Moving Forward

 

This sight makes me happy.

Three months after moving, I finally have a garden again.

Yesterday I went out early in the morning and finished planting the tilled areas with leafy greens for fall harvest. At the time of this photo moisture fell from the sky.... finally, after three weeks of not even a sprinkle and unusually hot temperatures. Today we're in the low to mid-80s (Fahrenheit). Aaaahhh.

Leaves rain from the from the trees. 

Two days ago I planted kale, brussels sprouts for their greens, collards, winter radishes, aind cilantro. Everything has started sprouting -- except the cilantro, which is always pokey. Yesterday it was arugula and more kale. I expect they'll be popping up tomorrow.

What's left of the summer garden. Eggplants have done well.
I'm still waiting for the bell peppers to ripen. The tomatoes
did not do great, although the little cherry ones (Sun Peach)
have done fine.

Once the fourth bed is tilled and prepped, I'll fill it with lettuce and "spring" radishes that will fill out sooner than the winter radishes.

It feels good, a relief to finally put a garden in. I've had the summer veggies growing in big plastic tubs, but having seeds scattered on the earth feels so good. 

We're home.

Building from the Ground Up

A lot has happened since my last post.

Everything has changed.

On May 1, I expressed my excitement about pulling the first pretty little radishes from the small garden our landlady allowed us to till in the yard near the entrance to our basement rental. The tilling was done on New Year's Eve, and provided us with greens and a few sugar snap peas along with the radishes.

I planted some tomatoes in that area, but I dug them up and transferred them to the large tubs that I had been using for my garden since a year ago when we decided to sell our beloved 30 acres in order to move to a smaller space with less of a work load. In my July 17, 2025 post I discussed our decision to sell, then the sale, and the transition to the neighbor's basement, which was not, nor was it intended to be our final destination.

In the spring, our search was on again. at the end of May we found our home, a small berm house on top of a hill at the end of a small cul-de-sac in Lawrence, Kansas. A sweet, sweet spot.

We rejected the house the first time we looked at it, partly because it was more than we wanted to pay, and partly because, at first glance it had features I didn't particularly like.

The price dropped, and we decided to look at it again.

And I wondered why I didn't like the features that had bothered me the first time. What really clinched the sale was that the seller, who had lived there for 20 years and rented it the past 15 years, had not quite finished sweeping and tidying the front of the house.

Meeting her made a huge difference in my mind. She told about the history of the house in her experience and repeatedly said how much she had loved the house. We fell in love with the house through her. 

We closed in early June and immediately started moving things in, having it set up well enough to sleep there within a few days. But before we had even moved in, we started meeting neighbors and discovered that the house was not the only thing to love here. The neighbors are wonderful The neighborhood is beautiful, with many houses having front yards containing native plants, other flowers, and even vegetable gardens. I am in Heaven.

A feral woodland edges the back of our backyard, providing plenty of birds, squirrels, rabbits, chipmunks -- and I even saw a fox one morning. 

I wondered if I could find peacefulness living in town. When I sit in the backyard looking toward the woods, in spite of distant traffic noise, it is peaceful. 

We have finally gotten the inside of the house organized enough to start building garden space.

The above photo is how the "garden" looked a week ago, but it has changed every day. In another week, we'll have four 10-foot, by 4-foot beds tilled and, I hope, planted for fall harvest. Short season things, of course, such as kale, lettuce, bok choy and other leafy greens.

I will keep you updated. The heat has been brutal the past couple of weeks, but change is promised, so things will move more quickly when I don't have to limit my outdoor work to morning.

See you in a couple of days.

 

Radishes!

 I have waited and waited.

Checking once, twice and again to see if any radish roots were enlarging. Each check ended in disappointment...

Until a few days ago when I found these little beauties. A couple of days later I found a few more. 

Sigh of contentment.

