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.

And We Rise

 Spring rushes in on gusts of high wind, taking the world by storm, giggling as She comes.

Warm, warm weather... 80 degrees F. yesterday. Today began warm and lovely, but it didn't stay that way for long. We're in for a blustery, chilly night of wind-driven snow. Spring has a mean sense of humor.

A couple of weeks ago these daffodil leaves erupted from their bulbs in the earth, pushing aside the chipped wood mulch in their eagerness to bloom. 

Yellow crocus and winter aconite, as always, were the first to bloom. Is it by some design that the first blossoms of spring are sunny yellow?

Then came the purple crocus and rock iris, now white crocus. I was going to write and post photos of the early blooms, but Spring races in. I procrastinate a few days and now the garden is lit up by 

Daffodils!

The clump of large leaves nest to this sunny group of daffodils makes it clear that tulips won't be too far behind. 

All of this exuberance is testimony to the the resilience of the bulbs and roots that lie beneath the soil resting and gathering strength, perhaps even growing and multiplying through the winter.

Winter always ends. Spring always comes, no matter how harsh the winter. The roots and bulbs know how to survive. Then the leaves emerge and winter is vanquished. More roots and bulbs push out green; seeds sprout; trees also bloom and sprout leaves.

The greening of spring occurs because of the hidden strength beneath the surface. 

Winter's End

Day's end; winter's end

This morning I walked into our sun room and the first thing I saw was two walking iris blooms beginning to unfold. They were fully open about 10 minutes later.

I went out for my morning walk and the birds were busy singing love songs. Crocus leaves that had grown two inches tall before the snow a week ago still stood tall and perfectly green. Tips of daffodil leaves just emerging remained green. 

This was a bitter, cold, snowy, harsh week. 

But today the air was much warmer. The sun shone brightly all day. As I sang to the rising sun my heart expanded, everything lifted.

This evening, most of the snow is gone and the upcoming week promises to be pleasantly warm.

Winter is coming to an end. No matter how bitter it has been, winter always ends.

Winter always ends.

Everything ends.

Today I feel good. Hopeful.

The next few months will be busy, sometimes difficult, as we push our plans up and get ready to move. I don't feel sad. I feel energized -- at this moment at least -- to have finally and positively made that decision. I can focus.

Everything ends.

Winter, however bitter, always ends.

Resist

 A few days ago I walked into the "plant room" with the morning's brew in hand and found this blossom unfolding. I went back 10 minutes later and it had opened to this, it's full glory, shining in the gray, pale light coming through the windows. 

By sundown, the blossom was shriveled and done. The small blooms of the walking iris don't last long, but the plant blooms in early February, when I hunger for color. And more blooms will open.

For one more day I resist despair that winter will not end.

Tips of daffodil leaves, a little yellow from the cold, push their way up, seeking light. Crocus leaves rise a few inches from the soil, like tiny thin fists of resistance. Cold air and gray skies cannot keep them asleep. And I resist the winter light by knowing that bright yellow, vivid purple, and blinding white blossoms will soon appear. 

Winter does not last forever. Its end is coming. 

Stand up in resistance to the cold and gray. Turn your face in the direction of the Sun. Resist that urge to remain curled up beneath the soil. Stand up and...

Blossom.

Release and Renewal

 This was once someone's nursery nestled in the branches of some sumac, and now decorated with seedpods of some kind of wild vine.

Even though I walk past it every day, I did not notice it until a few weeks ago when snow piled inside it.

As with all nurseries, the babies have fledged and it has been abandoned. It served it's purpose and was released by the inhabitants. I hope they are living abundant, healthy lives.

The nest is a remnant of the past spring and summer. The parent birds and their young knew when it was time to let go of the nursery and move on.

Humans aren't always that intelligent. We often cling to things that are no longer useful to us out of an emotional attachments. We leave our children's rooms untouched in memory of their childhoods, although the children are building their own nests. We cling to things, habits, relationships, and so on because feel that brings security, stability, comfort.... even when they have deteriorated and/or no longer serve us.

But we fail to grow. We fail to make new relationships. We fail to learn. We fail to succeed because the old ways don't work any more (or maybe never did).

Every day I do a ritual in which I release all that does not serve me. That doesn't mean I don't still cling to things out of comfort and security, but I'm learning, I'm growing, I'm letting go. I free myself of those burdens so I can move on.

For the past couple of years I've faced at least the possibility of needing to release some things that are extremely important to me. Some no longer serve. Some may still serve, but that may change. It's a difficult transition.

In the process of release, however, I find renewal. A new way of living, a new way of being, maybe a new place to live. We'll see. I am not certain what this coming year will bring. I am learning to live with that uncertainty. It's an uncomfortable place for me... uncertainty.

