When God's Face Is A Technicolor Zinnia

In ways familiar and comforting the Earth has tilted just so these last few weeks. 

At times, I have stood quiet, feet planted still, eyes peering into the woods just across the way. The barren tree limbs—skeletal and brittle, worn from a winter long and brutal, bark stained ebony against the leaden skies—they began to pulse. And deep in the hidden places, there was a quickening, a return to life.

I watched as naked branches swelled with promise, and like outstretched hands with fingers unfurling, the tips glistened as they caught the deeper shafts of sunlight. Their buds, like strings of pearls, gave way to festoons of leaves and in a twinkling, the woods were suddenly verdant and alive.

The seasons of the Earth, they are saving me these days.

+++++++

The rest of my words can be found today over at SheLoves Magazine. Join me there by clicking this link?

How hope runs deep

Yesterday I spent the entire afternoon weeding.

I haven't weeded since June.

It just seemed silly to me to pull up things that were already dead. And so, I just left them there. For months.  Scattered around like errant bowls of dry corn flakes, they blended in just fine with the nearly dead perennials.  Everything sat around all summer, wasted and spent.  And brown.

And then the rains came.  First, the angry storm that blew in atop winds from the South.  It burst through our creaky and split threshold like a loud uncle that walks too heavy and has leaves stuck in his hair but everyone forgives him because hides doves in his pockets.  And I rejoiced with sweet hallelujahs on my lips, for truly this was a miracle, this rain.  But secretly, I was still thirsty.

A week later and another rain.  Fast and furious and gushing buckets, this rain baptized the world anew.  Finding every crack and crevice that harbored dry dusty dirt, it flushed it out.  Every stone was turned.  Every limb was tested.

Then Saturday dawned, crisp and supple, and I sighed in spite of myself.  I began to remember that there is a time for everything and there is always this turning, above and below, and it has a cadence and a wisdom that exists apart from me.

I witnessed the miracle of how spirit breath and holy water can bring the dead to life.  All around, green buds burst out of the nothingness and sang.  And for the first time in months, I needed to weed.

It took all afternoon.

I pulled and tossed and wiped my brow and felt the sweet autumn sun on my shoulders.  And I began to see.  When there has been a time of barrenness, a time of burning fire and then dead air, a time of nothingness, the roots of established plants want to let go.  They want to hand themselves over to the siren song of death, give up their ghost and just.let.go.  But they are image bearers and as a result their very marrow hums with creation's song and they unconsciously continue to reach for life.  Deep below the surface, in the dark where no one sees, there is a groping.  Up above, where their fruit should be, they parade as dead.  But underneath, where the shadows reign, they are still hoping.

And then that blissful rain falls and quenches the profoundest thirst and now the surface begins to communicate with the deep and there is an understanding.  My flowers, the ones that seemed dead before, they've come back to life, above and below.  Those roots remember their full purpose now and they pulse.

Now there are weeds and I must pull them.  Out.

My hands plunge and scoop and toss and dirt flies and I know.  That we all come from this dirt.  That we are human because god took this humus and pasted it together and breathed life into death.  And although the weeds have found new life, so too, has the beauty.  It was joined with hope all along.

{On, In, and Around Mondays}

kaleidoscope eyes

are what I want for seeing

all of this each day


 


linking up with L.L. Barkat for On, In, and Around Mondays

The Real Value of Food

It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a homegrown tomato. ~Lewis Grizzard



I've been spending a lot of time thinking about food lately.  Not in a gluttonous way, mind you.  Rather, as a kind of spiritual practice, really.  The famine in the horn of Africa has been haunting my quiet places ever since I first saw these pictures and I can't shake the feeling I get, deep in my non-starving gut.  The never ending questions have frothed up from somewhere beyond deep within me and I've struggled to know how to move forward.  The most paralyzing question is the one that I always end up landing on and getting stuck in: "How can I continue to go on living my life of abundance here when I know that so many are suffering there?"

I mean that with all seriousness.  How can/shall/do I go on?

How do I, as a follower of Jesus, reconcile my entitled existence with the suffering of others?

What am I supposed to do?