Once the roots begin to enlarge, it seems the harvest comes quickly. Some varieties of radishes with longer growing seasons still haven't sized up yet, but they will. Unless the seed packet lied and they don't do well with a spring planting. Seed is left yet, so I'll try again in fall, regardless.

I love radishes. I don't know why I find them so appealing. Is it their crunch, their color, their hint (sometimes more than a hint) of spiciness?

(Shrug). Whatever. They do feel therapeutic, like they are something I need to eat. 

I do love radishes, especially my homegrown ones.

Something's in the Air

 The other day I walked up the driveway and caught a whiff of something fragrant.

I paused and sniffed the air, looking around for the source.

The columbines offer no fragrance, but are lovely.

First I saw the deep purple iris. Then I noticed the big patch of lily of the valley. I looked up and there was the lilac bush, blooming sparsely, but blooming nonetheless. I stuck my nose in close proximity to each type of bloom. Each type of bloom emitted a luscious fragrance, each with its own character. 

Delightful. 

But the few blossoms on the lilac bush were the one releasing their fragrance in enough quantity to be inhaled from 10 feet or so. The scents lifted my spirits.

Today when I took my walk I passed through another pool of luscious fragrance. I could not discover its source, though. Possibly it came from something with inconspicuous flowers. A nearby spirea full of little white blossoms gave out no fragrance. So it will remain a mystery. Until tomorrow, maybe.

Always pay attention.

Plant Happy

This warm, sunny was perfect for hanging laundry on the line strung between the posts on the porch, and potting up little plants in between washer loads. What a happy day for me. Mysteriously, I really enjoy laundry day (every Monday), especially on warm days so things dry quickly on the line. And this was a stellar laundry day, as everything is folded and put away already.

I potted up some of the eggplants and peppers that had stalled out at about an inch tall. I'm hoping that this little disturbance of changing their pots will stimulate growth. Saturday and Sunday mornings the temperature fell into the 30s F., with patchy frost predicted for Sunday morning. I pulled all the porch plants closer to the wall and threw a sheet over the most tender ones on Friday evening, then brought the tender ones inside Saturday night.

They should have come in on Friday, because the leaves of some of the really tender ones -- namely the baby cukes and bitter melons -- got burned just by the chilly breeze that blew. I'm sure they'll come out of it, but they'd be happier if I had taken better care. 

Had to show off this year's strawberry patch.

Today I checked the little radishes in the garden for enlarging roots. Nothing yet. Sigh. 

However, the lettuces on the porch are looking almost ready to eat. This batch grows in the bottom eight inches of a plastic garbage can. I cut it off a long time ago so I could use the upper portion as a bottomless container for something. Then this part was used for various other things until I decided last summer to drill holes in the bottom and use it as a planter. It's worked wonderfully. 

These lettuce plants were purchased at a nursery so I could have pretty plants for the Master Gardeners Garden show last month. These are a butterhead lettuce that forms loose heads, so they're not quite there yet. But we have plenty of  grocery store lettuce to last us a few days. Maybe they'll be ready by the time that's gone. 

The plants that I put out in the garden look more likely to head, but they're much smaller. Plus, several of them got taken out by cutworms. From now on, any transplants that go into the garden will be accessorized with cutworm collars. That is, sections of toilet paper inner rolls buried an inch deep with at least an inch above ground. This has successfully thwarted the cutworms in the past. 

The little lettuce seedlings in front of the bigger lettuces in this photo are a variety called Tom Thumb, a mini-romaine. I'm eager to see them grow.

And now the cabbage white butterfly caterpillars are hatching. They've chewed on my tub broccolis. So tomorrow I bring out the sprayer and the Bt. Along with the broccoli, I'll spray the bok choy and Chinese cabbage seedlings, as well as the kale and collards. 

Tomorrow promises to be another beautiful day, so I'll be out playing with plants again.

A Different View

 Gardening looks much different for me this year.

It's not simply the "every year looks different in the garden" kind of different.

This is gardening in a different place.

