Tag Archive | garden

The Wisdom to Know the Difference

Mar9

Spring inside the house includes tropical orchids and jasmine blooming, and far fewer fires in the woodstove. Yesterday when I realized it was DST I heard myself say I hate daylight saving time! which has been my feeling about it forever. But I decided to try to adapt instead of continuing to resist, in hopes that it will make this transition smoother and faster. Last year I never did quite adjust, because I was too busy hating that it was the way it was. DST is gonna be with us unless it’s eliminated by royal decree, so I’m going to shift my perspective. My plan is to spend that extra hour of light in the evening simply sitting and enjoying it, with a cup of tea or a cocktail, spending time on the deck or in the garden savoring that sweet evening hour before sunset.

Just because it’s spring doesn’t mean every day is balmy forty-something sunshine. We enjoyed a few blustery snowy days last week, and though it was cold overnight the snow melted each day, watering the mini irises. The dark purple are always first to bloom, and as the first patches withdraw more patches blossom, dark purple, dark blue, and these special frilly ones whose name I don’t recall. Last year, these were eaten by deer before they even opened, so I’m especially delighted to see them in full flower this year. I did remember to cover all the bulbs as they pop up with wire cloches to protect them from marauders.

I read a provocative post the other day comparing “patrimonialism” with “authoritarianism” which used the genius of AI to explore the differences. That got me to wondering, when Truth fails us in human discourse, will AI be more, or less, reliable? Then the hopeful notion popped up that maybe the Singularity will save us after all: Perhaps when AI takes over the world, it will know how to discern fact from fiction and will hold to a higher standard of Truth than human beings.

I used to spend one to two hours a week resisting the authoritarian agenda, back in the first regime; even less time politically active during those honey days of the Biden/Harris administration. Now I spend one to two hours a day engaged in some form of action to save America from the MAGA racist-misogynist-white nationalist agenda. It’s a lot. So I’m pretty protective of my down time, and once I have completed my political engagement for the day, I let it go and turn my attention to other things: the beauty that surrounds me, that new recipe for triple chocolate biscotti, a fresh loaf of bread, the latest sprouts in the garden.

After yesterday’s calls to congress, I potted up the cabbage sprouts. I’ve gotten pretty clear on what I can and cannot control, and cultivated the wisdom to see the difference (thanks, Fred, for the reminder of Niebuhr’s Serenity Prayer). Healthy boundaries and proactive self-care are essential for as long as I have the wherewithal to engage in those also.

“The best thing you can do to stay mentally healthy is to lean into the fight, be a leader (if possible), surround yourself with like-minded people, and rest when appropriate. We are in for a long fight, so we must pace ourselves while remaining nimble.”

Robert Hubbell

I’ve found the 5 Calls App to be exceptionally easy and user friendly to voice my concerns to the legislators allegedly representing my interests. In all the calls I’ve made in the past month I’ve only once reached an actual human aide. The rest of the time I’ve left voicemails, and I’ve started them off this past week speaking directly to the person taking the message. It goes something like this: “I’d like to leave a message for the congressman, but first I’d like to speak directly to you, and invite you to ask your parents or grandparents if they receive social security benefits, Medicare, or VA healthcare, and see how they feel about potentially losing those benefits in exchange for tax cuts for billionaires. And then explain to them how your boss justifies his support of these policies….” Then I go on to leave my message about how the executive order to increase timber logging will affect the watershed where I live, or how abolishing the Department of Education will devastate public schools and strip civil rights protections for millions of students, and so on. Another good way to share your dissent with the status quo is with Resistbot.

And then it’s mealtime again. Whew! My precious mealtime rituals, moments of dedicated peace and pleasure. This week’s Sandwich of the Week was an impromptu indulgence. When I was growing up the Colonel occasionally brought Brie and baguettes home from the grocery store. I don’t think good Brie was as readily available back then, and it was always a special occasion when he found triple cream. I loved it, but he was austere even in luxuries. He scolded me more than once for putting too much Brie on a piece of bread. His admonition shamed me, but it also puzzled me. Was there such a thing as too much Brie? Somehow I internalized that limitation. I’d occasionally run across a sandwich at a restaurant that included Brie, and always ordered it with a little frisson of in your face to the Colonel; but it never occurred to me that I could make a Brie sandwich at home until recently. The other day, with half a small wedge of triple cream Brie in danger of turning, I sliced it thick and laid it between buttered toasts, one slice with raspberry jam and the other with maple cream. OMG. It was positively divine.