As much as I know nothing, I do believe this... the Spirit of the Living God, the One who breathed me into existence, is breathing something else into my deepest places.  His whisper tells me that what I can do

nay,
what I must do
is this:

share what I have.

Although there are many voices within that want to say, "go there! be among them"

I know I am here, for now, and this is what I must do.  share.


We grow some of our own food.  We also had big dreams of being more self-sufficient when we first bought this place.  Those ideals have been greatly humbled by the sheer magnitude of that task, even though that is the very thing we expect those who are starving half-way around the world to do.  Be self-sufficient. 

But we lean on.  We learn more each year and we do what we can.  I know, though, that we could do more and I am living into that understanding.  To grow your own food and to divine all the multitudes of ways to store and preserve that bounty is a process.  And we are such novices.   
But then we have met others who share this desire.  Those who grow children and food and hope.  Those who knead life and prayers into their daily bread.  Those who love their animals and respect and honor the gift those animals share with the farm.  Because isn't that what all of these are, really?  Gifts.
 
So we enter into relationship with folks and animals and life and wonder.  We try, as much as we can, to choose the gift, rather than the trinkets offered everywhere else and as a result, we enter into a sacred place.
 

"You mustn’t wish for another life. You mustn’t want to be somebody else. What you must do is this:
'Rejoice evermore.

Pray without ceasing.

In everything give thanks.'

I am not all the way capable of so much, but those are the right instructions."

--Wendell Berry

We are trying to learn the real value of our food, to better understand what all went into the very food we put in our mouths. 

Understand, though...we are but novices.  We are still, very much, Americans...the majority of whom rarely think about their food, much less sit down to enjoy it.  We don't always make the virtuous choice, the humble choice, the sacred choice.  We still sometimes eat to satiate some other hunger rather than to celebrate the gift.  But we stumble on...reaching...hoping.

We strive for the relationship, the connection.  Because that's when you can't help but share.

(bread by Renee's Breads and milk fresh from a cow named Chocolate at Full Plate Farm)

 

And so I continue to count the gifts:

--a weekend full of being together, listening, laughing

--so many colors in the garden right now and a surprise vegetable, courtesy of that beloved compost (maybe something a chicken ate and passed on as a gift?!)

--a string of ruby peppers hanging in our kitchen, drying, waiting to add needed warmth to winter stews

--sharing the gift with our chickens...oh how they love our offerings of rinds and peels and seeds

--how the chickens give us gifts in return...beautiful eggs in varying shades of brown

--swirls of cinnamon that make the kitchen smell like home

--milk with full on cream that is living and breathing and "tastes like grass", according to August

--the hard lessons learned through chores that bend and shape and make little boys stronger

--sitting around the fire circle on a Sunday night, listening to owls and figuring out where North is and talking about what will become of the Earth

--falling asleep with a book in hand

 

 

This Organic Life

I've been thinking a lot lately about organic living and how, for me, it is so much more than just the foods that I choose to eat or the chemicals that I choose to avoid. It's inevitable, really, this organic life.

I couldn't get away from it when I witnessed the arrival of the cicadas earlier this summer. When they covered the grass beneath my feet, emerging from some deep hole within which they've remained hidden for year upon year and I fell asleep to and woke to the endless wooshing of their wings, rubbing together endlessly, as they sought out their mates.

But then, almost as quickly as they arrived, they left.  In spirit, that is, because all around they left reminders of their presence.  A mini foreshadowing of a rapturous exit from this world.  One day they were here, the next, no more.



And then, there is the garden.  We got started much later than is reasonable this year.  Delayed by the seemingly endless Spring rains that made tilling and cultivating impossible to do well,
we waited. 
And waited. 

When others were already starting to harvest their first yellow squash or zucchini, we were just beginning. 

But we were armed with something different this year. 

Chicken manure. 

Like a slow, magical brew, it has been cooking for over a year.  Chicken waste is too strong to use straight from the coop.  It must be tempered by time and patience.   As it sits in its pile, quiet and unassuming, a mysterious thing is happening deep inside.  What was once waste begins to cure.  Temperature and moisture and air dance together in a mystical trinity, working together for good.  What it becomes is like gold.

