidence -- hah! I've seen the X-Files.  Golfers will appreciate this because they're always having trouble with vegetation. Anyhow, the maples seemed harmless enough, but a lone pine standing on a grassy knoll looked very suspicious, so I stayed well clear and skied down the middle of the fairway humming "I Got You Babe".
I wish the sun would shine.

January 21
Well, that didn't last too long. It only took one look at a garden news group to depress me again. There are people in the same hemisphere as me, bragging about how high their daffodils are. I've been doing some calculating. The most likely date when I'll see anything green will be around the second week of April. I might be able to putter around a little the week before, which means I have at least another fifty-two days to go. Zone sevens plus just don't know how lucky they are.
I swear I just heard someone snort -- probably in Yellowknife.

January 22
Finally, the sun shone today -- only the third time since Christmas! Geraldine, my poor geranium in the south window must have thought she'd died and gone to heaven. Actually, she's pretty darn close to the pearly gates as it is. There's not much left of her since I've been slicing bits off to start cuttings for the past month. I really shouldn't have anthropomorphized a geranium because I feel so guilty when it's time for another amputation. It's got to the point now I have to down a stiff drink before I go at her with the razor blade. This isn't good. I've noticed I'm drinking more, but then I do have an awful lot of little Geraldines.
 
January 23
I had dream last night. No, not a dream about Spring. I'm always dreaming of spring -- day and night. No, this was a real dream. Let me re-phrase that. I had
a dream whilst I was sleeping. I dreamt about compost. It doesn't surprise me since I think about compost a lot -- even in winter. This should indicate to you that I am truly a committed gardener (as in dedicated) -- who else would dream about compost. Okay, worms might dream about compost.
    Freud would probably have interpreted my compost dream as an archetypal birth symbol -- and he would have been right, not realizing that one day he would be compost -- just like we all shall. Compost is a natural process. It is the repository of death and the source of all life. It is a point on the eternal wheel.
It is the point of transition where the cycle begins. In the beginning there was compost. Then there was life. Then there were gardeners (you know the story). Then there was a compost pail -- a full compost pail -- under the sink. A pail which my wife has been quietly reminding me, for the last three days, to empty on the compost heap. Now I know why I dreamed of compost.
Excuse me...........................................................................................................
I'm back. It's no wonder Freud is in disrepute these days.

January 24
In spite of what my wife said, I timed that pail-full perfectly. I dumped it on
the compost heap and it snowed immediately. Nothing worse than orange peel, red cabbage, limp lettuce and a ton of coffee grounds exposed on a snowy-white background  -- artsy in some circles, kinda Jackson Pollocky, but it can disturb my neighbours enough that they'll call someone.
    I'm actually a lazy composter -- I prefer to to bury kitchen scraps, but at this time of year it's kind of hard getting through the perma-frost. Burying is great; I call it worm fodder. They love it. They go at it like starving pigs. Course, my wroms (neat typo) are a bit hyper. I think it's due to all the coffee grounds.

January 25
I guess it didn't snow fast enough. An attractive woman in uniform dropped by this morning -- Ms. Kimble. She wanted to discuss my compost heap with me. She was very nice. I could see she was new at the job (Compost Control), because she seemed a little agitated, so I asked her in and offered her a cup of herbal tea. I have quite a collection. One in particular has a wonderful calming effect. I drink it myself when there's nothing on TV. Meanwhile, we chatted about  my compost problem. She gave me some leaflets and suggested I try Vermi-composting during the winter (I still don't know why it isn't called wormi). That way, she said, I won't disturb the neighbours. I told her they were already disturbed. She agreed, and added that enforcing by-laws means she only gets to meet disagreeable people. She told me she much preferred her previous job as a greeter at the municipal cemetery. People there are much more sensitive.
    We got along just fine after that -- it is good tea. When she left she was very relaxed and promised to drop by next week with a bag of worms.
I can hardly wait.

January 26
 *
This is not, as you might think, banner advertising. I just thought it looked nice. It breaks up the page a bit. And anyway, if you surf at all or watch TV, you probably don't feel comfortable without a bit of needless clutter.
Garden Humour Incorporated cares. We want you to enjoy your visit here. It's really just too bad the internet is turning into a universal flea market. 
* (rates available on request)

January 27
I attended a garden conference yesterday. What a great way to forget winter. With all the talk about garden stuff and planting techniques, not to mention being surrounded with a couple of hundred like-minded folks, I could almost feel the sap rising. On top of that were exhibits and displays of all the things you always thought you could garden without. It was, without a doubt, a horticultural flea-market. I loved it -- especially when I sold some of my books. Canada Blooms, the monster garden show, is coming up soon -- I'll be there too.

