It is not often that you know where your father was at a certain point in time before you were born.

But I know where my father was on June 6, 1944.

My dad was a chief petty officer and a gunnery mate aboard the U.S.S. Augusta (CA-31) the flagship for the Omaha invasion. He had been trained to target and fire the big guns on the warship. They had sailed out of Plymouth harbor a few hours before. That low slung, rakish-looking vessel just behind the LSTs in the photo is the Augusta. Somewhere on board was Dad.

The tension on board must have been palpable. There was to be no more training. No more drills. This was it.

Early that morning, Lt. John Mason Brown read a statement to the men of the Augusta. The full announcement can be read here. He said:

The whole wide waiting world hangs upon what will be the out come of these next few days and nights-the whole wide waiting world and history. The future of the world-its hopes, its decencies, its dreams of freedom, of peace and order – all these depend, no less than the future of our country, upon what these days and nights bring forth. For this is one of those moments when history holds its breath.

And at 6:18 AM, on June 6th, 1944, I know exactly what he was doing. He fired Augusta’s big guns into Nazi-held territory.

He’s not around now but I still give thanks for his service and the sacrifice of so many others in those years. I hope we’ve lived up to their efforts.

So the other day, I was moving some bags of my precious Coast of Maine lobster compost. They had been resting on the ground next to my driveway as heavy lifting is no longer in my skill set and I have to carefully move things about.

I had moved several bags, uncovering damp earth, earthworms, and a few slugs. Then I lifted another bag – and two toads came hopping out. As it was warm – and largely unprotected – I captured and lifted one of the toads into the side garden. When I went to retrieve the other toad, I noticed that he had already begun to feast on one of the aforementioned slugs. What a good guy!

Of course, he hadn’t practiced his table manners and some of the repast still was evident in his mouth. So I let him be as finishing of a slug is a worthwhile enterprise for me.

Two days later, I’m meandering about the garden, thinking about getting dirty in the garden, when I jumped back a bit. There was a small garter snake. It didn’t move as I approached and seemed quite intent on something. I went inside, got my camera and tried to figure out what was going on. As I moved closer…

I watched for awhile. The toad appeared to be still alive. I thought about a rescue mission but thought better of it. Garter snakes are alleged to eat slugs (good), earthworms (bad), toads (bad) and spiders (bad unless the spiders are crawling up my arm). So these snakes are right in the mix of the eco-system of the yard. So my pal, the toad, became dinner.

So I’ll be back in the garden today – looking out for the toads. I’m not sure what I can do to help them. They never seem all that pleased to see me. Downright pissy, in fact. But I’m rooting for them.

I was out wandering around my fritillaria the other day and…

ASIATIC LILY BEETLES!

Now, I was sort of looking for these critters as my “extensive research” on fritillaria had warned me that such invaders were possible. But I killed 10 on the first round! Yikes.

I have written about these manifestations of Satan in the past. They were imported into Cambridge, Massachusetts, by a Marxist gardener (apparently he liked the “red”) in 1992. OK, maybe the gardener wasn’t Marxist – but he could have been as he was in Cambridge. These beetles love asiatic lillies and are absolutely voracious. And disgusting.

However, in recent years, these menaces have skipped my yard. No idea why. Absolutely no preventive activities. And now they’re back. Earlier than ever. And with greater numbers…

Here’s what they really look like:

Honestly, these are worst pests. Voles are a pain but these beetles are just a scourge from Hades. This was the worst news of the week… other than Bret Favre un-retiring again. Just like these beetles, he just won’t go away.

When we were young, we had dreams.

Maybe we thought we would be the centerfielder for the Boston Red Sox.  Or an astronaut. Or perhaps something we dreamed something more simple: a happy, healthy life – perhaps with someone who we loved and loved us.

But life is hard and has its own destination. And we can be broken by the travails, the disappointments and the tragedies.

And we grow cynical.

There is a 47 year old woman who lives outside of Edinburgh, Scotland. she lives alone with her cat. When she was born, there were issues. She was deprived of oxygen and was developmentally slow. Other kids mocked her for being slow. She was never the “cute” girl in class.

She lives a simple life. She’s never had a boyfriend. She goes to Mass daily.

She lived with her mum and dad. Her father died ten years ago. Her mother always encouraged her to sing and she sang in the choir and at family parties. She dreamed of singing before a large hall but… it was just a dream.