I am certain, though, that I will survive. I will thrive. Whatever renewal I must experience will serve me, and those close to me.

I look around me and see signs of renewal. Green tips of crocus leaves have pushed their way out of the soil. Birds sing mating songs. The builders and former occupants of the nest seek out new places to build, that will serve them and their offspring through the warm months.

Release and renewal are as natural as the rising and setting of the sun. 

So I take my lesson from the birds that built this nest. I let go of the seasons past, and open my arms to the coming of Spring, whatever it brings.

Planting Seeds

 

The other day a friend asked if I was eager to get into the garden. Not really. I'm happy with kicking back, sorting through files and doing things other than gardening. But it is time to make a list and check it twice.

It's that time of year when I go through my stash of seeds, make a list of what I have, then make a list of what I need.

I "need" only a few things, but I always buy more of some things to make sure I have a year or two ahead, in case something isn't available when I want it. Even though I have a " need to buy" list, and pretty much know where they're all going to come from, I still like to sit down with the seed catalogs. You never know... I might find my next favorite thing.

Catalogs with full-color photos make it so difficult to resist buying something different. However, catalogs with no photos can create such tantalizing descriptions that I'm lured in and snagged.

But this year I will exercise restraint. Because one can plant only so many things.

I can't resist looking anyway.

Here's the tomato list. I don't need tomato seed. I have what I need for this year and next year, and probably the next year -- Amish Paste, Sun Gold, Black Plum and a couple of Roma types, and Brandywine. No need to... 

And then I stopped... "Tasmanian Chocolate..." This catalog has no pictures... but how can I resist the name? "Small plant, large fruit," a dwarf tomato suitable for container gardens. Excellent flavor, they say. Chocolate?

Move along... move along.

Another catalog with small color photos. Again, the tomatoes... "Berkeley Tie Dye." I'm a sucker for interesting names. "Green metallic stripes over pink skin." Interesting. "Extremely robust hard to describe flavor: sweet, rich, tart, salty with a hint of smokey and a dripping juicy texture." I'm drooling.

But, no. I can't. I can't. Maybe next year.

So many different kinds of tomatoes!!! And this is only the second catalog.

Next, the Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds catalog. I've been looking forward to this one. All my gardening buddies call it "gardener porn" because contains large full-color photos displayed with great artfulness. Employees and family members show off the produce and flowers in some photos. I stayed up late last night so I could look through the Baker Creek catalog, but got so sleepy I made it only halfway through.

And that's all I've gone through. Several more catalogs sit in a pile. I must get around to actually ordering my seeds very soon. No time to dream wistfully with the catalogs. I always go to the online catalogs to order, but there's something wondrous about paging through the catalogs while sitting by the fire and dreaming. Today I sat on a stump near the garden, my feet in the snow, and envisioned the garden dressed in green instead of white.

I'm not feeling anxious to get into the work of it, though. Dreaming it will suffice at the moment.

On to the next catalog now, the 50th anniversary edition of the Seed Savers' Exchange. It looks juicy.

This means another cup of tea and curling up in my chair by the fire. See you later.

No Tears Here

 

No tears fall when chopping onion greens.

It seems that most of the people I know have food sensitivities or allergies, or have restricted diets for health issues or philosophical reasons. That can make cooking for potlucks a challenge. We've hosted enough potlucks that we know most of these restrictions for the people who are regularly invited, and we ask about food restrictions when inviting new people. 

Sometimes all that's needed is a simple substitution in a recipe, or simply eliminating an offending ingredient. Sometimes that means creating a second offering for one or two people. At other times it means separating ingredients for people to combine as it fits their needs. This works really well for salads. People can simply build their own.

One condition that requires certain restrictions is SIBO, small intestine bacterial overgrowth. In this condition usually beneficial bacteria and other microorganisms that are supposed to populate the large intestine, aiding digestion and nutrient absorption, have somehow moved in the small intestine where they don't belong. This causes gas, bloating and other digestive issues and requires minimizing foods that are high in certain "fermentable" sugars (referred to as FODMAPS) that feed the misplaced organisms in the small intestine and cause symptoms. Other intestinal issues also require restricting these foods, but SIBO is the one I know about.

Since this photo was taken four days earlier, the tops have 
grown to more than three times this height.

The issue with restricting these foods is that they're very healthful and tasty foods.  

Onions and their relatives -- leeks, garlic, shallots, etc. -- the white bulbs, anyway, are full of FODMAPS. It is difficult to cook without these vegetables (Alliums), as many recipes call for one or more of them. You can still get their flavors into foods, however, by using only the green leaves instead of the white bulbs. A plus is that you don't cry when chopping the greens.

