Bag Worms! Really?

 

This "Old Gold Juniper" shrub grows quite well in our Oklahoma soil, and most commonly referred to as an Evergreen, or in the case of this true story, it is called a "Damnable Bag Worm Bush."

Somewhere in between Independence, Kansas Country club and the Miami Golf and Country club or better yet between the ages of 4 and 10 years old, I found a thrill in picking bag worms off the evergreens bushes at the country club where we lived in Kansas. When we moved to Miami, Ok the bag worms once again greeted me in the early summer months.

How my father ever managed to make it fun is beyond me. My mother did nothing but suggest that her little girl was not the right age to do such dirty work. To which I more than likely said, "I can do it!

In Kansas, the caddies who showed up daily at the club for work were assigned to picking the bag worms, and landscaping jobs if they were not caddying. Since I followed them around everywhere, dad decided to teach me how to take care of the evergreens in our yard, rather than have me "wonder of to the ends of the earth" as my mother often yelled at my father. 

I think the trick or the thrill must have be pulling the sticky bag worms off and dropping them in a Folger's Coffee can filled with one--two inches of gasoline. I learned, by orneriness and observation, how to squeeze them out of the sticky brown bag and squash them flat. (I can't believe I am even writing this or recalling it.)

If I didn't put the bag worms in the coffee can with gasoline then one by one they would crawl out of the can or container and drop to the ground where I watched the brown bag wiggle like a worm before I stepped on it. 

The Miami Country club in the 1950's planted rows and rows of these lovely evergreens along the driveway entrance, and on the golf course near tee boxes. Summer after summer in my childhood years I would help dad pick bag worms. My younger sister, Jonya, joined us in the gross pleasure of picking the bagworms by hand. She especially loved squeezing them.  We were not alone, as the greenskeeper's staff and caddies most often did the job. 

When our coffee cans "runneth over" we dumped them in nearby trash barrels. The greenskeeper would take the barrels out to the shed, away from the golf course, then drop a match into the barrel and watch it go up in flames.  

Occasionally, to my delight and the kids who gathered round (the boys often volunteered to leave the swimming pool to pick nearby bag worms) dad would have us dump the containers with worms and gasoline into a nearby barrel. When everyone from the swimming pool to the upstairs breezeway was watching, dad would drop a lighted match into the barrel and boom. Our screams filled the air. Life on the golf course, as the golf pro's daughter, was never dull.

Somewhere in between my teenage years and my senior adult years I lost interest in picking bag worms. However, Mother Nature seem to dictate what gardeners and gardens must endure. In June of this year, I saw my first bag worm in our back yard. Naturally, it was not ONE bagworm, but one entire side of our glorious "Old Golden Juniper" bush, covered in wiggling brown bags.

It took me several days to build up the nerve to pick the bag worms, one by one. Being rather cautious, I choose not to use gasoline and I certainly did not have a Folger's Coffee can nearby. 

Instead, I dropped each one that didn't stick to my fingers into a plastic cup. I frequently yelped with disgust as the worms stuck to me. Squashing them when they dropped to the ground felt purely disgusting. Where was that five year old child when I needed her. 

This detestable bagworm could be a Star Wars creature in my imagination.

Then I faced a dilemma...what to do with the bagworms, since I could not toss them into a barrel and watch the explosion? Panic set in. I sealed the squiggling brown bags in a container until I could google the answer.

The easiest way to get rid of bagworms is to cut off the bags by hand and destroy them. Lift branches, clip off bagworm egg sacks, and drop them into the buckets of water with dish soap, making sure they are submerged fully. Dump the soaked bagworms into a sealed plastic bag and throw them in your trash. 

Who was to know that Dawn detergent could solve my dilemma? Thanks to the golf pro and Google, I think I can handle anything that Mother Nature sends my way.

Another one of Mother Nature's challenges is shared at:

Hail. Oh! Hail.

 

THE MAD PLANTER: Part 2

Once upon a time, in our backyard fence row the Burning bush became a sensation over night each September when she would go from green to red in a matter of days. She was glorious to watch. She was the older of the two Bush sisters by at least ten years. Her sister across the the patio, that we planted seven years ago, shines, too, but never as bright or as large since she is protected by a Harry Potter tree (Privet) on one side and Pampas grass on the other side. It was the Privet, the Pampas and the North side fence that saved the younger sister's life during the icy winter of 2021. 

