the Tiki torches, hints of pathways in five directions
from the Smoking Garden
* * *
twilight
with charcoal, glowing and ready
poem copyright 2014 by Jnana Hodson
You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
the Tiki torches, hints of pathways in five directions
from the Smoking Garden
* * *
twilight
with charcoal, glowing and ready
poem copyright 2014 by Jnana Hodson
One of the downsides of owning an old house is an awareness of just how expensive any repair is. (And it’s always more than you’ve planned.) Add to that just how many repairs are needed. (Remember, most of them are for things you don’t even see.) And that’s before we get to any upgrades.
The awareness has also afflicted many of my dream-house observations, especially when I’m nearing the ocean. Where I would have admired a stone retaining wall under construction or a long pier from a private boathouse or deck to the mooring, what I now see is dollar signs. Often, more than I would have made in a year. It’s crushing.
It can make you wonder what people do for that kind of income. Or what kind of wealth they were born into. Or how long it will last.
One thing I know is that fishermen used to live in some of these coastal communities. But not anymore. Not by a long shot. Some of them live closer to me.
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.
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
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.

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.

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.

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.