What is it about spring that makes my sap rise, as it were? I wake up with a certain excitement. Can't wait to see and feel the light, survey my kingdom from the windows of the house while I prepare coffee and wait for the day to warm (and do domestic indoor tasks before losing myself to the garden).
Each spring in the high desert is unique. I believe intermountain areas are always something less than predictable. This year it has been quite cold and very dry - no spring rains. Nonetheless, my own little paradise is lush with green and colorful flowers. Never before have the orchards and bulbs been so effusive in their bloom. No matter that a really cold night (20 just yesterday morning!) will likely literally nip in the bud any chance of fruit. Still, the colors of white, pink, blush are fantastic in clouds against the green of the orchard clover and the blue of the spring sky, and the fragrance is overwhelming. The narcissus this year is outstanding as are the tulips. In fact, the perennial beds are truly gorgeous. Of course, I have sprinklers going most days to give them the moisture they crave.
Having broken my ankle a year ago in February, I lost last spring so the work of weeding the perennial beds has been twice the normal this year. That has been one huge task. I give my effort to the perennial beds early in the season because once I begin the vegetable garden it takes most of my time until I get it up and self-sustaining. Flowers are the food for my soul and make the large expanse of tree-shaded lawn so enjoyable in the heat of summer.
In the vegetable garden I have now tilled three times, to get rid of all the weeds that had taken advantage of my disability last year (I did have a garden, but it was not up to my usual standard). Lettuces and spinach I planted mid-August of last year are thriving for fresh salads each day. I have set up scaffolding for pole peas and beans and the peas have been planted and are now seedlings. Between the rows on each side of the scaffolding I put my brassica family members, who appreciate the shade the peas provide to keep them cool while they get established. After the heat of summer spells doom for the peas, I will remove the string and scaffolding to let the Brussels sprouts, broccoli, cauliflower and cabbages have the full width of the row and will put flowers among them to repel cabbage moths. In that part of the garden I also have a wide row of mixed lettuces, spinach, chard, beets, carrots, parsnips and radishes. I just mix them together and use plenty of radish seed, which matures early and marks the rows as well as providing a gentle loosening of the soil as I remove them, which benefits the other seedlings left behind. The lettuces mature quickly and don't suffer summer's heat, so they are removed (except for those I leave to go to seed) and the root crops have the full bed in which to mature. I plant green onion sets here and there to repel root maggots and just generally enhance the health of the bed. I mulch with straw very heavily on the walking paths and that part of the garden is mostly done except for watering and a little weeding here and there.
Elsewhere in the garden I have set out all my tomatoes, with walls of water to protect them from both cold and wind. Along the west side of the tomatoes I have scaffolding for pole beans to protect the plants from the harsh afternoon sun. I have found this to be very helpful with tomatoes in this high desert area of extremely hot summer sun. Among the tomatoes I will plant cosmos, sunflowers, borage and alyssum, all of which contribute to good health for the tomatoes by attracting good insects in addition to looking very pretty indeed. All my tomatoes are heirloom tomatoes, so they are growing on tall towers to facilitate their upward growth (after all, tomatoes really are vines) which I will stop by pinching off the ends when they have started setting fruit as well as reaching the tops of the towers.
I have planted six more trees this spring, one of them a Bing cherry. I also planted five more grapes and will construct an arbor for them of stock panels, which I rescued from the bank of the creek where they hung up after a flood some years ago.
Asparagus is thriving just now and eaten fresh or lightly steamed every day. Of course I have lovely greens from what I call my "cool garden" (an area that receives more shade than other parts and is ideal for those things that prefer cooler growing conditions). Strawberries are getting a blossom here and there and I am giving them plenty of water, as well as doing some weeding daily as bindweed will be the scourge of my garden all my years on this place. It is especially vigorous in my raspberries and that is another daily project. A little here, a little there. That's how I get it all done without boredom or overusing one set of muscles.
Today it is time to set out all the pepper and eggplant seedlings I started and get them covered for protection from wind and cold (I invented a little "hot cap" for this purpose using those plastic bags from shopping that seem to proliferate once two or more are gathered together). I also have a large number of herb seedlings and plans to expand my herb garden as well as educating myself more fully on medicinal herbs and their preparations for use (I have a number of very good books).
For one such as I, nothing is this world except family can compare to gardening for its fulfillment in every way and I am grateful to have a family that shares that enthusiasm.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Winter of my discontent - or something like that
I love winter and I love snow. I love all the light and sparkle snow brings, as well as the insulation of the earth, the nitrogen, the pristine quality, the pastel shadows, the incredible sunsets and some sunrises. And this winter there has been a whole lot of snow! In fact, I've been snowbound for long stretches of time out here in the boonies.