The original Burning Bush in her glory. 

Last week we cut out the last remaining off shoot from original Burning Bush's  remains. The big bush died after that winter ice and the bitter snowstorm of 2021, but last summer we nursed her off spring with care and this spring she returned, a bit slimmer than her mother bush but upright and reaching for the sun. In mid-June, I examined her and noticed her leaves were beginning to curl. Within two weeks she wilted and died before my very eyes. 

Once again the "Mad Planter" went to work. It is too hot now to dig up the roots to the big bush, but they showed above ground, and I could easily trip over them. Looking around the yard for inspiration I spied a potted plant nearby that could be moved in to replace the bush and cover the roots. I use potted plants throughout my gardens to fill spaces and holes where other plants have died or where I want a change of color or height.

This fall we will replace it with a Burning Bush or a Yew.

To be honest, there is a space where the potted plant once stood, but upon close observation I decided to let the Lillies, Sedum (Never Die) and Purple Heart fill in the space over the next few years. I do have patience, sometimes. 

 

We planted English Ivy between the Yew bushes and before I die it may fill in. 

Murphy is thrilled with his new freedom along the fence line. No more bushes scraping against his side.

The top of the fence is flat which makes for a perfect Squirrel Highway. It also gives Murphy hours of recreation, running and leaping as he chases the squirrels along the fence highway. Now we are all happy.

But gardening never ends...does it?

FLUMMOXED

 

Our elevated garden under the Birch tree is a delight for me and 
the upkeep is simple because the soil is not clay.

Our four front yard gardens vary in degrees of stress and beauty. Consequently, my brain is completely flummoxed and my body is weary. My platter and palette are full: rounds of golf with friends, books to read and discuss, walks to take with Jack and Murphy, time to read, furniture to be painted, stories to write, research to continue, naps to take, time with family and friends, and meals to fix. Then there is the house to clean and clothes to wash. 

Nothing new in my life, except that as I grow older my desire to create and play is still strong, my back and joints are not.

The wilted stalks will produce the "naked ladies" 
sometime in July. Thanks to fertilizer we grow
daises and lilies three feet tall. 

This spring I planted the last few perennials in our front garden to showcase our elevated addition to the flower bed. The End.

I imagined that slowly year by year the garden would grow and be less demanding, giving me more time to relax. I imagined less gardening and less pain in my hamstrings from bending and pulling.

If only the Sweet Woodruff had not drown in wet clay, if only
we had dug up all of the clay in the garden eight years ago,
if only we had elevated the garden. I am quite sure on a warm
 sunny day I will come up with a plan. 

The rains came and gave our trees, bushes, and grasses a new life. They also drowned my new perennials. Yearly, I am reminded that I no longer live on rich black Kansas soil. Our Oklahoma clay retains water, thus saturating my plants and leaving me perplexed as to what to do next. Now I have another project on my list.

While the grasses and weeds were growing this spring, my bookcase, hand made by a music teacher in 1979, looked at me one day and said, “I need to be cleaned up and given a new life.”

One more coat or maybe
the darker yellow?

“Sunshine,” I told the bookcase, “we need more sunshine in our playroom/computer room/atelier.”

“Atelier?” the bookcase replied, “You have never called me that.”

“No,” I explained, “You cover the wall in the room where I write, color, draw, and dream. I think that makes this room a studio or atelier.”

“By all means paint me yellow and watch me enjoy how I brighten our studio. Please don’t call our room an atelier. It sounds old and dusty.”

Selecting the color that works in a soft green room is not easy, and timing is everything. After much thought and way too many yellow paint chips to view, I made a decision to purchase two quarts of various tones of yellow paint. Within a day of moving the bookcase to the garage, our three week rains began and progress slowed dramatically.  Having the bookcase back in the studio by the end of May is the plan. Meanwhile, the books are scattered over the bed and down the floor line, leaving me confounded when I walk into the disarray.

The last time I painted furniture it didn’t bother my wrists and shoulders, it didn’t leave my shoulder throbbing, nor did it affect my golf game. Thank heavens for Aleve.

