Dark Secret Garden

Shortly after purchasing our lot, the description reads 2 1/2 to 3 acres(it's difficult and expensive to measure boulders) we discovered a couple of deep mining pits on our property. Mr. Pierce, the prospector who first owned the land, must have grown weary waiting for rain in order to prospect in the wash and started digging for gold. The pits were deep enough to present a danger, but fortunately we discovered them before falling in. The most shallow pit was located a few yards from our house site. David shoveled all the dirt, rocks and decomposed granite from the excavating process into that hole which almost filled it completely.

I continued with our effort to transform an unsightly, dangerous problem into a more acceptable part of the landscape. This involved bringing several wheelbarrows (we do everything around here with a wheelbarrow) of granite from the wash to level the area. All that was left to do was cut back a bit of the chaparral and move in some outdoor furniture.

It was a glorious morning when that task was completed and I could sit in this spot with my early morning cup of coffee.

From the day it came together, this pit was renamed "My Dark Secret Garden" because all the planters were painted with a shade of purple labeled dark secret. Leslie gave the paint to me. The large planter is an old ammo box given to me by a neighbor who survived D-Day in World War 11 and went on to serve America in Korea. The furniture was once pristine white, a princess touch to our daughters' bedroom when they were four years old, now repainted black. The parrot's cage was a gift from another junk-loving friend. I just added the secret garden sign, purchase from my favorite Yarnell store, The Emporium. Indian paintbrush provides a touch of red to the east and the wild sunflowers add color to the west border. This summer both a Colorado four-o'clock and a sacred dactura sprung up, not in the most convenient places, but they're still here. Deep shade is always welcome in AZ and this is one of few on the civilized part of our property. The Dark Secret Garden exudes good vibes for me--even if my day is so busy I only smile as I go by it.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Hey, it's me, up here, keeping an eye on things, except what goes on in the dark secret garden. I will never tell.

a parting shot from bbman: buy american.

Iris Gardening --Slow as a Desert Tortoise

Anyone taking sixteen years to build a home and landscape a hillside is a reasonably patient person and I describe myself as patient. I can give a young child my day but not a minute for adults who don't walk their talk. Recently I've been walking my talk; if I want to be "Lil Ole Iris Lady of Norton Way," there's much work to be done in August and September. I'm hoping to give away a few hundred rhizomes but if there's no takers, I'll find some place in this wilderness to transplant.

I gained a bit of iris experience in MO where these plants can be thrown onto asphalt, driven over by dump trucks, and continue to grow and bloom. It's a bit harder in a high desert environment.

I bought my first iris for Badboulder in Freeport, IL at a Tuddy Baker festival and planted it as a commemorative to a work offer I received on that trip which allowed us to move to Yarnell ten years ahead of schedule. It has flourished. Every time I give some away, I'm blessed one hundred fold. My neighbors now proudly display Tuddy Bakers. It is the ugliest iris I've ever owned but shows well mixed with lupines.

Our soil is poor and must be amended. In addition to steer manure, I mix a handful of bone meal at the bottom of the planting hole. Coyotes can zero in on bone meal and find it tasty enough to eat with dirt. They throw the iris plants aside and I replant. Eventually I win. This week my own dog, a springer spaniel, tried the bone meal and dirt diet. My weekend's work, an enlarged iris bed lies in ruins. That dog laid in the shade and watched me alternately pick axe and hose down the brick-hard earth, shovel and mix the improved soil, dig out and divide the iris, and plant with a foot of space so this procedure wouldn't need to be repeated for at least three years. This well-fed dog bided his time until I left for a day of shopping in Prescott, then dug like a fiend and ate like a coyote.

Just give an iris the morning sun and they grow tall with extra large blooms here in Yarnell. Over the past sixteen years a neighbor has told me sixteen times that iris don't need extra water; I ignore her and continue to water once a month in winter if we receive no rain, once a week during March. April and May. My iris are luxurious, hers barely survive. Nothing eats them at Badboulder, however javalina will dig them up and throw them about just to reaffirm that an iris is not edible.

My biggest iris problem has been development. When we applied for electricity fourteen years ago, we were assured that indeed a line could not be buried, even at our expense, and we sport a steel electrical pole beside our front gate. It is not charming but we need electricity. Fast forward ten years and the new development to our north cannot have a pole, they must connect to our pole and bury their line. I must move or lose a large iris garden to accommodate their backhoe. Our great neighbors who incidentally gave me the pick-up bed full of iris in this garden, offered me space on their roadside and I saved the iris.

During my chemo year, the electric company sent out a representative to inform us they must clear away the chaparral on our south roadside. David told them I was extremely fond of the manzanita and asked if they could leave it. They said no but in fact did leave it intact. They also left me a huge mess to clean up. As soon as my strength returned, I began to establish a wildflower garden bordered by iris. I am hopeful that I have seen the last of the electric company in my iris space. My goal is to keep the brush cut back severely enough that it will eventually die. Yesterday I spent the entire day transplanting my favorite orange iris into the space that the electric company left me. Two are vivid orange, the third an orange cream with giant blossoms.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: If only iris were edible.....If only iris were the secret ingredient in some amazing medical cure.....If only there was a lucrative market for iris.....Oh well, guess we will just look at them. Lucky us. It seems that iris will survive, if not thrive, in most of the nearly 40 locations we have lived during our married life. Often, a patch of iris was the personal mark left by Badboulderlady at many of our homes when we moved on to some other spot around the block or around the world.

a parting shot from bbman: Give me liberty or give me death. Patrick Henry, March 23, 1975, at the Virginia Convention

Hair

Three years ago today my hair started to fall out, great huge handfuls of hair. Five days earlier I started my chemo program. My oncologist had said,"you may lose your hair". During mandatory chemo class, which was one-on-one, my nurse had said,"your hair may or may not fall out". There was ample warning. I felt that was a small price to pay for a chance to beat cancer. Somehow, I pictured hair loss as a side effect that would develop after several chemo treatments so it was a bit of a shock to see how quickly my bathroom wastebasket was filling up.

