Moving On

Fall is a time of reaping. There will be an abundance of vegetables to choose from, many to give away. Last year my community neighbor gardener set a box of veges outside her door for her neighbors. There is always the jokes about zucchini. There are the tomatoes and the methods of pulling and hanging a plant or wrapping green tomatoes and setting them on the window sill. In the weaker fall sun coming through the pane over the sink, the tomatoes will ripen. And then you have the vegetables that can stay in the ground for the winter: carrots, parsnips, potatoes. If you have a good potato crop dry them in the sun and rub off the dirt. Put them in a cool dark place in a bag. Light will make them sprout and turn green—of course the green is toxic. If you have grown pumpkins or winter squash you can wait for the first frost to move them to a place that is dry and will keep them for the winter. I had an upstairs landing once covered with Hubbard. Then there is the corn stalks to cut and tie in bundles and stack by the door, along with a scattering of pumpkins and you have a lovely fall arrangement. And of course acorn and butternut can come inside. If you've never had acorn or butternut halved and baked with almond butter and maple syrup in the opening try it. And then there is the squash soup and the leek soup and the potato soup and the carrot soup. Ahhhh!

On a different subject, I'm all moved. I have a locker with my furniture and boxes sitting there. I thought this would make me feel sad, but having it all there makes me feel secure. The folks were nice. It's a bit of a drive from the house, but I won't have to go too often. I was with my ex. It was difficult, for me, I don't believe for him, because he's clearly moved on. It is like summer, it has moved on. There is nothing to do about it. As far as the garden goes and my life, it is time to pull in and fortify. To rest and to heal. It's the way things go.

Cheers!

Flower

Slug it Out

Yes they are back. And this friendly rain we're having that folks are saying we need, that feels good, so gentle, so refreshing, cleaning the air, etc., is making the critters appear by the hundreds from seemingly nowhere. I once stepped on a banana slug in Spokane. That's my only experience of slugs in Spokane. Too dry. Here you can find a slug trail up the utility room door, across the wall and over a chair—yes I mean inside the house. They are everywhere. Where do they come from? Cat's fur, the tiny ones the size of a button cling when the cat brushes past, on your feet, boots, shoes, flip-flops, etc. And how do you get rid of them? Beer, boards, slug-patrol in the dark with a flashlight, slug bait, and iron. Now I don't want to mess with them eating the pansies or the lettuce, so I sprinkle around the iron pellets. I have always had cats as pets and when they were outdoor cats, I didn't want to use any poison in the yard. Still no poison—organic or bust. And when living sclose to the water, poisons of any sort join the watershed immediately and end up in the sound. So organic it is. Iron. Or beer, if you into going out every day and emptying a saucer of beer and slugs. Arugh!

Today is my day to drive south and begin the cleaning out process. I am tying up a 22 year marriage. Five years ago I knew I had to do something. It has taken me five years to complete the transition. I've read some books on divorce. Long term divorces are harder to unravel and do take time. Couples have money and houses and businesses and children together. Fortunately this marriage doesn't have children. We do have cats, and I left one behind. He is a Maine Coon with a crippled paw. He wouldn't have been a good cat to move, and the ex loves him. So it's okay. My new cat Sid is playful and protective. He's a good cat.

Okay, I'll end it here and get on the road. Yes it is raining, but my prediction is that we'll have more summer. So don't despair and do look out for slugs and if you have some light plastic, cover your tomatoes to keep them dry. My neighbor hooked an umbrella to the poles supporting his tomatoes. It was a perfect solution—just open the umbrella when it rained. Save the plump juicy fruit from blight.

Peace,

Flower

Zucchini & Green Fried Tomatoes

There are so many jokes about zucchini, I happen to love it and eat it year around. It is great sauteed for breakfast with a couple of scrambled eggs cooked into it. I add a little salt and pepper and some goat cheese. And of course there is the zucchini bread, the zucchini cheese casserole that my mother used to make, and zucchini pickles. I also have fried up green tomatoes at the end of the season. I don't recall that I liked them much. Sort of tart.

I also like to cook zucchini and tomatoes with chicken; on the stove top I saute chicken legs or thighs with rounds of summer squash, sliced onions, and tomatoes. By the time the chicken is cooked through the vegetables have taken on the delicious flavor of onion and meat. Add a little basil for an Italian twist. Very tasty. For more recipes see The Classic Zucchini Cookbook

Yesterday at the garden I talked to my neighbor and she told me about zucchini pancakes. They are a mix of grated zucchini, onions, eggs, salt and pepper, and flour. These can be fried up and put in the freezer. Then year around you can enjoy them. I would try making them with rice flour or with spelt, as I am gluten intolerant. My mother used to make potato pancakes with leftover mashed potatoes. I bet one could mix eggs, leftover mashed potatoes and grated zucchini and fry it in pancakes. Yum. Well obviously I'll need to make breakfast soon, as I'm pretty hungry despite my upset stomach.

Now for the garden of my life news: I'll be moving my furniture this weekend from my ex's house, a.k.a. my house. So after tomorrow I won't post until Saturday late or Sunday morning. I have a sick feeling in my stomach from all of this, a feeling that reminds me of my last divorce, how sick I became and stayed for a long time after we split the sheets. This one is more devastating in some ways, since our lives were very invested in each others emotionally, financially, and career wise.

I'm working now on trusting the universe, that everything is in right order, that everything is in place to take me to my next stage in life. Why not let go? I think I've discussed this before—well, how does it work? I mean, it isn't something that is physical, like taking the trash out, it is actually a mental and emotional process. Perhaps the why is because I'm so afraid. People say I'm the bravest person they know. Well you know that bravery is just doing things despite the fear. So off I go, moving through the next step, feeling like I'm getting ready to have a surgical procedure without being put under.

