Posted tagged ‘garden’

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“Don’t let schooling interfere with your education.”

March 12, 2012

The day is glorious. I have been outside sitting and reading the paper in the sun. Begrudgingly I came inside to write Coffee and hope for a quick inspiration so I can go back outside. Gracie has been in the yard all morning. This is her lie in the sun on the grass and take a nap sort of weather. Ah, the life of a pampered pet!

I know exactly why it is called a spring in your step, and I think it’s a metaphor having nothing to do with the verb spring. Today I feel more alive than I have. Today is warm and sunny and the sort of day which makes the heart sing. It is a hopeful day as spring always bring hope and a new beginning.

My garden is filled with shoots, and the first crocus is in bloom. It’s yellow. I can also see the knobs on the top of the hyacinth and two daffodils are tall and heavy with buds. The air smells sweet.

I used to love to walk to school on days like today. I’d shed my winter coat and mittens and wear only a sweater under my spring jacket. My friends and I always took our time walking when the weather was this beautiful as we knew we’d spend most of the day locked in and sitting at our desks. I used to look longingly out the windows and wish I were outside in the  sun. It seemed such a waste to be learning fractions when I could be running in the field with the warm sun on my face. Recess made it even nore difficult to go back into the building.

When I was in the 8th grade, I used to hide my lunch bag, no more lunch boxes at the sophisticated age of  thirteen, and I’d leave as if I were going home for lunch. My friend Jimmy, always a co-conspirator, came with me. We’d find a bench in the sun up the street near the town hall and eat lunch then we’d go back to school. Sometimes we were really late returning, long after the bell, and we’d tell Sister Hildergarde we were at the library or talking to some priest or other. She always nodded, and we’d take our seats. On a few really beautiful spring days we’d leave early telling some story about where we were going which Sister Hildergarde always bought. We were a clever pair, Jimmy and I, and maybe even a bit devious.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 11 Comments

“Autumn arrives in the early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.”

February 28, 2012

Pseudo winter is the best I can call this. Today it is already 46° though tonight will be more typically winter, in the 20’s, but I don’t care. Night always finds me cozy and warm and at home. The weatherman says snow later in the week and predicts the cape will get less than an inch before the snow turns to rain. Boston may get more snow than we will but right now it may also have a new record for the least amount of snow as little more than 7 inches has fallen so far this whole winter, but March sometimes surprises us with a snow storm or two.

My garden is awash with green shoots, and the daffodil buds are prominent: there are four now. Last fall I planted all sorts of bulbs, and I don’t remember what is where on purpose. I want surprise when the flowers bloom and color returns to my garden.

Spring officially arrives on March 20th, and that is cause for celebration. My friends and I will go to the beach to see the sunrise on that first spring morning. Usually it is freezing. We sit in our beach chairs as if it were summer, but we wear winter hats and coats and wrap blankets around us as we wait and watch for the sky to lighten. The first beams appear then the top of the sun. We watch as more and more of the sun appears over the jetty. When morning has finally broken, we applaud and give a welcome to spring then we run for the warmth of the car. We go out for breakfast and toast the arrival of spring.

My mother was always surprised and wonderfully grateful when we gave her our bouquets, the dandelions picked off the lawn. She’d gush a bit, take our gifts and put them in a glass, usually a jelly glass, and then in the center of the table. We always thought they were the most beautiful yellow flowers ever, and I still think of that every time I see a dandelion. In my memory they are gifts.

Categories: Musings
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“Dusting is a good example of the futility of trying to put things right. As soon as you dust, the fact of your next dusting has already been established.”

February 9, 2012

On the ground this morning was a dusting of snow. I even hesitate to use dusting to describe that snow, but I don’t know a smaller word for the amount on the ground. When I went to get the papers, the air reminded me of early spring when the mornings are chilly but hint of a warmer day. It is only 39° now but it is supposed to be in the mid-40’s later. I know this is only February, and I know spring is a long way off, but I can’t help but think of spring on a day like today.

More and more shoots are above the ground in my front garden. A seed catalogue comes every day, and I look through it trying to decide what flowers to add to my garden this year. I have a side garden now which runs along the driveway and needs filling. I have a feeling the garden store staff will applaud every time they see me coming. There might even be balloons!

Today is in-house chore day with washing to do, plants to water, my bed to change and a few places which need polishing. The book-case is so disgusting I could write a novel in all the dust. I’d need a clever title or I could just steal Butler’s title The Way of All Flesh.