Just before her death, her mother made her promise to do something with her life — she told her daughter to submit her name to “Britain’s Got Talent” (the analogue to “American Idol”.)

She stopped singing. Her joy was gone. Her dream along with it.

But then she decided to give it  a try, to honor her mother.

On one day in April 2009, she stepped onto a stage in Edinburgh, in front of television cameras and hundreds of people. People laughed when they saw her, snickered when she wanted to be a professional singer and rolled their eyes when Simon told her to start.

By now, you’ve seen the YouTube clips and the news stories. The power of the song that Susan Boyle sang was that it was about a crushed dream:

There was a time when men were kind,
And their voices were soft,
And their words inviting.
There was a time when love was blind,
And the world was a song,
And the song was exciting.
There was a time when it all went wrong…

I dreamed a dream in time gone by,
When hope was high and life, worth living.
I dreamed that love would never die,
I dreamed that God would be forgiving.
Then I was young and unafraid,
And dreams were made and used and wasted.
There was no ransom to be paid,
No song unsung, no wine, untasted.

But the tigers come at night,
With their voices soft as thunder,
As they tear your hope apart,
And they turn your dream to shame.

He slept a summer by my side,
He filled my days with endless wonder…
He took my childhood in his stride,
But he was gone when autumn came!

And still I dream he’ll come to me,
That we will live the years together,
But there are dreams that cannot be,
And there are storms we cannot weather!

I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I’m living,
So different now from what it seemed…
Now life has killed the dream I dreamed…

The irony of Susan Boyle’s performance of those lyrics was that her dream triumphed over cynicism, those “tigers [that] come at night”. Dreams may be wisps of imagination but they can be hard things to kill. And a thing of beauty when they come true.

It’s 93 degrees here today. After whining for the first four months of 2009 that it was too damn cold, now it’s too hot. It was almost 90 on Saturday and I worked hard in the garden – and nearly collapsed. That whole sun-stroke/dehydration stuff can be tricky. I was ill for most of Saturday night and slowed considerably on Sunday. Now, I’m trying to be smarter – which is tough as I can be awfully stupid sometimes.

So last fall, I was perusing the White Flower Farm offerings online. I saw this wonderful looking flower and ordered three of both the yellow (fritillaria imperialis lutea) and the orange (fritillaria imperialis rubra maxima). Now when the bulbs arrived – there was this strong – but unusual – scent. It was like something that my deceased dog would have left on the living room carpet.

It made the planting of the bulbs an urgent exercise.

So now comes the spring and these “things” are exploding from the ground. Before the crocuses. Before the snow-drops. Before the daffodils. And as they arise – there is something else: a really noticeable smell. And they keep growing… A three foot high plant from Uranus. (That was a Kornheiser reference.) This is what a fritillaria looks like with the daffodils:

Here’s what I thought was going to happen: a lovely looking plant nestled in mid-year with other tall perennials.  Right now, it’s this tall, unusual looking plant — which STINKS! It doesn’t have a slight fragrance. With the windows slightly ajar, I can smell this inside my house at night!  The smell is a cross between a decaying animal and a fresh deposit of road apples.

Now here is what I learned: read everything. Do a little research. Know what you’re doing before you invest time and money. But I get distracted by a pretty face. So while I “learned” this… I had learned it before. I just didn’t pay attention.

And now, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with this plant. It is undeniably beautiful but… that smell!

I picked up my latest copy of the BBC’s Gardeners’ World magazine the other day.  It was the March 2009 copy.  Their magazines are always a month late here.  I’m not sure why – perhaps the Brits just think we’re slow. Or perhaps they simply want their gardens to be a least a month ahead of ours with their wisdom.

Anyway, there is an article by Toby Buckland about going peat-free in the garden. In the United Kingdom, there is a concerted effort to stop using peat in gardens as it is ravaging the Irish and Scottish landscapes. Alan Titchmarsh, who is second only to James Underwood Crockett in my pantheon of gardeners, is a strong proponent of peat-free gardeners. The aforementioned Mr. Buckland, Monty Don, Charlie Dimmock, among other celebrity gardeners, as well as various governmental bodies are active in this cause. The Royal Horticultural Society has also been a leader in this effort.

Now, when I learned to garden, I learned from the Crockett Victory Garden shows and his books.  He used peat. I’m not sure I knew that peat was important to gardens until his work. From Russell Morash’s preface in the classic Victory Garden book: After looking at the prepared site at the WGBH parking lot, Crockett noted that they needed more organic matter. Morash writes: “We’d already turned in about six bales of peat moss, a very generous amount by my pre-Crockett standards, but Jim was asking for another twenty bales. No wonder his garden does so well, I thought, it’s all peat”.