Wish me luck,

Flower

Garden Tales

While in the garden yesterday, I heard about a hydroponic solution that makes broccoli grown like crazy, and a local college that doesn't hire experienced writers, only those with degrees, and a weed in the nightshade family—I don't recall the name but it's not lambs quarters, that's not edible. Lambs quarters is edible and tastes similar to spinach. There is chickweed and sorrel and many other edible plants that most consider to be weeds, abundant for the taking in the garden. If the garden is properly rendered, weeds can live in peace alongside cultivated plants. Is this also true with people?

I'm going to say no, not if you want to be happy that is. I'm going to say that to have great love, one must let all weeds die away and open the heart to something greater—some beautiful vibrant plant that nourishes consistently. I've realized that my heart is a convenient heart, not a heart that risks great love. Why? Because, I was taught to catch hold of any branch that would hold my weight as I was being washed downstream. A skinny, half-hearted branch will keep you from drowning—it's the sturdy branch that will allow you to climb free of the flood. Of course one will catch hold of anything when in a state of panic. I forgive myself for this.

In the garden, there is no panic. There sometimes is the overwhelm of the gardener; it would be easy to call it quits when the soil is poor. I will not. There is a book Secrets to Great Soil by Elizabeth Stell that looks good. And my friend said to layer leaves and manure—and my neighbor suggested blood meal. I hope this doesn't come from letting blood. Remember those movies from junior high where the villagers let the yak's blood and then drank it. Right there in front of the poor yak. Yesterday I had my blood let by my ex and then he drank it right in front of me. He was smiling the whole while. I will no longer go near his village. Yaks are vulnerable to type of hedonistic behavior.

Anyway, I picked some nice tomatoes and a zucchini yesterday. I think I'll be getting serious soon about turning over the weedy spots and piling on the leaves. I have a friend who could give me leaves come fall, as the garden itself will have few. It is pretty open with the exception of the row of plum trees to the north, which will be ripening soon. What a lark. Fresh plums to dry.

Happy gardening,

Flower

Letting Go

I was reading this morning in a book called Radical Acceptance: Embracing Your Life With The Heart of a Buddha by Tara Brach, PH.D, and she said that if we pause when things are not going well and just be with what is going on inside, we can continue, perhaps in a different frame of mind. Calmer for sure, but also without running the show. Letting things unfold.

I am pausing right now, being with the pain I've developed in my wrist from overuse and also setting aside my fear of moving the rest of my belongings from the ex-house to storage here in town. What this means is my life there really is over. I'm so attached. That isn't the Buddhist way. Non-attachment is what one strives for. I'm new at this so have not much insight to offer about it. I do know that in writing if I don't try and don't think too hard, my writing improves by leaps. And with the garden, if I don't try, the weeds take over.

So how do we let go. Just move on. My ex once said he could move on at the drop of a hat. It was in a conversation after we'd moved to the coast from Spokane. I didn't know this was his modis operandi, I thought it was just a conversation—but I've learned that he has a way of turning his back on things, just going on without the other, even while in relationship. This isn't what I'm talking about, not this type of letting go. Letting go means being completely present with what is before one's eyes, with one's experience, both physical and emotional. It means to be like the garden.

Speaking of the garden, I'm officially announcing it is fall in the PNW and it is time for fall things to happen. Debbie of Rainyside Gardener said to cover my plot with leaves and then manure and next year my soil will be much improved. So I guess I'll have to find some leaves and manure and it would help if we were to have an Indian summer. I'm wondering if that name is politically correct, that perhaps we should be saying Native American Summer, which is when leaves turn orange and the sun is hot. It is delicious to be sure. And smells good with all the rotting fruit Is this something that happens everywhere? We had Indian Summer's in Spokane. But sometimes the leaves turn a little yellow and brown and the rains start and they fall and nothing, no more flash in the pan. Just let go. Watch it all unfold.

Okay, the alarm just went off and the grandbaby will be here shortly. So happy gardening. And happy life.

Flower

Dahlias

As I was flipping channels yesterday, I came across a gardening program that displayed a dahlia with a bulb the size of a wheelbarrow. This was one huge dahlia. The announcer said all dahlias come from central and south America. Here in Bellingham there is a dahlia society that has dahlia shows. More about the group at http://whatcomcountydahliasociety.org/

I think this is a strange hobby, since I'm the gardener that insists my garden be independent. Much as an Aries would have it, I guess. I treat my houseplants that way too. You're with me, you must be hardy. So I grow African violets, which I assume are from Africa. Do you know that you can root your own plants from leaves? It's easy. Just take a leaf and make a few cuts along the spine, where the stem travels through the middle of the leaf--then press the leaf over damp potting soil, anchoring it with some dirt over the stem. Then cover it with plastic wrap to keep it moist. It will root along the stem fairly quickly, and soon you'll have an additional plant. I've also just stuck the stem into the soil and waited, continuing to water well of course. And, be sure to use the African violet fertilizer. You'll get more flowers that way. And don't over water, as they damp off easily.

Back to dahlias. Dig the bulbs each fall. This is where I fall down on the job. I get tired of the garden right about this time of year and if I don't return until I'm out there picking chard and kale on a cold winter day, that's okay with me--well I have pangs of guilt, but my short attention span wins out. Today, I'm off to paint. I know I should be off to garden, but hey, there is only so much time in the day, and besides the rain is falling hard.

My friend Debbie from http://www.rainysidegardener.com/ gardens no matter what the weather is doing, but look at the name of her website.... What else would she do? She says it keeps away the winter blues, just dress warmly and go out there. Okay! Whatever!

Oh, I'm being a little flippant today. Must be my exhaustion of late. So I'll get a little better rest tonight. The rain quiets down the neighborhood.

