Signs you may be a witch

You can grow mushrooms without even trying.

Look at that.

Or possibly signs that Katje is terrible at gardening. Six of one….

Seriously. What the hell. I don’t even know what kind they are.

Signs Katje should not be allowed near Photobucket’s editing program: this post.


Does anyone know what kind of mushrooms these are? Or if this is a sign that I’m killing my herbs?

I love hearing from y’all. Especially as I have no idea what I’m dealing with here. Help?

In which our heroine posts pictures of zir garden


Proof, more or less, that I am not a complete failure at gardening. In that pot is thyme, lavender, rosemary, basil, and parsley. Not only have I kept three plants alive for weeks,I have successfully grown two new ones from seeds.

In light of this success I cannot be terribly depressed by how my roses are doing.


Even if they are my favorite flower. I do have faith they’ll pull through, which probably proves what an eternal optimist I am.


Also, there is more lavender flowering in my yard, so even though I didn’t plant it, how can I be sad?

In other news, I have been too busy this week for a vlog. Apologies; you’ll get one next week. What have I been doing? Ah, well. That info is currently classified, but you should expect a big reveal sometime soon. Suffice it to say I have been working very hard.

And as I am writing this on my phone, at three o’clock in the morning, it’s time for me to sign off. I’ll write something more in-depth later. Probably Tuesday.

Edited to add: how obvious was it that I wrote it from my phone by the awful formatting? Ugh. All fixed! Better for your eyes — and my reputation.


Recycling and Compost and How They’re Important, or something, not sure what the message is here, really

I would be more inclined to participate in my city’s compost and recycling curbside pickup programs if they made it easier.

I know, that sounds like so much White Whine, but consider:

  • There is no direct way from my yard to the front curb. All entry to my house is in the alleyway. So anything I want picked up at the curb I must walk all the way around. We have asked them if we can put stuff out at the end of the alleyway, which would just create one more pickup for them which is right next to another pickup, but they have refused our request. It would be too complicated! Another stop, right in between two current ones? MIND IS BLOWN.
  • The yellow recycling bags are the holy godsdamned grail and they get stolen pretty often — especially if you don’t get out there right away to grab the empty one, which I don’t, because long walk and spoons.
  • Also someone stole my green bin previously, and at another point in time someone stole the lid to our garbage can. I’m of the opinion that this keeps happening because the garbage dudes just fling these things friggin haphazardly into the ditch when they’re done instead of setting them down nicely in front of the house, like I do. This sends the message that these things do not belong to any one house, and therefore are free for the taking. Or I just live in a bad neighborhood no, it’s the city’s fault, I’m sure of it. Dear garbage-and-etc-people-of-undetermined-gender-but-I’m-assuming-you-are-dudebros-just-because: if you’re going to fling ’em about then fling them over my fence so I don’t have to walk three miles to retrieve them.Would that be so hard? Really?
  • The schedule is some sort of complicated vodou ritual and in order to understand it I must pay offerings to the lwa. Which on principle I have nothing against, being polytheist and fairly eclectic and free of white-lighter-fluff-bunny morality, but come on — three Irish deities and most of the Hellenic pantheon is all I can handle. Give a tired Witch a break here.

Continue reading “Recycling and Compost and How They’re Important, or something, not sure what the message is here, really”

Adventures with an Amsterdam Prostitute

This past weekend was a long one for Victoria Day (Canadian holiday — yes, we have those), so I decided to go to my dad’s for a few days.

My dad is a farmer, and going to visit him means helping out on the farm or in the garden. WHAT I AM A WRITER I AM DELICATE FLOWER NO HARD LABOR NO.

Well, I helped out anyway.


It’s called a Dutch Hoe (and everytime dad said that I was like “WHO YOU CALLING A HO”), or an Amsterdam Prostitute, because that’s funny and more likely to make you read my blog.

This is sort of what it looks like, and how it works.

That’s not a really good picture, but I don’t care enough to find a better one.

Anyway, the premise is it’s a flat piece of metal with sharp front and back edges, and a long wooden handle. You stand straight up (don’t bend your back; it’s a bad idea) and push it with the loooonng handle back and forth just under the dirt. It cuts out all the weeds nearly effortlessly.


I so wish I’d had one of these things a year ago when I was putting in my garden at my old place, because it would have saved so much work.

So, you know, if you garden, invest in one of these. It’s so worth it.

Oh, also, I wrote a shit load on The Jade Star of Athering while I was at dad’s place. About 6,000 words. There. *ties post into writing because this is her writing blog*

Anyway, I promise my next post will be on topic. Maybe.