THREE-HUNDRED SIXTY-FOUR DAYS of the year, he’s got me nailed: Yes, Andre, I am often seen in the wrong footwear (read: garden boots), no matter the occasion. They’re just so easy on the feet, if not the eyes. But today, as yet another glacier slid across beautiful downtown Cupcake Falls, N.Y., even I had to relent and change into crampons to go break up the ice, or at least give it my best shot. The storm and the aftermess were so distracting that I even forgot today was Thursday (meaning Andre Day), until faithful Johanna squawked “Where’s Andre?” a few minutes ago on some other silly post I loaded in, thinking it was Wednesday. But no: Today, the day I spent not in garden boots but my even sexier YakTrax, was Andre Day, and I have done you and everyone wrong. Mea culpa, Andre Jordan.
I have also done the local environment wrong in some measure by using lots of rock salt, or halite, to try to make the steep passage from house to street resemble something other than a bobsled track. I begged the plants around me, already irritated at the tenacious cold we’ve been having and all the ice and wind, to please forgive me.
“You’re not environmentally friendly today, Miss Margaret,” they said without answering whether they’ll tolerate my misdeed and not croak as result of the salty mess I’d made.
I may not have done right today on all these scores–the posting schedule, the fashionable footwear, and especially the use of salts–but there is something environmentally friendly to offer as an antidote: Andre’s environmentally friendly bird doodle is the first of his garden doodles to become a T-shirt (for sale in his shop with some other ever-so-slightly more edgy ones). Congratulations, Andre (and p.s., would you mind reminding me
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HE READ IT IN MY DECEMBER CHORES LIST: Make the last mowing before winter a short cut, way down low. And even though the snow fell before he got to that task, the guy in the doodle (is that you, Andre Jordan?) didn’t want to skip a single to-do I’d suggested, apparently.
I KNOW A THING OR TWO ABOUT DIBBERS, and this one looks perfectly fine to me. Not sure what master doodler Andre Jordan, our Thursday columnist, is talking about.
APPARENTLY MRS. ANDRE’S TOMATOES succumbed to “tiny insect things that will not leave our garden alone,” we hear this week from Himself, who very sweetly shared the actual sympathy postcard he drew for Herself on the occasion of her lost tomatoes.
I AFFECTIONATELY CALLED ANDRE JORDAN A BIRD OF A FEATHER last Thursday, when his new weekly doodle debuted here. Apparently this is the migratory Englishman-turned-Nebraskan’s response.
SHE LOVES ME, SHE LOVES ME NOT.Andre Jordan seems to keep hoping for the best, despite a few well-documented cases of rejection (as in, loc. cit., The Girl I Love With All My Heart. Caveat emptor: Deliciously not PG!).
No, I have still not met Andre, though we’ve been in contact for more than a year. But we grow a little closer every week when the latest stash of doodles-in-progress arrives, and I get glimmers into the thought process that is behind them, just like I did when I read his memoir, “Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now.” (There is no better book to give your shrink; it should be on the curriculum of psychoanalytic institutes and departments of psychiatry in teaching hospitals and schools of social work, I swear. Insurance companies should mail it out to all patients using mental-health coverage, so they know they are not alone.) Some week
“And so I said very little,” his email continued, “and hoped (as I tend to do with my more serious doodles about depression) that people such as yourself would understand the enormous thing I did not try to say. If that makes sense?“I shall get back to my slightly passive aggressive doodling now. Ha. I am currently drawing a ladies bottom. I am as yet unsure how this will eventually become a garden doodle.”Stay tuned, dear readers. Next week promises to be a doozy. (I love my Andre emails almost as much as my Andre doodles, frankly. Well, except ones like this Quantum Physics Diagram, which actually does relate to gardening…and about 500 others.)Thanks for being Andre, Andre. And yes, of course it mak
THANK GOODNESS WE HAVE ANDRE JORDAN to warn us of the dangers all around us in this hazardous hobby of ours. I confess that even though I tried to exhibit restraint in this year’s seed orders, a few extra things have found their way into my stash.
Asparagus-Planting Time: Asparagus tests even the most committed gardener, asking for a major feat of excavation followed by a lot of patience. Whatever kind you’re planting (hopefully an all-male strain like one of the Jersey types, which yield 20 to 30 percent more than dear old ‘Martha Washington’) you have to dig a trench about 18 inches wide and deep—no less than a foot in each direction, please. Here’s how.Less-Than-Spectacular Daffodils? They need a diagnosis, now… and a remedy, even sooner. Too much Nitrogen, too little of other nutrients, overcrowding, not enough sun or moisture: These are just some of the factors that can cause Narcissus to make leaves but few flowers. Get the lowdown here (or for all your bulb worries, including this one, try the Bulb FAQ page).Potatoes—Prep Now, Plant Soon: While prepping my vegetable garden last week, I unearthed several potatoes that eluded me last fall. Potatoes go in early, a week or two before the final frost
WHAT BETTER WAY TO START OUR NEW ERA as a nation than by sowing seeds of hope? Thanks to a recent transplant to America, doodler Andre Jordan, for a perfect message for this historic week.
I was trying to repair a failed de-icer in the pool. All that’s missing from his latest doodle: the flashlight I had in one hand, and the hammer (to crack the ice and save the frogs from suffocating) in the other. (Not the same tools I’d used earlier that day to dislodge ice dams from the roof.) I repeated the hammering periodically throughout the night to protect my beloved amphibians; who needs beauty sleep, when potential princes are at risk? A girl must be versatile, well-equipped, and ever-ready.When does spring begin?Tagsandre jordan