Gulls

Here in the PNW gulls sit on roofs and telephone poles and boats and pickups, etc.. They eat dog food out of bags folks leave in the backs of their pickups while shopping for hardware. It's a sad thing, all that shat, not to mention the owner must buy another bag of dog food. Here at the condo, the gulls wake me early every morning. They sit on the peak of the tennis club, a big green building across the street. Sometimes they just soar in circles over the parking area, perhaps the air currents are good between the three buildings, I don't know, but while circling, down comes the shat. And what happens next is of course ruined paint jobs, especially if you are out of town for awhile, like my neighbor was one exceptionally hot summer week.

Always, I've been a watchdog in my neighborhood and report things that go wrong. Even the gull thing I've reported. Because, it was my belief that the big old birds were making a nests on the roof of the "C" building. This was never confirmed nor denied; however, it improved after my complaint. In Yakima, I called Woody the neighbor frequently, usually because his cows were out or because a hunter was walking the edge of my garden. I had sheep and goats and chickens and ducks, and I had a young child. So he'd say, kick em off and say I said so, so I'd stomp on out to the barbwire and yell, no hunting, blah, blah, blah. The hunter would get defensive and leave. I'd feel all jacked up, sort of proud of my territorial behavior.

Once a calf fell in the stream in the pasture out past the garden and couldn't get back out. Turned out it was sick. Woody had gotten a little tired of my calls, but since I saved his cattle he started to like me. Until one of his cows died leaning up against my fence just on the other side of the sunflowers. I thought she was sleeping there. Didn't have a good view of her, and then it was over. A quick death, I think. Actually many cows died while I lived on that mini farm. Also Mt St. Helen's erupted and there was a small flood. I had a pig run away and return home all fattened up and I sold two goats to a Mexican family who promised me they would eat them. And I sold vegetables out of my garden. It was a good thing, growing all those vegetables. And a good thing eating them too. And a good thing having a mini farm. I'd have one again in a flash. Condo living is for the birds, or gulls, whichever comes first.

Flower

Night Garden

In the night, the earth worms come out. If you shine a flashlight around, you can pick them up and put them in a coffee can. That's what my grandpa did. There was a little dirt In that can and it still smelled like Foldger's. Then we went fishing in the early morning, when it was still chilly, when everything was still, the water clear and dark because the sun hadn't come over the mountains yet. Perhaps the night before we'd been to the dump to watch the bears. They'd amble through the piles of trash and find things to eat. It was back when garbage went in the back of your truck, driven to some place off the main road. It smelled terrible, those dumps, those poor bears must have had belly aches. Now those piles are called compost. You can't savage them for relics but you can grow some nice soil with the help of earthworms. Their castings make for rich dark soil that can be put back in to your garden. And then in the night you can go out there and look at your worms, keep them there, unless you need a few for fishing. They are one of the best things for your soil.

I'm thinking also of the flowers that bloom at night. There are some white ones that seem to light up once the sun goes down and they are crazy with fragrance. I'm not sure right now what they are called, some morning glory perhaps. Anyway, in the night besides the worms, raccoons roam the garden. They've been known to scratch up the compost, so food scraps need to be dug in well. Also, cats and rats and coyotes. And perhaps a bear or two. Well, little good they do for the garden.

Fish fertilizer is good for the garden. I remember grandpa burying the fish heads and guts. Grandma had a nice strawberry garden. I don't recall that she grew any vegetables, but there were flowers and berries and we'd go out and pick wild things. There were the thimble berries and the huckleberries. She made jam, which we all loved to spread on the toast that was usually slightly burnt and slathered with butter. Well, it's morning. I don't hear the rain, maybe it finished itself. I do hear the gulls and I do need to get up and shower as the grandbaby is coming soon.

Happy composting,

Flower

Fall Cleaning

It is raining. It rained all night. There is something very pleasant about the sound of rain. It's sooths me in some ways, in other ways, when the fall rains start in the PNW, it usually means the end of summer. Yesterday at the farmer's market, there was an abundance of great tomatoes, many varieties. A delicious fresh smell in the air—tomatoes, berries, flowers. As I perused the tables of zucchini and greens and peppers, the sky grew very dark a nervous flickered through the venders. Finally rain broke loose and everyone scrambled. It was fun and wet. I had an umbrella with me, as I could see the handwriting...

This is a time of abundance, and at the same time, it is a time of returning to nothingness. I'm trying meditation with a mindfulness group—my intro being last night. I think it might help me get through the end piece of this divorce. My friend was asking me what the etymology of divorce is. This is what I found on Online Etymology Dictionary : 1377, from O.Fr. divorce, from L. divortium "separation, dissolution of marriage," from divertere "to separate, leave one's husband, turn aside" (see divert).

Turn aside, to divert. I think I was writing in my journal about water being blocked from a neighbor's property—it was in a movie. He was being forced off his land. That's the feeling I've been left with, although I think I'd say the love has been diverted—surely there will be another recipient for his love and my house, which I'll finish cleaning out next week. All is well that ends well, the saying goes. I'm trying to have resolution here, but he thinks I'm trying to keep him from being happy. That's interesting, because I think resolution will make us far happier in the long run.

What to do with the garden tools. I could bring them to the shed at the community garden. Mark them, so later I'll have them if I move into a little house. Or I could just buy new ones. There is nothing like a fresh rake.
Cheers,
Flower

Stormy Weather

A storm came through in the night, some wind, some rain, nothing excessive. I don't know about farther south. Perhaps south they got the two inches predicted. I thinking now about excess, because weather can come in excess, but what I have in excess is stuff. What I'd like to have in excess is vegetables, then I could give them away. And eat more, of course. But we're all prosperous in different ways. I am reading a book by Allen Cohen called <a type="amzn">Relax into Wealth</a>. My dad always said we're rich if we have family and love and pets and a roof over our head, etc. This is true, and cash helps too—but I'm pondering excess stuff when there is no place to put it. I'll pick up the rest of my belongings at the end of the month and put them in storage. Storage makes no sense to me. I think that if one doesn't use something, then get rid of it. On the other hand, I have family heirlooms that won't fit in my 525 sq ft condo. So there you go.