How much would fall out; would I soon be bald? Because of the unknowns, I asked David to take a picture of my hair while I still had some. He probably took one hundred and the picture on my profile is one that he took August 20, 2007.

Because I rebounded from surgery to resection my colon sooner than anticipated, my chemo program was advanced one full month which was an unexpected best-case scenario but it also meant the chemo scene seemed to be moving at the speed of light. David had put the building of Badboulder on indefinite hold. He quit working with rocks and became one; for the next nine months he did all the driving, cooking cleaning, thinking(the brain isn't always dependable on chemo) and picked me up when I fell. And, he did all this with a sense of humor!

On August 15, the alarm roused us out at Badboulder at 3:00am and we were on our way to Banner Thunderbird hospital for a 5:00am surgery to install my port catheter. The procedure was done using ultrasound to guide placement as an earlier attempt had failed and we were down to the wire, I was to receive my first chemo, via a port, at 12:30 that day. My chest was black, blue, yellow and several shades of purple but my confidence level was high as the ultrasound method seemed to be sure proof. It was! Shortly after the surgery I was eating a muffin and banana. It would be nine months before any sugary foods tasted good again, another chemo unknown.

By noon, I reclined in my chemo clinic receiving my pre-meds through the new port which saved me thousands of" pokes" during the coming year. As soon as the pre-med steroids dripped in, my state-of-the art chemo program started. Chemicals dripped for about 4 and 1/2 hours (David brought food), then I was hooked up to a gadget that looked like a granny pack which provided me a slow drip until noon the following day. We stayed at a hotel since Badboulder was one hundred miles away. Then, it was back to the clinic for another 4 to5 hour faster drip, on with the fanny pack for another twenty-four hours of slow drip. By noon the third day, following forty-eight hours of chemicals, I was "deported" and on my way home. In retrospect, I can't explain my surprise at loosing hair so soon. Perhaps I just got caught up in learning the procedure that would dominate our lives for a few months and in dealing with the more immediate side effects.

I was never bald, except for eyelashes. My hair was dead, thin and needed to be cut quite short, about one inch when new growth began which was about three months after my doctor declared, "no more chemo". Interestingly, my straight hair grew in corkscrew curly; many thought I had a new perm. Curly or straight, I'm just glad to have some.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: As you can tell, Badboulderlady became a poster child for how to do chemo. Very little whining, just go do it. This journey into and out of the jaws of hell all began with a colonoscopy in June of 2007. Because of a change in her insurance coverage to Tricare for retired service members and their dependents, Badboulderlady had to change doctors. Her new doctor said lady, you are about 15 years late getting a colonoscopy. The day of the test was a nightmare. It really didn't sink in how serious the results were. The doctor who performed the test set in motion a series of tests that day. Already without food for over 12 hours, the follow-up tests specified no food, and required the consumption of a berry (barium) shake to help reveal detail during the imaging. That day was one of the worst.

a parting shot from bbman: Speak softly and carry a big stick. I think Teddy Roosevelt said that.

Bare Neccesities Outdoor Kitchen

We quickly set up an outdoor kitchen to facilitate some cooking and a bit of space to relax during the "pioneer summer" we spent living in the utility building. Initially the kitchen was furnished with a large market umbrella, patio table and chairs, and heavy metal cabinets purchased from a dealer selling used military goods. We took a mini-vacation to California one week after moving into our new digs and came back with shade structure ideas. David soon constructed a ramada over the outdoor kitchen. The shade cloth roof was a lifesaver. Our outdoor kitchen was adjacent to a cattery which offered protection from the elements on one side.

David liked to say that he had a cat house but not a house for his woman yet as he had constructed the cattery for our two city cats, Peekaboo and Miss Muffet. The cattery boasted a partial roof so it provided both sun and shade. There was a loft to climb and perch in, the sides were solid from the ground to a height of three feet as a barrier to snakes, topped with heavy fencing wire to keep coyotes out. The exposed part of the roof was also fenced. They spent their days sleeping on a wicker love seat with matching chairs and were oblivious to our new camping lifestyle.

Remember my persuasive argument of it never rains here in summer. Three weeks after moving day the first of the monsoons moved in during the dark of night and ravished our kitchen. Wind and rain splashed the decomposed granite floor up the sides of all cabinets and furniture. Fortunately I had stored paper products and food in tight metal canisters inside the cupboards so all was not a loss. I spent the morning restoring the tidy arrangement. Two night later another rain devastated our kitchen and I got to repeat the cleaning process. David was away working, calm days returned and I wondered if he would believe my weather report.
Seeing is believing, the rains kept coming and I pretty much kept my mouth shut as this was my idea.

