A Few Pots in the Backyard Does Not a Garden Make

I'm on the DL again with a repeat of the knitting injury. I'm pretty down in the dumps about it this time, since I am in the middle of a lot of things: the poetry mittens, that Pubcrawler sweater, a pair of socks and just learned how to speak Finnish so I could cast on this scarf. I've been keeping to no more than 5 or 10 minutes of knitting at a time, 3 or four times at night, with long rests in between.

I wonder if there is some kind of knitting affect disorder that you get when you have to stop knitting for a while. Of course, I did stop knitting for about 10 years and the little I can recall of that time leads me to believe I should have kept knitting.

I thought I'd cheer myself up by taking the Hoboken Historical Museum Garden Tour on Sunday, but it only served to under line that to have a really good garden I would need to give up something to work on it, like maybe earning a living.

This is my kitchen window, seen from the neighbor's better manicured backyard.

At this one house, I realized that not only knitters harbor preposterous stash. Every inch of this garden was covered in wild and colorful plants, mostly in containers. And the most amazing thing to me is that the owners knew the names of all the plants. Nancy assures me that after a winter studying plant catalogs while in the bathroom, I too will be able to rattle off impressive Latin sounding flora names.


I was very close to shoving a man headfirst into a hedge in this pretty garden in one of the new "luxury" buildings on the Wild West Side of town when he suggested that without all the new construction, old established Hoboken 'hoods would be dangerous places for people - presumably people like him - to walk. Anyway this lovely Japanese maple saved the day.