Trellising III: Revenge of the Poo

Scroll through the other posts recently and you'll find I am trellising wuss. Long story short, we lost some shade tree coverage that left some stuff with a sunburn, I can't be trusted with a circular saw and I almost lost an eye, blah blah blah.

It will surprise no one that my shade sail / frost cloth / staple-gun-adventure fell down almost immediately in our summer rains. After three hasty repairs in the rain, the idea was abandoned and the frost cloth took up it's usual position draped pathetically across the sunburned plants, stuck to their leaves like dejected wet t-shirt contest losers.

I researched, I hunted, I scoured the interwebs for an answer. And in the end, my research paid off:

I found a great price on a compost tea maker, I saw a bunch of LOLcats and I watched too many failblog crotch/skateboard accident videos. Have you ever tried to research anything on the web? There are too many other cool things to look up. Do you know the difference between a crack pipe and meth pipe? Huh? Well now I do. Very helpful when watching COPS.

So this weekend I got sick of looking at my Trellising Fail reminder and just transplanted the damn things. I could see from a mile away that it was a tangled mess of boston fernlettes and Monstera in mud.

What I could not see was the fact that it has been mistaken for a Possum Potty for some time now. Sick possums by the feel of it. Yes, tactile contact was made before visual contact had been established. Now I could have gotten gloves at this point, but why? It was already under my fingernails, what's the freaking point?

As you may have guessed, this is when the transplant turned ugly. I'm not known for being good at transplantation, and a slippery (oh God) hand trowel was not helping my mood. I was ready for this to be over ASAP.

And suddenly I realized that every DIY'er that I had seen do this on TV was full of it. FULL OF IT. Every time it's on TV, it's always some plant in the middle of a field moving to another place in the middle of a field. Never have I seen Paul Freakin' James squatting between a fence and a possum sewage pit in the middle of a sea of flies, mosquitoes and (new!) hornets.

Needless to say, my transplant involved a good deal more yanking and cursing than is usual. The monstera made it, though I ended up removing most of it's two big branches and doing a lot of apologizing. To make up for it, I plopped it in my best worm-y area in the center of some new mushroom compost. I was so tired after all that I didn't even run to the bathroom to cleanse myself of the experience. My husband found me slouched in the backyard, staring at the plant in disbelief. I looked pitiful enough that he bought me my favorite ice cream at the store.

So I guess it wasn't all that bad.

He also mentioned that - while he avoids the room when I watch my gardening shows - he would be more interested if Paul James involved more possum feces in his show. Just a suggestion for the Gardener Guy.