I recall being frightened only a couple of times during our thirteen month stay in camping mode. Once, a snake slid quickly by my feet as I sat alone reading by lantern light; I decided to read in our sleeping loft thereafter. The second time, we were fast asleep in the loft following another of those furious rains when a horrendous noise that sounded like iron chains hitting the giant boulders below brought us bolting out of bed. A weak flashlight affirmed that some red-eyed critter was out there. Indeed, there were two. Our new neighbors' Rottweilers had pulled heavy iron tie downs out of the rain soaked soil and came over for a social call at 2 am. Their trailing chains clanging on boulders was most unpleasant and the dogs were in danger of hanging themselves so a phone call was necessary. Their owner was quickly on the scene to claim his wayward pets. They've been great neighbors now for fourteen years; one of the Rottweilers still protects the hood.

I've never regretted the sacrifices of comfy living we made during our utility building experience but can't honestly say that I embrace the idea of camping out again.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Yup, I'm up here, still keeping an eye on things. Well, the good news is we saved $3,000.00 in rent that first year by moving to our site with minimal support facilities. Bad news is, we spent $4,000.00 going to Appleby's in Prescott for supper. Eventually, we finished our guest house, which we call the Geranium House. and began preparing our meals inside. So, I made plans to tear down the outdoor kitchen and use the lumber for concrete forms. Badboulderlady had a fit. I mean a big one. A real humdinger. She said she wanted to keep the outdoor kitchen. It was a part of us. So, I dismantled the thing, moved it up the hill near our main house, installed a real roof, put a storage shed on one end, and it serves as a cabana behind our house, keeping wood dry for our wood burning cook stove, and shade from the sun for select planters for container gardening.

a parting shot from bbman: Avoid debt.

Exploding Solar Water Heater

Our first winter in Yarnell, 1994-95, was actually quite rare in that we received so much rain that the town wash trickled until early June. As newbies we just thought , "How delightful, we have this little brook running through our property." I'm not sure if we saw rain again for two years as we experienced some searing drought with no monsoon activity. Our limited weather experience, no summer rains, figured into my list of persuasive reasons why we should become pioneers and move onto our own property with only a utility room to house us. I cited no more rent which is huge for "DIYers paying-as-we-go home builders". I reminded David that he spent most of his time in hotels while working as a flight attendant for America West Airlines, now US Air, and said I was willing to change my lifestyle.

The utility room contained a bathroom, washer and dryer, utility cabinets, and a sleeping loft reached by a vertical ladder positioned straight up the wall, think submarine here. We planned an outdoor kitchen. Some wonderful friends were spending three months in cool bliss and offered the use of kitchen and bathing facilities. Actually, they were so generous they urged us to move into their guest quarters, however we saw that as far too much of an imposition. We're still friends.

We were in the process of proving intent to reside with the electric company, so that washer and dryer came in handy for shelving but it was a laundry tub, cold water, a washboard and clothes line from June 15 to mid October that kept us presentably dressed.

Pioneer that I was, cold water showers just weren't for me, despite the hot days. David, always to the rescue, professed to know about solar water heaters (I think he had some experience using one during his Army days).

Our solar water heater was simply an intact, chemical-free barrel painted with a special black paint, filled with a garden hose, and connected to a water line leading into our utility. The water temperature rivaled AZ's famous chilies and jalapenos; there was plenty for two people.

Evening's bath after an entire day spent working outdoors in an AZ summer was truly prized. Bath time with warm water was going to be such a pleasure. The anticipated solar heater was in place. David took first shower and was quick about it to ensure I had plenty of warm water. Ah, my turn! I used the water saving technique of a brief rinse, turn off the water, lather entire body and apply a generous amount of shampoo, then the luxury of rinsing. Just as I turned the water on for that rinse, we heard a resounding boom. The solar water heater had blown its top and I rinsed in cold water.

David is not one to be bested by a barrel; he added a pressure device to our next solar water heater. We successfully used it until APS installed our electricity in October. I now have three half barrels to use as planters; and they also remind us of the progress we've made in building Badboulder.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Hey, it's me, up here, keeping an eye on things. It was actually quite a boom, and rather dangerous. I knew that a large barrel would not take 50 pounds of water pressure, and I had not intended for Badboulderlady to turn off the water at the shower. She was supposed to yell at me to turn water off and on as it entered the barrel. I thought she understood because she had done that for me. The shower was in the building and the barrel was outside in the sun.

a parting shot from bbman: Expensive cars are very poor investments.

Bits & Pieces of Tuesday

Yesterday I got an emergency call to substitute teach; returned to 95 degrees inside the house so I whined for Margaritas. I did accept the challenge of our usual two mile walk before consuming my favorite refresher in order to truly justify the sugar. Dave's World Famous Margarita recipe has been tweaked; we're eliminating the soda pop, replacing with sparkling water and increasing the lime aid and triple sec. They were incredible.

As rewarding as it was to see students shiny faces and to view the gaping holes and new teeth proudly displayed by giggling first graders, I must admit the pleasant experience of yesterday only bolstered my morning today as I enjoyed the leisure that retirement holds. I am treasuring my time spent transforming Badboulder's thistles and thorns into pockets of flowering plants.