Anyway, I used to buy at least 6-10 bales of peat a year. Last year, I bought none. Now, I’m hardly perfect. I bought peat pots and bags of compost which had peat as a component. Lots of bags. (Which I purchase because I suck at making compost.)

And I’m torn by this issue. The use of peat is hardly on the radar screen of issues for involving the wise use of our land. I did a quick search of “peat free” on Fine Gardening magazine’s web site and found nothing (but I still love the magazine).

The peat that I use comes from Canada and Maine. I know some of the areas of Maine which is used for harvesting peat. There isn’t much there. The economy in Maine is tough even in relatively good times. There’s some health centers, L.L. Bean, blueberries, potatoes, wood products, and tourism. But there isn’t much else. And I hate people losing jobs – no matter how 18th century the job might be.

So I’m torn about the use of peat. So I wander in my garden, playing Halmlet.

There’s a lot of blue but you gotta love the green.

Remember when you were in junior high (or middle school for you kids out there) and you went to a dance, and you were feeling pretty good about things… and then someone said something about your shoes or tie or whatever… And then you understood why solitary confinement could be seen as something that had some advantages.

I’ve mentioned being on Twitter. It is a fascinating enterprise. A 140 word stream of consciousness medium that carries all the wit, insight, sadness and enterprise that is part of life. Sometimes I just sit and lurk (on TweetDeck) and watch the chatter go on as I work on other somewhat more pressing things.

Now I am a late-comer to gardening. I started once long ago, inspired by James Underwood Crockett and his PBS show – Victory Garden. (That’s when the Victory Garden didn’t suck.) I had four 4′ X 10′ raised beds (with pressure treated wood — woops.) I grew tomatoes, broccoli, corn, carrots, lettuce, radishes, strawberries, blackberries, blueberries and Concord grapes.

But that was B.K. (Before Kids). It was situated in the flat, sunny area of the yard. When they came along, I ended the vegetable garden and put in a play area.

And yes, that’s a Speeder Bike. Still have it.

Anyway – the area left for a garden was small and shady. And I didn’t have the time as I was involved in lots and lots of civic things…

And so, after the littlest Jedi went off to college, I took up gardening again. But – flowers, not vegetables. I didn’t have the energy and attention span for veggies. You have to watch them every day – checking for bugs, blight and bullies. (Ok, no bullies but I going for alliteration.)

Anyway – fast forward. Love gardening. Don’t understand it entirely. But I learn something every few days and I love exploring with new plants. Which brings me back to Twitter.

I have “met” some amazing people there. I’ll discuss them at another time but “KissMyAster”, “Arcadia1″, “GettingDirty”, “JoeGardener”, “SusanCohen”, “Michelle_at_FG”, “RobinWedewer”, “GWConfidence”, “GardenLarge”, “MargaretRoach”, “GardenofWords”, among others, are terrific and interesting.

But… then there is that junior high moment. There is a fair amount of conversation about Victory Gardens and vegetable gardening. And sometimes it takes on a fairly uncomfortable tone – either you have a Victory Garden or you’re for global warming, AIG bonuses, killing baby seals and Gitmo torture. The chatter by some is… very doctrinaire. I wouldn’t be surprised by a discussion of Xenu and thetans.

Anyway… I garden for beauty. Not to eat. And I feel like a second-class citizen.

Ah well…

Over some time (and several years) I have complained about the lack of programming on HGTV, the purported Home & Garden television network. Others have noted it as well.

Last January, I noted that “gardening” was no longer a topic on the HGTV website. It is now “landscaping”. Let’s all say this together: Landscaping is not gardening.

Now Susan Harris at Garden Rant (one of the best garden bogs in the known universe) has also noticed the disappearance on the web site. And she has found an able ally: Tina K. Tina has founded a web site: HGTV Protest Campaign. She is asking for any who care to write emails to the sponsors to protest the lack of gardening shows on HGTV.

I’m not sure why April 13th was chosen but it’s a good day. It’s Thomas Jefferson’s birthday — and he loved gardening. (I happen to know that because I broke ground on a school building on April 13th. It was a talking point. And I always loved Jefferson’s writings.)

But April is a good time for sparking a revolt.

I’m there.

UPDATE: And the revolt continues…