Neighborhood open house proved fruitful
By Vern Hansen
The posted invitation I took from my mail box said from "4:30 to 6:30." So I hustled across the street to be the first in line when the ladle was lifted from the Christmas punch bowl. "I'm the fellow with the short privet hedge," I said, leveling my palm at knee height.
"I'm the avocado," returned the neighbor I had addressed.
"And I'm the apricot," said an attractive lady within earshot.
"I thought you were the acacia," I said.
"No," she said, "the acacia is between me and the manzanita."
There was a glass bowl on the coffee table filled with party name tags you write on and then stick to your clothing. Some in the rapidly filling room were writing on them. But the easiest way of finding out who was who on our block and handling the problem of orienting each newcomer to your own house, seemed simply to identify yourself with your shrubs.
"Who're you? The rosemary?" one lady said to another.
"No, I'm the magnolia."
"Oh, I thought the lady with you was the magnolia."
"No, she's the pyracantha."
"The pyracantha? Who's our host?"
"He's the ice plant."
"We're running out of ice," someone called. Mr. Ice Plant went to the freezer to get some more.
"We're the rock roses," said a couple to Mr. Newly Graveled Drive.
"And I'm the cherry in the front yard," came a voice from across the room.
The pelargoniums sought out the strawberry geraniums. The atriplex and the arbutus sat down together. The cotoneaster and the grivillea discovered they had something in common. So did the dodonea and the santolina.
The ornamentals mixed with the supplementals. The perennials with the annuals. Within an hour it was a mixed fruit basket, an integrated assortment of green-thumbers, an ecological, botanical hash. Never did I learn so much about mildews, rusts, stem rots, cankers, leaf spots and water-mold fungi.
After three more trips to the freezer, Mr. Ice Plant warmed up.
The magnolia blossomed.
The arbutus trailed all over.
And the baby's tears let herself go.
What was it the old newspaper writer Arthur "Bugs" Baer once said? "A hiccup is the most convivial way of changing the subject."
And as for the subject of bugs and insects, I found out that a good way to combat these invaders is to turn a platoon of lady bugs loose on them. I even got the address of a mail order company that'll sell 'em to you by the pint. You store them in your refrigerator and they stay dormant until it's time to say, "Sic 'em!"
Truly, it was a great neighborhood "open house" party.
Mr. Date Palm was a bit unbending at first and Miss Shy Flowering Maple was retiring, but before the time was over we had learned that our fellow residents on this block were an interesting lot. And most of us wanted to learn more about them.
"So long, Mr. Ice Plant," we chorused.
A charming lady nodded to me, "Glad to meet you, Mr. Short Privet Hedge."
I nodded back. "Goodbye, Mrs. Pie Throw--I mean, Pry Thow--"
"Pyracantha," she corrected.
"Myra--pantha," I endeavored.
Well, you can see about how convivial it was after two hours of nogging eggs and taking on a few tankards of mulled conversation.
As we wended our evanescent ways homeward, the lights bedecking our shake-shingle rooflines took on an even brighter glow.
I hope every neighborhood has a few folks who are imbued with the same "open house" holiday spirit. It makes the job of visiting each hearthside by Dec. 25, a little smoother for the old red-suited man with the white whiskers. And as I reached for my gate latch, I whistled a little parody of the "lady bugs" to that famous poem, "A Visit from Saint Nicholas:"
" ... On Connie, on Lila, on Phoebe, on Dixie; On Helen, on Janice, on Susie, on Trixie; Aphids and grubs, leaf-hoppers and mites: Good riddance to all and, 'good neighbors, good night'!"
Vern Hansen is eagerly anticipating the holiday party season.
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Los Gatos, California Since 1881
