by AnnElise | Jun 5, 2024 | environment, gardening, nature, survival & ecology, writing
That’s why I wrote Random Accident in Sector Noah 135/56 or the story of The Last Book on Earth. I can see it coming. Can’t you?
I have been in publishing since Gutenberg invented the printing press. Or rather, I got my hands dirty with linotype and ink. Remember? That’s when the lines of lead type had to be read in reverse? Yes, you can learn to detect typos reading upside down, from right to left, with letters mirrored. And then came the revolution of the photo paste ups. How easy was that! Boy, and now we have the Adobe full page layout programs. It’s magic!
I started daily reporting with linotype in high school (now you can guess how old I am). After college, while working as an editor at a weekly paper, we waxed up the filmsetting paper strips. And eventually, after another master’s degree, I had all the publishing technology at my fingertips with Office and Adobe programs through the Amazon’s “Every man and woman’s press.” It’s called self-publishing. What a revolution!
Books have always been my passion. Since I was ten years old, I had wanted to write a book. Back then I was dreaming of concocting another volume for an Enid Blyton adventure series about twin girls in boarding school. And now I do write books.
With a deluge of social media and self-publishing platforms, everybody is their own printing press and broadcasting station. One question is, how good is that? Another question is, who needs books? I do. Because I still want to write them.
Sandy’s world is shattering–then what?
Are you still with me? It will get easier from here on out: ChatGPT will hammer out my next prompt into a flawless manuscript. This will be put through the Amazon AI machine to publish it in triplicate as paperback, hard bound, and Kindle with a dashing cover. Then all I have to do is sell it. Right!
Yet no matter how much self-publishing keeps Amazon awash, books seem to be doomed. The ones printed on paper for sure. Such was my assumption for my picture book Random Accident.
Now imagine a world without books.
In this ancient (written 20 years ago), far future, retro-story, where everything is under control—except for earthquakes, the weather, and random accidents—a little girl chances upon an old-fashioned book. Sandy has never seen a book in her world of monitors, projections, and mood balancers. She tries to make sense of the pictures and wishes for what’s in it: a garden. Bob, the all-knowing caretaker of this solar system and Sandy’s planet earth, will only go so far to help her.
Sandy has to help herself. And so, she does.
Random Accident, illustrated by my daughter Priyanka Makin, is a humorous, futuristic picture book for all ages. It is built on the exercise of kindness and discovery.
Random accidents never get old because nature always has the magic of surprise.
Now available on AMAZON!
by AnnElise | May 21, 2024 | America, art, environment, gardening, lifestyle
A Recent Modern Fairy Tale
Once upon a time . . . or let’s say yesterday, Princess Edda, who lives in a faraway land in the remotest castle’s tallest tower . . . no, sorry, in Bandana Land on Bat Cave Road, took repose in her crystal castle. Maybe it wasn’t a crystal castle, maybe it was rather a tea house. Right, she wanted to test out her itty-bitty barn, or tree house—or did she say tea house?—for a sleepover. She was looking for adventure. It was in the air. Heavy clouds were billowing, the wind howling, heavy drops splashing, thunder rolling, and rain drumming on the metal roof. The storm roared like a lion.
And yet Princess Edda left the safety of her Rainy Castle for the tea house, cozied in her covers, pulled the blanket up to her nose, and admired the strength of the swaying trees outside. This was such a noble fortress, with Saltillo tiles and stained-glass windows and a bed. But it rattled like a mousetrap. The pelting rain noise felt like being inside a drum.
Princess Edda rolled her eyes. Why did this thunderstorm have to happen on her first sleepover in the tea house? She wouldn’t get any shut eye here.
So, she said, “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Angels watch me through the night, and wake me with the morning light.”
But the morning was still far away and the wind howling with no mercy. She decided to read herself to sleep. It got later and later. It got so late that it was almost early again. Yet the lightning kept flashing through the glass door, and the wind howled even worse. No use trying. So, Princess Edda decided to admire the power of God’s nature instead. This was better than a movie.
