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A Christmas Letter

Christmas Wishes and New Year's Dreams
by Eleanor Tylbor
by Eleanor Tylbor

email: ejul1@yahoo.com

Eleanor Tylbor has been a freelance writer and columnist for more than twenty years. A resident of Laval, Quebec, Canada, she began her career as a columnist writing for weekly papers and continues to freelance a column covering local news for “The Chomedy News.”

She has also freelanced articles for Internet sites in addition to providing human-interest pieces for various dailies, and is a monthly contributor to the IcanGarden.com site, sharing her humorous observations and gardening-angst with gardening aficionados.

She is now into balcony gardening.

Blog The (Somewhat) Complete Gardener


December 28, 2003

Dear Family Members, Friends and Fellow Gardeners,

It is at this time of the year that we are forced to give thanks for all our gardening fiascoes endeavors of the season, and especially to Ms-Know-It-All well meaning neighbors whose constant heckling encouragement contributed to the failures end result.

When the last traces of snow finally disappeared my harbingers of Spring, a few token the bed of colorful tulips were among the first blooms only ones in the front garden bed to open. Last autumn we planted more than seventy-five bulbs but due to blasted thieving squirrels unforeseen circumstances, we had to swear revenge be satisfied with Mother Nature's bounty, limited as it was.

As in past years it was downhill all the way the garden peaked in late Spring, with a splendid display of color put on by the only decent flowers striking deep mauve iris. It's so demoralizing inspirational when people passing by ignore acknowledge mediocrity expertise when they see it.

The crabgrass lawn this summer was a dud little disappointing due in large part to a disgusting unforeseen grub infestation impediment to its growth, resulting in a large kaput/morte/gone loss of sod. Desperate on the advice of a farmer and trying to be environmentally conscious gardeners, we purchased enough a few chickens from a nearby farm. Seems that chickens are reputed to peck the living daylights out of have a penchant for grubs. Once the chickens had eaten their weight in grubs the situation was under control; we invited the farmer to a big neighborhood chicken barbecue to show our thanks.

As has been the case I am fed up with mourning the death of yet another member of the fickle glorious rose family. This time it was the only surviving my all time favorite orange/pink hybrid tea bush, that attracted angry wasps that sting emitted a heavenly fragrance that sent me into paroxysms of ecstasy. The worst part though, is not knowing the cause of its demise. I might have inadvertently overfed it, and the subsequent indifference guilt that followed is more than a rose lover can bear, every so often sometimes. However, after digging it up a suitable mourning period, it was added to the compost heap has returned to the earth from which it came. After all the years of aggravation pleasure it gave me, and even though there is a hole in the garden bed in my heart at its passing...I know it would have been pleased that a sassy new bush has replaced been planted in its honor.

Special thanks are extended to my next door neighbor, Kathleen, who supplies sunflower seeds to birds in the winter. Her over-zealous nature love for birds resulted in the unexpected appearance of my never again one and only sunflower this summer, which resulted in a suspicious mysterious vanishing that has yet to be solved. Among the possible culprits is Know-it-all-gardener thieving squirrels that added insult to injury by absconding waiting until it produced seeds, thereby eliminating the possibility of a plant for next summer. I would also like to eliminate every acknowledge the contribution of all those interesting flying garden pests insects, that use my liliums to dine al fresco. And so, now that the angst growing season is behind us for the most part, there is always dread hope for the next one.

May all your dreams be green with growth and your hopes be realized.

Yours in trepidation gardening,

Eleanor

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