Somehow or other all of my doctor’s appointments seem to come in the spring. I figure there is some weird connection between them and the rebirth of the Earth.

For years, I made special dinners and invited friends. I usually made something I hadn’t ever made before because I enjoyed hunting through cookbooks, imagining how the foods would fit together and then preparing the dishes. Lately I’ve been saving recipes and thinking about cooking again. I also just bought a new cupcake pan and want to give it a try. I’ve always been a cake person, but I’m willing to branch out to make a few of cake’s smaller relatives.

Well, the dust is calling me and I need to get the wash going. Today is just going to be one of those days. I’ll hate it, but at the end, even all that cleaning will give me a sense of accomplishment.

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“Weekends don’t count unless you spend them doing something completely pointless.”

July 2, 2011

Traffic coming on cape last night was bumper to bumper for about three miles. I, on my way off cape, hit no traffic at all even through the city at what was usually the tail end of rush hour. I sailed right through. Coming home around ten last night, I ran into a little traffic but not enough to make me curse. Today is so lovely it would have been worth the wait to get over the bridge.

My garden is getting edged, weeded and mulched, and the lawn is getting cut then fertilized. My landscaper and two other guys came early this morning and are still working to spread the last of the mulch. I don’t remember my father ever mulching our garden. I suppose because it was so small, and he was no gardener. He was a buy some flowers and plant them sort of guy. If they grew, all was well. If they didn’t, at least he had given it a try. My mother got into having a garden a long time later when we were all grown, and they had moved into their own house. I remember in the middle of the garden stood her statue of St. Francis with a bird on his shoulder and his arm spread wide with his hands filled with seed. The garden was lovely, and we would sit by the kitchen windows and could see and smell the flowers. I think her small garden was the inspiration for my front garden. I’m just missing the St. Francis.

Last night I listened to the Sox on my way home. I caught the 7th inning which gave them the lead they kept. My father never listened to the game and seldom watched it. He was a hockey, football guy. I am a basketball-baseball sort though I do watch the Patriots. I just don’t understand everything, only the basics. My college was and still is a hockey school, and we went to all the home games. They were occasions to warm the innards with alcohol before we went. I think most occasions in college called for warming the innards. While the crowd stood and cheered, we sat and passed the wine skin sneaked in under a heavy winter coat. We were accurate at finding our mouths even under the worst conditions though a few misses were good for laughs. I still remember how cold the seats were and how cheap the wine was.

It’s a sit on the deck and read day. The air is comfortable, and there’s sun if I want it.

Categories: Musings
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Comments: 13 Comments

“If you’re gonna to use that gun, you better start on me.”

June 4, 2011

The morning is beautiful with a bright sun and a blue sky, but that pesky cool breeze is still with us and will bring the temperature down to the high 40’s tonight. Standing outside in the sun is warm and cozy, but the shade is a might chilly.

When I went to get dog food yesterday, I brought my list of flowers so I could buy a couple more and be finished buying for the season. Well, that was a mistake. I bought one or two of each flower on the list. My trunk was filled and some of the taller plants went in the back seat. I have never heard of most of these flowers. I found their names on line when I read about making a country garden. The author said add herbs so I have some Russian sage and hyssops. I bought blanket flowers and I don’t remember what else, but they are lined up on my walk waiting to be planted later today. When I went to get the papers, I noticed the garden is dry so I hauled out my watering can and watered a few which looked a bit wilted. I’ll have to get my irrigation system turned on as I’d hate to lose any flowers, and the grass too is looking a bit needy.

Matt Dillon died on Friday. I know he was really James Arness, but for years and years he was the marshal of Dodge City, and that’s how I remember him. I can still see in my mind’s eye the opening of Gunsmoke when Matt shoots the bad guy with that long pistol. That was in the heyday of TV westerns. I think we watched one every night. I had some favorites and Maverick topped the list, but the The Wild, Wild West wasn’t far behind.

We sat around the small black and white TV and watched Have Gun Will Travel, Yancy Derringer, Wagon Train, Cheyenne and so many others. I learned what a paladin is by watching TV. I also learned that good guys win though that truth has weakened over time. I, however, still keep hope.

Categories: Musings
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“Have you watched the fairies when the rain is done, Spreading out their little wings to dry them in the sun?”