Kaboom, caramba, catastrophe! Something crashed outside. The rain still drumming on the roof. Princess Edda pulled the blanket higher. Was there a creek or river running by her side? The tea house was shaking something awful. Dorothy in Kansas? No, only Little Edda in Texas. She didn’t have visions of sugar plums in her head, but saw witches flying by on a broomstick. She thumbed her nose at them. And finally, the dawn, not the window, broke. Sigh, what a relief! Princess Edda stepped out into the sunrise, inhaling the fresh, cleansed air.
And she was still alive. A tree had crashed only a foot from her tea house. Oh, miracle and wonder! Not quite. Prince Helmut had sent his Bandana Gang to the rescue. Who else could have heaved the tree away from its fateful destiny? And so Princess Edda escaped the storm unscathed. The Bandana Guard kept watch all night.
Princess Edda looked around: Sea Shell Covid, Two-Face Janus, Old Man Woodhead, Spanish Moss Guy, Hippie Girlfriend, Hippie Boyfriend, an eclectic bunch. Princess Edda bowed to her protectors. No knight in shining armor on a noble steed could have accomplished this: distract the lightning. He would have been roast inside his armor. But Prince Helmut’s wooden guard withstood the storm and saved the princess.
See, I told you so, there is still nobility in sacrifice. The Bandana Gang kept watch for Princess Edda.
Sculpture art courtesy of Helmut Buchner
Photos and styling by Edda Buchner
by AnnElise | Apr 24, 2016 | Arizona, gardening, nature, survival & ecology
When you thought, no stranger things than a “bra” can happen, look at this. Well, I had to protect my miracle tree this year. We have tons of grackles that can empty a whole fig tree in a day. So how could I keep my sweet apricot secret and the fruits for myself?
Don’t take me wrong, I would share the treasures of nature. Here, birdie, have an apricot. We have some “love birds”, itinerant green parrots from central America, that would make for such a nice addition to our backyard zoo. We have squirrels, lizards, stray cats, geckos, quail, pigeons, humming birds–and too many grackles. But our birds are either stupid or greedy. Or bad mannered. Do you think, they would the eat whole thing up? No, they peck a little bite out of each sweet apricot. Just enough to make each fruit unfit for human consumption. Give me apricot bird defense!
Common Materials
Don’t you dare eat my apricots, birds! I came up with a whole arsenal of bird defense. What best to do than conceal the prey? With plastic shopping bags I wrapped the heavy laden branches. Yet more area was to cover. With a 7-yard-long turban I barred the landing spots on the lower ranges. The bird net was harder to install. It got caught at every little nook and cranny. What about up there? OK, these CDs on fish line glisten and reflect. Hopefully the birds hated dancing discos? Finally, a plastic owl, the “super tank” in my armamentarium for the bird defense, took its post on the fence pillar.
Paper Plates and T-Shirts
I didn’t quite trust my installation. Wait a minute! What about scare crows? An easy fix. I grabbed some themed t-shirts (faces printed on them) from my daughter’s closet. I attached paper plate faces from a school project with cloths pins on the hangers. And then I hung my scare creatures in the most suitable locations.
Voilá! Now don’t dare to come, birds! Or I will sick the stray cat on you.
I SAVED THEM:
by AnnElise | Mar 30, 2016 | Arizona, gardening, nature
Hang in there with me, and read the whole story to see what this means.
One fine spring morning, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. A little aggravated I jumped up from my computer and suspiciously pulled the door open. Could have only been special delivery or preacher guys this time of day.
Francisco stood there smack in the middle of the walkway. “You need clean up,” he says. “Your trees too big.”
“No, if I trim them now, they will only grow faster.” It was April. “Come back in June.”
“Look,” he points to my debris-littered island. “We make it all nice.”