 Into this pile of what, in another setting, would be considered trash, waste, crap, we boldly place our seeds.  We do this because we believe that good will come of it.  We do this because our experience has shown us that there is promise in the pile.

Even though every year that we work this soil, more rocks make their way to the surface, as do other remnants of life gone by, the fact that we have this pile of gold dust to mix in makes all the difference.
It doesn't matter that ugly things have been hidden here.  It doesn't matter that others didn't care for it like we would have if given the opportunity.  It doesn't matter that this dirt didn't produce anything for years.  We are allowed access to a miracle. 

A miracle that testifies to an impossibility:  from death comes life.

"...where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace..." {2 Corinthians 4:16, The Message}

I couldn't help but smile when I traced my finger through the soil to make safe havens for my seeds and I came across cicada shells in the dirt.

...from death comes life.

So now, our seeds have transformed into plants.  The tomatoes reach upwards, guided skyward by strings that assist them towards the sun. 

Now there is fruit.

Thanks be to God.

"For if you go poking about the world, intent on keeping the candle of consciousness blazing, you must be ready to give thanks at all times.  Discrimination is not allowed.  The flame cannot gutter and fail when a cold wind whistles through the house.

Thanksgiving, thanksgiving.  All must be thanksgiving.

It took thirty-eight thousand Levites to give thanks to God in David's day; every morning and every evening the shifts changed.  Four thousand were needed just to carry the hacked carcasses of cattle, and another four thousand were needed to sing about it.  The place reeked of blood, was soaked in blood.  The priests stood around gnawing and chewing and giving thanks.  They did not cross-stitch their gratitude on samplers to frame and hang on the wall.  They wrote their thanks in blood on the doorposts every day.

Thanksgiving is not a task to be underaken lightly.  It is not for dilettantes or aesthetes.  One does not dabble in praise for one's own amusement, nor train the intellect and develop perceptual skills to add to his repertoire.  We're not talking about the world as a free course in art appreciation.  No.  Thanksgiving is not a result of perception; thanksgiving is the access to perception."

--From And the Trees Clap Their Hands, by Virginia Stem Owens

And so I continue to count...

--breezes that cut the blazing heat

--the rumble of thunder that tells me that it is raining somewhere

--boys that turn 9 and still want me close

--friends that own cows (named Chocolate!) and share their abundance with us

--discovering like-minded souls and bearing mine to them

--the wonder of imagination and the capturing of such in amazing stories and books

--an impending anniversary that sweetens the week

--conversations around the dinner table that create laughter and good feelings

--the promise of new learning opportunities and wonderful people with whom to share such gifts

--today

First Hard Frost

"I see, when I bend close, how each leaflet of a

climbing rose is

bordered with frost,  

the autumn counterpart of the dewdrops of

summer dawns.

The feathery leaves of yarrow are thick with

silver rime

and dry thistle heads rise like goblets plated with

silver catching the sun."

- Edwin Way Teale

The Simple Woman's Daybook

FOR TODAY


Outside my window...  the still, dead air of a very hot August day.

I am thinking...  that it doesn't help anyone or anything to long for different circumstances.

I am thankful for...  blessed, heavenly air-conditioning.

From the learning rooms...  today was devoted to the reading of tales...Harry Potter, Hank the Cowdog, the daily comics...

From the kitchen...  our first canteloupes of the season (yeah!).  They are large and beautiful and juicy and delicious.

I am wearing...  shorts and a tank top, my summer uniform, evidently.

I am creating...  photographs that have depth and beauty.

I am going...  to my hometown this weekend for my 20th high school reunion.  Thankfully, I am more excited than apprehensive.  I guess I have matured a bit since those days.

I am reading...  The Art of Mending, by Elizabeth Berg, as well as numerous resources for nature journaling.

I am hoping...  for a "settling" into gently organized routines that allow for flexibility yet provide some security.

I am hearing...  the rattling of a rawhide bone being flung across my kitchen floor.  It is the perfect distraction for a dog that demands much.

Around the house...  there are strewn Legos, books, balsa wood airplanes, newspapers, and vine ripened tomatoes.

One of my favorite things...  is peanut butter with crackers or apples for a morning snack.