Meanwhile, one of our other gardens grows Nutsedge and a wild spreading violet, which is beautiful when in the correct space, but a nuisance as it spreads its dainty heart shaped leaves where I don’t want them. Bending and searching for roots I can rid the garden of nutsedge with the herbicide specifically to kill nutsedge. As for the violets, the directions say wait till fall to kill the plant or dig, dig, dig…..What to do? 

How to get rid of Wild Violets

I would rather write. Sitting here I can watch the birds at the feeder, people walking by, children on bicycles and skateboards, the irises that have bloomed, yellow day lilies in bloom, purple salvia, and rabbit’s ears covered with purple stalks of color and surrounded by bees. I like sitting here. It doesn't cause me any pain. 

Our ceramic bunny lost his ears over the years. The lizard is covered with salvia, and the ground cover wound its way through the Never Die, sedum. 

A break in our day as we met Leah Jackson for lunch at Baguette. 

Time has passed and I have yellow on my hands from giving the bookcase another coat of paint. I opened Facebook and read that it has been 58 years since the Class of 65 graduated from Miami High School. Hum, that may be why it’s not so easy to work on all of my projects.

Later,  I will return to the studio and continue the research on the Miami Golf and Country club 1963 (Miami Golf and Country club, History )

Tomorrow is filled with a round of golf with friends. I love life. 

For more gardening stories click on these links:

Life as a Perennial

Twenty Minute Gardening

20 Minute Gardening

Our weeds are flourishing in the garden. My eyes see the beauty of the Pansies, and then I grimace when I see the purple Henbit blowing in the breeze. Henbit first became my nemesis when we lived in Kansas, and our garden under the mailbox turned purple every year.  

The mailman once explained to me that the pioneers enjoyed the Henbit for its food and beauty. I replied that I really did not plan to eat it any time soon.  Shortly after that discussion Jack and I were driving down country roads on a warm spring day gazing at the shades of green growing crops, when suddenly a massive field a purple exploded on the horizon. My jaw dropped in awe. Imagine the wagons driving over these hills of central of Kansas and seeing purple from hill to hill. 

For an informative blog on eating Henbit check out Henbit uses.

However, I digress. I will enjoy purple weeds at the park from now on but not in my garden.  Consequently, I hit upon the idea of twenty minute weed pulling this spring. I know that I tend to overdue projects and end up straining my back and hamstrings.  

That is why I have adopted the 20 Minute Gardening idea. First, assemble the supplies: a plastic table cloth for throwing weeds into; gloves to protect my tender hands (from washing and cleaning the house with Clorox and water); digging tools; knee pad; plus set a timer on the phone for 20 minutes. In the beginning, I returned all items used to their place in the garage, but now I've found it saves time to keep them together in a bucket or wrapped in the cloth. Most importantly for me is to select a small area where I can make a difference visually. I will tend to the hidden weeds last. 

Start the timer and dig away. Twenty minutes did not take me to the end of the entrance, but I stayed with the timer and felt no pain afterwards. 






The next project I learned a most valuable lesson. Since I am not able to attend the Yoga and Tai Chi classes during this temporary stay at home mode, I realized that I need to stretch every chance I get.

Henbit in a rose garden. 

I thought this small garden offered a better view of what can be done in twenty minutes. I see this garden every day out the kitchen window and can't wait to see the iris and yellow rose bushes in bloom.

With this twenty minute gardening project I added stretching during the dig and then plenty afterwards. So allow at least ten to twenty minutes for back health.

The most relaxing stretch for me when I am on my hands and knees is to practice cat/cow, a yoga stretch.  How to move like a cat and cow properly. 

When I stand to move to another location I now bend at the hips to touch my toes and pretend that my back-end is up against a wall. I can touch my toes only because I have been stretching for years. Do not push yourself to touch the toes if it hurts. Hurt is not good at any time.

I also like to walk like the turtle doves in heat walk on our fence (my explanation for this bizarre walk). I can hear them gurgle and chuckle in my ears. 

https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2019/01/younger-longer-finding-balance.html

It is simple: place one leg in front heel down, bend at the waist like while reaching for your toes, take the step, and gently pull up with the core muscles tight then step forward with the other leg, repeat the turtle dove love walk until the hamstrings are refreshed. 

Just imagine getting fit and healthy while weeding the garden.