As I watered the Virginia Creeper this morning, honest to God this is true, a small frog hopped onto my bare toe. I'm a novice photographer and haven't learned to carry a camera, so alas, no pictures. A young frog represents success to me. For four years now I have engaged in saving frogs from the tadpole stage to maturity. As we continue to provide more boggy spaces the frogs choose to live with us among the boulders as opposed to hopping off in search of those greener pastures we hear so much about. A chorus of frogs serenade us as we sit on our deck evenings. I find one or two big bellied frogs each day sitting in the dense shade the water iris provide to that corner of our pond (otherwise those iris would be gone as they've never bloomed).

The frog encounter alone made for a wonderful Tuesday but there was so much more--our periwinkle blue wheelbarrows are full of orange marigolds, hot pink zinnias, purple morning glories and several errant tomato plants. There was time to paint a buffet cart and stain a table for our deck and best of all, I'm ready to share an iced cappuccino with David as the latest monsoon dumps sheets of rain on our new deck roof.

Retirement is grand!

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Crowing about the croaking of cute little frogs jumping on her toes. Bragging about wheel barrows full of flowers sitting in front of our green gate. Singing the praises of the good life at Badboulder. Relaxing with an iced cappuccino on the deck under the new deck roof. Well, let me tell you, did Badboulderlady bother to tell you that it was me that made the case for a roof on the deck? In Arizona, every structure needs a roof. If the rain doesn't get you then the sun will. Without a roof, there would be very few days when the deck would be comfortable. Oh, hi Honey, may I come join you on the deck? Oh, look, it's raining. I just love the sound of rain on a metal roof. What did you say? Okay, smoochy-smoochy.

a parting shot from bbman: i would travel 5,000 miles to be home for only 5 minutes.

Peacock Mosaic Update

My peacock mosaic project somehow got put on hold while we saw Maria off to the Army and worked on our deck. The deck is of great importance during these 100 degree days as it is our major source of air conditioning during the daytime hours. The views from the deck are spectacular; its a magical place to end the day as Yarnell boasts a sky bursting with stars. So, really didn't mind easing up on the peacock project.

A trip to Joanne's to buy pebbles was enlightening--I bought black pebbles for outlining features of the mosaic which meant tile and/or leading wasn't necessary and I found some tiny brown rocks for much of their bodies. The pebbles and stained glass are now in place and I'm ready to grout with a brown non-sanded product. Hobby Lobby offered enough in way of turquoise stained glass to make decision making a bit difficult. Actually carried one piece around in my cart, then went back and exchanged it right before purchasing. It has been several years since I cut stained glass but found it was like the old "riding a bicycle adage", technique was quickly remembered.

David paused to comment recently on the peafouls, "Why do you have those heathen peacocks up there next to your Macedonian icons?" I have a picture of Roman ruins from the south of Macedonia depicting the peacock along with other Christian symbols that had been my inspiration but I couldn't justify my choice without a Google search.

Indeed, the peacock has been controversial through the ages. I loved the description from an ancient Hindu describing the bird as having angel feathers, the voice of the devil and the walk of a thief. We lived a mile away from some of these pompous strutters forty-five years ago and I still recall their voices greeting the dawn at 6am on a Saturday morn as most unpleasant.

The peacock became a Christian symbol of immortality due to an ancient belief that the flesh did not decay. It is found in early Christian mosaics and tomb paintings and later became a symbol of Christ and the resurrection. In mythology, it became a symbol of fidelity as it was believed a peacock died of grief or remained single after losing its mate. Peacocks hated gold and wouldn't go near it and could foretell rain in the immediate future. Some scholars believe that undesirable superstitions involving keeping peacocks out of one's house arose in order to keep them from being eaten. The Romans ate both flesh and feathers.

My peacocks are in no danger of nearing too much gold or being eaten. Google came to my rescue on their placement. Good luck, peace of mind, protection , harmony, joy, majestic, celebration of life--those are all superlatives listed on their sites that I choose to use for the pebbly pair!

I may apply some cobalt blue jewels to their turquoise tail spots after grouting and I very much welcome opinions on that move--comments please!

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Hey, youuu-hooo, up here, in the knothole, I see you. Peacocks a Christian symbol? And Romans used to eat them? Peacocks are still around, but the Roman Empire is gone. Must be a lesson in there somewhere. Anyway, I am glad my peacocks are made of pebbles and stained glass.

a parting shot from bbman: The longest journey begins with a single step. I think that comes from a Chinese proverb.

Apple Crisp in the Oven

When David and I were married, starving students in a university town, it was possible to throw our belongings into our red VW bug and move when a better opportunity arose. That happened twice before our first baby arrived and moving became ever so much more complicated. Thanks to the US Army, we studied the art of moving during the Viet Nam years when waiting for housing was standard operating procedure. We lived in temporary housing, apartments, and one trashy trailer as we made the mandatory waits. Just because David got a new assignment didn't mean one more move, it frequently meant two or three more moves. During those thirty plus moves, there was never an apple tree.

A few years ago, we determined that a Gala apple tree would adapt best to Yarnell's climate so we purchase a bare-roots, toothpick sized tree (we're not the last of the big spenders) and hoped that it would grow. We felt success two years ago when we shared twenty-four apples with the birds. One year ago we marvelled that apple tree branches were swaying outside our second floor window. Last winter we were blessed with twenty inches of rain; compare that to the average rainfall for Arizona at four inches annually and it's quick to see why I used the verb blessed. This year the Gala apple tree is weighted down with fruit. I know that we should have pinched off some tiny "applets" to produce larger apples but it just wasn't in my novice heart to do that. We have used no chemicals of any sort and so far have not experienced any pests.

