Transitions

 

Last month the Western Salsify (aka Goat's Beard, Tragopogon dubius) went through its changes, making the transition from flower bud to full blown seed head. In this photo the seed head is somewhat bedraggled from a recent rain. Otherwise, they look like giant dandelion seed heads. The flower bud is difficult to see here so I've circled it in the picture to the right. 

Salsify was introduced to the US by immigrants from Europe and Eurasia a long time ago because it is a food plant. Since then it naturalized and has come to be seen as a weed. The supposed flavor of its thick tap root became the origin of one of its common names, Oyster Plant. The whole plant is edible, from the grass like young leaves of the first year form of this biennial, to the stalks and seeds.

I haven't eaten salsify... most of the plants I've seen are growing alongside my driveway and would be extremely difficult to dig. Since they're growing in tall grass, I can't see the first-year forms. Last year I gathered seed to plant in a garden at some point, so it has cushy soil in which to grow large, straight roots, and in which I can find the grass-like first-year plants. Maybe next year.

The salsify has completed its journey from bud to seed, and now scatters its progeny in the wind. The year transitions from mid-summer's fresh, floriferous growth into late summers yellowing. Yellow flowers, like the grayhead coneflower, and the white umbels of wild carrot (Queen Anne's Lace) predominate now.

My husband and I also are in transition. This process has taken more than a year, so far. While one phase of it is coming to a close, we have no idea when the process will end. Of course, all of life is a transition from one state to another. Some are just bigger than others.

And this is a huge change. More than a year ago, we started discussing selling our rights to Spirit Bird Farm and down-sizing a bit. We'll still want a large garden, but this place requires more work than we are able to give it without wearing ourselves down. My husband received a cancer diagnosis five years ago. Treatment and his aggressive self-care methods have kept it in check. He is strong and healthy, but has no guarantees. 

A couple of years ago, my husband (a retired Functional Medicine physician) noticed that my cognition had significantly declined, which started me on my own aggressive healing path (after significant resistance and foot-dragging on my part). It has worked to bring my cognition back, but I have to remain on this path for the rest of my life to maintain it. My self-care  requires two or more hours a day, when done to its full extent, taking that time away from other work. Spring of last year was difficult for me. The spring planting and tending felt overwhelming. 

So, when my husband suggested we consider selling, the conversation went much differently than other times in the past. I immediately agreed. I was exhausted. Of course, we went back and forth with that decision, crafting different scenarios that would allow us to stay. But those all seemed like plans we should have set in motion years sooner. 

In late winter we started purging in earnest, donating, selling, giving away a lot (I mean A LOT) of stuff collecting over the past 18 years, some of which we each brought to the household from our previous lives. Fortunately, some friends and neighbors are currently building their homestead while we are taking ours down, so they took a good bit. The purge was sometimes painful for me, as I gave away a number of things I didn't want to let go of. I kept some things that I probably will later release, however, as the pain of too much releasing at once subsides.

Finally, we felt ready to go through the selling process. Our real estate agent told us we were past the prime market season, but we couldn't get ready any sooner. On Monday last week the listing went "live." That evening a younger couple came to view the place. They were still here when we returned after being gone for the requisite hour. We liked them and felt that we would rest easy if they became stewards of this place. 

The next morning I asked the land if it had called in these people to take over its care. The answer was a phone call from our agent saying that they had made an offer so "clean" he could find no reason not to accept. And so we soon will come to the end of the first phase of our big transition. 

I went through enormous grief during the first months after our decision. I cried many tears. Now, when I walk through the garden and along the perimeter, all I feel is Love... Love and Peace, and relief. I look forward to having breathing space, to being able to take up pastimes I've had no time for in recent years. Living in our neighbor's basement will require a significant adjustment. I will miss many things about living here, especially all of the group saunas we've hosted, during which we developed deep friendships.

We're floating in freefall at the moment, with no certain plan, but many possibilities. 

And it feels good.

Berry Experience

 

Two days ago, when I went out to greet the rising Sun, I picked the first ripe strawberry of the season. I was still in my morning garb, coffee mug in hand, singing to the Sun and trees. I did not carry it inside to wait until breakfast, I did not run to get my camera... I ate it, right there in the garden, beneath the brilliant morning Sun, as the birds sang their wakeup songs.

It was gloriously delicious. 

The best way to eat food is while standing in the garden. The best way to experience life is face-to-face, not through a camera lens. The best way to experience the garden is barefoot. (The above photo was taken later in the day, just so I'd have one for this post.)

Today I picked many more ripened strawberries, enough for breakfast today and tomorrow. They were magnificent.

I hope to have many more such experiences in future years, wherever we finally settle. Food you've grown eaten right away in the garden is the best way to experience food. Berries, apples, tomatoes... still warm from the sun. These are the sweetest. When harvesting sugar snap peas, I eat many right off the vine, at their freshest. The sweetest. It also brings back memories of when my siblings and I would sit in the garden picking peas, opening the pods, and eating them right there. We were happy. Mom was happy because she didn't have to shell the peas.

About 10 years ago, when three of our grandchildren spent the weekend with us, I took them to the garden to pick blueberries. They had fun, and so did I. When we were done, the oldest one said, "This was the most fun, ever!"

Give your children/grandchildren the experience of eating food right from the garden. Just wipe off the dirt and let them eat it. The microorganisms are good for their bellies. And feed the child in you  by having "the most fun ever" picking fresh food and eating it.

Food and fun go together hand in hand.

Sitting

 About 20 years ago I built a garden bench from small pallets, painted it and put a couple of floor tiles on the seat so I could sit in my garden. I was in a different space then, and could take time to sit in the garden once in a while. 

