Fall Already?

Wow, what's with this cold weather. Today, the sky is gray. Really, it feels like fall. When I first moved to the PNW someone told me that you never took the winter quilt off your bed. This is an exaggeration, as there are plenty of hot nights where the air is so still that the house doesn't cool down. Living around water, though, there is usually a breeze. And when it's hot for a long period, the heat, or high pressures systems bring in the cool marine air. I always like to say that, cool marine air. When I was growing up in Spokane, we never said, cool marine air, we said things like muggy, heat lightning, triple digits. We had to stay indoors when it was too hot and take our salt pills. The vegetables, as long as they were watered, grew like maniacs. Here, I can go without watering, because there might be a sprinkling of rain, like last night, and then today, I can let it go. Conservation.

Today, it feels like fall, sweatshirt weather this morning, rain coming in later tonight. I won't water today. This is the kind of weather that makes the powdery mildew grow, the plants that are susceptible to blight and rot, will succumb. Maybe the tomatoes won't make it, although at the farmers's market yesterday, there was a whole table of brandywines. So lucky. How do they do it. Ho hum, what a poor gardener I've turned out to be.

Next week I will sign the divorce papers. I guess that's been more on my mind than getting a fabulous garden growing. I should give myself some credit, there's plenty of spinach and some very nice lettuce that will be ready soon. Oh, I almost forgot, zucchini is on it's way.
Ciao!

Full Moon and Dear Deer

Some folks plant by the moon—or they fish by the moon, or cut hair by the moon. Things started during the new moon, or the beginning of a cycle, should be fully actualized by the full moon. That's when the energy moves begins to move back toward darkness, or the balsamic moon, no moon. Some compare the balsamic moon to the seed resting beneath the soil, just waiting for a little light and moisture and heat to sprout and then the cycle begins again.

Tomorrow is the full moon. As far as my garden goes, I think there is no evidence that what I have been doing corresponds to the moon cycle. One thing I did do because the rules say to it, is weeded around the spinach. And yes, the dear deer came and helped herself. See what I'm saying here? If I'd left the pigweed, I would have fooled that deer. No going back now, once a weed is picked, vamoose, gone. And so is the spinach. While I weeded there was a large discussion about artichokes, which you can see are doing very well. So are the blackberries--it's all the water we've had this year. Lush or luscious. Good for jelly this fall. And pies.

People bring lots of pies when someone dies. It's kind of them. There is always plenty to eat. And then later, say today, which is the anniversary of my nephew's death, there is no pie, and no one saying, how are you doing? Life goes on, and it does. I once read that Freud said anyone can get over the loss of a loved one. But then he lost his daughter. Then he changed his mind. He said, we never get over the loss of a loved one. When I was two, my father went away. I never saw him again. I believe Freud is right, that pain is alive in me and wakes on occasion, calling out for people not to go. It's interesting that this full moon is Cancer/Capricorn (my ex) and also the opposition in my chart that represents my sense of home and my sense of authority. I'm feeling the meaning of both of those qualities heightened in myself today.

In the garden, there is freedom. Maybe the largest sense of freedom—all these plants doing their own thing. They sprout or don't'. They bolt or don't. It's up to them. Well, and my care. Or if it is like the doctor who wrote One-Straw Revolution, maybe it isn't up to us. Maybe all of this is designed by a larger force. All of this growth or no growth, construed by a big hand who knows more than all of us do, individually and collectively.

I'm lying in bed writing this and a cool breeze Is blowing across my skin. It feels delicious. It wasn't a good night for me last night, as my divorce is close and there are still details to work out, and really I still love my ex. That makes it the hardest thing of all. I must either keep my heart open, or close it down and be cold. Which in the long run will serve me the most. Keeping it open, I think, despite the pain it is causing me. Then the grief will completely move through me and be gone. Then perhaps I can think of Freud as wrong, we can get over a loss.

I have a confession. I still haven't planted the beets. I can't believe it is so far into the summer and my garden is so puny. Fertilizer. I will take care of it eventually. Right now I will indulge my heart—for the good of my future. Having no divorce leftovers will be good, because eventually I will love and be loved by a partner again. Hopeful. Maybe I'll eat artichoke hearts today.

Ciao!

One Straw, One Camel

Remember that one straw that broke the camel's back, or the one little thing that pushed you over the edge. Well, I think gardens are like that. There are things that work out and there are things that don't. Some of the plants do well, and then a stressor comes along, and everything goes south.

My neighbor said she thought my spinach was doing better than any of the other gardeners's spinach--which is bolting. And she said she thought it was because it was growing in the weeds. She had a look on her face like she was telling a secret on me. Yes, my weeds are growing just fine, thank you very much. And they shade the other plants, and draw up nutrients from deep in the ground. They also do good for the plants that the deer seem to like the best, they are hidden from view.