Today I picked Gala apples from our own tree, peeled them while they radiated summer's warmth, and now await a cinnamony apple crisp.

Those Army days with the many moves afforded us traveling experiences, friends from all over America, opportunities to learn other cultures and languages, and a few apple crisp recipes.

Today's crisp has less brown sugar with agave nectar as a sweetener for both the apples and the topping. In a quest for healthier dessert, I now use soy flour, whole wheat and ground flax seeds to make the crumbly topping. Butter went by the wayside long ago and I find olive oil to be quite tasty.

Retirement's grand--I won't be planning any moves as I sit on our deck and enjoy the first apples of the season.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Okay, let's hear it for apple pie, motherhood, and old glory. Well, leave it to Badboulderlady. She sure slipped in a lot of nostalgia while telling you all about our Gala apple tree. But, let me tell you the real secret of our gorgeous Gala apple tree: gray water, from our kitchen sink. Living green here at Badboulder.

a parting shot from bbman: a man never stands so tall as when he stoops to help a child.

Fun with Concrete--Wine Bottle Window

We really do love rocks here at Badboulder; our downstairs kitchen and pantry space built around four sizable ones is a true testament to our attachment. The two largest, eighteen feet tall, take a huge chunk out of usable space but provide appreciable cooling during our searing summer season. Our engineer brother-in-law once remarked that if we ever got the boulders hot, we would need no heat the rest of the winter. We wish!

The two towering boulders have provided us with the perfect space for an interesting window. I have read about early territorial windows made by necessity from bottles in the Tucson area and it gave me the idea of using that same strategy for a natural space between our twin boulders (see Concrete Chronicles, chapter three, for a picture).

David experimented with a couple of wine bottle fences before trying the technique on our house. I like the fences so well, wish we had more of them but there's been a house to build; maybe someday.

In order to expose only the bottoms of the bottles on both the exterior and the interior of our home, he had to devise a new plan. We ordered a bottle cutter that removed the neck of the bottle (this was somewhat popular in the seventies for DIY glasses) and worked with matching pairs, one for the interior the other for exterior. The bottles were duct taped together to form a cylinder, then mortared into the space two layers at a time. The slower application allowed the mortar to harden, providing strength for the next two layers and avoiding a collapse. At eye level we mortared in a round eighteen-inch window to catch a few sun rays and a bit of a spying opportunity as well. We installed a decorative iron window to protect the round glass as replacement is nothing we want to face. The prospector who lived here during the early 1900's left us a goodly supply of whiskey bottles, so we put a pair of those in the mix. On the interior, David encircled the round window with green beer bottles; this is not visible on the exterior. By adding the beer bottle element, the amount of bottles used in our window project totaled ninety-nine. Makes me think he took too many band trips back in his high school days when everyone sang Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall--probably to annoy the bus driver.

Light does shine through the bottles of all colors--amber, clear, brown, green and blue. I especially enjoy the window during our short winter days. One visitor deemed the window his favorite part of our house. I'm very happy with it because it follows the natural space created by the boulders and pays homage to the pioneers who used materials at hand. We've had plenty of friends willing to bestow us with their empties.

FROM THE KEYHOLE: 99 bottles of beer on the wall, take one down, pass it around.....oh, it's me. Better get back to business. Yes, bottle windows are fun, especially making the bottles empty. Ever notice most wine bottles are green. Some brown, some amber, and a few are blue. Cheap wine comes in clear glass, so I had a lot of clear bottles. But no red wine bottles. Anyone ever seen a red wine bottle? If you have, please let me know.

a parting shot from bbman: waste not, want not.

Sacred Dactura, a Favorite Native Plant

After rereading my Virginia Creeper post, I felt the need to counterbalance those barbs I made about some of Badboulder's native plants by singing the praises of most. The high desert chaparral includes evergreen holly oak with red berries, witch hazel, junipers, cypress, rabbit bush and highly prized manzanita just to name a few. We even have a sumac dubbed the tree from heaven or, in my neighbor's words-- hell; we're doing our best to get a stand going along our wash so we call it the tree from heaven. We enjoy a multitude of wildflowers, providing us with year-round blossoms. The amazing wild verbena springs back following cold snaps with tiny purple flowers all winter long. I have cultivated orange mallow, Indian paintbrush, lupines, wild verbena, wild sunflowers, Mexican hats, Colorado four-o'clocks, and poppies with varying degrees of success. My latest venture is to line our roadway with one of a Yarnell summer's beauties-- sacred dactura.

Upon arriving in Yarnell, I walked to work which helped acquaint me with all manner of wild flowers. A mounding plant with luxuriant, long white blossoms caught my attention so I began making inquires. This was a Sacred Dactura, benefiting from irrigation. The encyclopedia related its common name of jimson weed; then, I knew why I had never seen one bloom as my mother yanked any errant jimson out of the ground declaring it would kill our cows. Slowly, through the years, dacturas began to pop up around the village but none at Badboulder. Three years ago, a splendid dactura grew along our wash. Now, four grace our driveway. Occasionally, marauding cows take advantage of Arizona's free range laws and mow down all manner of cultivated vegetation here in Yarnell but never do they munch on the dactura. If they did, I know of no citizen who would mourn their loss.