I also love winter for its quiet, the inevitable reflective caste that accompanies short days and long nights. I find that sleep is deep and long in the winter. And I love having a real hearth with a real fire with real pets around it, warming their bones and gracing the carpet.
One such pet is a young, beautiful, all black kitten I named Muffy. I have enjoyed her so much, notwithstanding that she is now about 30 feet up in a tree outside - for the third time this winter! I try very hard to keep her strictly inside, but she gives me the slip when I go out to get some firewood from the porch and she's so fast that it's too late by the time I notice. To date she has had to be rescued each time, even spending one night in her perch while at least 6" of snow fell because I cannot climb trees any more and had to wait for help.
I do fine with winter until after Christmas. I am such an outdoors person that my ability to quietly read, sew, knit, amuse myself indoors begins to fail. Oh, I get out each day for at least a small walk (love winter walks!) and to bring up firewood from the woodshed. But I live in such isolation that I find myself getting tired of my own company, I suppose, and certainly in need of more stimulation - which is always the outdoor world for me and gardening specifically. So cabin fever sets in and by February I'm hanging on for dear life.
One bit of excitement this winter was the presence of a cougar. I did not see this cougar, though I might have. Early on a Sunday morning, just as dawn was shedding fuzzy light on a world still dark from lack of snow as well as light, my dogs demanded to go outside. This was particularly amazing coming from my Miniature Pincher, who always stayed in bed, under her afghan, till 11 or later. I could tell from their barking that something different was going on, so I slipped out to the end of the house in the direction of their barking in just my nightgown and slippers. Daisy, the mutt, was backing up as she barked, clearly frightened and alarmed. Kate was not in sight but she was absolutely fearlessly aggressive, so that was not a concern. Had I walked even five feet further, I might have seen the cougar that was in my orchard - and that killed Kate, who no doubt flew right into its face.
As light made vision possible, I dressed and went looking for Kate, who had not returned. I feared the worst. Daisy's very keen nose found a spot in the orchard that was fresh blood, and then another, and still another. We followed the blood trail up a steep slope to the top of the bench land and there I saw what I expected: the lifeless body of my Kate, about 40 feet or so into the field. She had been partially eaten. I gathered her up. She was still warm and limp. I carried down to the garden where I have set aside a special pet cemetery. Only later did it occur to me that I had probably chased the cougar off its kill and that I had no weapons with me for self-defense.
I called the government trapper in our area, who confirmed that it was indeed a cougar (the puncture wounds were huge!). We agreed that had Kate not been such an aggressive dog, she would not have been killed. Cougars really don't care for dog and there are abundant deer in my part of the country, which is what cougar prefer - not even bothering cattle if deer are available. As my land is along a ridge that connects two mountainous areas, this is a natural passage for cougars, who probably come down to the creek to drink at my place, where there is easy access. I have seen their prints in the past and actually heard one growling at the large dogs I had at that time - who promptly landed on the porch, begging to come in. They are creatures of the night, so dusk and dawn would be the most likely time for an encounter, if one were to occur, and they definitely do not want to encounter people.
Not a good winter for pets hereabouts. Not terribly good for me either. Weather prevented Christmas travel, so there was no Christmas this year, which was a huge disappointment. No New Year's Eve highlight either. I took down the decorations the day after Christmas, crying because of disappointment and because no one had even seen them - or the gifts I had sewn with so much excitement and joy. This too shall pass, but it was something of a blow nonetheless.
Today blue skies prevail, which is always very uplifting in any case, but even more so when there is snow to reflect all that light. I try to go for a drive on each such day, providing I can get out of my steep lane - even with 4WD. Daisy goes with me - something she never did when Kate was here. And so we pass through another winter, but not without much thought and dreaming of spring's weather and garden.
I also love winter for its quiet, the inevitable reflective caste that accompanies short days and long nights. I find that sleep is deep and long in the winter. And I love having a real hearth with a real fire with real pets around it, warming their bones and gracing the carpet.
One such pet is a young, beautiful, all black kitten I named Muffy. I have enjoyed her so much, notwithstanding that she is now about 30 feet up in a tree outside - for the third time this winter! I try very hard to keep her strictly inside, but she gives me the slip when I go out to get some firewood from the porch and she's so fast that it's too late by the time I notice. To date she has had to be rescued each time, even spending one night in her perch while at least 6" of snow fell because I cannot climb trees any more and had to wait for help.