Today’s lunch was another indulgence. Farm fresh eggs are back after winter’s pause. Best eggs here are $8 a dozen at the store, so I rejoiced to learn that the Bad Dog hens are laying once again, and celebrated with two fried eggs this morning, a few bacon crisps, and the heel of today’s warm loaf, with butter and jam.

Clean hankies on the line in today’s abundant sunshine.

Breathing

Mar1

Today’s the first day of meteorological spring in the northern hemisphere, and perhaps not coincidentally, yesterday was Tibetan New Year, the Year of the Wood Snake. At Mirador, no snakes yet, but spring is popping in the garden.

Wren, Topaz and I ventured through the woods a couple of times this week despite the mud, and enjoyed breathing the fresh spring air. Wren’s nose enjoyed it the most, as there were many enticing scents on the breeze. I enjoyed it because an unexpected side effect of the hip surgery seems to be that my breathing is easier than it’s been in years. It makes sense, with the pain and constriction relieved, that my breath flows more freely.

Tiny cabbages took only five days to sprout and their first set of true leaves are now budding. The onions took a few days longer, and just yesterday the fennel seeds finally sprouted. The garden roller coaster begins its slow, winding climb upward.

I baked a nearly perfect coffee cake Thursday. You know what that means. I’ll have to try again in order to perfect it. It’s been a busy week, between work and the resistance and a couple of appointments. One was to an allergist in the city, and I left extra early because of construction on the highway. Because I didn’t relish the prospect of being away all day, I set my intention to PBS (Pause, Breathe, Smile, whether you need to or not). It was easy: I listened to ‘Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me’ the first half of the drive up there so I was laughing most of the way. I gave oncoming cars and the flag persons big smiles and happy waves. It felt great. I relaxed and enjoyed the gorgeous day, and kept afflictive thoughts at bay.

No one on the road could see that I wore my ‘Drag is Not a Crime’ ball cap, but the nurse who marked me up for allergy testing saw it and said “I like your hat!” This opened the door for a heartwarming conversation in which she said something that really touched me, “You’re safe here.”

Safe politically, maybe, but then she proceeded to stab me fifty-seven times! She was so sweet. She said, “Let me know if you need a break,” as each pinprick stung down the first side, “but I’m pretty fast.” She was. She got them all done in less than five breaths. I was grateful for the skill of mindful breathing, relaxing my body and breath, inhaling slowly, exhaling slower, and bringing curiosity to the sensations rather than resistance.

After a short fifteen minute wait, a different nurse came in to read my back, and I was mightily surprised to learn that I’m not allergic to any of the fifty-four common allergens they tested for. On the top left, marked H for Histamine, is the welt that indicates the tests are working, and below that a C for Control. While some of the pricks look more annoyed than others they all rated the same small measurement indicating no significant reaction. This was great news on the one hand because I’m not allergic to cats, dogs, sagebrush, or juniper, but perplexing on the other hand, because I still don’t know what’s causing allergy symptoms. Oh well. Probably nothing that’s gonna kill me.

As I was leaving, the sweet young nurse said, “I hope you’re okay.” I knew she didn’t mean my allergies. We picked up our political conversation, and she said she and her husband are trying to do things but it doesn’t feel like much. I told her, “Everyone who is doing anything needs to do a little bit more, and everyone who isn’t doing anything needs to do something. We’ll get through this.” I recommended Indivisible.org to her, and told her I’d email her a few more helpful links. I gave her a spontaneous hug and she said, “I needed that.” I’m grateful that my Drag hat sparked a meaningful encounter and an opportunity to spread the resistance. I bought the hat years ago from ACLU, where there’s plenty of provocative merchandise that supports their great work. Wearing something even as subtle as a Drag hat is a great way to connect, and grow the resistance one conversation at a time. Just as we keep growing ourselves, one breath at a time.

Final Harvest (This Year)

Oct21

I’m grateful the grasshoppers chose this year to eat my garden. I couldn’t have done much with a big harvest. The other day I picked the handful of cherry tomatoes that made up my entire tomato crop out of the eight plants I sowed. The same evening I dug the last of the potatoes.