Well, back to the garden. Once I had a garden that was practically the size of a small lot. I had a rototiller and my hubby at the time tilled the thing. My father-in-law gave me advice, just plant things far enough apart that you can till between the rows. Of course my garden looked like my closet, crammed full of stuff. I don't think there was ever any tilling between rows. But that was a good garden and it was on a lot that had fruit trees and grapes, filberts and asparagus. I used to garden in my bathing suit so I'd get a good tan. When I met the neighbors they snickered about me being out there in my suit. I was surprised. I had no idea someone was watching, after all there was a hedge along the street and the entrance into the place was narrow, situated between trees. I wonder if they had binoculars.

On that lot I also had a small greenhouse where I started my plants. The planting bed had heat coils running beneath the soil, as Spokane is slow to warm up in the spring, so the little plants had nice warm soil to begin their lives. I had great cabbage starts and broccoli and cauliflower. I planted a bigger variety of stuff then than I do now. Of course there was a family to feed, now just one person. In fact, I confess I do more eating out than I ever thought I would. I could start a dinner club. Just move from house to house on different nights of the week, always a guarantee of a home cooked meal. Now there's an idea.

Happy Gardening,
Flower

PS That's the Angel Face rose, like the one I have growing in Kingston.

Fall Weather Front

It's fall conditions, the meterologist said. This is the type of storm front we have when the weather turns. The rain is back and thunderstorms. And the cool weather front--the good thing about it--the windows will be closed up and the noise shut out. Yes, even though living in walking distance to food and medical supplies, gardens and restaurants, book stores and clothing boutiques, gifts and flowers is fabulous and walking the great trails, walking places more often than driving, in fact, is good for health and the environment, but the village is noisy. I know, I already said that. So the rain to me means that I'll have more peace and quiet. And it means it's fall.

In he garden there is peace and quiet unless someone is rototilling. It is just off the beaten path enough to make for a little retreat. I never got there yesterday and probably won't today--but tomorrow, yes, I can. I will plant the kale, hopefully I'm not too late.

Today is a writing day for me. I have to get myself organized around my writing schedule once again. Summer is fun, and the break is good, but it's time to go back to work. Another gift of the rain for a writer, to go back to work. So more later, more about the work.

Check out the pictures from the garden, more dahlias. Very pretty right now, and the sunflowers are tall and splendid.

Ciao!

Trouble?

Now this is weird to consider, but when the garden is weedy, I feel like I'm going to get in trouble. Same with a messy house and disorderly bookwork. When I was a child it was dad ordering me to clean up, later the punitive party became God. Today, even the weather might be considered punitive. This seems pathological. Perhaps I should ride some different train of thought. No really, when I stand there looking at the pigweed, surely I'll get in trouble with some environmental agency for propagating a noxious weed—is pigweed noxious? And the bills, I just had a nasty run-in with the bank in regards to a mistake in my checking balance—what can I say? I went a little crazy the week I signed the divorce papers. And as for the weather, it is now rainy and windy—I couldn't possibly…?

My garden is a mess, I'm sorry. My bills are in a pile, sorry, My cat has hairballs, sorry. The car needs to be washed, sorry. I've been eating too much sugar, sorry! Okay, all right already. Last night the wind and rain came in. It had been sputtering distant thunder all day and the clouds were fabulous piles of blue/white cumulus bordering on those dramatic blue/black thunderheads my dad always pointed out. "Look," he'd say, an anvil cloud. And sure enough, there'd be the blacksmith's anvil riding the air currents. In Spokane, as a kid, we'd have heat lightning lighting the horizon and everyone would be restless. The room seemed small and the muggy air was hard to breath. Nothing moved. Sort of like the last few days, with the high heat and humidity in the PNW. The apartment seemed to shrink by 50 percent and the air, my word, it's not heavy—it's my.. Never mind. Sweat poured off me as I stared up at the ceiling in the dark. Moan! I didn't go to sleep until 1:30 in the morning.

When I returned from Spokane the dahlias were in bloom at the community garden. And there's a hollyhock at least 12 feet tall. Really, I'll show you the shot I took aiming up at the sky. Fabulous. And someone has rows of raspberries and the plum trees are so laden, the branches look like they could break. And the blackberries—lush! If every aspect of my life is like my garden, then I'm suffering from malnutrition, at least suffering a loveless life. Everyone says, love yourself, and I do. But what I think I don't know how to do is let someone in who truly loves me in return. I've for some reason picked the narcissistic personality to be my loved one. I love, nothing comes back. Oh it does come back in minuscule amounts, here and then, enough of a carrot to keep me going, I guess. But I'm tired of that, no more dangling carrots for me. I need a real meal. I need a lush garden with 12 foot hollyhocks.

Well, enough of this. I have a grandbaby coming soon and hopefully we'll get to the garden today.

Ciao!

Ciao!

Roses

I was telling you about the rose garden in Spokane at Manito Gardens and reflecting on the lavender rose I grew in Kingston--I've never gotten into growing roses, other than the climbing ones, but many people do. They can be a lovely addition to any garden, take the vegetable garden with the roses lining the outer edge facing the house--what could be lovelier. I visited a B & B in Squim and the owner's roses were being attacked by deer and they had them sprayed with a repugnant sulfur spray--rotten eggs. Now I'd rather not have roses if they smell that way. Anyway, here are a few shots of some lovely roses. Enjoy--Flower

Two Weddings and a Divorce

Is this some sort of joke, to watch my sister lovingly attend to the wedding flowers for the bride and groom to be married in Duncan Gardens? And then end delivering the flowers with her, seeing the bride and groom's "first look" and being moved to tears. And now, back home in B'ham and doing my friend's hair for her wedding this afternoon. And to put the chocolate icing on the cake, my divorce was filed in the courts on the day before the anniversary of my marriage. Well, perhaps it is all a joke. Perhaps that's what life is, one big joke that we take personally, react to in ways that aren't healthful, get bent out of shape about, as my dad always says. Ahhhh, carry on with a loving heart.