I do fine with winter until after Christmas. I am such an outdoors person that my ability to quietly read, sew, knit, amuse myself indoors begins to fail. Oh, I get out each day for at least a small walk (love winter walks!) and to bring up firewood from the woodshed. But I live in such isolation that I find myself getting tired of my own company, I suppose, and certainly in need of more stimulation - which is always the outdoor world for me and gardening specifically. So cabin fever sets in and by February I'm hanging on for dear life.
One bit of excitement this winter was the presence of a cougar. I did not see this cougar, though I might have. Early on a Sunday morning, just as dawn was shedding fuzzy light on a world still dark from lack of snow as well as light, my dogs demanded to go outside. This was particularly amazing coming from my Miniature Pincher, who always stayed in bed, under her afghan, till 11 or later. I could tell from their barking that something different was going on, so I slipped out to the end of the house in the direction of their barking in just my nightgown and slippers. Daisy, the mutt, was backing up as she barked, clearly frightened and alarmed. Kate was not in sight but she was absolutely fearlessly aggressive, so that was not a concern. Had I walked even five feet further, I might have seen the cougar that was in my orchard - and that killed Kate, who no doubt flew right into its face.
As light made vision possible, I dressed and went looking for Kate, who had not returned. I feared the worst. Daisy's very keen nose found a spot in the orchard that was fresh blood, and then another, and still another. We followed the blood trail up a steep slope to the top of the bench land and there I saw what I expected: the lifeless body of my Kate, about 40 feet or so into the field. She had been partially eaten. I gathered her up. She was still warm and limp. I carried down to the garden where I have set aside a special pet cemetery. Only later did it occur to me that I had probably chased the cougar off its kill and that I had no weapons with me for self-defense.
I called the government trapper in our area, who confirmed that it was indeed a cougar (the puncture wounds were huge!). We agreed that had Kate not been such an aggressive dog, she would not have been killed. Cougars really don't care for dog and there are abundant deer in my part of the country, which is what cougar prefer - not even bothering cattle if deer are available. As my land is along a ridge that connects two mountainous areas, this is a natural passage for cougars, who probably come down to the creek to drink at my place, where there is easy access. I have seen their prints in the past and actually heard one growling at the large dogs I had at that time - who promptly landed on the porch, begging to come in. They are creatures of the night, so dusk and dawn would be the most likely time for an encounter, if one were to occur, and they definitely do not want to encounter people.
Not a good winter for pets hereabouts. Not terribly good for me either. Weather prevented Christmas travel, so there was no Christmas this year, which was a huge disappointment. No New Year's Eve highlight either. I took down the decorations the day after Christmas, crying because of disappointment and because no one had even seen them - or the gifts I had sewn with so much excitement and joy. This too shall pass, but it was something of a blow nonetheless.
Today blue skies prevail, which is always very uplifting in any case, but even more so when there is snow to reflect all that light. I try to go for a drive on each such day, providing I can get out of my steep lane - even with 4WD. Daisy goes with me - something she never did when Kate was here. And so we pass through another winter, but not without much thought and dreaming of spring's weather and garden.
Monday, November 3, 2008
The Bush Legacy
http://www.tomdispatch.com/post/174997/the_end_of_a_subprime_administration
I am rather an apolitical person. My view of politics is quite cynical, to be honest. But how politics affects reality is another matter, and no one can deny this cause and effect in our lives over the last years. This piece chronicles these years in the most eloquent treatment I can imagine and I wish I could require its reading by every literate person in the world. Perhaps then we could mitigate its effect and move on to picking up the pieces and reorganizing ourselves post-disaster, grateful for peace and renewed security within our own borders, wherever they may be - our home, our town, our state, our country, our continent.
I am rather an apolitical person. My view of politics is quite cynical, to be honest. But how politics affects reality is another matter, and no one can deny this cause and effect in our lives over the last years. This piece chronicles these years in the most eloquent treatment I can imagine and I wish I could require its reading by every literate person in the world. Perhaps then we could mitigate its effect and move on to picking up the pieces and reorganizing ourselves post-disaster, grateful for peace and renewed security within our own borders, wherever they may be - our home, our town, our state, our country, our continent.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Universe in my garden
Why would I use this phrase? Well, this would be to tell the story of my life, I suppose. But I believe we can simplify the explanation.
I have been strongly affected by the natural world since I can remember and was blessed to grow up in the country. Not just any country either, but deep in the heart of Amish Ohio, among high hills, heavily wooded with hardwoods of great variety. Both culture and ecology were rich. And I was inclined to explore both, making many valuable observations, consciously and unconsciously, that were to guide my life more than I could know at the time or for some years to come.