The seed pods of the dactura are spiky spheres and like the rest of the plant, poisonous if ingested. My plan is to scatter dactura pods along our roadside and hope that we can offer passersby a peek of white with lavender tinged trumpet blossoms next summer.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Hey, it's me. I'm back. And it's a good thing. Because there is nothing sacred about a Sacred Dactura. It is a very noxious noxious weed. It is nothing but a weed, jimson weed. The large white blossoms do have some aesthetic value. The thorny spheres might be good for some sort of art project.

a parting shot from bbman: Love your mama.

Virginia Creeper, Tenacious Survivor

One of the first attempts to add a bit of greenery to Badboulder that wasn't prickly, thorny or just downright treacherous( cat's claw) involved the use of plants that had outgrown their space in a friend's yard here in Yarnell and they were FREE. The iris turned out to be quite ordinary, none the less, quite beautiful. The trumpet vine has taken years to thrive, has to be protected from bloom-munching grasshoppers, needs some irrigation, but sports beautiful orange blooms. The star of the give-aways by far has been a Virginia Creeper vine.

At that time we were quite ignorant of the fact that our soil contained no nutrients to sustain any plants other than goat's heads (capable of flattening wheelbarrow tires), thistles (need a cool, soda bath for this one), scrub oak (buy stock in Claritin), and filaree ( cats hate it). The Virginia Creeper has grown gloriously in our hostile environment. We put it into the soil without amending, neglected it for years and now enjoy this magnificent vine in our courtyard. We have found offspring growing in decomposed granite and cracks between concrete foundations. What a plant!

My Sunset Western Gardening book describes Virginia Creeper as native to the Rocky Mountains and eastward which leads us to believe that some homesick gardener must have brought it to Yarnell. It is one of the few deciduous shrubs to flash some bright orange/scarlet color during our brief fall season. It does need fencing or trellising to become much of a climber but with a little help it has attained heights greater than I.

There is a possibility that its cool foliage provides refuge for snakes, so I do not tarry when walking past our courtyard creeper. Now that our deck is complete, I'm ready to transplant a vine or two to mask some of the crawl space underneath.

An ambitious and successful gardener here in Yarnell is hoping to roundup enough of us wannabes to attend a plant-sharing party next spring. I hope to be there with some Virginia Creeper plants to share.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Jeepers-creepers, this Virginia Creeper grows like crazy. It may take Round-up to get it under control. It's starting to look like the movie "Green Mansions" around here. In that movie, Anthony Perkins played a reasonably normal, romantic type guy before he was forever fused into the psychotic killer character Norman Bates in the "Psycho" flicks.

a parting shot from bbman: I don't believe in the devil, but I'm afraid of him. That line came from the movie "Usual Suspects," spoken by Kevin Spacey playing the part of a super crook.

The Wallpaper Wars

Long ago and far away, David and I remodeled an old Victorian, now aged to 100 years plus. The original wainscoting was restored and I chose wallpaper above wainscot for two of the rooms. In addition, three bedrooms were adorned with wallpaper on at least one wall. I heard through a friend that when the house was on a grand parade of older homes tour, the new owner said all the wallpaper was mine.

Doesn't everyone change with age? Especially in home decor choices?

Our guest house is so small, there was no spirited discussion on wall color. We agreed that white made for a more spacious look . Not so, the main house. I am quite content with the classic taupe that we both agreed on BUT David insisted on wallpaper--the more the better. Fortunately I had recently read an article on personalizing wallpaper. I'll admit I never thought he would agree to my making the wallpaper when I countered,"Okay, we'll have wallpaper if I can make it myself".

The wall that I used rises from ten to seventeen feet which meant working from scaffolding. My favorite part of the process was selecting art to display. I purchased from used book stores two large books of Italian Renaissance art, fortuitously both were the same dimension. Hard choices were made when I gushed over the pictures displayed on both sides of the same page. Because I like to display the printed word, I included some of the poetry from one of the books and couldn't resist throwing in a few maps of ancient Italy because I liked the background color. I selected several ancient Roman coin prints because their circular shape helped tie corners together on the collage that all this art became. First I sized the new sheet rock wall, then painted on a thin layer of Elmer's glue to a small area at a time. I also painted a thin layer of glue on the backside of my pic, then smoothed it on with wet hands. By trial and error, I discovered that too much smoothing is not a good thing; the results can be "creped" or torn. If a bubble occurred, I just pricked it with a straight pin and pressed out the excess glue.

I loved the results.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Hey, it's me, the anchorman of Badboulder, always adhering to truth and objectivity in reporting to you the amazing events that occur behind the green gate in the shadows of Boulder Mountain. The awful truth is, I live in a home with X-rated walls. As you noticed, Badboulderlady called it Italian renaissance art. But, I call it a gratuitous display of genitalia. So, if you come to visit, please don't bring young children.

a parting shot from the bbman: the human female is undoubtedly God's most amazing creature.

Chronicles of Concrete, Chapter Three

Not all of our concrete construction involved foundations;the first floor of Badboulder's main house has masonry walls which means we continued making concrete long after finishing the foundation. In order to build on and around boulders, David constructed forms for stem walls that incorporated the mammoth stones, then used the level surface to continue building with masonry blocks that we filled with rebar and--you guessed it-- concrete. When we reached a height for the tops of doorways and windows, I learned a bit about pouring concrete lintels. The form absolutely had to be accomplished in one pouring and could not be exposed to rain. My job consisted of scooping gallons of concrete and handing them up to David, who has no fear of heights, and didn't mind jostling the concrete to settle it into the form as he swayed on a ladder.

