Babies Created at our Seniors’ RV Park! Who knew?! - April 20, 2017
I’m not sure when Laur decided to become a Master Gardener. OK, perhaps I am overstating his new-found interest. He has a garden of three “baby” cacti – Marjory, Cecil, and Bob. I’ll explain the names later in the story.
When Unit #134 – a park model trailer with an Arizona room – came up for sale, we jumped right on it – which is very unusual for us. We have this thing called “Laur time” which means “at some point...” (Which is good because it balances out “Jan time” – which means that everything should have been done two weeks ago, preferably by someone else! 😊)
The selling point for us? Likely the big saguaro cactus standing right in front of it. Laur and I are saguaro-philes. We didn’t know what they were called until the first time we landed in the Tucson airport in 2013 and we saw our first one in the parking area. Saguaros are an exclusive lot – they can only by found in the Sonoran Desert. This means southern Arizona (where we are) and western Sonora, Mexico. Kind of like us from November to April.
The former owners of our trailer called the cactus “Larry” – from the singing cucumber in Veggie Tales. That may sound a little odd – but if you spend enough time in the full, hot sun of Arizona, you’ll find your imagination runs a little wilder than it normally does.
What about Bob? Well, Laur was cleaning off the top of our carport and found a lonely little prickly pear cactus growing up there. (I realize this means we ought to clean off our carport roof more often. Did I say there is this thing called “Laur-time”?) We went to W*lM*rt and bought a big pot and some earth and stuck our new little friend in there.
What to call it? Why, Bob, of course, after Larry the cucumber’s best friend Bob - the anxious tomato. Yes, I realize that a juicy red tomato is about as far away as you can get from greeny-brown scrawny cactus, but there is that full, hot Arizonan sun factor to take into account.
Bob did very well over the summer when we returned to Canada – only because our neighbour R - who was a “year-rounder” – felt very sorry for him and watered him for the six months in between. And when he moved, our neighbour T who lives on another street altogether watered him the following year from May to October.
After two years of growing in his pot, I suggested to Laur that it was time to transplant Bob. I offered to help. But Laur knows from experience that when I offer to help, something always gets broken. And a few weeks later – tra-da – Bob had a plot of earth to call his own.
Bob obviously loved his new digs because he immediately produced a couple of babies – little miniature cacti growing out of his main body. If they stay on the body, they just add to the growth. If they get knocked off by the wind, they get blown into some pretty funny places – like carport rooves. Cacti can truly grow anywhere – we’ve seen them growing out of splits in rocks on some of our hikes!
One day when Laur was watering Bob he noticed another prickly pear cactus was growing not far away, but it was awfully close to the side of the road. Anyone backing out of our driveway – OK, that anyone would be me – could easily drive over it. So he transplanted it. I called her Marjorie – after my Mom – and now we have a Bob and Marj garden. Bob is also my Dad’s first name. And my Dad loved to garden – a trait I did not inherit.
Recently Landscaper Laur added a new addition. When Laur was moving Marjorie he saw another baby cactus. This one was a barrel cactus. Laur moved it beside Marjorie and said, “Come see!” I went over to take a look. “I shall call him Cecil!” I pronounced – after Mom’s second husband. Laur said, “Look closer!” Oh my goodness, young Cecil was already reproducing. He had three even smaller barrel cacti surrounding him. “My goodness,” I blushed, “Certainly didn’t take him much time!” (Perhaps it wasn’t a blush. It was likely just good-old fashioned heat stroke.)
Laur corrected me. “Jannie, those are siblings!” And come to think of it, Cecil was the oldest child in a family of eleven children. There could very well be seven more on the way. Today I noticed that Marjorie too is putting out little Marjs. I have high hopes for this little community.
*****
Cecil and my mom Marjorie (aka Granny Marj or GM) got married when Cecil was 88 and Mom was 82 – after two years of dedicated courting by Cecil. He lived in Alberta and would call her almost daily and send her a dozen roses almost monthly. This was a little bit funny – my mom doesn’t really like flowers. They remind her of funeral homes. But she was understanding in this situation. Besides, who doesn’t like a little lavish love from time to time. 😊
After they got married, I told my Mom and Cecil regularly that I was waiting for a baby sister and I hoped they wouldn’t disappoint me. I never got that baby sister but neither was I disappointed. They had almost five years of love and laughter.
Which I fear may be four and three-quarters more years that their cacti namesakes. We have no one lined up to water our little family of wildflowers while we are back in Canada. And during the summer the RV Park workers may very well pull them up when they do their massive weeding in the summer months.