I've gone from hundreds of feet of raised beds, established strawberry and asparagus beds, fruit trees and berry bushes, as well as established native wild flowers and other perennials, to a 60-foot long, 5-foot wide in-ground garden bed and 20-some mineral tubs for my vegetable gardens. I also have a few smaller containers and flower pots for vegetables, flowers and herbs on the porch.

I can't grow quite the abundance that I used to, but we'll manage.

So this is what my gardening looks like this year. 

A portion of the in-ground garden mulched with hay provided by a neighbor. We tilled this strip on New Year's Eve, a perfect thing for starting the new year. Right now it contains seedlings of kale, collards, lettuce, peas and radishes.

It brings me great joy to go out in the morning and look at all of the little green things popping up.

As usual, critters besides me want a portion of the produce. Rabbits started nibbling my peas, so I wrapped row cover around the trellis to thwart them. Cutworms took out some lettuce that I had transplanted into the garden. And unexpected deep cold  threatened it all. But these things are to be expected. Any little plants I stick in the ground from now on will get cutworm collars made from the inner tube of toilet paper rolls. 

In spite of all the growth in the garden, I'm feeling impatient. I want to pull some radishes now! I have made my first harvest. A couple of days ago I thinned kale (no matter how hard I try I always scatter the seed too thickly) and kept most of the thinnings as infant kale for salads, etc. Some of them were cooked with several kinds of wild greens -- garlic mustard, dandelions, nettles and cleavers. Eat your weeds, kids!

The other part of my gardening adventure this year looks like this:

These tubs and buckets contained my summer and fall garden last year, such as it was. Our landlady did let me use part of her small garden for my winter radishes once she dug sweet potatoes and cleared a few other things. Maybe she'll let me do that this year, too... if we haven't bought a house and moved.

I have tomato, pepper and eggplant seedlings I started from seed, but they don't seem to want to grow. I will repot all of them and see if that helps. Mystifying. Frustrating. Disappointing.

It hurts my heart to have them not thriving. Maybe I planted them in the wrong sign of the Moon. I haven't paid attention to that for some time because I do so much that I just plant when I have time -- at least that's how it used to be. I'll repot them all now, while the Moon is waxing. Maybe that will help?

If planting time rolls around and they're still tiny, I'll go and buy plants. I hope they have the varieties I want. I overplanted these summer plants. I only have room for six tomato plants in the garden, and I'm not sure I have enough room in the tubs for all the peppers and eggplants. Overplanting the way I do things.

Three tubs and one bucket contain five broccoli plants. It started as six, but a cutworm (which I could not find) took one out. Some tubs also contain an abundance of mini bok choy seedlings, and I have some tiny Chinese cabbage seedlings ready to plant in one of the tubs. For some reason I'm craving bok choy and Chinese cabbage. These will become stir fries and kimchi, as well as salad ingredients. A little lettuce is in a couple of tubs, and I planted radishes and carrots in two more.

I wouldn't have considered carrots in a container, but I read an article about vegetables that will grow in containers and it listed carrots as one. Nothing to lose. 

As usual, gardening is an adventure and experiment, as well as a learning experience. Only more so this year. I'm hoping for good results and a decent harvest. Nothing is guaranteed, though, especially with the changing climate. 

Hopefulness has to be an ingrained trait of those of us who garden. We're never guaranteed that our seeds will sprout, much less grow into healthy, productive plants. But we keep planting.

Keep on planting.

Seeds

On the Eve of the Winter Solstice I hosted a party for many friends. First we wrote on slips of paper things we did not want to take into the new year, like bad habits, unhelpful thought patterns, etc. Then we threw the papers into a fire. Since it was chilly and everyone was hungry, we hurried inside where I first gave everyone colorful packets of seeds I had collected from my garden during the past couple of years. Most of the packets of native plant seeds were handed out, so what I had left were poppies and black hollyhocks, as well as a few other things.