Monsoon storms can be all sound and fury with no precipitation, torrential downpours, gentle rains, and once we even saw rain on the north side of our rental house but not the south. No one but a Yarnellian would believe that could happen but we've seen it all up here. A mountain town is a fantastic setting for storm watchers.

The summer that we poured the walls and lintels was a summer of spectacular storms. We hauled out of bed early in order to get our pourings finished and well covered before those marshmallow clouds started to blow in over the Weaver mountains usually between eleven and one o'clock. We successfully finished ten lintels that summer before tackling the most difficult, one that spanned the two eighteen feet tall boulders. "Super Lintel Day" arrived with a perfect blue sky; the temperature was mild enough that our ancient Ouchita Airedale/Irish wolfhound mix, Kelsey, climbed the hill to watch the action. There are no breaks when making DIY concrete until the job is done, so as usual we set a brisk pace. Not brisk enough for the heavy gray clouds that came roaring in over the Weavers at least two hours earlier than we had experienced before. The lintel was almost done and the sky was dark as dusk until lightning flashes began illuminating our project. Within minutes rain began to fall over the Weavers and as always moved our way. David had time to get those wonderful blue tarps ready. He will have to tell you just how he managed to cover the lintel because Kelsey Dog, who was disturbed by any bit of thunder, and I shivered and shook in the tool shed. Lightning struck a nearby tree and continued to bounce all over Badboulder's hill. David continued to protect the lintel.

It became an unusual feature of our first floor because it frames our territorial window made of wine bottles and mortar. And , that's another concrete story.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Hey, remember me, I'm the guy who defies rain and lightning to pour concrete. Ain't she great? She always makes you feel like a damn hero.

a parting shot from bbman: don't buy airline stock.

Chronicles of Concrete, Chapter Two

Badboulder's main house site is not accessible for large equipment, thus our foundation, ten feet deep in some spaces, needed to be poured in small lots of concrete that we made ourselves. I include myself only because I was of some small assistance in the early days.

Much of the concrete was produced during summer's heat and monsoon season, anytime David had a few days off from his job with America West Airlines.

First David dug out the area of all loose dirt in preparation for pouring, built forms from new lumber, and reinforced with adequate rebar (much more than Frank Lloyd Wright ever used; we don't want to rebuild Badboulder in thirty years.

We usually mixed about fifteen to twenty cubic feet with each pouring, always trying to complete the job before nightfall or monsoon storms struck.

One of my most memorable concrete making experiences occurred back in the days when we were mixing with the wheelbarrow and hoe. We were working with forms wedged between boulders and some forms went over boulders. Presence of mind helped keep the skinned spots to a minimum, so I was motivated to work in an attentive manner as opposed to my usual yawning and daydreaming demeanor. We enjoyed a timely finish that day which meant we had time to sit back on the boulders and admire our most recent work. After a bit of rest, I determined that a nearby plant needed water and headed off for the watering can. David reports that almost immediately after I departed, a rattlesnake poked its head up from a crevasse in the rock. Perhaps a rattlesnake bite on the tush would be preferable to a bite on other body parts. Emergency treatment in Yarnell starts with a visit from local volunteers who stabilize a patient, then it's off by helicopter to a medical facility. That snake must have determined to lay low and hope for smaller prey.

Upon moving to Yarnell, I memorized my encyclopedia (remember those tomes) offering on rattlesnakes and was much relieved to learn that rattlers were not aggressive and gave one a friendly little whirring warning. Sixteen years and multiple rattler encounters later, I have yet to meet a single snake that has read that article. A local realtor tells me that indeed rattlesnakes rarely warn until it's too late. She explained that rattlesnakes require three hikers stepping over their bodies to get their attention--the first person wakes the snake, the second ticks it off, and the third gets bitten.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Hey, remember me? I am the guy who gets called on when it's time for a rattler to meet its maker. Although we see fewer rattlers as the years go by, you can never let your guard down. From November through April, a rattlesnake sighting is unlikely. I am surprised that Badboulderlady didn't tell you that a rattlesnake documentary was filmed on Boulder Mountain which rises just to the rear of our house. There is some guy in town who is an expert on rattlesnakes. We have heard that he was somehow involved in the documentary. He has been bitten a time or two by rattlers. And, we have heard that his next bite could be fatal because treatment becomes less effective after several bites. A rattlesnake bite is the one thing I fear most about living here in rural Arizona.

a parting shot from bbman: don't try to read every best seller that comes out; you'll drive yourself nuts.

Chronicles of Concrete, Badboulder DIY Style

Chapter 1

One skill that I learned quickly during the early days of building Badboulder was helping make concrete in a wheelbarrow.

There had never been electricity on site and our local APS representative (a real jerk) assured us there might never be any as we probably wouldn't stay long. We could not apply for electricity until we had a foundation. David recalled making concrete as a kid with his dad back on the farm--without electricity. He bought and read some books. Knowledge is powerful; we made concrete.

A strong wheelbarrow, concrete hoe and shovel comprises the necessary equipment. Five shovelfuls of gravel, three of sand, one of Portland cement mixed with water is the formula. Next comes the physical activity; the products must be shoveled into the wheelbarrow, mixed with a hoe and poured in the desired place. Concrete is heavy and all that mixing with a hoe will not only provide concrete but also improve your muscle tone.

