Gardening Inspirations Courtesy of I-5--Road notes and Bug Splats

I judge my runs up and down I-5 by the color of the bug slpats on the windsheld of my Shiny black Toyota Prius. Northbound this trip it was yellow bugs, until I hit the stretch of pink white blossoming apricot trees approaching Firebaugh. Then it was big clear gelatinous bugs with faintly dark wings—oh dear me, I was murdering innocent pollinators (honey bees).

Downbound, It was mostly green bugs with a smattering of honeybees as I zipped through stretches of stone fruit orchards.

How boring does a road have to be in order to amuse yourself by noting the bug splats on your windshield? Well I-5 can be just that boring.

Unless you’re a gardener. Then, the north south corridor can be downright inspirational. As a frequent commuter on this road, I’ve always been entertained by the AgCat crop sprayers, pirouetting over orchards, fields of cotton and potatoes and then barreling back down your lane of traffic with landing lights that blaze strong enough to scare you into thinking that an approaching train is headed right for you, until the pilot pulls up and turns over his intended target.

In case you don’t know what it is, an AgCat is an low-wing turboprop agricultural crop sprayer that’s normally (unless its really old in which case it has a big old roaring rotary aircraft engine ) I’ve often thought that being an AgCat pilot would be as much fun as being a blimp pilot.  The big difference would come once a year on your tax forms where—in the section where you fill in your occupation—you would get to write the words “zeppelin master”, if in fact you flew a blimp

I’ve been up in Northern California for several days where I went to visit with some good friends, take my college student daughter  “The Lovely Miss Amanda” out to  dinner as well as oversee the yearly yard trash conflagration at my friend’s vineyard in Rescue.

The takeaway from this week’s trip hit me right in the face  southbound on I-5 somewhere beyond of Kettleman City. Rather that growing my potatoes this year in mounds, I’m going to try and do it in rows. So tomorrow morning, I’ll build my rows in my lower garden and bury the 20-30 budding Russet and Yukon Gold eyes I have stored in my garage.

But the best part of this trip up and down I-5 wascoming home to my bud, “Mr. Perro” who greeted me with seven laps around my den, a fast sniff, and an off key “yip” chorus.—Jim Forbes on 3/6/2007 back in rural northern San Diego County.