I am not worried yet about my “naturalized” landscape and send Francisco off to other gardens. Mine can wait. Yep, sometimes I need a little help from the pros, especially when I can’t put up with the loads of trimmings.
About two weeks later, in the middle of a household commotion, the bell rings again insistently. It was a really bad time. I thought we had a deal? Come back in June? Apparently, Francisco had jumped a month in his calendar.
Well, turns out, it wasn’t Francisco but Jacinto, his brother. “Your trees, trim?” Maybe. I remembered we had a major party coming up. OK, OK, do clean up! The price was negotiated as usual. Settled halfway. As long as the sum is right, my yard crew goes the extra mile.
My landscapers always show up instantly. At least one magic worker starts with a saw or rake usually within 5 minutes after I call them. Thus Francisco makes sure that I don’t change my mind or hire someone else for the project. He brought Jacinto plus two more helpers along to my “construction site.”
Fine by me. These men work hard, clean up tidy, and try to honor my requests for strange style cuts for my bushes (al mano, no maquina).
This job turned out bigger than expected, because the citrus tree had gone wild and proliferated extensive growth. Towards the end of their assignment, I asked Francisco as usual for horticultural advice in yard maintenance. Sometimes Francisco’s expertise turns out to be helpful, sometimes it’s not working at all (like killing Chinese Elm roots with gasoline), but every time he is eager to come up with some expert idea.
I have this mid-size, really lush apricot tree. In the last three year it had not had any fruit. Quite to the contrary, its little shabby apricot brother on the “desert” side of my backyard had sweet little fruits galore. Was my best tree still pouting since the last trim that I had given it myself? What could I do?
“Usar Ro-pa-mui-yer.”
“I don’t understand, what did you say?”
“Ro-pa-mui-yer.” He said it more slowly.
“Where can I buy that?” What a strange name that was for a fertilizer.
Francisco laughed. “You don’t have to buy it, use your own.”
I was confused. “Like what?” I asked
“Calcetines,” (stockings), he said, grinning all over his face. “O pantaloncitos (underwear slips). O camisa (undershirt).”
Ropa de Mujer! He is saying, “women’s clothing.” Was he serious?
“And how do I use these with the tree?”
“Wrap it around, hang it in there. I don’t know.”
“For how long?”
“A day, a week, as long as you like.”
“Eres chistoso?” (Are you kidding me?)
“No es broma, es un truco.” (No, it is not a joke. It is a trick.)
A trick?
“It will awaken the tree’s desire to produce.”
So I guess, the tree was male.
I tried it out. I hung a bra in that tree for a day. Let’s see about the results next year, Francisco.
INDEED, HERE IS MY APRICOT YEAR ONE YEAR LATER:
by AnnElise | Jun 14, 2015 | Arizona, gardening
The same bald spot from last year came back to haunt my yard
Grass (no double meaning) does not come easy in the Southwest. It is hard to grow grass in Arizona. I don’t know how the golf courses do it. They are grooming the most perfect carpet grass. Only during a short fall intermission, they raze the green splendor to spread mulch for winter seeding.
Here I am with yet another bald spot in my greens. Water, fertilize, aerate, pray–it never seems to convince all the areas. Even Bermuda avoids some locations. I have never been able to figure it out.
I also have a “wild” grass, kinda rough, pokey slowly spreading in my small meadow. I wished it would take over the naked turf. But it’s not happening, or only very slowly.
In the meantime, I am sowing Bermuda in the spring and Bluegrass in the fall. That is what my fall mission looked like:
No, this is not a pet graveyard. It is actually an overseeding area.
I better had the area covered because pigeons and other birds like to stir up any morsels. Ooh, I staked the net precisely to the ground. Only that there was one little crack open. An intelligent pigeon found exactly that spot. Never mind perfection. I chased the pigeon out and fixed the last little hole.
So far so good. The bluegrass actually filled in quite nice, but it never makes it through the summer. And the Bermuda does not want go there either.
