Vermicelli, Rancho Del Mar style

OK, I'm warning you right at the outset that this post is not for the squeamish or faint of stomach.  I freely admit it's the kind of thing only a former biology teacher might appreciate.  But I'm posting it anyway.  It's part of your education.  Incidentally, did you know vermicelli literally means "little worms"? It really does.   

First off, let's look at some plants growing here at our house.

For instance, how about this happy, healthy fern?

Or this one...

Or this one...

Now look at this sad little guy...

Looks like he needs a shot of whatever those other ferns are getting, right?

In order to give him what he needs, I needed to get some worm compost from my little worm farm.  To separate the worms from the compost, I put a couple shovelfuls of worms + compost into a plastic tray with a grid on the bottom. 

Here's a closeup in case you're wondering if that really is a ball of worms.

 Then I put the tray/soil/worms in the wheelbarrow with a little soil in it.  And park them in a light area (not direct sunlight).  The worms hate the light and dive (I'm not exaggerating) through the holes in the plastic grid to get into the shade of the dirt below.  Thirty minutes or so later, there is only nice composted soil in the tray.  Repot sad little fern with this soil and in a few weeks he'll perk up.  Return worms to the worm box to continue their soil-producing work.  

Look at the beautiful soil they produce!

(Worms were escaping between my fingers while I tried to snap that shot.)

Looks almost like beautiful Illinois topsoil, doesn't it?  

I started my worm enterprise with a few red wiggler worms I found under a large potted fig tree at the townhouse we first moved to here in LA.  How did I know they were red wigglers?  They were red.  And they wiggled.  I went to college to learn stuff like that.  From that modest handful of worms there have come millions of worms that I've shared with a few other crazy people.  Worm power.  Awesome.  Or Eeewew-some.

Discovery

I've been seeking refuge from the heat on the patio on the west side of the house.  Obviously that only works in the mornings but it's shady and there's been a light breeze, wonderful for reading.  The last few days, however, there has been this annoying high-pitched screeching coming from somewhere near the patio.  It was grating on my subconscious like tiny fingers on a chalkboard so finally today I decided to follow the sound and find the culprit.  It led me right to the big orange tree where I looked up and discovered a wee baby hummingbird flitting around.  He looked to be about as big as the end of my thumb.  The screeching stopped when he discovered he was being observed.  I ran for my camera and stood there for quite a while with my neck craned and eyes strained but dang it, he was silent as a mouse and not going to give his whereabouts away.  His mama and papa zipped nervously around and I realized why they had been so aggressive towards all the other hummers at the feeder - they weren't just being greedy about the feeder.  I imagine it won't be long until he is out of the nest since he flitted quite well.  Then I'll climb the tree and see if I can't find the nest.  I know they are protected but I'd just like to have a peek at it and take a picture.  Only when the tenants move out, of course...

Until that time you'll just have to imagine the tiny bit of fluff with his abbreviated little beak.  Don't you wonder how his parents feed him?

He's up there somewhere:

Shock therapy

There aren't many things that shock me any more, especially in a good way.  But finding these flowers on the front porch today did just that.

Yesterday I had a dental implant which I had been dreading.  It wasn't as bad as I'd feared, for which I was hugely thankful.  This lovely bouquet is from the oral surgeon and my dentist, Dr. Peter Lam and Dr. Jack Ma.  Softens the sticker shock of the implant a bit - and just a kind thing to do.