Three cheers for the August issue, which reminds us to “harvest garlic; hang to dry” (which I will never do because it might keep Eric Northman away, but YOU go right ahead) and has pretty nifty crafts that I will never get around to making. I have already begun scouring the house for white items to dip in blue dye and drape around my beach house* (page 107), and I’m hoping that Susan will ride her new vintage-y bike a whole bunch and maybe let me take some pictures of her doing it (page 140). The Reusable Plastic Produce Bags featured on page 30 will play a key role in an effort to rid my house of disposable items (this I am serious about).
Also in this issue, in a revealing “From My Home to Yours,” Martha drops a bomb: She loves succulents!! She has oodles of them and moves them all around her Bedford property on a whim! Even crazier, she got into tropical gardening because evidently she has always dreamed of “owning an orangery or a greenhouse, like the one Thomas Jefferson had at Monticello.” MONTICELLO!!!! And here we thought she only had seen pictures of the American South. Could this issue be any more terrific?
I read this article with genuine interest, as I do most of her gardening articles, then looked over at my cat, who was casually gnawing on our aloe plant over by the fireplace, where it comes in handy for burns but doesn’t get anywhere near the amount of sunlight it requires. This, coupled with the aforementioned Casual Gnawing and most likely some over-watering on my part, meant that our one measly succulent was in pretty bad shape, all pale and limp and soggy. I felt lousy.
Springing into action, I shooed away the cat, took the plant outside, pruned it way back and placed it in the sun so its roots can dry (watch today be the day it rains after 60,000 straight days of drought). Here is what it looks like presently. Don’t yell at me. I vow to nurse it back to health just as its ilk has done for many a minor burn victim throughout history, maybe even at Monticello!
*If James thinks I don’t know where his white jeans are hidden, he has another thing coming. Also, we don’t have a beach house. Suckers!