Trailer Park Girl

The prickly pear in my garden hit its bloomin’ peak a couple of weeks ago. It put out over 20 flowers in all. From just a few lobes last year, the plant has really taken off this year. (Some pesky little black aphid-thingees almost sucked it dry last year while I was away in New Mexico, but my friends Gia and Gregory rescued it with vigilance and care. Thanks guys!)

Prickly pear lobes are a highly nutritious vegetable (the Mexicans call it nopalito), an excellent example of a low-maintenance edible perennial in the wide region where they grow. The dusty-magenta-colored fruits (known as “tunas”) make good jelly, juice, and wine. The juice or wine comes out a fluorescent magenta color.

As I write this from the coffee shop next door to where I live (my neighbor’s electricity, and hence my usual Internet connection, has been out for several days, so I have moved my office to the coffee shop), it is raining. Big fat drops, falling straight down. Last night’s “70% chance” brought little or no rain. Just a few minutes ago, I said to myself, “Well, if it’s not gonna rain, I’m going to go for an extended bike ride and maybe a swim at Barton’s.” That did the trick: A few minutes ago, one of my fellow coffee-shop denizens (“flaneurs,” I believe is the technical term) pointed out the window, said, “Look! Rain!”

I peeled off my satin jacket, ran outside in my sleeveless top, and did a little pirouette on the sidewalk between the coffee shop and the passing traffic. The temperature has dropped since this morning, and I got goosebumps.

Well, already the big rain has stopped. But now I don’t want to go for a bike ride because the streets are all wet!

The ever-charming and hilarious David Kilpatrick, real live published writer from Dallas-Ft. Worth, has a sweet entry about the wildlife in his urban surroundings and the deep existential teachings we can glean from said wildlife. David’s blog isn’t set up to allow linking individual entries, but if you go visit his blog now, the critter entry should be the latest one up. And the entry below it, titled “Turning a New Phrase,” will give you a good laugh.

I love how David’s sidebar refers to Sugarmama, Da Goddess, and me as the “Triumvirate of Estrogen.” Sugarmama and DG and I go way back. If I remember correctly, those two fabulous women (who are sweet and acerbic in all the right places!) were my first blogland pals.

So, my friend G. sent me a link to a website containing various people’s tips and tricks for making nontoxic flytraps. I tried two of them: the syrup-and-cider-vinegar solution in a plastic milk jug with holes; and the pieces of meat in a container with holes. I left one in our outdoor kitchen and the other in another major fly area. I wrote FLY TRAP on both so nobody would mistake the contents for trash, drinks, or snacks. Neither of the improvised traps has snared a single fly so far. I cast about for answers. Were the holes too small? The bait not appealing? But then it dawned on me: Flies can read.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

A couple of pretty critter sightings the past couple of days:

Yesterday by the solar hot tub, a big pink snake! I asked around and hear they are called Red Racers, are not venomous. This was my first snake sighting here. Then just a few hours afterward, I spotted either that same snake or one of the same species in the composting toilet. It was hiding in the loo wall — which is made of bare straw bales stacked up — with just its face pointing out. I watched as it slithered out of one hole in the straw and disappeared into another.

Then this morning, also in the composting toilet, I met up with what had to be the most magnificent bee I have ever seen in my life. Although we have seven honeybee hives on campus, this was a bumblebee. It was truly gi-normous, about two inches long and very fat, and covered with solid gold velvety fuzz. Buzzing loudly and steadily like a bomber plane in an old black-and-white movie, flying at a bumbly pace that one would think incapable of keeping it aloft, it disappeared into a hole in the straw. Huh??? WTF? I didn’t see it emerge so I hope it found another way out. Or maybe it lives inside the little straw cave?

In less comely critter news, the fly situation around here is getting pretty grim. Right now there are only a handful of people living here. If we don’t get the flies under control by next Friday, when a dozen or so folks will be staying on campus for two weeks for the next permaculture design class, things will be truly atrocious. I think we all need to go around with flyswatters for the next few days. I’m doing my part. I’ve joked with the faculty that I plan to switch the focus of my internship to fly-killing.

And in a bit of two-dimensional critter news, I just got a fabulous snailmail from my dear friend G. In addition to updating me on her sustainable-living experiments and other doings, she treated me to little drawings of chickens and chicks and a gourd plant. I am in utter and complete awe of her drawing skills, particularly since mine are really rusty. It serves me right: The other day I was trying to convince skeptical fellow students that “Anyone can draw; it just takes practice.” Hah! Guess I’d better practice then huh! Cause there’s some stuff here that I wanna draw!