It is hot today in Bellingham--so hot people are complaining. Do you remember all the complaining the other way--when it was too cold, when the garden was sitting there shivering? Well, I suppose when I see my garden today, it will be a garden of Eden. Maybe there will be a miniture bride and groom winding there way through the towering pigweed. Maybe I'll have some zucchini to eat and a ripe tomatoe. Maybe I can thin the beets because they will be three inches tall.

Later: My garden is very weedy--and I do have zucchini and a couple of ripe tomatoes. The beans are still scrawny--probably will give up on them. But I'm getting a bit to eat: spinach and broccoli raab. Tomatoes and zucchini, not bad for such poor soil. I'll amend this fall--promise.

The picture is of the formal gardens where the Spokane wedding was held. Many people marry there by the fountain in Ducan Gardens. My friend got married at the Roeder House here in Bellingham. It was a lovely wedding and who could have asked for better weather? Nice.

I believe in marriage. I believe in love--I'm on a mission now to find my own. That was my turn around. Instead of pineing away for something that didn't happen, just make a goal to have the thing I want--a loving partner. One who likes to weed--ha!

Later,

Flower (aka Fancy)

Roses, roses, roses!

At my old house I planted two climbing roses that were super cheap, in price that is, from the hardware store. They grew into beautiful red roses, one with flowers a little more perfect--like the long-stemmed roses you find in the store; the other, more open and loosely petaled, an old-fashioned garden rose is my guess. Both smelled heavenly--like real roses should smell--a mix of different scents: orange, violet, gardenia. Then I put in a third rose, an expensive vintage rose called Angel Face. Purplish-pink with a wide blossom and full with lots of tiny petals. Again a luscious scent--although it hasn't grown well. Not like I anticipated, and it has remained there in Kingston--the garden another thing I've had to leave behind.

Once, in my sadness over the loss of my mother, I consulted a psychic. She said my mother was there to speak to me, sort of like that show that's on TV. Always the relative is standing right there wanting to chat a little, bring up primary concerns, set folks at ease. So mom said she knew about the pink rose I'd planted. I said, what pink rose? I hadn't planted a pink rose. And of course, the color is slightly pink, only really a little more lavender, and I was thinking of it as purple. Finally I just said, okay, I know the rose and she said she was sorry her heart hadn't been open to me. She could see how much grief it had caused me. I started to cry. Ever since, when I think of that rose, I think of Mom. Somehow it made me feel better about the way things went.

Yesterday at Manito Gardens I photographed many roses--I'll publish them when I return home to B'ham. The gardens are in full bloom, the formal garden is laid out basically the same as it was when we were kids. Lots of geraniums, pansies, marigolds, saliva, etc. There's a fountain in the middle and the paths leading too it. Lovely and formal. Many wedding happen there. I prefer the perennial garden. I like the looseness of the plants and the variety. I prefer it over the rose garden too, although I do have an appreciation for all the varieties of roses and their lovely scents.

Tomorrow I'll be back to Tony Hillerman as I drive across state. Bernadette is still gathering seeds I suppose. It will be hotter going across the desert, as it has ramped the temperatures this week. I'm doing my friends hair for her wedding on Saturday. I suppose the weather will be fine for her event. Funny, we're on opposite treks now, divorce for me, marriage for her. I still admire and support the contract of marriage, and hopefully one day will be wed again, or at least love and be loved by someone special.

Later,
Flower

Zinnias

My sister is a wedding florist as well as teaches floral design at the community college here in Spokane. She's creative and playful, has a mess of grandchildren, and like me, likes to read and write and garden and create. Today, she is collecting hens and chicks out by Geiger Field for unique wedding bouquets. She's at that place in her creativity where the standard bridal bouquets don't do much for her and the stunning creations she's making are full of interesting flowers, including unripe raspberries, zinnias she grows in her own yard, and the hens and chicks she's gathered. I'm proud of her and moved by her process.

I just returned from a walk at Manito Gardens where I perused with my Spokane best friend the rose garden, the Japanese gardens, the formal gardens and the park in general. As we strolled along the grassy treed knolls I thought of the winter nights sledding the hill as a child, the sandwiches at the Park Bench with my ex, which my dad said the building used to be part of a zoo. Imagine a zoo in a centrally located park in a small town. A cute town with old bungalows with wood floors and built ins. Ah, my home town. I miss it when I'm away.

So my latest understanding of life it not to be attached to the ups and downs. Everything changes--I'm happy, I'm sad; I'm on creatively, I'm off; I'm feeling strong, I'm feeling weak: I love, I feel indifferent. My friend Brenda was telling me that these polarities can be lived more evenly. This is a theory from astrology too. Coming from the middle position of the polar opposites. Well, I find it challenging--although I think I'm better at not thinking what is will last forever. That's called hopelessness.

My sister is preparing flowers for a wedding she's doing tomorrow. It's a small one and won't take much time--she works fast. This afternoon will include a movie and then later a dinner out. There will be more relaxing time and time with friends throughout the week. The weather is hot and dry, but not too hot. This is good.

