Tropical Plants on Your Patio

Well, we're a long way from warm weather plants, weatherwise that is, plants to sit on the porch and enjoy during the summer, and we're a long way from St. Vincent where my friend shot this lovely flower on a winter trip to warm weather and beautiful blue seas. My sister had a nice hibiscus plant she kept on the back porch and all summer it bloomed large orange blooms. Each day she had to pick off the withered flowers, as they come and go just like that.

Add to your vegetable garden with blooming plants.

Ciao, Flower

Inner Gardens

During the dark winter months it is nice to have narcissus and paper whites, fragrant flowers blooming in your home. My daughter said she'd buy flowers all the time if she could afford them. I'm proposing flowers all the time, because really, they are no more expensive than the daily latte—perhaps less. I passed a little garden store on Harris yesterday and she had a bench outside her front door loaded with pots of paper whites and cyclamen. Cyclamen are known for their romantic nature and if purchased for the bride and groom they will bring good luck for a long marriage.

Speaking of marriage, I've been single now for three months. Seems longer, actually. And now I'm facing with a new set of dilemmas. Dating comes with mixed feelings, multiple courters, chemistry or no, jealousies, etc. Ah, what's a girl to do? Perhaps stay centered with nature and the garden, always coming back to check on the water level in the soil, the weeds, possible animal and insect infestations. All could be metaphors for life.

Here is a suggestions for winter reading: The Care and Feeding of the Soul
Peace, Flower

Chameleon Tulips

You can still plant tulips, you know! And when you go to the tulip store or to the catalogue, say Territorial Seed Company, you'll find some lovelies you can order. I like Antoinette tulip, also known as a chameleon tulip. Get this, it blooms yellow and then begins to blush like a maiden—that's what the catalogue says—and eventually it turns salmon-colored. Very pretty both in the garden and on your table.

At my ex-house I planted the darkest purple tulips I could find--almost black. Next to them I planted yellow tulips. Ahhh, breathtaking. I have never grown the chameleon tulip, but my ex said (when I met him) that he was a chameleon—what I didn't realize at the time was that he meant it. He would be what someone wanted him to be at the drop of a hat. In my case, I wanted a loving husband that would be there, stand beside me, be playful, good cook, hard worker, smelled good, etc. What I didn't realize is all those years he was too busy for me was because it is hard to hold the form--you know, like the lizard people they say run the government.

Remember how on Star Trek the shape-shifter eventually lets go and returns to the slithering mass he really is. Well, the slithering mass of my ex is refreshing now. Why? You might ask. Because I couldn't ever get it why he was so testy and the look he always gave me—sort of a not-on-your-life look. But now, I'm divorced—free at last. And I have a legal name, got the drivers license changed and new checks are on their way. I'm good to go. And I don't have to interpret what is going on.

What is love really? I think I've been asking this question for a very long time. When I have my hands in the dirt and I'm focused on weeding around my vegetables, I don't think much about love. I just have this wonderful feeling of wholeness and goodness inside. Other times I'm wondering, can I love, have I loved, am I lovable? It's a tough one for me, and perhaps for others. I think the answer is yes to all of these questions, and the right guy will come along, eventually. I also have asked myself if I'm a chameleon. Maybe a little. But faking it doesn't last long for me—I'm not a good actress nor a good liar. Nor do I return to a shivering mass. I do blush like a maiden on occasion.

How about some tulip shopping or daffodil shopping for the holidays. Spring flowers are just so enlivening. Happy to see them push through the ground because it says spring is not far off. Here's a book to help you grow them-- Gardening with Tulips

Happy, happy,

Flower

Pretty Flowers, Ridiculous Beliefs

Isn't pretty a funny word. Pretty! Pretty flowers. Pretty girls. Pretty sunset. Pretty life. Well last night it was a grey sunset, and the flowers were withering, but I had a great evening with my friend Peter. Yes the leaves are blowing and in the garden, things are brown, bent, decomposing. This is the life cycle for plants and for animals. We are all going through this process together, kicking and screaming, looking for the fountain of youth. And what is the fountain? I think it is happiness. Despite the hardship, the fountain requires us to be happy. Bobby McFarren was right, Don't worry, be happy.

Last night we went the movie "Religulous", Bill Mahr's movie about religion. At the end he said, "Grow up or die!" I was moved by this movie, yes he can be course, but I thought he made a good basic point. So many of our beliefs, when pointed out as he did, do sound ridiculous. And we kill each other based on these beliefs. As a divorcee, I know that my marriage came apart because we didn't agree on things. Our beliefs were incompatible. Did we kill each other--no, but almost. Not physically, but emotionally.

What I mean here is, isn't it easier to be happy. Growing up means taking responsibility for oneself and accept others for who they are Here I am, closing in on 58, trying to get over heartbreak, and then this comedian says grow up or die, it hits home. It is my life--why not just do it as I see fit, and not worry.