She told me about the One-Straw Revolution theory, which keeps weeds and plants together, because that is the way it happens in nature. I'm looking into this, as I've not read about it, but why pull all the weeds and clean the dirt between the rows and then mulch, when the weeds act as mulch anyway. Well, I'm not going to argue the point as somehow I think I will lose. But weed or no weed, I've gardened this way since I was young.

If you look at the pictures you'll see that the spinach and chard is growing and so is the squash. I'm happy, that's what counts.

Ciao!

Thunder & Lightning

I dropped by the garden yesterday and while I was watering the tomatoes, the wind came up. In the distance I heard the rumble and could see the cumulus tops of the anvil clouds building just past a patch of thickening clouds. The tops were catching the setting sun and had turned pink. I felt so charged up—like a pacing animal, buy the wind and electricity. And later after I got home, more thunder and then a brilliant light show--flashes of lighting forking out, reaching across the dark night sky. Wow, it was fabulous.

My mother always told me to never leave the windows open during a thunder storm. There is a possibility of lighting coming in an open window. She also said that a ball of lightning rolled through her house once when she was a child growing up in Virginia. Now that would scare the pageebeew out of me and I'm guessing it did her, since she was so afraid of storms. The windows all slammed shut as soon as the wind started; I swear she sat in a corner holding her head.

Anyway, out over the Grangeville prairie along the Clearwater river, a big storm came through when I was a fire tower attendant in the 70s. It pounded the prairie with bolts of lightning and continued moving toward us, up the mountains toward the Corral Hill. I was frightened. The forest was catching fire with each strike and flames were blocking our exit route. Then as it started to pour and it poured all night. All the fires were put out.

A guy got struck in that storm. He came to see us on the tower later, when he'd recovered some. He said he felt like he'd been beaten up in a bar fight. Huh, guess cowboys know that kind of thing. He was walking along a fence line when the strike came up from beneath the ground. I still don't understand how it works; it's a si-fi kind of thing and I like it.

As for the garden, Mike had dug up an area within my plot for beets and it looked better than the rest of the plot. The woman next door was watering and when I said, doesn't it look great, she looked at me and nodded reluctantly. Really, I must get some manure on this garden. I know that will improve the look of my puny plants.

Ciao!

Chilly Today, Hot Tamale

I love tamales and I love to grow corn. However, in the small plot, corn isn't worth planting. It just takes up too much space. When I was a kid I loved how the Hopi's planted corn. They'd use a stick to dig holes in the ground and plant the seed in little mounds. There were always several seeds dropped in the hole together. And there'd be song and dance, too. Some special prayers to encourage a good crop. The planting was special, because it wasn't a given that a good crop would come. Once the crop had grown and the corn harvested, it was ground into flour between rocks and then baked into tortillas. I love this; I don't know why, I guess because it is so reverent. The corn was treated like a special friend.

So when I used to grow corn, I grew Candy Corn. It was very sweet and I loved it. I grew it in long rows. I had a good crop with big ears. Now I'm allergic to corn, well according to my naturopath, that is. I'm not so sure about this, but have been laying low where corn is concerned. I also have a wheat allergy; many folks suffer from these intolerances. I've heard that it is the way wheat is stored that makes it hard on the gut. There are molds that infest the grain as it is stored is silos. Whether or not this is true, I'm not sure. One thing I know for sure is that a lovely slice of homemade bread slathered with fresh strawberry jam is almost worth the reaction. Notice I said almost. Well, one can be satisfied by other things. Like spinach grown in the garden, or happy tomato plants. Or a tuxedo cat curling up next to me as I write in my blog. For more great shots see http://sidthetuxedocat.blogspot.com

Spinach and the Space-Time Continuium

Hey, hey, hey--the sun is out. I spent a couple of hours over there today, and I feel great. I planted spinach and kale. I'm keeping with the cool weather crops because it's supposed to cool down again after today. I think this might be the summer that wasn't. People are calling it Junuary--ha, ha. We've had other summers that have remained cool and rainy all summer--but I think this one is record cool so far.

Now for the space-time continuium. We're always traveling in time, to the past, to the furture. It is rare that we stay in the moment. This is one of the things I've been practicing, staying in the moment, for some time--and the garden teaches this. I think it does because it is closeup and immediate. In writing the immediacy of the scene keeps the reader present and focused. In life, we daydream about what could be or what has been, we skip around in time a great deal. If all our experiences are piled up like a shish-kabob, then perhaps we can time travel and at the same time be present. I'm experimenting with this theroy.

Now for Findhorn--I went to the site to sign up, and things got a little confusing. I'll go back adn look again, see what I did wrong in the sign-in process. I have had two friends who've visited Findhorn, and I'm so interested in that place. So when I know more, I'll let you know. As for nature spirts, I only saw the one in the photo.

Ciao!