Today, I ate them all. Tomatoes on toast with avocado and mayonnaise, potatoes boiled, buttered and salted, with mustard – herbed chicken. I’m grateful for my tiny, final harvest.

Squash Blossom Season

Jul13

First, the bad news. After demolishing almost everything else in the garden, the grasshoppers finally attacked the onions, which were doing so well. I pulled those they’d eaten down to the ground, then consulted with Dr. Onion. He offered a “Duh!” solution: cover them, he said, with an old window screen or some row cover, and they’ll keep growing. So I chased out all the grasshoppers (a few times) as I laid over some old row cover I dug out, tucked in the edges, and weighed it down with hoses. We’ll see what happens.

And in Surprising New Garden Pests, I discovered several limbs of the precious cherry tree had damaged leaves, gnawed to lace by these horrible creatures, which Neighbor Fred identified as Pear Slugs. They’re the larvae of a type of Sawfly, which feed on pear, plum, and cherry leaves. After I removed eight or nine leaves, I hosed the tree down hard, then found one remaining. I’m glad I noticed before they did too much damage, and I’ll have to monitor the tree.

But the good news is, grasshoppers don’t prefer zucchini plants. They’ve eaten a few of the flowers, but so far haven’t bothered with the leaves much. For the past few days if I get to them first thing in the morning I’ve been able to harvest four or five for stuffing. A quick batter of one egg beaten with â…“ cup flour and ÂĽ cup soda water (the recipe calls for beer) yields a nice light coating.

By the third day stuffing flowers I branched out. The Brie was mostly just melting away, so I mashed some rice with cream cheese and Za’atar and stuffed today’s blossoms with that for a much more fulfilling squash blossom experience.

And while I was stuffing things in the kitchen, I whipped up some stuffed red peppers from a recipe Cousin Mel shared the old fashioned way, in a photo of a magazine page. She spiced hers up, I didn’t add so much chipotle. They were good! One for lunch, one in the fridge for later, and two in the freezer for later later. I’m grateful for knowledgeable friends, plenty of food and the energy to prepare it, and for squash blossom season.

Every Breath

Jun29

Sometimes gratitude is a stretch. But… I’m grateful that for all they are nibbling on the Jericho romaine, the grasshoppers really haven’t done much damage and I’ve had a phenomenal, ongoing lettuce crop since March. It just won’t quit! I pull the outer leaves, I twist off the whole head from the roots, and they just keep growing. When I first started to harvest, I pulled up heads to thin the rows, fed some of the bases to Wren and Biko, and stuck about half a dozen back in other raised beds. Amazingly, these also have continued to grow as I harvest from them. For the first time ever, we are rich in lettuce!

I’m also grateful for the increased bird numbers and diversity as a result of the grasshoppers. Meadowlarks are hunting around the yard, along with several families of mountain bluebirds, at least one phoebe family (though they did not nest under the deck), ash-throated flycatchers, robins, and possibly a lazuli bunting or two that Merlin Sound ID’d. Along with the usual seed eating nuthatches and house finches, there are quite a few “lesser” goldfinches, as well as scavenging jays. It’s a joy to see and hear so many birds for a change.

I’m grateful that there are some other plants the plague of grasshoppers doesn’t seem interested in — yet. Like these lilies, a bee balm, and the zucchinis. They didn’t do much damage to the garlic, which I brought in before this latest round of rain, and so far the onions are holding up pretty well. The potatoes have lacy leaves, but they are at least still growing and flowering. Six rows of carrot tops were demolished overnight last week, all the salvias are struggling, none of the zinnias or tomatoes made it past cotyledon stage. Oh well.

Potatoes growing well despite grasshopper plague
For my colorist friend, the impossible blue of chicory against red sandstone…

Last night I baked Claire Saffitz’s foolproof all-butter pie crust in preparation for making a quiche this morning. It’s a great crust, flakier than any I have ever made. This morning I roasted asparagus, red bell pepper, and onion, added scallions, garlic and rosemary from the garden, two types of cheese, and baked a lovely quiche to feed me through the weekend while I’m in an online retreat. The one Cindy was supposed to be co-leading. I thought it would feel flat without her, but instead the loving presence of her colleague Stan and the other participants made it feel round and full. I’m grateful for all these things, and for every breath I took today, whether or not I was aware of them.

