Chicagoland Gardening
Columns

November/December 2006

Mike's Holiday Hort Sing-Along

If it weren't for the holiday season, we probably would have legislated the month of December out of existence long ago. It's not exactly a month that makes gardenerssalivate–unless you're a poinsettia freak, which is even more cause for worry.

So while you're counting days until you can begin killing plants again (indoor varieties notwithstanding), I've come up with a few songs you can sing around the artificial fire in your pre-fab greenhouse. I've appropriated the music from some holiday songs for two reasons:
1) you already know the melodies, and 2) I don't have to pay royalties.

Silent Blight
( To the tune “Silent Night” )
Silent blight, lowly blight s
All is brown, what a sight
Round yon cultivar, looking so lush
Holey foliage, turning to mush
It's a fungal disease
It's a fungal disease

Silent blight, lowly blight
Experts quake at the sight
Unknown pathogen, virulent strain
Nothing to be done, spreads in the rain
Eighty bucks down the drain
Eighty bucks down the drain

Deck the Deck
( To the tune “Deck the Halls” )
Deck the deck with potted pansies
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Don't forget to wash your handsies.
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Plant we now with feelings tender
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
When we're done, go on a bender,
Fa la la la la, la la la la

See the trailing spud before us
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Catch the wave but please don't bore us
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Follow me in trendy planting
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Shlepping soil just leaves me panting
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Fast away the water passes,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Fill those pitchers, cans and glasses
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Heat will fry your plants like crazy
Fa la la, la la la, la la la
Think I'll get a plastic daisy
Fa la la la la, la la la la

What Weed Is This?
(To the tune “Greensleeves”)
What weed is this that laid to seed
In ev'ry garden is creeping?
Whom herbicide and curses cried
Can't keep the gard'ner from weeping.

This, this is dandelion
Whom children send the seeds a flyin'.
Hate, hate this awful plant
This bane, this son-of-a-mmmmm.

So bring in shovels to dig them out,
Obsessed to distraction.
Get on your knees and lose your keys
While putting yourself into traction.

This, this is Creeping Charlie,
O'er runs your lawn and makes it gnarly.
Hate, hate this awful plant
This bane, this son-of-a-mmmmm.

Here come Catalogs
( To the tune “Here Comes Santa Claus” )
Here come catalogs, here come
catalogs
Filled with bulbs and seeds
Pictures of the perfect plants that
Ev'ry gardener needs.
There's a lily of a color no one ever
has seen.
It will die within a month–its zone is rated fifteen.

Here come catalogs, here come catalogs
Luring me to spend
They'll accept my MasterCard for roses without end
There are months of cold before us
Gardens withered and sere
We'll be broke before it's March ‘cause
Catalogs are here.