Perhaps the shadow patterns have something to do with it. Where there is no shadow, the Arizona sun burns holes into such outlandish vegetation as grass.
by AnnElise | Jun 1, 2015 | Arizona, gardening, lifestyle
Things can change, right? After about ten years of trying all the wrong things, I might have won a decisive battle against Bermuda grass. This is what my backyard corner looks like now:
Finally, this desperate corner has been freed of the Bermuda curse
DO YOU SEE THE GRASS IN THE WOOD CHIPS? NO? GOOD! It’s gone for now. I asked my exterminator guy. He had the answer: Glyphosate. It worked.
THIS IS WHAT BERMUDA GRASS CAN DO:
Three years ago, I started removing the very original Bermuda jungle
IN AN EARLIER BLOG, I WROTE: This is my story of a vengeance against grass. No, I don’t mean “weed”. I am talking about the very original Bermuda grass.
That’s what left of the Bermuda in the last corner
When we bought our house ten years ago in northeast Mesa, the whole terrain was overgrown with Bermuda, including the 50 rose bushes. We had no irrigation then, because our predecessor watered the lawn by hand. Needless to say, we had better things to do than standing around in the sun all day.
Bucket full of roots
In Arizona it is not cool to have grass, at least not a lot of it, because it uses up too much water. Arizonans have Xeriscape, desert plants, rock gardens, and at most a little drip irrigation. The city even pays homeowners to abolish grass.
Anyhow, having been raised on a farm, I wanted to keep a little green. So we had irrigation put in, but I also decided to convert half of our yard into rock-scape. That’s how my nine-year nemesis with Bermuda grass began. It takes an old-fashioned Catholic to deal with Bermuda grass from hell. The battle is not over yet.
How had Bermuda come by its name? Its roots reach as deep as the Bermuda triangle, at least that was my theory. Bermuda hairline roots are about 12 inches long. The mean thing are its fat tubers that go haywire in the dirt. It also sprouts long offshoots on the surface that intermittently take root again.
Fat runaway Bermuda roots
All these bad attitudes make for a hellish combat. OK, so I took to the spade, shaking the good dirt from a bad ball of Bermuda. This labor was much easier after the ground had softened from the rain. Where the Bermuda was ingrown with tree roots, the fight became especially tedious. While irrigating the volatile spot, I stirred, grabbed, pulled, twisted, whisked, probed, felt the devious grass roots. Sometimes I had unearthed half of the tree’s rootball before giving up.
I bent shovels and broke forks. And, darn it, after an area was dug up, the remaining Bermuda roots thrived even better. It took several tilling repeats for an area to be cleared well enough so that it could be finished with gravel.
Herbizides did nothing to Bermuda. Although the grass visibly turned brown, the roots happily continued to thrive. For a while I used a Bermuda root killer, but it soon was removed from the market by environmental control. By then, fortunately, I had converted the whole south side into landscaping rock, used some three tons to cover it.
I kept digging and developed myself a Bermuda hunting sense. I can distinguish its roots and feel the best way in the dirt to completely extract it. Bermuda gets bunched up at landscaping borders. So I dig especially deep there. I make absolutely sure that the borders of our lawn are trimmed down to the dirt so that no shoot crosses the line.
Regardless, some of the Bermuda always gets away. Twice a year I have to dig up certain spots in the rose beds. That’s OK.
More roots
There is one corner in our yard, however, that I haven’t been able to tame in nine years. We had a Chinese elm tree there, which went rampant too. Although we removed that tree long ago, we are still fighting its roots. Now imagine crazy tree roots mixing with the Bermuda—an unconquerable situation.
I have dug up the last Bermuda triangle perhaps three times this year. Left it alone too long over the summer, it all went haywire. Even my yard helpers toiled to no avail. At the moment this corner looks like clean dirt. Woe to the Bermuda if it sticks its ugly head out again!