Well, in the garden, I balking still. I'm embarrassed to say that my efforts to turn up the weeds lasted four hours. Other plots are weedy too--it's the nature of the thing. It is nature. Leaves will help the soil, I know this. The grandbaby and I will attempt gardening today--it would be easier if it were just out the back door.

Okay, be happy,
Flower

You Have to Be Strong

When you're married, you have someone there with you who's strong, who picks up the pieces, who wraps an arm around you and says, It will be all right. When you're single, it can only be your friends and yourself. And some say spirit; however, I've never felt the arm of God around me. Figuratively, of course, but not physically. This is what I want, a tangible experience of Spirit and of man—eventually, that is. Many people say they are atheists, and although I can't say what is really there, I do know that the earth is there in abundance, enlivening everything. There has to be a force to make this happen. And then there is the old heart pumping away. How does this happen, this animation, without some great force making it all in the first place? These are questions that ring inside of me, waking me daily to the awe of life, reminding me to be full of joy. Here's a book I'm looking at by Julia Cameron

The garden is difinitely full of joy right now. Beautiful colorful flowers: zinnias, dahlias, sunflowers, cosmos, and glads shout with joy. I have a bouquet of dahlias in my kitchen right now. There are lovely shades of red and yellow and white. So full, plump petals vibrating with life. My sister likes to squeeze flowers and ooh over them. She is in the right profession, a wedding florist. I like to paint flowers, so much color, so much beauty.

Last night I saw Garrison Keillor at the Western Washington Auditorium. He was completely fabulous, such a professional. Such a talented man. Present, listening, making connections as the show unfolded. It was truly an enlivening experience. There was a outward expression of Spirit if I ever saw one. I was completely taken. Now I have a book to read and will enjoy every word of it. My friends Kelli Russell Agodon, Brenda Miller, and Nancy Pagh went with me. We had a blast.

Okay , then, must shower and get on with my day. Be happy and smell the flowers.

Flower

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

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.

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

River Garden

A contemplative week in July and we're staying outside Joseph, Oregon at Wallowa Lake Camp. Wallowa Lake is nestled in some pretty dramatic mountains, one particularly large peak rising majestically at the end of the lake and East of the camp. To arrive here on time, we left at six in the morning from Bellingham. We had a few minor setbacks: we got lost on Seattle trying to get onto I-90; we were pulled over for exceeding the speed limit (and let go, phew) and I left my cell phone at home. The cell mystery (I'm never without it) sent me into a tizzy for at least half an hour. Honestly, I felt naked without my modern day connection tool. Once we both recovered, we enjoyed the drive through central Washington and on into Oregon, soaking in the mix of landscape, some more barren and sagey, some lush with orchards and grapes, and some rolling patchwork fields that perhaps influenced the Pendleton textile designs.

As you already know, my garden in Fairhaven is being lovingly tended by my garden neighbor, Peggy, whose garden is looking terrific, I must say. Mike will be back from his trip to California, so he'll be managing the section he's caretaking. He's going to plant beets—did I already say that? I haven't finished my garden room, nor have I strung string for the pole beans. But alas, the garden will be there when I get back. I need a break and a change of heart.

Fishtrap, where I'm not a participant, is a popular conference. Folks sign up before they leave for the following year. Since I'm here as a guest, I'll spend my mornings working on a revision of my novel, "Celia's Heaven". And since I need a vacation—not the sun and tanning and drinking and dining type of vacation, but more of the vision quest "vacation." Perhaps that's not a vacation but rather a vacating of my busy life so I can dive deeper into inhabiting myself. That's what I want, especially after all the disruption of divorce, the dickering with the ex, the meeting with the lawyer, and then the drawing up papers and show-me-the-money-meetings. And now what? That's my question. What do I want to make of my life during the next however many years I'm alive? What laws do I want to lay down for myself?

The tarot card "Command" from the Medicine Woman Deck proclaims me the lawmaker of my life. This is an interesting concept, me being the lawmaker for me. As a woman, I've been taught to think that others are the makers of my life and I'm to wait on them for decisions; I'm to wait to see what is needed of me, what is expected. But I can have a life that I make for myself—this is astounding in some ways. And freeing. I can decide when to sleep, when to eat, when to play, whom to love. I'm not on call 24-7. Sigh.

Back to Fishtrap http://www.fishtrap.org/. Brenda and I are staying next to a river here at Wallowa Lake Camp. It's not a large river, but it is definitely galloping past. I wouldn't want to fall into it, of course, but it a good reminder of what "Command" teaches. The flow is always there, always available for us to join with—or we can step aside and think we're doing this life on our own. Once I was told something similar by a spiritually astute person. "You cannot stop the flow," she said. If I cannot block it, then there is no writers' block, no artist block, no block to the abundance I can experience—and I believe this is apparent in the garden. Everything grows, dies, sprouts and grows again. There is a continuous cyclic pattern to life that never ceases. The secret to happiness then is joining the flow.

