Minor Brain Farts

I have caved in to the current West Nile virus scare and have emptied my birdbath for now. Although I changed the water every day and there is no way in hell it could breed any sort of mosquito larva, the folks-in-charge have levied a very steep fine if you get caught with standing water on or about your premises. I guess I can stand the affront for a while if the birds can.

Something called “Downy Mildew” has devastated the impatiens crop this year. Not only my own but the entire northeast coast. Impatiens have always been a summer-long and reliable source of color in my planters on the front porch. The nursery I go to claims the plants were healthy when I bought them and when asked what to do they said, “Buy alternatives.” Upon reading up on Downy Mildew I find it seems to be incurable and that even the dirt in which it grows needs to be discarded. Next year an alternative will indeed be chosen.

Even though we’ve been naturally watered and sunnily blessed, my backyard is now going into an early early-autumn decline. And, bless their noisy hides; the cicadas are out in full force this year. Waves of sound drown out the neighborhood intermittently and, personally, remind me of the fears of the unknown and unseen in the parched summers of my childhood.

My childhood was also invoked by my decision to buy Log Cabin syrup this week at the supermarket. Instead of buying the pure Vermont maple syrup I usually do, I went for a new jug of Log Cabin which, I think, pretty much duplicates the taste I remember from way back yonder. That is; thick, dark and yucky. Now that I think of it, even in those days I’m sure I was more enamored with the tin it came in than the flavor. How could a kid resist the allure of a tin of syrup shaped and printed like a log cabin? You can “Buy Now” one of those original tins on eBay for $225 or, if you want to risk it, even more if the bidding goes haywire.