Onward,
Flower

Cross State with Tony Hillerman

I drove from Puyallup to Spokane today, a 6 hr drive. Long drives go faster with books on CD and the drive across Washington state is 250 miles--that counts as long enough to listen to a good book. It was nice weather--sunny and not to hot. Usually the desert is heatwaving and the sage is cracking dry. I needed a little airconditioning the last trek of the drive, perhaps the last 100 miles through the golden grass fields. This evening I've donned a sweater. Back in B'ham I heard it was warm--ah, the old switch-a-roo.

Back at home, my neighbor gardener is watering the plot. She says it's easy because she waters both at once--no worries. The cat is being fed by a friend and it's down-time for the week. Sort of a rest and recovery week for this poor divorcing woman, who could easily see herself in the shoes of Tony's character, a young Navajo cop.

The cop is not so good on the job because she's more interested in plants, picking up seeds and -thinking about the environment where they're growing. I feel the same, place is important to life. And the state of Washington is full of unique landscape, scab lands, dry falls, canyons, plateaus, buttes, valleys, mountains, rivers, lakes, ocean, etc. It's a great drive, seeing deserts, the columbia, rolling Palouse, etc. And now, pine trees. Very refreshing, all this pine.

Tony's character is worried about the spirits that come off a dead person--so as a cop who has come across a body, this isn't a good thing. She now needs a shaman to get the critters off of her. Interesting. Maybe that would work with an ex.

More about the Inland Empire tomorrow. Stay tuned.
Flower

Fall Planting

If you haven't put in your crops for the fall, it is time to do so. I have on occasion put in a fall crop of peas. This year, I won't, but I have kale to plant yet, my idea being to have a nice winter garden, but something tells me it may not be the case this year. There is a good food coop here in Bellingham, and also Joe's Garden is a nice place to buy fresh veges, which may be my preference if my own garden fails.

There is another type of garden that is overgrown with weeds, and that is my mind, so yesterday I tried something new--meditation at the Zen center. I have been wanting to do this for a long time and with the demise of my marriage, what better timing for looking at impermanence than to investigate Buddhism. So I sat on a zafu in a peaceful room and watched my mind. I remember Ram Das saying to just watch your mind and whenever thoughts come, say thinking, thinking, because there is no judgement--you see. I like the idea of no judgement and teach that in my writing class. There is only what we've put down on the page, no more, no less. When I can keep this way of thinking in place, I do my best writing. No judgement.

Now if I could keep this in mind around my garden, that would be good. No judgment, no concern, no attachment. Either the garden grows or it doesn't. The deer come and go. The weather turns hot, then cold. Seasons come and go. Ahhhh, just relax into the changeable nature of the universe.

Last night I was sleepless again. So I read a bit of Bag of Bones, a Stephen King novel that I'm finding I can take of leave. But I've persisting now and then, reading a few pages, more from a writers standpoint than liking the story, wondering how he's building tension, how he's building suspense. Am I scared? no--not at all. My own novel has a degree of suspense, a degree of heart pounding curiosity, but not enough to really get the reader anxious and wanting to know more. So I thought I'd just see how Steve does it. Maybe another book of his would be a better example.

Well, off to have coffee with a friend. Then back to pack for Spokane, my hometown where the people are behind the times and tomatoes grow better than ever.

Peace, Flower

Cats and Cows

I've been a cat owner since I just out of high school. My first cat found me, a stray, sick kitten named Jude. She was a calico, with her colors muted and somewhat blended. Very beautiful, a great hunter—once brought home from the woods at Priest Lake a rabbit her size—and a good friend to me. She died when she was 18. Then along came Ozzie—also a great hunter. Now Ozzie loved the garden and when I'd turn over the soil in the spring, he'd grow excited. Once the new little shoots were an inch high, he trek out there and scratch in the soil—a wondrous potty box-- and scratch up all the plants. No matter how much I shooed him away, it happened.

So I'm passing on this invention to you—and it works—for cats at least. After you cultivate, plant your rows of lettuce or bock choi or whatever, and then break up a mess of sticks, just branches from pruning works, or they could be those little bamboo poles from the garden store, and push them into the ground every few inches along each row. I used the sticks from the pruning because there was no cost involved and I had an abundance of brush, since the wild vegetation grows like gangbusters around here. Now that the sticks are inserted, the garden looks a bit like a pincushion with 8" pins covering it and it works. Ozzie would just sit there looking at it, a disappointed look on his face. Once the plants are 3-5 inches tall you can remove the pins.

Now, cows in the garden isn't an ongoing problem, but if your neighbor grazes cattle right next to your yard, a whole herd can break down the fence and end up munching away in your bountiful garden of tomatoes and cabbage and lettuce and Jerusalem artichokes, and carrots. It happened to me and there they were and when I clapped my hands, they dashed this way and that, their weight just making huge holes in the garden, breaking down the plants, and not heading back to Woody's field. I had a friend who cut cattle and she said, you don't understand, you can't go straight at a cow. It's the way their eyes are, more on the sides of their heads than ours. She hurried over as they continued to romp through the garden, spooking as I waved my arms. I stopped, realizing that shortly they'd be stampeding. So she arrived and walked the perimeter calmly, coming in slowly from the back side. The cows shuffled and mooed and began to meander, walking the fence line toward the driveway and the road. It worked and Woody had them corralled in the field in no time. That was Yakima.

Here in Bellingham, I've only seen one cat in the community garden and it just ran off when I said hello. And the deer, I haven't caught red-handed yet.

Happy Gardening,
Flower

Back to Beets

If you have a slug of beets, why not can them or just mix cooked beets with sugar and vinegar and viola, you'll have a pretty tasty condiment for your salads. I used to can beets with sweet brine in a water bath; pickled beets they were called. We loved to eat the bright red slices plain or with salads. Here is a simple recipe from The Vegetarian Lunchbasket to try called Vinegared Beets": 3 cups diced cooked beets, 1 cup reserved beet cooking liquid, 1/4 cup cider vinegar. In a bowl, combine all ingredients. Marinate overnight.