The opening talk to the conference included a quote by Rumi. Something about truth, and how only the telling of it will bring joy to one's life. Ah—there is relief in this quote.

Best wishes, Nancy (aka Flower)

Straight Eight

When I was a child my grandparents had a Magic Eight Ball sitting on the mantel in the living room of their green lake place. We, my brother and cousin and I, would ask to see it and Grandma would lift it down. It was a heavy glass thing with floating answers that showed up in the clear bottom when the ball was inverted. I'm a sucker for knowing the answers—in fact a psychic friend told me once that I wanted to know everything. And yes I do, mostly so I know how to plan my counter attack. I'm sure the spies went into enemy territory to gather info that was used for planning their next move. Anyway, knowing what will come next in the garden is tricky. Right now, my best guess is a few beans, a few Straight Eights, and a few tomatoes. I may or may not get many greens or much of anything else. But I haven't consulted the Magic Eight Ball. In fact, I don't have one—they still make them. They're smaller and plastic. Hardly the wonderful psychic ball we referenced as children.

I told you at the beginning that I'm a lazy gardener. And when I went to the garden today, I felt guilty that I didn't haul in chicken manure for those Straight Eights I planted. I just run out of steam, what can I say? I get so excited when it's spring and the weather shows promise. And then all those lovely seed packets filling the racks, how can anyone turn them down. Now I'm remembering the cute child's seed packet I bought for the grandbaby when I bought the rubber duck watering can. It's still in the car. So I'll take him next week to the garden and let him plant seeds. I won't see him this week, as he's out of town with his folks river rafting and generally raising a ruckus. Well, the baby isn't river rafting, I did clear that one up on the phone earlier today. Sheez, I worry about the plants and my child and my grandchild, and…

Gardening is like housecleaning, you just keep straightening and straightening, etc. My neighbor will water my garden for me while I'm out to town, also this week, raising a ruckus in Joseph, Oregon. I'll be with a friend who will be teaching a writing class at Fishtrap Lake. I'll be working on my novel, and getting some swims in and some hearty hikes. Which reminds me, I need to find my bathing suit. When I was a child, and we turned over that magic eight ball, I'm curious what my questions where. One might have been, "Will I ever see my father again?" And the answer would have been no. Or the question might have been, "Do we get to go swimming soon?" or "Do we get ice cream for dessert?" Now I might ask, "Will the tomatoes blight this summer?" Yes or no? No!

Ciao!

Cut Flowers

One of my neighbor gardeners lives across the alley from the community garden. In her front yard, facing the street on the other side of the block away from the garden, she has a wooden slate table with an large umbrella beside it set up next to the fence. On the table sit two vases with bunches of cut flowers, tied with ribbons, cut from her garden plots displayed in them. Mind you, she has several plots and lots of flowers as well as vegetables resulting from her green thumb. Some folks have two plots, others more than two. Some folks have been gardening these plots for years. I have one puny-soiled plot that looks more like a desert than her lush rain forest plots—but I don't want to get into any negative downward spiraling thinking here, so I'll focus on those flowers of hers.

These bouquets are similar in size to the large bouquets you see at the grocers, only these fabulous bunches of flowers are far more wild and beautiful than the symmetrical bouquets from Haggen's. They include peonies, roses, grassy blades, Canterbury bells, snap dragon, and lupine. I've found myself standing in front of this funky little flower stand more than once. I've also taken to having fresh flowers adorning my house, and since my garden hasn't gotten dressed yet—lazy thing—I've been purchasing them from others==such as my neighbor. My neighbor gardenist sells her flowers from $3-$5 a bunch. There's a tin for the money. It's the honor system. There is also a plastic stand of cards with garden photos attached, and yesterday, a tiny vase of nosegays of lavender.

This type of life seems quaint to me: children running about, flowers being cut by a young woman wearing a sun hat, cards being made in a breezy evening living room while cookies bake in the kitchen oven. I'm so sentimental. I could live this life, easily. But then I'd have to be the granny knitting in the corner while the rest of this unfolded around me. I'm not ready for that. I'm imagining me fit and tanned, tending a glorious garden that draws crowds of garden lovers—but then I'll need to hire gardeners to keep it, so never mind.

Well, today is the Fourth. It was a quiet night, I know this because I drank too much coffee yesterday afternoon and was up until the wee hours of the morning. Today, I will picnic and watch fireworks—spend time with friends. It'll be swell. Tomorrow—clean house and get ready for a trip to Joseph, Oregon, leaving with my friend, Brenda, early Sunday. Hi Brenda! We'll be taking some fabulous hikes, hopefully one to see Hell's Canyon, grander than Grand Canyon the guide book says. And the weather will be great. Yeah, rest and relaxation.

My neighbor gardenist will water my garden, and all will be well in Fairhaven.

Happy Fourth!