BACK TO THE SCENE

July 21, 2014July 19, 2014 ~ Jnana Hodson ~ 9 Comments

The groundhog story continues. Not to be content with the early raids on our garden, the attacks on our beds resumed. Lush Brussels sprouts plants that had been three feet tall were now mere spikes, and in the latest round we lost some kale and squash plants. Neighbors are relating their own losses, including peppers.

I did notice a small entryway had been dug out under our firewood stacks and eventually saw a pointy nose and beady eyes regard me. Not once or even twice but enough to make me suspect the worst. So I moved the trap from the garden and placed it near the entrance.

To my relief, I did find that the trap my wife bought at a yard sale a few years ago does indeed work, and that cubes of cantaloupe prove irresistible to the critters, but even that is taking its own turns. The first time the device was triggered, a bit of Brussels sprouts stem included as bait kept the shutter from locking … allowing an escape. Would the villain learn to avoid my means of entrapment?

I reset the trap and by lunchtime returned to check it out. Although both shutters had been triggered, a ‘chuck was propped up OUTSIDE, one foot on the top as it peered in, likely wondering how to get back to the bait, as if adding insult to my intentions. It seemed I’d been conned again. But, just in case, I circled around and closer examination revealed another was couched inside. One down, at least one more to go.

The short version of what followed includes a trip to Maine, just over the river. Released from confinement, that one bolted through the forest … straight toward New Hampshire.

For my part, back home, hoping they’re slow learners driven more by their guts than their brains, I reset the trap in pursuit of the other. Two hours later, I was back in Maine and evicted that critter, which dashed straight into the river and started swimming toward New Hampshire before rounding back to shore. I was grateful it was still high tide but dismayed to see what confident swimmers they can be. So much for that barrier.

Back home again, seeing new diggings around the firewood, we face the reality of having at least one more living under that neatly stacked firewood. If this keeps up, I’ll have to buy another melon today. At least I’m grateful we didn’t try growing our own; they would have cleaned ’em out, meaning I’d still have to buy one to use as bait.

All that's left of the once thriving Brussels sprouts. — All that’s left of the once thriving Brussels sprouts.

SUMMER CRAFT

July 19, 2014July 19, 2014 ~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Boats are tied up in a row along one dock in Newburyport, Massachusetts. The harbor opens into the Atlantic.

It's a great place to take off on a whale watch. — It’s a great place to take off on a whale watch.

It's a working harbor with treacherous currents, yet mooring comes at a premium. — The working harbor has treacherous currents, yet mooring comes at a premium. The mouth of the Merrimack River is on the horizon.

FURROW

July 19, 2014July 19, 2014 ~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Like the American bison that dominated the prairie, the continuous ocean of tall grasses, which for so long spread from a corner of Ohio into Montana and Colorado, has been decimated. Homesteaders – seized by a fever to possess farmland of their own – sowed apprehension in their furrows. Inhabitants and land itself now lay open to chronic infection. After each harvest, the Breadbasket of the World, the Interior States of the American Soul, is left vacant, a stubble desert awaiting rebirth. Descendants of those who made this band agriculturally productive bear both its blessing, in economic output, and curse, as if no one can entirely escape the desperation that prompted settlement in the first place. In the recesses of the psyche, inheritors of these spaces must likewise sense themselves to be buffalo-people, and then fear they, too, may be heir to this fate. Pushed to the fringes, the intrinsic beauty and spiritual potential of the heartland are easily overlooked, both by the remnant population and the world’s policy-makers. Today’s farmers are mechanics, first and foremost. Cry, then, for harmony and healing – a proper reentry into Canaan, a taste of balm in manna. Look, ultimately, to the surviving bison and tall grasses with their underlying lavender shadings. Respect the faint drumming, growing louder.

NATURALLY, SHE HAS REASON TO WEEP

July 16, 2014July 16, 2014 ~ Jnana Hodson ~ 9 Comments

You may remember my writing of the wildlife we have in our yard, even though we live in a city. Maybe I was even bragging, a tad.

Meanwhile, our garden was looking better than ever. Some of it was likely a consequence of all the seaweed we’re using for mulch, plus the compost. Some of it a matter that we got just about everything transplanted on time, and some a reflection that my being free from the office has allowed a little more help with the weeding and harvesting.