May 24, 2011

Evolutionary changes are supposed to happen over eons, not in a few weeks, so why have my feet begun to web together? Soon enough I’ll look like Kevin Cosner in Waterworld. The day is 61° and it is damp from the pouring rain of last night, but I’ve decided to look on it all with great optimism. Everything got planted yesterday so the rain will help my new herbs and flowers feel more at home. I’m sure they’re stretching their roots right now. My grass will stay, and here is that word again, lush. But when the sun does return, I’ll celebrate and welcome it, and I’m already planning a summer solstice gala. Druid dress is optional.

I loved the rainy season in Ghana. All the grass turned a spectacular green, the fields were filled with millet getting taller and taller, baobab trees had leaves, the market was bursting with fresh produce and everywhere looked sparkling and new. It was quite a contrast from the dry season when it didn’t rain from September until late April or early May, and every day was sunny. The sky, except during the harmattan, was blue. We used to joke and say today looked like rain. Everything turned brown: all the grasses and the fields surrounding the school. The farmers, in the field behind us, worked on their compounds redoing walls and roofs. They’d sing and dance at night. We could hear the drums. We longed for rain, but it came with a price. As we’d get closer to the rainy season, the days got hotter and more humid. The nights got uncomfortable for sleeping so I’d move my mattress outside and sleep in the backyard. We all waited for that first storm which was always spectacular. But after those first magnificent storms, the rain settled into a pattern, and it would rain every day for parts of the day. The rainy season was always my favorite time of year so maybe, just maybe, I should remember that more often, especially now.

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“Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative.”

May 23, 2011

No need for me to describe the weather. Go back and look at the opening paragraph of every entry for the last week. I am so tired of this, and I don’t care anymore that the rain makes everything so lush and green. It’s spring when everything is green anyway. Monday’s have always been ugly days-drag yourself out of bed and go back to work days. The weather just adds to the misery of the day though I suppose a sunny day might be a worse day to work.

When I woke up, the house was chilly and damp so I put the heat on for about 15 minutes, and it did the trick, but heat on May 23rd is just wrong. The weatherman better be right about tomorrow. My sanity depends on it.

I went to the garden shop this morning. The Welcome, Kat sign was a nice touch. I filled a huge push basket with deck flowers and herbs then filled my trunk with them. The garden spot was pretty empty this morning so I had a personal garden shopper answering my questions. My choices, again, revolved around colors. As I was leaving, the employees let more balloons go. After this batch is planted, I’ll see if there is any room left for more.

The commercials on TV are summer. I watch people barbecue, chase fireflies, sit on their newly stained decks, eat hot dogs and melt marshmallows on the beach for s’mores. Meanwhile, my deck is covered in tree debris, the hanging candles sit forlornly in a pile and the table, which I’ve cleaned a couple of times,  is back to disgusting. I swear I was outside by this time last year reading my book, drinking my iced coffee and watching the birds. Now I’m huddled inside wearing heavy clothes including socks and a sweatshirt trying to stay warm.

The weather makes me think I’m in the start of some science fiction novel. One day soon it will snow, and we’ll burn furniture to keep warm, but it won’t be enough. Marauding mobs will go from house to house looking for food. I’ll be the old lady with the gray hair hanging out the upstairs window brandishing a shotgun and warning them off. They’ll go, but they’ll be back.

Categories: Music
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“A lawn is nature under totalitarian rule.”

May 22, 2011

Most of my flowers and all of my herbs are now planted. Only the deck flowers are still in their pots waiting for a more permanent home. After everything was planted yesterday, I saw I still need more herbs for the garden, some for the window boxes, geraniums for the deck pots and more flowers for the front. After my dump run today, I’ll go shopping.

The weatherman was right: still no sun. The rain came last night which was good for everything I’d planted. The sky is gray and the day is still damp. The leaves on the oak tree are getting bigger and darker. Maybe they sense summer coming better than I can.

When I was little, I often presented my mother with a bouquet of yellow dandelions. She was always thrilled and made a big deal of putting them in a glass of water then on the table or the windowsill. She made me feel as if I had given her the most beautiful flowers anyone had ever seen. I remember buttercups and holding one under my friend’s chin to see if she liked butter. If she did, the yellow was reflected on her. I remember blowing dandelion puffs. The field below my house was filled with them, and we’d run through, grab a few, blow and let the wind take them. They always seemed to waft gently.