Ugh! Marinate, marry-inate--yes I signed. Then I didn't sleep all night, feeling that great pressure on the chest that I can only liken to the ball and chain dropping to the ribcage after having returned the key to hubby. Sheez! But like everyone says, grief will have its way with you and then it will suddenly come to an end. And they say, take good care of yourself--so this morning I ate a chocolate doughnut and a cup of Starbucks coffee. That's caring, right? Well, probably there could have been better choices--but in a crisis, food does become a comfort.

You can also make a "Three-to-Five Bean Salad with a mix of honey, tamari, veg. oil, red wine vinegar and chickpeas, green beans from the garden, lima beans (also from the garden, and perhaps kidney and wax beans. A man gave me a sack of homegrown pinto beans when I lived in Yakima. They were the best beans I'd ever eaten. Maybe because he'd grown them, they hadn't dried as long as the beans we get in the store. They had more flavor than usual.

My bean plants have yellow leaves. Again I'm blaming the soil, but also, could have something to do with erratic watering. Sigh! Told you I'm a bad gardener.

Cheers!

Zucchini?

What to do with all the zucchini? Things get let go of, do you know what I mean? After awhile, the routine of doing things day after day, drops away. Maybe it's the routine of checking the garden excitedly to see if there is a zucchini yet, and then later, being satisfied by plenty of zucchini and forgeting to look for a day or two. Then comes a day when there are huge boats of zucchini taking over the garden and the remainder of the plant's energy is depleted. This must be a metaphor for something. A marriage?

Now back to endings. Do you all lose your energy or is just the Aries amongst us? It's great to start things, but when it is time to follow through--get a Capricorn, (my ex). Anyway, I was thinking about the trip I made to Mexico. It was March of 2006--and I'd just gotten the news. Maybe like finding out one has cancer, or a relative does, it was a huge shock to me to find out my husband wanted something different. Then began the process, yo-yoing at first, he was going back and forth about where he wanted to live and his @*%& identity. So I went to Mexico and sort of like the chick in Eat, Love, Pray, began devouring the shrimp sauteed in butter, the coconut drinks on the beach, the tortillas and beans, tamales, ahhh peppers--you know I said I was afraid of cayenne--well in Mexico I couldn't eat hot enough food. Did I say tequilla? I totally had a turn around the flavors I enjoyed. At a big indoor market, I ate the most delicious soup--a big pot with a whole chicken, potatoes, onions, peppers and this green funny looking vegetable that I can't recall the name. I will remember. So I came home and started making this soup. And eventually I changed from using the exotic vegetable to using zucchini. So that's it--chicken, potatoes, zucchini, onions, peppers, and simmer until tender in broth. Salt to taste. Oh, it is so delicious. Serve with tortillas.

So now, today, the attorney. My ex no longer wants to speak to me. This hurts like a kick to the chest. I feel hatred mixed with longing to have things okay again. I'm writing out daily affirmations and reading meditations. I must let go. Eek! I must.....

So the garden is wedded (when I proofread I'd written wedding instead of weeded) along each row. Not between, because my theory is, leave the weeds so the deer will eat them instead of the plants. I know the soil is deficient, because the pigweed is only five inches tall. What decent pigweed would stoop so low? Okay, enough.

Have a good hot day. Enjoy life. Feel the hurts. Create. Move on.
Flower

Summer Again!

Last night I had a meal out (Flats in Fairhaven) with a good friend who is off on Friday to England, and then perhaps Iran and Afghanistan. It depends on his visa where he will travel to, and since the visa didn't come on time, he will wait for it in England. I have a deep desire inside to be so bold, to muster my courage and fly off--perhaps to London or Paris, perhaps back to Rome. But really, I'm mostly chicken disguised as brave woman. And in the heat of the day yesterday, I was aware of my lack of bravery. Not that I have to be always on, always couragous, but to travel , pop off to some exotic place without a plan, without a partner, isn't for the faint of heart.

I admire all my traveling friends, which means to me that I will be traveling more, because anything I want I move toward, I begin to embrace by biting off bits of fear as I go. Fear transforms, I believe. I used to be afraid of dogs and living alone, teaching, and cayenne pepper. None of these things frighten me now, except living alone is lonely at times--but not frightening.

Lately I've been experiencing an interesting phenomena--a broken heart. I'm only calling it this because grief and the ache it imposes on the heart isn't named much in our society. But it is a real pain, both kinds, and results in a ache the size of a large saucer or small luncheon plate exactly placed over the heart. Now I could imagine a shield going into battle, much larger of course, but perhaps this ache is like a shield, only in my case, it's breaking apart, sort of dissolving under the pressure of loss. Whatever the case, it is a real pain, palpable and curious. Yes, I've decided to be curious about it instead of trying my best to get rid of it--it doesn't go away anyway, although I'm assured that it will with time.

I've sent for a book called Intimate Terrorism after reading an article by the author in Oprah Magazine. He was saying that one must not hope to be friends with the lost lover, because it doesn't work and it does delay the grief. Grief changes a person, for the better. It goes deep inside and empties out pockets of pain and transforms the individual. I'm trusting these words of wisdom. I will let you know more once I get the book what the steps to take are.

From my pathetic little garde I picked broccoli raab that went into my chicken dinner; the spinach became a nest for my breakfast egg yesterday; I had broccoli from the farmers market today in an omelet with goat cheese, and last night with my friend Peter, yams with aoili sauce and omelet of caramelized onions and truffle oil. Ooh wee, all is not painful

Ciao!

PS That's a closeup of my painting "Roots". It goes with the heart thing, I think.