Where’s Wren? She is hiding from thunder…

Another Sunset

Jun14

Tonight I’m grateful for living to see another sunset. So many people didn’t.

And I’m grateful for the lush growth in the garden, despite the grasshopper infestation. I’m even ok with that as I watch baby bluebirds and baby phoebes learning to hunt. Whatever will be will be, and there will be something left for me.

Flowers

May31

Whether it’s the flowers of arugula and broccolini drawing beneficial insects to the raised beds, or subtly fragrant pink honeysuckle flowers on the giant Lonicera korolkowii filled with honeybees, I’m grateful for the complex diverse flowers of the garden, of the world.

I started planting two ‘three sisters’ mounds today, with four corn seeds in each depression. In a couple of weeks when the corn is up, I’ll intersperse a vining bean, and a week or so after that plant two winter squash plants on the outsides of each mound. In the raised bed just above this area, I planted three more squares of four corn kernels interspersed with the salvaged arugula dug up when we turned and amended the bed below. Next to those, bush beans are already sprouting, and zucchini seeds wait for more warmth.

Where’s Wren?

The days have been full with compassion and not much attention to my 42 fruits and vegetables each day, but at least I got some color in my lunch. The cheese sandwich du jour is brie, arugula pesto, avocado and lettuce on herbed focaccia leftover from yesterday. I was grateful for a relatively quiet day in the garden, except for a quick ride to town to pick up my car from the shop where tires were fixed and winter wheels swapped off. Little Wren charmed everywhere from the bank, to Farm and Home, to the shop.

Where’s Wren? I was grateful to find a riot of flowers still at Paonia Farm & Home, and wished GB and I had gone there shopping last week instead of the actual farm where the plants I bought were, frankly, kinda tragic. Oh well, “water off a duck’s back.” Excellent to practice letting go with the small losses, so it’s a habit when the big losses come along, as they inevitably do.

Potatoes

May14
POTATOES!

Potatoes seemed to take forever to emerge, but I’m thrilled to be watching as first the soil bulges, then cracks, and then the first few leaves push through. These are the red potatoes, farther along in sprouting when planted and first to emerge, and now the yellow potatoes have started pushing up dirt, with just the tips of leaves from one showing.

Where’s Wren?

I’m grateful for more rain this afternoon, and can only attribute the blurry photos to that. I’m grateful for the sense of accomplishment that came from a morning teaching and an afternoon working in the garden. I’m grateful that Good Tim has recovered remarkably from his heart attack, and was able to come work for a couple of hours; which motivated me to work hard on the bed around the cherry tree. I removed the “temporary” foot-tall wire that tripped me last month from around the circle, and pounded proper edging into the ground, then replaced the decorative rocks. Then I weeded it, and planted some leftover tulip bulbs from last fall, which I hope will bloom next spring. I picked up an ‘electric blue’ penstemon at the nursery yesterday, which I planted in this bed to complement the yellow columbines that volunteered here years ago. A gardener always lives for the future, even while enjoying the present moment. We also learn from the past.

Mother Earth

May12

Celebrating Mother Earth this morning, I worked in the rock garden pulling weeds, moving a couple of rocks, and planting a rosemary and a red salvia. The salvia’s an annual, but I’m hoping the microclimate of this location will allow the rosemary to overwinter. It was a delight to look up and see Wren and Stripe in friendly, curious engagement.

It was equally delightful to prepare a hearty salad for lunch with a Penzeys dressing, the last tomatoes from the sunroom, three seared asparagus, and a head of romaine from the garden along with some heirloom arugula which grows between the patio flagstones. Leftover bean salad and pasta plus an avocado rounded it out.

I’m grateful for some meaningful interactions with friends today, including a couple of readers who shared their delight in Sudoku with images: One is clearly an expert, and the other is delighted with a recent birthday gift of Sudoko using colored marbles!