Last spring I planted bunching onions, which are considered a perennial vegetable. Instead of pulling and using the bulbs, you use the greens of bunching onions. Bunching onions, I read, are not always truly winter hardy, so I planted two of the supposedly hardier varieties -- Warrior and Flagpole. So far Warrior seems the most robust. If you don't have garden space, bunching onions can be grown in containers. They don't have deep roots.

I sowed the seeds in the spring, probably late March, early April. I failed to note that on my calendar. I plan to plant more this year, as the two small patches didn't provide nearly enough greens. I hope that the ones I planted last spring come back and I can start cutting them earlier and get more greens. I dehydrated what I didn't use right away. You also can saute and freeze them. When using the greens to flavor your dishes, use more than you would of the bulb, as the flavor of the greens is milder.

I also dehydrated the leek greens when I pulled them. The year before, when I had a lot more leeks, I sliced and dehydrated the white part. Very tasty, almost like onion rings. (By the way, it's about time to start your transplants for regular onions and leeks.) 

This year I will cut and dry garlic greens. However, we'll soon have fresh ones. I planted a bunch of cloves in potting soil in a pot and set it on the windowsill. We can snip the greens as needed. I also have a potted clump of chives by the window. I dug and potted it after the weather turned pretty chilly and we had a freeze or two, so the chives weren't in the best condition. They dried up right away, but are now growing green and can be snipped to toss into salads or garnish other dishes. Chives have a milder flavor than other allium greens, and are best left uncooked. Garlic chives can be potted up, as well, for a mild garlic flavor.

If only it were this easy to substitute other problematic foods.

 

When life brings snow, you can choose to find joy in it, or to resent it. If you resent it, you will receive just as much snow and much less joy. (Seen online.)

So I'm taking joy in the snow and ice. I find so much beauty in the transformation of the landscape when the snow falls. The sunlight sparkles on the ice-coated tree branches.

Wind sculps drifts and curves, creating new and fleeting landscapes. 

On Sunday, as I walked through the falling snow, this stone in the middle of the garden beckoned me to sit a while. Behind the stone in this photo, you can see depressions where my footsteps were filled in after I took a rest.

Digging out will take a while. Yesterday we dug paths to the garden, sauna and bird feeders, as well as cleared the concrete pad in front of the garage.... not that we're going to drive anywhere in the next couple of days. All that digging pretty much gave us clear passage to deep drifts. Haven't seen the hill in our driveway yet. That could be treacherous to clear -- or not. Because trees on either side of the hill also hang over it, the snow might not be as deep, but ice still lies beneath it. Wherever the snow has been cleared, the ice will melt in the sunlight, even when it's below freezing.

I guess we'll see you all after the spring thaw.

The Morning After

 

The morning after the big snow storm -- 7 degrees Fahrenheit at 8 am. The birds were crowding at the feeders before sunrise. I stepped onto the porch to snap a few shots. Yes, I was barefoot.

The ice-coated trees turned silver as the sun rose behind them. I tried to get a few shots of sunlight glinting off the ice at the tips of the closest Eastern red cedar trees, but it did not work. I will head out later for a walk, a cardio workout of shoveling a foot of snow and tall drifts, and take a few more shots.

I'm seeing reports that this is among the heaviest of snowfalls in the past 100 years. 

Crews are out clearing roads, but remember that beneath the snow lies a treacherous sheet of ice. Stay safe. Stay home. Build a snowman/woman/monster. (Check out Calvin and Hobbes for ideas. 😄)

Enjoy the day. Do some cooking. Take a nap. Whatever you think you don't have time for, do it.

Me? I'll do yoga. Do laundry, although I won't hang anything out on the line today. It will hang on drying racks near the fire. The purge will continue. Meditation, and who knows what else. 

Take a Snow Day. You deserve it.

The Silver Woods.

A Crowd at the Diner

 

Winter arrived with a vengeance in Kansas. A few hours after this photo was taken the snow was much deeper. I nearly had to stop and rest on the short way to the garden because the snow was so deep.

I did make it to the tree line, however. Walking through the woods was easier because the snow wasn't quite so deep. I didn't stay long because the wind blew snow in my eyes. So I hugged a few trees and trudged back in. A good Sunday's work.

Happy New Year

 

Summer Fireworks -- last year's crop of Zinnias.

May you plant with intention seeds of Beauty, Nourishment, and Love. May all you plant grow healthy and strong. May the year bring True Peace, Love, Compassion, and Joy.

May all around you be filled with Love, Compassion, True Peace, and Joy. May you Dance with every step.

Walk in Beauty. Walk in Love. Walk in Health.

So mote it be. 💚