I don’t remember lots of flower gardens in my neighborhood. Most people, like my father, planted a few flowers in front and none in the backyards which were filled with clotheslines and a wide hill of grass stretched across the back of where all our houses stood. Lawns were the big thing. There wasn’t an acknowledged competition, but it existed none the less. My father mowed a certain way. Every Saturday you could hear the click clack of his mower as he walked across the lawn in the particular pattern he favored. None of us ever mowed. We didn’t do it right. We’d cut the grass, but the pattern was always wrong. My father had a beautiful lawn, but he was never the winner. Mrs. Burns always was.

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“Laughter is brightest, in the place where the food is.”

May 20, 2011

Yesterday’s sun didn’t last long. It disappeared behind clouds, and later we had rain. Today, yet again, rain is predicted. The morning sun and the blue sky have dropped in to say a quick hello before their disappearance this afternoon. Gracie is lying on the lounge on the deck; Fern is curled in a ball in the sun by the front door, and I have the window open.

I’m going to the garden store today to buy soil and herbs for my window boxes. Last year every time I went on the deck I could smell the sweetness of the basil and the rosemary. I know I’ll fill my trunk as I have little self-control when I buy herbs and flowers. My friend, the gardener, gave me a list of new flowers to add to my front garden.

Planting always seems so hopeful to me. It acknowledges the changing season and the arrival of spring. I hunt recipes where I can just snip and add fresh herbs from my garden to summer dinners on the deck. The basil goes into sandwiches with tomatoes and cheese. The oregano is added to feta and olive oil, and the three of them sit and get to know each other for a couple of weeks then a miraculous spread for fresh bread is born. I can see the candles in the trees brightening the night as we sit and enjoy the bounty of my yet to be planted garden. The time is coming: I just know it.

Before I leave for Ghana, I’m going to cook an African dinner for my friends as a sort of farewell party. I know kelewele will be on the menu as it is my favorite Ghanaian dish, and it will be the first one I eat after my arrival. I’ll also make groundnut stew and find a substitute for fufu so my friends can eat with their hands the Ghanaian way. That’s about as far as I’ve gotten, but then again, I have a few months to prepare.

Well, I’m done. I can hear the garden store calling my name!

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“The ‘Amen!’ of Nature is always a flower.”

May 14, 2011

I know it is very late for me, but I have all sorts of reasons. Last night I went to bed quite late, or early depending upon your perspective, and so I slept in until 10. At the CARE Center, an emergency 24-7 animal hospital, there was a plant sale, and I wanted to go. The money from the sale is for the Sampson Fund which helps people who can’t afford to pay vet bills and it also pays for the vet bills of abandoned, hurt animals. I filled my trunk with herbs and plants. My next stop was Dunkin’ Donuts as I had left the house before my coffee. I got my coffee and also a butternut donut which had been saved for me by a former student. When I got home, it was read the papers, have another cup of coffee and share my donut with Gracie time. That brings us to now.

The day is perfectly lovely with lots of sun and a blue sky dotted with clouds. It’s an outside day so Agway is definitely in my future. Those plants I bought this morning have caused a cascade effect. I want more.

My family was never really into gardens when I was a kid. My father planted mostly pansies in the front of the house in what was a very small garden. When we moved to the cape, he was still pretty much an indifferent gardener. I don’t even remember flowers. The house they moved to when I was in the Peace Corps was where flowers bloomed. My mother had her garden right outside the kitchen table windows. In it was a bird bath and a statue of St. Francis with his hands out holding seeds and several varieties of flowers of all different heights. My dog Maggie loved to visit that garden, and I was forever pulling her out and replacing the wire fence. The front by the house had all sorts of plants, and the window boxes were beautiful with flowers filling them and ivy hanging from them. Every Mother’s Day we bought my mother gift certificates to a nursery.

When I bought my own house, a sense of pride forced me to start a garden in the front. My parents came to visit and brought plants as a gift. My dad planted them, and those plants are still there. My brother and his then girl friend gave me a forsythia tree as a gift, and that too is still in the front garden, and an offshoot is down the street in my friends’ yard. The garden is in the same spot as when I bought the house, but I have moved the fence behind it so people can see my garden. I am that proud of it. The perennials have already appeared as have the lilacs in a side garden. This year I will add some vegetables to a raised bed in the backyard and plant herbs in the deck boxes which sit on the rail.

I have become a gardener.

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