A few plans for the rest of the week:  to bake lemon tea cakes and banana bread, make some homemade salsa and carefully organize "stuff" for two separate family trips.

Here is picture for thought I am sharing...

The chickens are trying to find shade anywhere they can.  With a heat index of 110, who can blame them?

 
 
From The Simple Woman's Daybook

FINALLY some pictures!

I can now share pictures with you again!!!!  It's a long story about why there haven't pictures on my blog for the last six months and most of it doesn't reflect well on me.  Simply put, we have purchased a new computer with something like 4 million times the memory as the previous sloth machine. Now I will be able to illustrate more of my blog entries as I have been wont to do for eons...

As a way to celebrate, I thought that I would share some shots of the natural happenings around our place.  I LOVE my camera and I am so impressed with its incredible ability to make me look like I know what I am doing behind the lens.  Granted, Mother Nature provides the perfect material.  I'm just lucky enough to stumble upon it.

"My profession is to always find God in nature."

Henry David Thoreau

It's been quiet around here...

As if not writing for months on end weren't enough to keep this space so vacant, I am now attempting this post for the second time after my computer just turned itself off on me in the middle of my composing.  AARRGGHH!!!  I suppose it's better than my computer having crashed, which is what I thought was happening before my very eyes.... but still!

Oh well, maybe my computer was playing editor to my rambling nonsense and now I'm forced to curtail and straighten up whatever it was that I was going to share with you.

It had something to do with what we've been up to the last month or two and that being the reason that I haven't darkened the door of my personal space on the "Inter-mi-net"...

So, a shortened list of what has been distracting me as of late:

*John's garden  

I have named it thus because I must stop referring to it as our garden, or even, the garden.  The truth is this--that garden wouldn't be here if it weren't for my sweet husband.  For all my pining and longing for a verdant garden that drips with produce I really don't know the nuts and bolts of what said garden requires.  What I do know, I know through John.  I take phrases and sentences that he has said to me and then repeat them as if I had acquired that knowledge through diligent study and practice.  I'm officially outing myself in regards to gardening.  I live vicariously through my husband.  Now you know.  But I won't let that stop me from bragging on it or taking pictures of it or eating its harvest.  I do the flower beds, he does the garden.  And boy does he do it well (take that however you want).

*Swim lessons

This is the summer that the boys decided that they were tired of trying to swim while simultaneously trying to keep any part of their body above their neckline completely dry.  I suppose this is the kind of thing that one just has to learn on their own.  No amount of maternal suggestion, illustration or bribery was able to break through the stubbornness that fed this obsession.  On the first day of swim lessons they both just decided it was time to put on their big boy panties swim trunks and face the music.  Oh, the goggles from grandma and grandpa probably helped, too.  Whatever the motivation, for it doesn't matter to me what it was, they moved ahead when they were ready.  It's amazing how often this truth screams its way into my smallish, stubborn brain.

*Learning all the time...

My boys really don't understand the concept of "school" in any formal way.  I've tried in the past to "do" some of that but it always blew up in my face.  It has only been in this last half of the year that I have seen what we do for what it is.  And what it is is simply--us being ourselves. 

If God had wanted me otherwise, He would have created me otherwise.  ~Johann von Goethe

When we decided to keep our learning based at home, I had to begin a de-schooling process that still continues. I am constantly questioning how we do things and not in a way that is helpful.  It is always with an eye for what is wrong, rather than what is right.  But yesterday I had the most wonderful visit with a friend that I met through our homeschool group last year.  We went to her house for a time of "joyful play" for the kids but what I received from her was a wonderful gift of acceptance and affirmation.  She asked me some about how we do things around our house.  I've gotten somewhat better about describing what a day looks like at our house but I still find myself trying to couch it in educational terms, for fear of being judged as a slacker or incompetent.  She was so quick to tell me that she thought that what we did was great and even, that there was a part of her that wished that she could do things kind of like we did.  What keeps her from being more of an unschooler is that she, by nature, is a very structured person (I think the term she used was neurotic but I think that is a bit harsh) and she craves an organizational structure on which she can hang their learning.  I totally understand that.  I even have my own moments when I feel the same way.  But the beautiful thing is, both of us are right. (see above quote)

So for now, we will continue to learn what we want, as we want, at the pace we want.  I believe that my boys are better for it.

