A TURN IN THE GARDEN

As the hot, humid weather kicks in, we shift gears. Our weeding turns lazy, and our plants will just have to fight it out for survival. If we’re diligent, we’ll water, though the utility bill frightens.

Maybe it’s all part of the relationship.

~*~
Of Devis and Other Spirits

A garden without a woman is lamentable

unfolding from Eve
and the Singer of the Song of Songs

 all this color and excitement

my Woman wears no cosmetics
she’s organic
but oh so much better for me
than health food

my Lady leads me in unanticipated ways
she’s so unlike the ones before her
she works with wise fingers without hesitating
to get dirt under her nails

still, as the younger one said,
“you’re a mean mommy:
you’re as mean as the thorns in a buckle bush”

In constructing her garden

sod, roots woven tight, close together
the way I thought we would

overlooking the fact we both flower
quite conspicuously

our stems woody or thorny
even through winter

 poem copyright 2014 by Jnana Hodson

PEAS, PLEASE

As gardeners know, growing peas can be a challenge. The vines like to climb and tangle ... and they get heavy. This year, thanks to elder daughter, a new design has appeared in our beds. It's quite elegant, I think.
As gardeners know, growing peas can be a challenge. The vines like to climb and tangle … and they get heavy. This year, thanks to elder daughter, a new design has appeared in our beds. It’s quite elegant, I think.
Here's a little perspective.
Here’s a little perspective.

 

FUN-DRAISING

Looked up as I drove by a big green lawn the other day and saw it was dotted with pink. A bright pink unlike any flowers we grow in these parts.

Then I smiled, realized the house had just been flocked – there was even a note stuck on a stick.

In a flash, even at a distance (this was the kind of place that has a small pond between the house and the highway), I sensed the two dozen flamingos were all uniform, likely brand-new, unlike the motley band we “quarantined” for our own use all too many years ago now. Why, ours even multiplied in the course of their service – some of the dads were making new ones from plywood, rather than plastic.

Flocked, you ask? Oh, I was sure I’d told that story, somewhere.

 

COLORING THE WIND

Each spring, new flags join the line in our yard.
Each spring, new flags join the line in our yard. The second strand, at the rear, has quotations from James Nayler, a powerful minister in the early Quaker movement.

The Apostle Paul has urged Christians to pray without ceasing.

I view Tibetan prayer flags rising in the breeze as joyous reminders my heart can do likewise.

FLOWERING MEMORIES

Mountain laurel have taken hold in our Quaker burial ground. Now, if I could only get them to do likewise in our yard.
Mountain laurel have taken hold in our Quaker burial ground. Now, if I could only get them to do likewise in our yard.

My fondness for mountain laurel springs from my days in the ashram in the Poconos. Those tiny white clusters like origami that open into tiny teacups are, I was told, the state flower of Pennsylvania, and protected by state law.

My fondness for rhododendron goes back even further, to backpacking a section of the Appalachian Trail as an 11-year-old Boy Scout and coming upon Roan High Knob in full bloom in North Carolina.

Joe Pye weed is something I’ve learned to appreciate here, after we bought our annuals at the Conservation District sale.

Add that, as it thrives, to our azaleas.

Rhododendron and mountain laurel line the lane under tall pine in our undisturbed Friends burial ground.
Rhododendron and mountain laurel line the lane under tall pine in our undisturbed Friends burial ground.

EAT YOUR WEEDS

OK, the title’s a cross between the classic “Eat your greens,” as grandmothers used to advise, and the once ubiquitous “Eat your Wheaties,” as the Cheerios folks used to advertise. But this time of year, I’m doing something that gives me a sense of being simultaneously virtuous and hedonistic.

Here’s what you do. Pick the dandelions before they blossom, hopefully uprooting them while you’re at it, and then wash the early greens before the plants turn altogether bitter. (Toss the roots aside; that’s the weeding part of the equation.) You then use the tiny leaves as the basis for salads or, I suppose, anything Florentine. Yes, food writer Angelo Pelegrini (a decade before Julia Child) was right in his praises: dandelion greens in season can be glorious. If you like spinach, you’ll understand.

We’ve been delighting on them both as cold salads and as quickly blanched greens, especially with hard-boiled eggs and/or thick, crisp bacon on top. A fried egg works nicely, too, with its runny yolk. Top your dish with grated cheese if you want. Salt and pepper to taste. Can anything be simpler?

And that’s as close as you’re going to get to a recipe on this blog. I’ll let others point to the fancier variations. For that matter, they can even match it with the right wine … or beer.

 

 

 

 

FORSYTHIAS

Spring yellow, for Easter. I cut branches of forsythia, bring them indoors, find an appropriate vase with water, if Easter’s falling early. And then they open, with a profusion of yellow. Sunshine.

Some, soon adorned with suspended eggs.

Happy Easter!
Happy Easter!

A MEDITATION, OF SORTS

At the beach the other morning, observing the beauty of the blue surf at low tide on a crystal-clear day, I realized my mind and heart were not in oneness with the postcard view before me. Yes, I was there, but on a mission, and I was all too aware of a desire to be home before my wife left for her afternoon and evening obligations.

My oneness, however, was with the seaweed before me as I put it into buckets and transferred these to black bags in the trunk of my car. The drive home was also a meditation, as was spreading one of the bags over our asparagus bed.

The goal, of course, is to be fully present where I am. Rather than off somewhere far ahead or far behind me.

BIRDS OF OUR YARD

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feeder, especially:

  • goldfinch
  • purple finch
  • house sparrow
  • black-capped chickadee
  • junco
  • tufted titmouse
  • nuthatch
  • mourning dove
  • pigeon
  • pheasant
  • cardinal
  • blue jay
  • catbird
  • cowbird
  • mockingbird
  • starling
  • purple grackle (such a funny word!)
  • cedar waxwing
  • downy and hairy woodpeckers
  • phoebe
  • pine siskel
  • rufus towhee
  • hummingbird
  • robin (as an afterthought!)
  • blue-gray gnatcatcher
  • Peregrin falcon and/or Cooper’s hawk or sharp-shinned hawk
  • common grackle
  • grosbeak
  • bluebird

report of one wild turkey one November

overhead:

  • geese
  • hawks
  • crow
  • gulls
  • raven
  • bald eagle
  • swallows

*   *   *

someday maybe I’ll know by song
all the birds that stay hidden in our treetops