Our first efforts went into an eight by eight storage shed foundation needed to house our building tools (all manual or battery operated as there was no electricity for the likes of us. David tested the balance of sand gravel mix occurring naturally in our dry wash and found it suitable. We shoveled it into the wheelbarrow and pushed it to the site. This worked so well that we expanded the storage shed to a total of 192 square feet, all foundation concrete made from product from our wash.

Next, we started the guest house and were able to pour concrete for about two/thirds of the project from local sand and gravel. Then, we began to purchase dump truckloads which we've continued to do. All of our guest home, the storage shed, rose arbor and garage foundations are made of hand-mixed concrete.

We smiled a lot the day we acquired our old used Sears clunker of an electric concrete mixer. A local resident bought it to transport to Mexico to construct his own home then decided it wasn't the best idea he ever had and offered it up for sale. It's still clunking after spinning out tons of concrete and stucco for us.

Thus we began the process of making the incredible amount of concrete needed for the foundation of Badboulder's main house. It was during this phase of the building that I sat on a rattlesnake and lived to tell the story which I'll get around to in the next chapter. Enough of this concrete making history--I'm going to bake a fresh plum tart.

Oh yes, the APS guy retired back to Kentucky a year later. We're still here buying electricity and making concrete.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Yup, it's me, I'm the guy who gets up at 5:30 in the morning and mixes concrete with my sweet Badboulderlady. She's going to tell you that it is dangerous business building a house here in the middle of Arizona. Fighting off rattlesnakes, dodging lightening bolts, living among scorpions, tarantulas, ants, bees, wasps, hornets, ugly rhino beetles, and noseeums. Oh! Ouch! Hey, Badboulderlady, what do you have for this bite? Don't know what bit me. Maybe a big shot of Old Granddad? If it don't work, at least I will die happy. Okay, well, maybe I'll see you all next time. More Old Granddad, please. Oh, that really hurts.

a parting shot from bbman: never loan your car to anyone.

DIY Tile Floors,Another "Green" Effort

Because we live in the wilderness of AZ, images of javalinas, mountain lions, scorpions, and rattlesnakes--not to mention an occasional Gila monster--represent many people's perception of our yards and gardens. In reality what we live with day in and day out is lots of granite--literally tons and tons. I'm especially fascinated with the boulders strewn all over our mountain but the granite that I deal with most is of the decomposed sort. Folks who've lived here twenty years or so just refer to it as DG. It doesn't just cover our driveways and paths, it works its way into our houses. And that is just one of the reasons that tile flooring is wonderful. Vacuum, mop and it looks new again.

We did discuss many options but always came back to tile.

Thirteen years ago, an artist in Scottsdale gave David and I tons of tile. We rented a U-Haul truck, brought it up the mountain and hid the tile in a grove of manzanitas until we had some floors constructed. This tile is better traveled than I, originating in Turkey, Brazil, France, Spain, Mexico, the good ole USA but most are from Italy. Colors include every shade of beige known to man, browns, blacks, greens, white and terra cotta. We found a picture of a mosaic arrangement of broken tile in a Lowe's how-to book and went with it. One of my jobs in the tiling process is to don some astonishingly gorgeous safety goggles and smack tiles with a hammer. I actually like this a lot. We use all the pieces, both great and small, adhering them to cement board with a masonry product called thin set. The tiles are grouted with Mapei Keracolor sanded with Polymer in a straw color purchased at Lowe's. Six inch Tuscan bone tiles, also purchased at Lowe's, are used for baseboards. I smash a few of these to mix with the random others to tie the look together.

In order to personalize the floors, I have incorporated favorite pebbles collected from those life-enhancing moments--weddings, christenings, vacations. The floors also sport an element solely for fun, small brass turtles. My absolute favorite store in Yarnell, The Emporium, sells these little garden gems for about $3.50 each and I have purchased enough to cement at least one in every room. When we finish each floor, all my little visiting friends and most of the adults search for the turtle. I do place the turtles in an area that receives little traffic as too much scrubbing will wear off the paint a bit exposing the brass which isn't a bad thing.

The finished product says a lot about who we are and where we've been and I like that.

I consider this floor tiling project green because we used tile that was headed for a landfill and because the tile floor requires little maintenance--one squirt of detergent and a cup of vinegar in the mopping water which gets poured on a weed I don't like when I'm through. That's not too bad in our chemical infused world. Perhaps the best green of all is the green it saved us.

FROM THE KNOTHOLE: Well, here I am, that's me, the guy who runs around the world with his pocket full of pebbles that Badboulderlady has dropped into them once her purse is full. She's pretty nuts, don't you all think? And how about that free tile she is gushing about? Free, huh? Cost me a whole Sunday, a very hot one at that. Drove a hundred miles to Phoenix, rented a U-Haul truck that was truly on its last leg, drove to Scottsdale to pick up the tile, loaded it by hand, hauled it back up the mountain to Yarnell. The U-Haul truck had a full half turn of play in the steering wheel, had no A/C, overheated coming up the Yarnell mountain, and belched out very noxious odors and smoke into the cabin. So we piled the tile out in our front yard, and quickly headed back to Phoenix to turn in the truck in order to avoid an extra day of rental charge. Because of the heat, the smoke, and physical exertion, I really didn't feel that great. But, you know, anything for "free" tile.

parting shot from bbman: don't buy cheap tools.