So that is a brief little ditty to catch you up to the present day.

One of these days I'm going to fix it so I can bring you some pictures again (I've got some good ones for you).

In the meantime, I'll see if I can get myself back in the swing of things, blogging-wise.

I hope everyone is having a wonderful summer full of rope swings, swimming holes and sweet, drippy watermelon.

Planting seeds

"Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant."

Robert Louis Stevenson

It's been an interesting Spring around here.  We are still navigating the huge learning curve of last year's garden.  The hardest thing to accept has been the much shorter growing season of our gardening zone.  We were spoiled when we lived in Atlanta.  We enjoyed an extended Spring that allowed for much longer growing opportunities and a bit more grace, in terms of frost dates and such.

But here, it's been much different.

This is the second year that we have not had our garden fully planted by this time.  We've been plagued by either rainy weather or threatening temperatures.  If you ask any old timer around here they will insist that you should never plant your garden before Mother's Day.  When I first heard that I literally laughed out loud.  Surely they couldn't be serious!  

They were dead serious. 

Mother's Day morning blew in freezing temperatures in these parts.

Amazing.

So, we are forced to take a breather and be patient.  

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:

...a time to plant and a time to uproot"

Ecclesiastes 3: 1-2

Many of our learning experiences this year have been hidden in these breaths.

Much like the seeds that we have been able to plant thus far, there is important work going on, underground.

It would be absolutely ridiculous of me to ready my soil, plant my seed, water it gently and then expect instant growth--evidence of my attempts at fruitfulness.
Even under the best circumstances, a seed can only grow as fast as it, as an individual, was designed to emerge.  If you've ever planted a row of seeds, you've witnessed this first hand. Given the exact same soil, and the same amount of moisture and sunlight and prayers and petitions, certain seeds will burst forth precious leaves of hope before others. 

Every time.

Those first seedlings are not necessarily "better" than the ones to follow, things just jelled for them sooner than the others.  There is even reason to believe that, in some cases, that later emergence will benefit the plant in the long run by providing deeper roots.  Or, even more interestingly, bigger leaves that help to absorb more sunlight and, thus, enable the plant to better feed itself throughout its life cycle.

So, as we ramble down this road of organic learning, I'm learning to let things be.  I'm trying to extract the industrial yield expectations of traditional education from my scorecard and replace them, instead, with ones that are sustainable.

I'm witnessing, daily, that there is more than one path to follow to learn the same thing and one way is not, by its nature, superior to another.

I've seen that hours and hours of quiet reading on one's own, following one's particular interest, spins a matrix of paths and trails that lead to more subjects and facts than makes sense to my limited mind.

I'm, now, humbly aware that five year old kids can master the concept of global warming and all of its ill effects, while still not 100% confidant of all the letters of the alphabet.

And I've come to accept that all of the elements in a day--the sunshine, the wind, the pelting rain--all serve a purpose.  All are needed at some point on the journey to grow something beautiful and unique.

"Don't try to force anything.   Let life be a deep let-go.
See [God/Spirit/All That Is] opening millions of flowers
every day without forcing the buds."
-  Bhagwan Shree Rayneesh

Things I LOVE about Spring

Spring has officially moved into these parts but it has an inferiority complex of sorts and thinks it is Summer so it has been, well, hot.  Like 82 degrees hot.  Five days in a row.  Then some more days in a row.  My perennial herb garden on the side of the house looks like it has always been there and I could easily begin harvesting leaves for meals if I wanted to.  Creeping thyme, lavender, tarragon, chamomile, sage, oregano and a gargantuan horseradish plant (I know, not an herb but...).  We're looking to add rosemary to the perennial bed and then we will have basil, cilantro and parsley in our other small bed by the house.  That bed is also coming into its own with brussel sprouts, turnips, broccoli, cauliflower, lettuce and spinach.  And we haven't even tilled or sowed the "real" garden yet!  The tomato seedlings for that plot are growing upstairs in our window sills.  I have to give all credit to my husband, John, for making this all happen. I take care of the herb and flower beds but he does all the dirty work for the vegetables.  Growing things, and growing them well, takes work, yes but it is oh so very worth it.  We are still eating tomatoes and squash from our freezer and last night I made pasta with pesto that John had frozen at the end of the season last year.  So, the cycle begins anew.  I wanted to take a moment, though, to simply list some things that make my heart glad.  It has been said that "thanksgiving is the soil in which joy thrives" and thus, I want to share some of my joy.

