Dale made a wonderful point in his last post: A hobby that doesn't inspire you is really just taking up time. This is the first year I've tried "real" vegetable gardening, and I think the best lesson I learned all year was to laugh as often as possible. Partly to keep yourself from committing murder with your pruning shears every time your carefully tended plants bite the dust, and partly because it really is funny to be so constantly surprised by the way nature takes its course.

The Accidental Gardener's Almanac looks like your typical schmaltzy stocking-stuffer, the type of thing you'd find in the bargain bin at a big-box bookstore. It's small and short, with a simple illustration on the front. The blurb on the back, though, gives a hint of what's inside: "You too can create a tranquil haven in your own backyard that you'll be too exhausted to appreciate."

Inside is a month-by-month rundown of what can, and probably will, go wrong at some point in your garden. But it's funny pessimism - negativity delivered with an acerbic wit that could only be (and in this case, is) British. Here are some of my favorite quips, along with images from my garden.

January: "Whoever said that watering plants in the midday sun can burn plants must have been suffering from rabies. Water cannot burn anything. In fact, it is widely recognised as an effective way of putting out fires." Of course, the "burning" may not be a problem in cooler climates; in hotter ones, water droplets can have the same effect as a magnifying glass, intensifying the sun's heat and literally burning plant parts.


Image: Sundrops, one of many plants which fell victim to overwatering this summer amid the deluges we had in Maryland.)

April: "Topiary is not a rewarding hobby that allows for creativity and individuality in the garden. It is the recourse of obsessive-compulsives and shows less imagination than a person who collects their toenail clippings and own a large ball made out of rubber bands."


Image: My rosemary bush is almost as tall as I am, but I haven't trimmed it all year. No, I'm not lazy. I just don't want to limit its personal style.

October: "Did you know that bonsai means 'a plant growing in a container'? So if anyone asks you if you've ever kept bonsai you can probably answer 'Yes' truthfully."


Image: This "bonsai" looks especially pretty next to these surprise gifts from the squirrels. The squash plants I raised carefully from seed fell victim to squash vine borers, but the gourd vine I didn't plant was as healthy as could be!

July: "Whoever said that to be happy for an hour you should get drunk but to be happy for a lifetime, plant a garden, missed an obvious opportunity: to get drunk and plant a garden."

Image: No, my husband is not drunk here - just having a beer while cheering me on from the sidelines. And hey, check out the rosemary's "before" photo!

Here's to another season of laughter, sarcasm and fun in the garden. Who knows what surprises the next season will bring?

My wife is a knitter. When she took this up four or five years ago, I had no idea how all-consuming knitting often becomes. It starts simply, then mushrooms into a world full of yarn, patterns, and more needles than one ever imagined existed. Replace knitting with gardening and yarn with seeds, and I think anyone reading this can relate to such obsessions. I'm very happy for her that she found this, and am always impressed by her dedication and the quality of her products. She seems to have some talent for this.

As with any hobby, one predictable manifestation of the knitting obsession, would be, of course, a profusion of knitting blogs. Indeed, there are thousands, or perhaps tens of thousands. What I find fascinating, however, even as a non-knitter, is that there are a number of blogs where knitting may be the origin of the blog, but the writing and themes soon transcend that and venture into the world of plain good writing. Knitting is woven throughout the posts (bad pun, sorry), perhaps, but they can be read and enjoyed by non-knitters as well. Two of the best examples from this genre are the Yarn Harlot and the Panopticon. While I often glaze over at their posts which are more or less only about knitting, they then toss in a post like this (that random knitter in London is my wife) or this, and as a reader I'm hooked.

It occurred to me the other day that as a gardener, and one who writes for a blog (and for a bunch of other blogs, for that matter), that I couldn't even begin to name a gardening blog that resembles either of those knitting blogs conceptually. Gardenaut comes really close at times, and my fellow Gardenauts write beautifully, and with humor, about their gardens and mishaps. But the goal here is to offer a range of voices and to focus on the practical, the useful, and the procedural, not hone in on a single life and gardening's impact on it.

There are scads of people blogging about their gardens, but when most stop talking about the particulars of growing this or that, their musings tend to center around chronicling how one has unplugged from the mainstream and gone organic, or describing how digging in dirt soothes the soul. All good stuff, but I want more. Where are the good writers who happen to use gardening as their point of entry into the world of letters? Who takes their garden as their muse?

Search engines aren't much help in finding blogs like this. They don't have categories such as "good writing" or "about this, sort of, but offers more." It takes a lot of hunting and reading to track them down. Surely the best way to find these things is by word of mouth, so, dear reader, please share your favorite gardening blog (even if it's your own) that expands beyond the particulars of gardening and shows readers how it informs your life and thought. I just know these literary gardeners must be out there!

"It's Sal!" yelled my two-year-old excitedly as he peered across the valley at a small figure climbing the hillocks for berries. I looked over and replied with a smile, "Why, I think you're right!" In a moment I hope to always remember, his exuberance captured the essence of youthful innocence and the magical qualities created by a truly wonderful children's book.

Berry-picking season in Alaska is pretty short, so we supplement our bucket-filling with related stories to enjoy year-round. Sal had become a good friend through frequent readings of Blueberries for Sal by Robert McClosky.
This classic tale follows lovable young Sal and her mother on a blueberry-picking trek to the mountains. The other main characters, a mama bear and her cub, introduce a bit of drama and excitement. Sal and the bear cub both exhibit the curiosity of youth and end up lost - for a time - from their mothers.

The story was written in 1949, an era so different from today that the illustrations provide a whole new level of discussion - from pointing out differences in clothing and car styles, to the details of a decidedly old-fashioned kitchen.

I think of this book every time we berry-pick, for McClosky really captures the experience, from the "ker-plink, ker-plank, ker-plunk" sound the berries make when dropped in the bucket, to the simple fact that small children will insist on digging into your pail for berries every time.

And what if they lose a shoe in the process? Alaskan author Anne Dixon experienced this on an outing with her family and turned it into the charming story she calls Blueberry Shoe. In this tale, baby loses a shoe on the mountain and the family can't find it among all the hummocks and berries. As the seasons pass, different Alaskan animals find the shoe, which ends up with a blueberry bush growing inside it. Children learn a little biology and botany, as they see animals in their habitats and find out what a blueberry needs in order to grow. The colorful and engaging linocuts by Ketchikan, Alaska artist Evon Zerbetz bring this story to life.

And for those children who want to know "Why" and "How" all those berries appeared in the first place, Alaska Yup'ik Eskimo elder Betty Huffmon brings us the folktale Berry Magic. Beautiful illustrations by Teri Sloat help children picture Anana, the young girl who uses her magic to add blueberries, cranberries, salmon berries and raspberries to the crowberries already on the tundra. Berry Magic incorporates several Yup'ik words and their pronunciations. It also gives a recipe for agutak. This dish, commonly known as Eskimo ice cream, is made of berries, sugar, vegetable shortening, and whitefish.

All three of these books will take you and your children on fantastic travels together, whether back in time to Sal's kitchen, to the mountaintop for baby's shoe, or to a time before time, when all of our children's "Why" questions had amazing answers.