Winter Solstice through January and early February is a good time to do a bit of winter sowing. Many of the seeds, especially the native plants, germinate better when exposed to winter's freeze-thaw cycles. You can simply toss the seeds onto the soil. I have often done this with poppy seeds.

But if you're planting something you're not familiar with, or want a little more control over where things go, try "milk jug gardening." That way you know what the seedlings are, if your soil is not contaminated with a lot of other seeds.

A decade ago I did a post about this method. Just follow the link and start collecting  clear plastic gallon containers.

And just keep planting seeds -- seeds of Hope. But don't stop there. Hope won't flourish without it's companions. So plant seeds of Peace, seeds of Compassion, seeds of Love, Generosity, Kindness -- you get the idea. 

Don't just scatter these seeds  "out" into the world, like sprinkling fairy dust trying to get other people to change. These things won't grow in the world if we don't first plant and nurture them within ourselves. Peace won't grow in the world if we, ourselves, continue to be violent in words and thoughts. You don't need to punch people to be violent.

Compassion doesn't grow in the world if we continue to be judgemental of others.

Generosity doesn't grow if we do not give of ourselves (being sure we don't over-give, of course.

Take a good like in the mirror, dive deep into yourself. Are you harboring the traits you abhor in others? Could be, just in a different form.

So don't sit there wishing the world "out there" was different. Look inside and discover what changes you must make in yourself. The cliche "Be the Change you want to See" has real meaning. Don't expect others to change if you're not willing to.

Plant the seeds in your own garden first.

Light Returns

I lit the Solstice candle at sunset on Solstice Eve to capture the Light of the old year to keep me
through the Longest Night and extinguished it at sunrise today, as I welcomed the New Sun and 
the new year. 

Light is Returning.

The Winter Solstice, when the Sun reaches its lowest point in the south, occurred this morning. The Sun is now climbing again and daylight hours will grow -- incrementally, yes, but by the end on January the days will be noticeably longer. 

The Moon also reached maximum darkness on Friday, just two days ago. So between the Dark Moon and the moments before the Solstice we were in double darkness.

But now both the Moon and the Sun are on the increase. Light increases doubly, in both day and night.

The Dark Moon and the Solstice are times for release. We let go of that which no longer serves us, or perhaps never did serve. Last night I held a gathering of friends and we released such things into a fire, asking the Fire to take them and transform them into light. Old habits, old thought patterns, fears, doubts, insecurity were tossed into the fire. We released our hold on old relationships, old ways of living that no longer have purpose in our lives. The fire took these offerings and the smoke carried our wishes and prayers to the Stars.

Light is returning.

As the Moon begins to grow, as the new Sun rises on Solstice morning, we plant seeds of what we wish to bring into our lives -- Joy, Inner Peace, Health, Love, Compassion, new, beneficial habits and ways of viewing the world...

So I gave everyone literal seeds. I had collected these seeds myself from my old gardens -- last year mostly. I created little packets and stuffed them with the seeds for my guests to plant and bring in good things, manifest their wishes as the Light grows.

Light is Returning.

Let us plant seeds of Love with Compassion. Let us plant seeds of Joy with Love. Let us plant seeds of Compassion with Peace and seeds of Peace with Joy.

I honor the Dark, for that is where these seeds will sleep and germinate, in the darkness of soil. We find rest and renewal in the Dark. Dreams and Wishes germinate in the darkness of our inner world. Gestation occurs in darkness. The Dark has its purpose, so I honor it.

The tiny plant inside the seed must first crack the seed coat. That might be quick and easy, or it might take some time. I sometimes feel that a hard seed coat is between me and what I long for. However, that simply means it's not yet time. The seed needs the right amount of moisture, the right temperature. Sometimes it requires abrasion of the coat within the gut of a bird, or to go through a series of freezes and thaws before it can germinate and grow. That might mean we don't just wait for the right nourishment, but we must go through challenges before our wishes are ready to sprout.