Endings

And just like that I thought it was fall and I turned nostalgic, thinking of warm clothing (C. has on his navy-blue sweatshirt) and down comforters and hours and hours of darkness and good books and tea--and no mate. Not that I have to have a mate, I mean there are plenty of folks who seem perfectly happy living alone. I, on the the other hand, have been married most of my adult life. I believe in marriage, of cooking together, sleeping together, crying together, figuring out the tough things to get through, going through the births and deaths together. Now I must go it alone. Woman pioneer. And even though I have friends, the married friends infrequently invite the singles to the table. Why? is my question. Is the ending so obvious and painful in a single person that it's not a feeling to introduce it to the couple? Or is it some old policy, the matron, the old-maid, the...

But it isn't fall. The temps are supposed to surge into the 80s. More high pressure and I will take a trip to eastern Washington and get cooked to the bones. Hot! Dry! Spicy smell of pine pitch. And the garden--arugh! The beans are yellow, the spinach and chard munched off and two of the tomatoes--the other beans never sprouted. Arugh! And again the bright side--the spinach was fabulously delicious, as was the broccoli raab.

So a plan for the fall--when it eventually arrives, tons of manure. Now to figure out where to get it. I know I can't do the wheelbarrow work myself. I'll have to have it delivered. Or buy bags. Lots of bags of chicken manure. Once I used pigeon manure--oh it really stunk--but it really worked. I have a neighbor with chickens, perhaps I'll go knock on her door. Get busy amending in the areas that are lying fallow.

Okay then, do things end or just compost and make things richer. I'm voting for the second one. Things don't actually end, just change form.

Ciao!

Picking Raspberries

Two plots over from my community garden is a nice row of raspberries. I wandered along that row the last time I was in the garden and was drawn to pick and eat, of course, (who wouldn't be?) a succulent berry. When I was young this same urge got me scolded by Irene Grimmer, a neighbor, I was only five. I was playing with her girls in their back yard and too a break to forage at the fence, eating handfuls of berries. She called me to come and sit at the picnic table and to help her with the snap beans. Since I'm very obedient I wandered to the table and peeled the strings off the beans and snapped them in half. It was a big mess of beans all the kids and she were working on. I pouted the whole time because I was so thoroughly enjoying the raspberries.

So there I stood the other day, eyeing the berries, feeling slightly guilty as I reached to pick a rip one and pop it in my mouth. Ah, the delicious sweet and tangy and assertive flavor. I ate another and then another and then I got a phone call.

Cell phones in the garden, tsk, tsk. I usually take calls out to the perimeter of the garden, out of respect for the contemplative nature of the place. And especially since it is frequently the ex, which means an argument--most likely that is--although I don't recall right now what we spoke of. Probably my jealousy and anger over him ditching me for something greener.

Raspberry sauce on cream cheese, fresh raspberries with cream, raspberries on ice cream, raspberry lemonade. Ah, change the subject. Oh and the weather. Looks like we might have another cold day on our hands and a little more rain. The air has that chill in it and truthfully, folks are worrying about an early fall. I was awake in the night, not worried about fall, but worried about the zucchini that might be giants by now. They were just fingers the other day, but it has been a couple of days now. I will go by today and weed and pick. I should have a nice spinach salad with baby zucchini for dinner. I can eat with the sheep cheese I took to the wedding shower last night where we drank margaritas until they came out our ears and ate lovely barbecued chicken, sausage, shrimp, and scallops. The scallops were to die for. Oh, and the cake--what do you think the filling was? Raspberry--of course. A sweet filling between layers of tender white cake and a raspberry glaze on top of a butter cream white chocolate icing. Soooo good that I came home with a stomach ache. Just a little too much of a good thing.

There are wild raspberries and blackberries in the woods right now. The other day I picked my first blackberry. Perhaps this year I will put up a few pints of blackberries, enough for some jam or pancakes this coming winter would be nice. I have a recipe for rice flour pancakes that tastes great with real maple syrup, and they're nice and fluffy, for those with gluten intolerance it's a treat. If you are looking for recipes, try Gluten-Free Baking I find it easy and delicious to bake gluten-free.

Best in Gardening,
Flower

PS The pretty white flower has twined itself through the berries. Get rid of this pest, wild morning glory is a no-no.

"Hair Cut, Deer?"

I heard that if you leave your hair clippings around the garden, they will keep away the deer. So any time I'd cut hair, I'd spread the hair around the yard, try it out. I personally don't think it worked; however, a friend of mine swears that having her man pee the perimeter, would keep them away. Sort of a territorial thing, and it did seem to work. But of course it kept everyone else away too.

She had many rare and expensive plants she'd purchased at Heronwood Nursery on the Kitsap Peninsula. I haven't wanted to invest so much money in plants that might up and croak on me. And how could you sit out in a lovely yard and enjoy it with that stink?

Yesterday, on the way home from a meal out with a singles club--yes I'm getting myself out there--I passed two deer. One came up the stairs from the waterfront park, looked surprised to find itself on a busy road, then wandered into a neighborhood. The other was nibbling bushes in a pretty yard. I guy on a bike had stopped, to watch or to keep the poor thing safe from the hurling traffic?

There is always the Irish Spring, bars of soap hanging from trees. And less housing developments. They say deer are overpopulating our neighborhoods because of a lack of natural enemies. This is a sticky subject, some would argue differently, that there fine, and so are the bear and the coyotes, etc. And of course there is the late spring we had. It warmed up down here soon before the snow melted off in the mountains, so we have wildlife roaming our neighborhoods, looking for ripe berries and succulant leaves. I did see a deer in the mountains where the photo was taken, all that phlox and colombine and cow parsley. I found a book that might have the solution to nibbled greens, Deerproofing Your Yard and Garden

Okay then, it is gray and cold, but I will thin the beets anyway. I will keep up on this garden even though this is the time of year I get bored with it all. Champion on, garden goddess!
Ciao!