I am tempted to buy a tiny fence to put around them and put out a wee sign that reads “Water me please.”
Or perhaps I need to start wearing a sombrero in this full, hot sun…
When Unit #134 – a park model trailer with an Arizona room – came up for sale, we jumped right on it – which is very unusual for us. We have this thing called “Laur time” which means “at some point...” (Which is good because it balances out “Jan time” – which means that everything should have been done two weeks ago, preferably by someone else! 😊)
The selling point for us? Likely the big saguaro cactus standing right in front of it. Laur and I are saguaro-philes. We didn’t know what they were called until the first time we landed in the Tucson airport in 2013 and we saw our first one in the parking area. Saguaros are an exclusive lot – they can only by found in the Sonoran Desert. This means southern Arizona (where we are) and western Sonora, Mexico. Kind of like us from November to April.
The former owners of our trailer called the cactus “Larry” – from the singing cucumber in Veggie Tales. That may sound a little odd – but if you spend enough time in the full, hot sun of Arizona, you’ll find your imagination runs a little wilder than it normally does.
What about Bob? Well, Laur was cleaning off the top of our carport and found a lonely little prickly pear cactus growing up there. (I realize this means we ought to clean off our carport roof more often. Did I say there is this thing called “Laur-time”?) We went to W*lM*rt and bought a big pot and some earth and stuck our new little friend in there.
What to call it? Why, Bob, of course, after Larry the cucumber’s best friend Bob - the anxious tomato. Yes, I realize that a juicy red tomato is about as far away as you can get from greeny-brown scrawny cactus, but there is that full, hot Arizonan sun factor to take into account.
Bob did very well over the summer when we returned to Canada – only because our neighbour R - who was a “year-rounder” – felt very sorry for him and watered him for the six months in between. And when he moved, our neighbour T who lives on another street altogether watered him the following year from May to October.
After two years of growing in his pot, I suggested to Laur that it was time to transplant Bob. I offered to help. But Laur knows from experience that when I offer to help, something always gets broken. And a few weeks later – tra-da – Bob had a plot of earth to call his own.
Bob obviously loved his new digs because he immediately produced a couple of babies – little miniature cacti growing out of his main body. If they stay on the body, they just add to the growth. If they get knocked off by the wind, they get blown into some pretty funny places – like carport rooves. Cacti can truly grow anywhere – we’ve seen them growing out of splits in rocks on some of our hikes!
One day when Laur was watering Bob he noticed another prickly pear cactus was growing not far away, but it was awfully close to the side of the road. Anyone backing out of our driveway – OK, that anyone would be me – could easily drive over it. So he transplanted it. I called her Marjorie – after my Mom – and now we have a Bob and Marj garden. Bob is also my Dad’s first name. And my Dad loved to garden – a trait I did not inherit.
Recently Landscaper Laur added a new addition. When Laur was moving Marjorie he saw another baby cactus. This one was a barrel cactus. Laur moved it beside Marjorie and said, “Come see!” I went over to take a look. “I shall call him Cecil!” I pronounced – after Mom’s second husband. Laur said, “Look closer!” Oh my goodness, young Cecil was already reproducing. He had three even smaller barrel cacti surrounding him. “My goodness,” I blushed, “Certainly didn’t take him much time!” (Perhaps it wasn’t a blush. It was likely just good-old fashioned heat stroke.)
Laur corrected me. “Jannie, those are siblings!” And come to think of it, Cecil was the oldest child in a family of eleven children. There could very well be seven more on the way. Today I noticed that Marjorie too is putting out little Marjs. I have high hopes for this little community.
*****
Cecil and my mom Marjorie (aka Granny Marj or GM) got married when Cecil was 88 and Mom was 82 – after two years of dedicated courting by Cecil. He lived in Alberta and would call her almost daily and send her a dozen roses almost monthly. This was a little bit funny – my mom doesn’t really like flowers. They remind her of funeral homes. But she was understanding in this situation. Besides, who doesn’t like a little lavish love from time to time. 😊
After they got married, I told my Mom and Cecil regularly that I was waiting for a baby sister and I hoped they wouldn’t disappoint me. I never got that baby sister but neither was I disappointed. They had almost five years of love and laughter.
Which I fear may be four and three-quarters more years that their cacti namesakes. We have no one lined up to water our little family of wildflowers while we are back in Canada. And during the summer the RV Park workers may very well pull them up when they do their massive weeding in the summer months.
I am tempted to buy a tiny fence to put around them and put out a wee sign that reads “Water me please.”
Or perhaps I need to start wearing a sombrero in this full, hot sun…