January 28
I'm still reflecting on the garden conference -- and feeling quite content. I think it's because one of the speakers was an expert on Buddhist traditions. He lead us all in a meditation exercise prior to his slide presentation. It was wonderfully relaxing and allowed the audience to truly appreciate the exquisite scenes materializing before them. Everyone had a look of bliss upon their face as they gazed at the screen, enraptured by the spiritual tranquility of the gardens.
Mind you, I've seen very similar expressions on the faces of people who've
had to sit through two hours of my vacation slides. Uuummmm.
Must be a zen thing.

January 29
My gardening life is becoming just too exciting. Yesterday evening I attended the first in a series of seminars put on by one of the local garden clubs. It was
far more thrilling than I expected for a talk on rock gardening. It started off with a real bang when a car blew up in the parking garage beneath the building and the lights in the room wouldn't work properly (all true). We could hardly hear the speaker for the fire alarms -- gardeners are such a stoic group -- or they were all meditating. The authorities said it was just a gasoline leak, but I don't believe it. I smell cover up. There's a rumour going around that it's another incident in the ongoing battle for turf between the rival garden clubs in town. I was going to join this group but I think I'll hold off  awhile. I don't want to risk offending the wrong people.

January 30
I'm concerned. The weather has warmed up again. This winter is most unusual. Maybe the groundhog will be right this year -- hah! Only a week to go and all
the hype is building. Again there are calls to make groundhog day a national holiday -- only because there isn't one in winter. I don't know why anyone would want a day off work in February anyway. Besides, two animal holidays are enough (the turkey and the rabbit).
As you can see, this is a slow news day, which is the only reason for any groundhog story. 

January 31
Well, I made it. Not only through the worst month of the winter (December would be worse if it wasn't for the Christmas gifts), but through a
whole month of this diary -- the longest I've ever managed. I don't know if anyone other than myself is reading it, but I've had so much fun I will continue regardless.
Although it's snowing again, the days are lengthening and the average mean temperature is beginning to rise -- I find mundane statistics like that quite comforting.
I'll be starting more seeds soon, and spring will slowly come into focus with green life full of latent glory and promises of a day in summer when
I'll pause in wonder and reflect on the dream that now lies dormant.
Without Winter, I would take so much for granted.

February 1
Tomorrow is Groundhog* Day in North America. A day of irrelevant insignificance to gardeners -- and that about sums it up. The theory (for
those unfamiliar with it), is that if the groundhog, on emerging from its burrow tomorrow sees his shadow, ie, it is sunny, then we shall have six more weeks
of winter. The fact is, whether he sees his shadow or not, or if he even emerges (which is most unlikely), we shall, from the point of view of a gardener in this
part of the country, have about twelve more stinking rotten weeks of winter. 
Oh dear, I think the positive effects of the meditation are finally wearing off
-- that's meditation, not medication.

* The groundhog belongs to the rodent family (doesn't that say enough). It's sometimes described as a large fat rat with a rounded face and no tail. I think that sums it up quite well. It hibernates through the winter, emerging in spring to wreak havoc in the garden. Since they're programmed to eat anything green, they don't leave much behind. This turns normal, sensitive, caring people into angst-ridden avengers who will do anything to get a groundhog out of the yard and into a hole in the ground -- not neccessarily the one it came out of.

February 2
I think I've rabbitted on enough about groundhogs (see what free association does for you), so see what Riley, chief protagonist of Soiled Reputations, thinks of groundhogs --
"Good morning, Riley. Spring at last. Isn't it beautiful?"
 "Sure is. Better late than never, but still twelve weeks after that stupid groundhog predicted it would arrive. Any gardener knows there's always three more months of winter after Groundhog Day. Spring comes when I see a groundhog on the highway, wheel-bait. A shadow of its former self."
There, if nothing else, it's one day closer to spring.
 
February 3 
Around here is the time of year when gardeners begin feverishly making plans. They're selecting seeds, attending seminars, ticking off plants in the catalogues, using highlighter all over their garden books -- then returning them to the library (just let Miss Dunn catch you). Yes, gardeners are now seriously dreaming -- not just dreaming. Some are already banging on the gates of the garden centres. Let the excitement begin.

Contest rules

(you don't have to love them)

(the ultimate worm food)

(and accept the fact that this is a thinly disguised
attempt to promote organic gardening)

(thinly disguised, even blatant attempt to promote my book)
 
* Rest assured, I will not show up in your backyard to check!