After a full day of mixed rain and shine, Wren did a very poor job finding Biko this evening. It’s still getting cold enough overnight that he needs to come inside, and we circled the yard twice before I spotted him. He had tucked in in none of his usual spots, which Wren dutifully checked the first time around; the second time we looked in all his unusual spots as well, before I finally spotted him from a distance up against the fence in the dog pen. We’d looked in there once already, where he wasn’t in his few favorite locations. I think the weather, going from warm to cold back and forth throughout the day has thrown his routine. He probably tucked in wherever he was when the last squall blew through and settled for the night. Or, in his sundial way, he stopped in a spot where he knew the sun would hit first thing in the morning. Wren finally found him but only after I practically led her to him.

And what a perfect way to end a Mothers Day, a happy cat under a rainbow. I paused throughout the day to reflect on my own mother, whose last Mothers Day was twenty years ago, and also to remember some other mothers who have passed on who were dear to me. But mostly, I connected with and celebrated Mother Earth.

A Day Off

May11
I’m grateful once again today for the Parks State Farm – Phil’s Towing combo that have rescued me three times in the past six months. This time it was a flat tire that must have occurred shortly before I arrived home from the last place I went, whenever and wherever that was. I’m grateful that I have to leave home so infrequently that I sometimes can’t remember the last time I did so. And I’m grateful to neighbor Gary who suggested I call my car insurance instead of try to do it myself.
This surprising little flower popped up in the ground cover that I don’t remember seeing before. And it didn’t last long — the next day they were gone, nipped off by deer, which is probably why I have only seen the foliage.
The sandwich loaf provided good lunches all week, including this Havarti-avocado-lettuce-peach salsa sandwich.

I’ve been grateful all week for ample and delicious food, from occasional homemade granola with peaches from the tree last summer via the freezer, to fresh garden salads supplemented with avocados and nuts that I didn’t grow, to of course cheese sandwiches. I’ve been eating more protein recently, and how lucky am I that I can say that? And have smoked salmon in the fridge to include in my lunches.

I made one sandwich with fromage fort, smoked salmon, lettuce, avocado, and peach salsa. It was delicious but it felt like it needed to be on a bagel, open-face, instead of between two slices.

Lacking a bagel, but with a thick slice toward the end of the loaf, I toasted that and added a fried egg, and enjoyed a gourmet lunch. I truly do savor these simple sandwiches with a few extra touches, with deep humility and gratitude that my life at this time allows me such marvelous food. I share the bounty of my garden and my lunch plates not to boast or show off, but to inspire and encourage anyone who has the means to make the time to make a simple meal special, and to savor it. I’m keenly aware that the day may come when I don’t get to enjoy this kind of lunch, for an infinite array of potential reasons: anything can happen, to anyone, at any time. Each meal is a special meal; each meal, like each breath, like each moment, is unique.

Where’s Wren?

Meanwhile, in the garden, each day offers new delight. New blossoms continue to open on the little cherry tree even as the first cluster to open begins to set fruit.

With the coldest nights behind us, I hope, I am planting this week. These sci-fi ‘self-watering’ baskets came from Gardeners’ Supply complete with a water meter for each. They actually seem like the best hanging option for this dry climate, and I’m optimistic about the strawberries I planted in them.

The little North Sky blueberry has acclimated long enough, sprouted new leaves, and seemed ready to go in its big pot filled with special blueberry soil.

How is it possible that I forget over the winter how much joy and contentment the garden brings me? I stepped outside into a cool, damp morning after Telesangha, and didn’t come inside again until lunchtime. I was just going to plant the blueberry, but one thing led to another. I spread compost over the onions, garlic, strawberry pot, and a few other large pots I’ve yet to plant, watered some beds lightly in case it didn’t rain, brought in the tea towels from the laundry line in case it did rain, strolled around the grounds admiring a few things, pulling a few weeds. I noticed and praised the first potato leaves emerging in that bed, checked on the illicit asparagus patch, and puttered with some small tasks, all the while humming aloud or silently to myself like a grateful, busy bumblebee.

The crabapple blossoms survived last weekend’s windstorm, and ongoing windy days, but a juniper by the driveway lost part of a trunk.

The Fuji apple tree, though irregularly pruned by deer, has a few limbs with blooms, lit with late sun after rain. Our evening rounds brought satisfaction, contentment, and a light rainbow. I’m grateful for a day off with no obligations, time to plant, rest, and restore in the garden, time to meditate during the storm, and time to reflect on the blessings of this life I landed in.