After graduating from college I moved across the United States to Los Angeles, where I attended college for three years. Culture shock would be an understatement, but the habit of observation served me well in an entirely new environment, with greatly enhanced opportunities for learning on many levels.
There followed years of living in West Texas, Kentucky, Eugene, Los Angeles - a very public life and a varying set of social and environmental circumstances to observe and explore.
My mind works like this: I tend to store nuggets and tidbits of information with the full knowledge that they will be important one day, either on their own or in conjunction with other pieces, and they make good puzzles when pulling weeds, making a stone fence, doing other rather mindless physical tasks. I am keenly observant and gather information in a cause and effect sort of way. I also tend to be reductionist in style, always looking for that which is behind the obvious. With a breadth of exposure and a lively curiosity, what I got were more conundrums than axioms. More questions than answers. And exhaustion.
A divorce ended that early stage of my life (at age 35) and the upshot was that I finally landed on unsteady feet on 50 acres of undeveloped land in the American West, which I developed into a home with large garden, orchard, lawn and perennial flower beds. In this setting, all the accumulated experience, observation and questions began to ferment. Life was simple, close to the earth, harmonious (at least in the physical sense - I had quite a lot of sorting out to do on the emotional and psychological front). And there, in that setting, standing in my garden, or planting bulbs in my flower bed, or mulching a row of vegetables, or pruning a fruit tree, amazing truths emerged and a foundation for hope, belief and a personal ethos began developing. An ongoing process of course which does not end till death, if then. A time of solitude and contemplation.
And, in that setting, as primal as a human can get, the universe is represented. There are the basic elements - earth, air, water, fire - but also the basic constructs of human survival and development, shared human emotions and dreams. These are not limited to any one place, time, gender, tribe. They are linked to a very deep level within ourselves that is completely lost in contemporary lifestyles. I found in this setting a deep appreciation for and understanding of indigenous cultures and spirituality. I found the earth and the elements teaching me what could be found nowhere else, by no other means. These lessons are very personal and very profound, but I insist that they are indeed universal and essential, connecting me to all other living beings. They are also very subtle and require patience, never my long suit. I came to appreciate how very much the earth is our mother. How important it is to honor her. What is truly important and what is not.
This is the background, the framework, the sheltering structure for everything I have learned and am learning. It has taken many years, a lot of thought, many tears, considerable confusion, purposeful open-mindedness, patience, hard work, and a great deal more love than I ever might have imagined - both giving and receiving.
I have by no means "arrived." That would be a sad event. But I have a foundation for growth in the rest of my life, and an opportunity to share something that may be of use to someone else. Elemental precepts we share. Individual journeys are unique. Kindred spirits recognize each other. We are not alone.
I have been strongly affected by the natural world since I can remember and was blessed to grow up in the country. Not just any country either, but deep in the heart of Amish Ohio, among high hills, heavily wooded with hardwoods of great variety. Both culture and ecology were rich. And I was inclined to explore both, making many valuable observations, consciously and unconsciously, that were to guide my life more than I could know at the time or for some years to come.
After graduating from college I moved across the United States to Los Angeles, where I attended college for three years. Culture shock would be an understatement, but the habit of observation served me well in an entirely new environment, with greatly enhanced opportunities for learning on many levels.
There followed years of living in West Texas, Kentucky, Eugene, Los Angeles - a very public life and a varying set of social and environmental circumstances to observe and explore.
My mind works like this: I tend to store nuggets and tidbits of information with the full knowledge that they will be important one day, either on their own or in conjunction with other pieces, and they make good puzzles when pulling weeds, making a stone fence, doing other rather mindless physical tasks. I am keenly observant and gather information in a cause and effect sort of way. I also tend to be reductionist in style, always looking for that which is behind the obvious. With a breadth of exposure and a lively curiosity, what I got were more conundrums than axioms. More questions than answers. And exhaustion.
A divorce ended that early stage of my life (at age 35) and the upshot was that I finally landed on unsteady feet on 50 acres of undeveloped land in the American West, which I developed into a home with large garden, orchard, lawn and perennial flower beds. In this setting, all the accumulated experience, observation and questions began to ferment. Life was simple, close to the earth, harmonious (at least in the physical sense - I had quite a lot of sorting out to do on the emotional and psychological front). And there, in that setting, standing in my garden, or planting bulbs in my flower bed, or mulching a row of vegetables, or pruning a fruit tree, amazing truths emerged and a foundation for hope, belief and a personal ethos began developing. An ongoing process of course which does not end till death, if then. A time of solitude and contemplation.