On top of everything, the weather has been uncommonly cooperative. There were no late frosts in May, though there were nights we had to bring plants under cover as they “hardened off” before transplanting. We largely avoided a wet June, which kept the garden slugs under control and meant the strawberries didn’t get waterlogged. (They’ve been very tasty. The berries, that is.) July has brought rainfall as needed and also stayed out of the tropical range of oppression.

And then, about a week ago, disaster struck. A groundhog (apparently dwelling under a shed three houses down the street).

We had some near misses in the past, but nothing like this. One year, in fact, a band of possums evicted the groundhogs from their burrow. My wife’s always like opossums.

Overnight, half of our Brussels sprouts and a half-dozen heads of lettuce were obliterated. The rest were wiped out a day or two later, despite our efforts to fight back. Without the possums coming to our rescue, my wife’s taking this personally. For that matter, so am I. What about all that teaching about peaceful coexistence, anyway? What if the other side just doesn’t care?

Living in the city, we can’t resort to the usual line of defense, either, the one many vegetarians no doubt practice. No, a .22 is not an option here. You can run down the list of other weapons and strike them off one by one. Children and pets, after all, live in the neighborhood.

So here we are, mopping up and hoping the cantaloupe slices in the Hav A Heart trap do the job. And wiping our tears.

At the end of Round One, the big trap came out, along with some impromptu fencing. The Brussels sprouts at top right had been capped, which means they're done growing for the year. The lettuce, as you see, was leveled. What we did discover is that groundhogs can read, when they want. Mark's garden was also hit. — At the end of Round One, the big trap came out, along with some impromptu fencing. The Brussels sprouts at top right had been capped, which means they’re done growing for the year. The lettuce, as you see, was leveled. What we did discover is that groundhogs can read, when they want. Mark’s garden was also hit.

GARDEN LIGHTS

July 10, 2014July 10, 2014 ~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

the Tiki torches, hints of pathways in five directions
from the Smoking Garden

* * *

twilight
with charcoal, glowing and ready

CORNFLOWER EYE

July 8, 2014May 25, 2014 ~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

The sky of America’s interior West is a dry eternity – an intense blue I see reflected in the cornflower bloom, or certain other blossoms, such as flax.

Curiously, the flower itself has no direct relationship to the cornstalk or ear. Its naming presents a mystery, to the modern ear, at least.

Now that I dwell under the commonly milky skies of New Hampshire, I find the blooming cornflower celebrates that vibrant blueness in my memory, and locales suddenly overlap in my mind, making me grateful to once again acknowledge that fullness and contrast. By extension, the cornflower blue sky extends to open spaces reaching westward from the Great Plains, with another set of experiences within me.

Gaze, then, into such deep color, undiluted, and its inexplicable essence.

A TURN IN THE GARDEN

July 3, 2014July 3, 2014 ~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

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

TIDAL SURPRISE FROM BEHIND

July 2, 2014July 2, 2014 ~ Jnana Hodson ~ 4 Comments

Ogunquit has one of Maine’s loveliest sandy beaches (to distinguish it from some pebble sites we frequent, especially). It’s more than a mile long facing the Atlantic, with house-free dunes behind it.

One corner, near the parking lot, is bordered by the Ogunquit River, which is fun to float in, as long as you avoid the whirlpool.

That end also has a lovely large apron of sand at low tide, and unsuspecting visitors often carry their towels, folding chairs, bags and coolers right out to the edge of the water, establish camp, and head off into the surf. While they’re at play, though, the tide turns quickly, submerging much of the apron within minutes, generally approaching the camp from behind. You should see their faces as they suddenly recognize the catastrophe at hand and desperately try to retrieve their floating debris from the quicksilver waters. Their chairs, coolers, towels and blankets, even shoes are all heading out to sea.

Soon, most of the beach on that end is under water. Remember, the level changes more than a foot every hour … and sometimes it’s closer to two.

The veterans, in contrast, set themselves up much higher, against the rocky base of the parking lot itself.

Follow their example if you go. Or watch out.