Things I Love About Spring:

1. The return of the Eastern Phoebes that have come back, once again, and built a nest in our barn's lean-to, only feet away from last year's location.  They craft beautiful places to lay and raise their young, perfectly "nest" shaped, covered in green moss and lichen and cleverly located on top of a empty light box in our rafters.  We can sneak a peek inside if we bring a ladder.  Last year, every one of their eggs hatched and fledged successfully.  We're hoping for the same outcome this year.

2.  The deafening songs of, first, the Spring Peepers and then the chorus frogs and bull frogs.  Our neighbors across the road have about a 5 acre lake for their backyard and so we have access to a wonderful natural observatory.  We explored the edges quite a bit towards the end of winter and we have enjoyed watching the plant and animal life come alive with the warming temperatures.  We're hoping to do a lot of fishing from the banks this spring and summer.

3.  The way the woods behind our house fill up with green foliage, almost overnight, and provide an instant natural screen that obscures any evidence of a subdivision behind us.  One morning, last week, I woke up to discover that we lived "in the woods", not plopped down in the middle of development.

4.  The fact that my boys want to be outside constantly.  Sometimes, it is just to sit on their rope swings in the walnut trees and quietly think and observe.  My dad always wonders, "What are they thinking about?"  The proper answer would probably be just another question, "What aren't they thinking about?"  Sometimes, I'll find them stretched out in the grass, soaking up the sun like a lizard.  Other times, I'll find one of them talking to the chickens, asking them about their day or what they are up to.  Aidan has stated, on numerous occasions, that he is able to understand the chickens and that they, too, can understand him.  I don't doubt it one bit.
August insists that we eat lunch outside every day, which is fine with me.  Maybe this year I can find the perfect cafe table at a garage sale and we can dine in true alfresco style.  I did fine some great little glass lanterns (clear and green) in the dollar bin at Target.  They only had three left, all of which I bought, and I would have bought more if I could.  Now, August insists that we read outside, by candlelight, before bed.

5.  The fact that, because we choose our home as our base for learning, we can fully succumb to the sickness of "Spring Fever" and take everything outside.  Or we can make "outside" our focus for the day.  The flexibility to enjoy this glorious season is such a gift.

I'm sure I will add to this list but I just wanted to share a little of the joy.

Have a beautiful Spring.

Catch up time

August on a friend's zip line.

"Mr. Meanie" who will be one of the first roosters to be butchered.

One morning's harvest.

A sampling of our refrigerator pickles that are threatening to take over our kitchen!

Our living room could now be dubbed Lego Land after Aidan's 7th birthday. The boys spend hours (I'm not exaggerating!) constructing all varieties of vehicles, space ships, houses, weapons, you name it. It is so fun to watch them create endlessly.

Aidan is now officially an independent reader. Why I ever worried about him, I'll never know. He loves to read the comics in the paper everyday and he pours over history and story books by the dozens. My challenge now is to provide him with a rich and varied selection of materials from which to choose.

Aidan and I share a birthday kiss. It really is something special to share your birthday with your first born. What a gift, the day that he was born and every year thereafter!!!

This is Beulah. We drove to the ends of the earth to get her for free. Her dad was an Australian Shepherd and her mom was a Beagle-mix. She is absolutely adorable and she is absolutely more work than I EVER imagined. Half of why I haven't blogged this summer is because of the immense amount of time I spend making sure that she isn't peeing in the house, sneaking into a room where she doesn't belong or biting holes in my pant legs as I walk about minding my own business. It has been an intense month and I'm still praying that it will all be worth it in the end. When she is calm and sweet and loving, I get a foretaste of glory divine, when she is all that I wanted in a dog. In the meantime, I'm really trying not to curse more than ten times a day.