After I moved to Spirit Bird Farm, its home was our front porch and it largely served as a place for potted plants. A few years ago my husband decided he didn't like it there and moved it away. It found a spot in my strawberry patch, where I was hoping to create a tea-sipping, and meditation spot next to the little peach tree. 

But, as it happens when one is busy with growing and preserving food and taking care of all the other small farm tasks, the project did not quite happen. 

So the bench sat unused and is now overcome with cleavers (aka bedstraw).

When you are busy busy busy, sitting in the garden doesn't happen often if ever. 

Once we have moved this summer and are settled in to some other spot, whether temporarily or permanently, I hope the downsizing allows me more time for sitting, meditating and writing this blog.

I still plan to do a large garden and grow a lot of food, but without the extraneous farm tasks.

Take heed of this... Always make time to just sit in the garden. Always make time for a little rest, a little quiet, a little stillness.

Right now, my morning practice involves going into the garden before breakfast (yes, barefoot) at all times of the year, and simply commune with the life there, synch with nature's cycles, and gaze upon it all. It sets the tone for my day. Sometimes I do sit, but usually I walk through and sing to the garden and all of life. My meditation, my still time.

Yesterday was May Day, Beltaine, the day to celebrate life. Today is my birthday and I am focused on release and rebirth, welcoming new life with open arms.

Let's Be Dandelions

 The dandelions with their full-blown seed heads that crowded the roadside reminded me of the protesters/protectors who lined the street at a protest that we had just attended.

We are the dandelions sprouting in every crack, spreading our seeds far and wide. Dandelion seeds are not fragile. They will sprout wherever they land. If need be, they lie dormant in the soil for years and years until it is time to grow. And grow they will. Even if the seed falls in a not-quite hospitable place it will eventually grow into a deep-rooted dandelion that will be difficult to kill.

Be a dandelion. Dig deep roots and trust that your seeds (words, ideas) will eventually grow even in an infertile place. Be medicine for the World. Nourish others. Be beautiful. Be bold. Spread many seeds.

Dandelions.

Because she starts out speaking about dandelions and moves into writing about how to be resilient in chaotic times, I want to share a recent post at the Druid's Garden blog.

Singing

 

We sing to the rising Sun

  in gratitude.

Although it shines as brightly

 when we don't.

It does not demand our praise and

gratitude. It shines on all

equally, regardless.

   We give praise and gratitude

so we remember, 

so we sing,

so we praise, 

that we may not forget.

Singing to the Sun lifts us,

fills us with light.

As we sing,

we rise.

As we rise,

we sing

and are one Light with the Sun.

We start the Day Singing,

singing, singing....

(An impressionistic/abstract photo of me in my green robe greeting the rising Sun)

comfort comes in small packages

 

A few years ago I acquired this nice little tweed jacket. The lining was ripped and the former owner had left a few cigarette burn holes. I decided it would make a nice garden jacket. No reason I shouldn't look classy in the garden.

When I first wore it this spring, I stuck my hand in one pocket and found this little acorn that I had put in there sometime last year. It has been oddly comforting to put my hand in the pocket and feel the smooth roundness of the little acorn. So it stays.

Later, when the weather demanded heavier gear so I wore my work coat, I found more little acorns in the garden as I weeded. They likely came in with the chipped wood mulch on our paths. A few of those went into my coat pockets. 

We're working hard to get our home and 30 acres ready to sell in another month or so. I imagine myself finding these acorns in my pockets as I work in some future garden. Maybe they'll bring me some comfort as I feel the smooth, hard shells... or a sense of nostalgia. 

Taking something from our home of 18 years, like these little acorns, into our next phase of residency brings a sense of continuity, which I find comforting. Some of the plants also will follow us, even though I might be able to buy the same species later, continuity comforts me. A few of these plants were first planted at my previous home, and some -- like the fragrant purple iris -- came from my childhood home.

My residence will change, but the sense of safety, security and Home will follow in these small ways, as long as my heart is full and open. I've gone through waves of grief about leaving, waves of anxiety about the future, and waves of peace. Right now I'm feeling eager to finish to work here and move on.

But things won't move as quickly as I'd like.

That's ok. It gives me more time to Be Here.

Bloom!

 The woods around our house is punctuated by masses of red-purple blooms. The eastern redbud trees are in bloom.

Each day I gather handfuls of their blossoms to toss into my daily salad. They won't last long so I try to take advantage while they are in bloom. The flowers add bright color to my salads and whatever else I decide to garnish with them. Their mild pea-like flavor doesn't carry through all the other flavors, but I bet my tastebuds still know they are there -- my eyes certainly do.

I also have been gathering chickweed, my favorite spring forage. It grows fast and I'd like to cut lots of it to make salad and to put in the freezer as a pesto. I have never been able to harvest enough for the pesto, but this year the strawberry patch hosts quite an abundance... if only I can get it cut before it all flowers.

Nettles also top my list of forages. My nettle patches are growing fast. If I cut them frequently enough I can harvest through most of June. We steam the highly nutritious greens and pack them into serving-size ball, then freeze them on a cookie sheet. Once they're thoroughly frozen, we put them in freezer bags so we can eat the nutritious greens almost until springtime.

But I have so much else to do right now that it's difficult to make enough time to forage these delights. I am not putting in a full garden this year. Instead, we're going to sell our little farm in a couple of months, or less, and are working tirelessly (well not so tirelessly) getting the place in order, sorting through our stuff, donating it, selling it, packing it to take with us. The past couple of weeks have largely been spent outdoors getting things tidied, jobs that we'd spend all spring and summer doing that must be done in our to six weeks.

I won't go into the emotional roller coaster I've been on, which has been ramped up due to the political situation. Later, when I feel more grounded and certain of my future. Until then, I'm gathering handfuls of redbud blossoms and enjoying Spring.