And, in that setting, as primal as a human can get, the universe is represented. There are the basic elements - earth, air, water, fire - but also the basic constructs of human survival and development, shared human emotions and dreams. These are not limited to any one place, time, gender, tribe. They are linked to a very deep level within ourselves that is completely lost in contemporary lifestyles. I found in this setting a deep appreciation for and understanding of indigenous cultures and spirituality. I found the earth and the elements teaching me what could be found nowhere else, by no other means. These lessons are very personal and very profound, but I insist that they are indeed universal and essential, connecting me to all other living beings. They are also very subtle and require patience, never my long suit. I came to appreciate how very much the earth is our mother. How important it is to honor her. What is truly important and what is not.
This is the background, the framework, the sheltering structure for everything I have learned and am learning. It has taken many years, a lot of thought, many tears, considerable confusion, purposeful open-mindedness, patience, hard work, and a great deal more love than I ever might have imagined - both giving and receiving.
I have by no means "arrived." That would be a sad event. But I have a foundation for growth in the rest of my life, and an opportunity to share something that may be of use to someone else. Elemental precepts we share. Individual journeys are unique. Kindred spirits recognize each other. We are not alone.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Clues
I have added quotations and pictures that are perhaps clues to my thoughts and/or feelings, and with gratitude to those artists of pen and brush who precede me and give me a great comfort, knowing that I am not alone or even original. Individuality is one thing. Being peerless is quite something else.
Introduction
This is my third attempt at blogging. It poses a problem for me, does blogging. Like keeping a diary, which I have for years, it is a way of expressing and recording one's thoughts and feelings, albeit in a public forum. The conflict I experience is that my life is just one of billions of human lives, no more and no less important than any other, so what would make it worth the effort, either in the writing or the reading?
On the other hand, the personal sharing of one's perspectives can find resonance often with others of like mind in ways that are very affirming, as has been my experience with a wonderful blogger from the Middle East, now taking a break from blogging. Beyond that, assuming there are readers, it may be a means of connecting us in times that are difficult, to say the least, and are likely to fracture more than unite us
On a personal level, there is a desire as one ages to reflect on the life one has led and to share that, to be acknowledged for having had a life, with all its permutations. And speaking for myself, advancing years and a still curious mind have given me the opportunity for vision I could not have had at an earlier age. Is this worth sharing? Can it have relevance to anyone else? We shall see.
Another personal observation/admission is that I live in a rather deep state of physical, intellectual and social isolation, self-imposed I realize in retrospect, which has nonetheless afforded me time and space to hone my thinking (along with much reading and contemplation). The rural experience can be quite a complex one. A necessity for one such as I, but at a price (and doesn't every good thing have its price?).
So I begin this with a certain anticipation, a certain apology, a certain hesitation, a certain appreciation. And always with the realization that even with the best of our efforts, what we think, feel and express is always highly subjective, no matter our earnest attempts at objectivity. There can be no occasion for hubris, the cancer of objective, clean, rational thought.
So I offer my thoughts, experience, emotions, reactions and stories. Or I make that attempt. Reader, beware.
On the other hand, the personal sharing of one's perspectives can find resonance often with others of like mind in ways that are very affirming, as has been my experience with a wonderful blogger from the Middle East, now taking a break from blogging. Beyond that, assuming there are readers, it may be a means of connecting us in times that are difficult, to say the least, and are likely to fracture more than unite us
On a personal level, there is a desire as one ages to reflect on the life one has led and to share that, to be acknowledged for having had a life, with all its permutations. And speaking for myself, advancing years and a still curious mind have given me the opportunity for vision I could not have had at an earlier age. Is this worth sharing? Can it have relevance to anyone else? We shall see.
Another personal observation/admission is that I live in a rather deep state of physical, intellectual and social isolation, self-imposed I realize in retrospect, which has nonetheless afforded me time and space to hone my thinking (along with much reading and contemplation). The rural experience can be quite a complex one. A necessity for one such as I, but at a price (and doesn't every good thing have its price?).
So I begin this with a certain anticipation, a certain apology, a certain hesitation, a certain appreciation. And always with the realization that even with the best of our efforts, what we think, feel and express is always highly subjective, no matter our earnest attempts at objectivity. There can be no occasion for hubris, the cancer of objective, clean, rational thought.
So I offer my thoughts, experience, emotions, reactions and stories. Or I make that attempt. Reader, beware.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