Whatever is needed will come if we remain true to our vision.

What is your Vision?

What is your Wish?

What is your Dream?

Plant the Seed now.

Light is Returning.

Abundance

 Purslane grew all over my garden this summer -- huge, succulent plants. I plucked the tender growing tips a few at a time to toss into my salads. It is a highly nutritious "weed" as it is one of the few plant sources of Omega 3 fatty acids, which are great for moderating inflammation, among other benefits. One of the main reasons people take fish oil supplements is to get their Omega 3s.

The amount of Omega 3 fatty acids in purslane does not match the level in fish oil. You'd probably have to eat the entire large basket full of purslane pictured above to get one day's worth, but getting nutrients from various sources is always good. Besides, purslane is a free food that grows in your garden without you have to do anything, except not pull it. 

Purslane always grows in my garden, but i have never seen it in such abundance nor such huge plants. I wanted to find some way to preserve it for future use. Of course, I turned to online resources, as well as the book "Just Weeds." 

One recommendation was to dehydrate it, pack it in and air-tight jar, and later grind it into powder to add to food to boost nutrition. Purslane has very little flavor of its own, so it's a great way to add nutrition without compromising the flavor of the dish. Plus enough of it can serve as a thickening agent if the sauce is a bit thin. (So can dehydrated and ground okra.)

But I wanted to do something else, as well.

Why not ferment it.

I packed six- to eight-inch lengths of tender stems into a jar, added peppercorns, garlic and Thai chiles, maybe some ginger, I forget. Then I cover the purslane with brine (3 tablespoons un-iodized salt to 1 quart water) and set a jar full of water small enough to fit in the mouth of the jar without getting stuck to weight the plant material down so it remains covered wit the brine. (A critical key to brine fermentation is to keep the plant material submerged.)

A week or more later I capped it tightly and stuck it in the refrigerator.

I am delighted with the result. It reminds me of seaweed, not the dried sheets you buy, but miniature live seaweed. (I know, it's not pretty, but it's tasty and nutritious.)

I particularly like eating it as a side to Asian inspired dishes. Brine fermentation works for all sorts of vegetables, from the common cucumber to mixed wild greens. One of my favorites is winter radishes and purple daikon radishes. Red radishes stain the brine red and are gorgeous. 

Purslane is related to some pretty garden flowers, such as moss rose, and is one of the many "weeds" that are good food, often more nutritious than our cultivated fare. Next time purslane pops up in your garden, don't curse it, eat it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zbZ866s59M4

Perspectives

 Life requires me to make numerous adjustments these days, from changing the flow of preparing meals, to taking a different turn when coming home from town, to changing the place for my morning "prayers."

This tumble of rocks, likely excavated when the house was built, has become the site of my morning meditation. At first glance it seems like a weedy spot full of horse nettle, hemp dogbane, spurge, wild prickly lettuce, snow on the mountain, and other "weeds" I've forgotten the names of.

But I've come to love the semi-wildness of this spot that contains iris, as well as weeds, among the large stones. And who wouldn't love the beauty of Snow on the Mountain (Euphorbia marginata)? It shines here and there among the other "weeds", and stones, brilliant in the morning sun, the most showy thing blooming here.  The prickly lettuce and horse nettle are doing their best, but cannot compete.

It has made this spot a beautiful place. This tumble of stones has become sacred in the semi-wildness next to a large Eastern red cedar and other trees. It looks out over the horse pasture with a backdrop of a mostly oak woods.

In its semi-wild state, this pile of rocks seems liminal, an edge, a perfect place for my daily meditations, when I seek the edge. 

When I first looked over this spot I wanted to pull the weeds, to tidy it up... but now I think not. That would spoil its aura.

Besides, if I pulled the Snow on the Mountain, and other blooming weeds what would the butterflies drink from?

Silver spotted skipper having breakfast

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.

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.