Not So Rosy Roses

We have seven rose bushes. They are always a work in progress. I don’t know whether it is because my thumb never turned green from those childhood years on the Indiana farm, seven is an unlucky number, or our soil sucks.

I’m going with the soil.

I’d transplant them but there really isn’t another appropriate space on our small hillside parcel. PJ has become a rose bush groupie so I toil regularly with all manner of nurturing. She can be such a nudge.

At dinner the other night with friends whose green thumbs stick out like neon, they mentioned the magic word—manure.

Manure and I go way back. That is where I attained my spreading-manure skills. It took me several years to wash it off me when I left that farm. I’m pretty sure that is why I was so dating-challenged.

It seems an anathema that manure and sweet smelling roses would be a match, but apparently manure qualifies as aromatherapy for rose bushes. Still, I worried that using it would bring petitions from the neighborhood.

Yesterday, while the soil was still moist from last week’s El Nino temper tantrums, I mulched* the manure in and around the rose bushes. I dug out enough dirt so I could bury most of the manure and minimize the stench. I’ll get back to you on that.

If this doesn’t work I’m going to gird them with sand bags. I try to stay one step ahead of PJ. See previous two posts.

While I was at it I replanted a stunted lemon tree to a more soil-friendly area, and dug out a sickly shrub near out front door and replaced it with a dwarf palm. There was enough manure left over to treat (manure is a treat?) our lime tree and three under-performing bougainvilleas.

When I planted our lime tree several years ago I did not know they had such prickly personalities. Anytime I get within five feet it draws blood from somewhere on my body, even if wearing gloves. Yesterday it was my torso.

I burnt the manure-stained clothes.

*Yes I know; I made a verb out of a noun. I’ll do anything for alliteration.

My Saturday Morning Grind

If your morning java tastes are now Starbucks-educated, you have options. Go online to www.coffeeproject.com. Order a coffee roaster. I have the $75.00 Freshroast machine. $75.00? Work with me here. The Coffee Project sells over 35 varieties of green beans. Yes, coffee beans are green when harvested. I buy the organic Costa Rican La Minita. Green beans are half the price of roasted beans at any coffee cafe. If you drink a fair amount of coffee, the roaster will pay for itself in no time.

Soon you will have really fresh roasted coffee every morning. Think aromatherapy. On Saturdays I roast up enough beans to last a week and store them in an airtight ceramic container left easily accessible on my countertop. I was never much of a Starbucks fan, especially their coffees-of-the-day. After roasting my own for several years, there is no comparison.

For a finer, more consistent grind, use a burr coffee grinder rather than a standard grinder. They can be a bit pricey but you don't need the top-of-the-line. The Coffee Project offering is $149.00. I bought mine at Costco for under $50.00. Shop around. A burr has multiple grind-settings from coarse to fine. If you like the flavor of coarse sea salt, when a recipe calls for finely ground sea salt, you don't have to dash out and buy it.

If your wife comes down one morning and orders a grande, skim, decaf, triple-shot, sugar-free, almond latte, no foam, with two Splendas, and just a dash of nutmeg, tell her to get up 15 minutes earlier and stop off at a coffee cafe on the way to work. Then get very worried about what recipe requests may be coming next. You're a cook, not a barista. Since she barely makes it out the door on time anyway, those requests will cease.