We've been busy this summer and thus there has been very little blogging on my part. What with chickens, a new puppy, a garden that won't stop and all of the other things that make summer "summer" I've simply put this to the wayside. But life is full and good and tiring and challenging and I want to write about all of that. I'm trying to figure out how to make use of my very early rising to care for the chickens and Beulah dog, as that seems a logical time and space within which to write. But it's hard.
And then we will be starting to reintroduce "school" to our daily routine soon so...
you see what happens.
I will do my best.

Some more first peeks at the garden

Well, we're beginning to see the beginning fruits of our labor (John's loving attention to all of our seedlings all spring and my tilling contributions as well as seed planting). We have a gazillion green tomatoes all over our plants--Beefsteaks, romas, a yellow variety and several unknowns, as they are volunteers that shot up in our small kitchen garden just off the back porch. We are battling some end blossom rot on a couple of plants but John thinks that can be solved by adding some lime. The crookneck squash and zucchini (a very pale Italian green variety) are also emerging, however we are also having some blossom issues with them that we don't understand. John has scoured all of his grardening books, to no avail. If anyone has any ideas, they would be greatly appreciated. We've staked the tomatoes with both good old tomato cages, as well as "bamboo" stakes and some are just left to make do on their own. The cucumbers have two kinds of stakes, one created from fiberglass poles connected with twine and another arch support created with salvage something or other that John found in our barn. I like it the best because it is the most aesthetically pleasing thing in our garden, asied from the plants themselves.
We finally got the melons in the ground and they have lots of room to sprawl. The boys are most excited about them.
All in all, it is starting to look like a real garden. We're learning tons everyday about what we did right and what we could most definitely improve upon next year. But it is incredibly exciting to watch things come to life and to know that you had a small part in that.

Miracle

The first gatherings of the garden in May of salads, radishes and herbs made me feel
like a mother about her baby - how could anything so beautiful be mine. And this emotion
of wonder filled me for each vegetable as it was gathered every year. There is
nothing that is comparable to it, as satisfactory or as thrilling,
as gathering the vegetables one has grown.
- Alice B. Toklas


Tonight's dinner was made miraculous by the first green leaf lettuce and baby spinach salad harvested from our kitchen garden. I kept it very simple: a little olive oil in the salad bowl, a big clove of garlic rubbed all around within, greens tossed in with a little more olive oil, a splash of red wine vinegar and salt and pepper. That's all. But that was everything! Delicioso, as my mom would say. How wonderfully thrilling to taste living food. Truly wonderful.
The salad was beautifully complemented by another simple food--parmesan crisps. August just couldn't believe me that they were made with just parmesan. "What's below the cheese, Mom?"
"Nothing. It's just made from parmesan cheese, cooked on a cookie sheet."
"But it's just sooooo good!"
Too bad neither boy would try the salad. Stinkers!
Oh, the three tomato pasta sauce wasn't half bad either.

All in all, a wonderful way to share a meal together.

Weeds or "nature's graffiti" ?

Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
But they don't get around
Like the dandelions do.
~Slim Acres


It's official, the dandelions have declared squatter's rights on our "front yard."

Our backyard

I'm still working out the kinks of how to keep photos that I've uploaded formatted correctly, so bear with me. In the meantime, you might find that I will make several posts in the same day just in order to make the pictures do what I want them to do as they relate to the text. How's that for complete inefficiency? I'm sure you don't care, but it is very frustrating to me.

Aidan took this picture this morning as we watched the butterflies and moths descend upon our lantana. Our yard has not really become the beautiful sanctuary that John and I had always envisioned, for various reasons. I think that is one of the hunger pangs we experience when we imagine having more open and wild space with which to work. But, we have managed to plant something that simply won't be killed--even by Noah the Great Dane, who was determined to dig up this hearty lantana, but obviously didn't completely succeed. And let me tell you, the butterflies love this stuff! So I have eeked out some joy from the yard this summer, even with the drought. I have not watered these plants since I first planted them and they have never complained. Obviously, they are in a good spot in terms of sun and soil drainage, but I also choose to think that they are a little gift from God to me. A little, "I know that you want to grow and nurture things, Holly, and although you have so very much to learn about what all that entails, I will give you hope." And it works. Plus, the kids love to watch the butterflies. Me, too.