Transplanting season is over. The weather forecast predicts temperatures warming to hot with no rain for a week.
Not that the hot weather stops me from transplanting and crossing my fingers that the plants will survive.
What i should do is transplant with a shovel in one hand and the hose in the other. The trouble is my designing/artistic mind gets way ahead of my maintaining body-mind.
In this weather, a good daily sprinkling of the transplants would help establish them in their new homes. This means dragging the hose around, disconnecting hoses, reconnecting hoses and the sprinkler, traipsing back to the spigot to turn it on (or off).
Do you hear the suffering/stress/WORK associated with that first pleasant idea of transplanting the Sweet Williams out of their nursery bed and into a flower bed?
Fortunately nights are still cool--in the 50s--and the dew still falls, so the transplants have an easy night.
And after transplanting maidenhair ferns along the woodland paths (read: thick network of roots interpenetrating the thin, dry, rocky woods dirt), i too fall asleep easily.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Memorials
Hospice had its annual Memorial Service yesterday at the Memorial Garden at Living Memorial Park.
Oh, there are so many to remember. The Living Memorial Park was created after World War II and dedicated to those who died in that war. The Hospice Memorial Garden is dedicated to those who have died during Hospice's 30-year history, including, this year, its co-founder, Pam Mayer.
The Memorial Service is dedicated to those who have died this past year in particular and any others whose names you would like to add to the list. Lerna played the dulcimer as people planted flowers in the garden and marked them with miniature "tombstones"--flat rocks as big as your palm with the name written in permanent marker.
Of course, nothing is permanent. Life is IMpermanent, changing from moment to moment, if we could but notice it.
"We remember them"--the deceased. Then we forget them--for minutes, hours, or days. Then we remember them again and re-feel our grief, our sadness at the ceasing of the deceased.
Yet everything ceases. The Memorial Service, the day, the flowers, eventually the plants, and one of these years, us.
Oh, there are so many to remember. The Living Memorial Park was created after World War II and dedicated to those who died in that war. The Hospice Memorial Garden is dedicated to those who have died during Hospice's 30-year history, including, this year, its co-founder, Pam Mayer.
The Memorial Service is dedicated to those who have died this past year in particular and any others whose names you would like to add to the list. Lerna played the dulcimer as people planted flowers in the garden and marked them with miniature "tombstones"--flat rocks as big as your palm with the name written in permanent marker.
Of course, nothing is permanent. Life is IMpermanent, changing from moment to moment, if we could but notice it.
"We remember them"--the deceased. Then we forget them--for minutes, hours, or days. Then we remember them again and re-feel our grief, our sadness at the ceasing of the deceased.
Yet everything ceases. The Memorial Service, the day, the flowers, eventually the plants, and one of these years, us.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Reduce. Re-use. Recycle.
At a backyard party last evening, Jackie told me that she collects the used plastic knives from such events and uses them as plant markers. "I try to reuse them," she said, "so that they don't go straight to the dump."
My own version is that i re-use plastic containers of all sorts to pot up plants to give away--cherry tomato containers (after i cut off the lid), strawberry boxes, Chinese take-out boxes, hummus containers, blueberry pressed-cardboard containers, yogurt single-serving containers.
"Reduce. Re-use. Recycle." is one motto of the Voluntary Simplicity movement. When we voluntarily simplify our lives, we are practicing renunciation, and that is very counter-cultural to our consumer society.
We consider the impact of buying more plastic and try to re-use the plastic that already cycles through our lives in such great quantity.
Renunciation is a factor of awakening. Let's wake up to the impact we have on the life around us.
My own version is that i re-use plastic containers of all sorts to pot up plants to give away--cherry tomato containers (after i cut off the lid), strawberry boxes, Chinese take-out boxes, hummus containers, blueberry pressed-cardboard containers, yogurt single-serving containers.
"Reduce. Re-use. Recycle." is one motto of the Voluntary Simplicity movement. When we voluntarily simplify our lives, we are practicing renunciation, and that is very counter-cultural to our consumer society.
We consider the impact of buying more plastic and try to re-use the plastic that already cycles through our lives in such great quantity.
Renunciation is a factor of awakening. Let's wake up to the impact we have on the life around us.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Wanting Something Different
Yesterday i had 1 hour to spend in my community garden plot. My plan was to turn over the last 1/3 of the garden, plant Brussels sprouts and red cabbage seedlings, plant turnip and rutabaga seeds. And that's as far as i got. The other 4 things on my to-do list would have taken another hour.
Since i don't usually garden by the clock, i was surprised that my body couldn't accomplish all that the mind had planned for it. I was also surprised by how time-less the garden is.
Sure, when i'm home, i often squeeze in a few gardening chores before driving off to an appointment, but i know i'll be back that day or the next. My community garden plot is a 10-minute drive from home, and i know i won't return to it for a few days. Planting the squash and the sungold cherry tomatoes will have to wait.
"Waiting" is when stress arises. I want something (planting) that cannot be had right now. Impatience, frustration, and anxiety arise--more stress.
I had a lovely time-less hour in the garden, chatting with another gardener working in her plot. That calm is overwhelmed by the desire for things to be different than they are.
Wisdom is accepting things just as they are: plot turned over, seedlings transplanted, seeds planted. Ahh. A beautiful breezy day interlude in the sunny garden.
Since i don't usually garden by the clock, i was surprised that my body couldn't accomplish all that the mind had planned for it. I was also surprised by how time-less the garden is.
Sure, when i'm home, i often squeeze in a few gardening chores before driving off to an appointment, but i know i'll be back that day or the next. My community garden plot is a 10-minute drive from home, and i know i won't return to it for a few days. Planting the squash and the sungold cherry tomatoes will have to wait.
"Waiting" is when stress arises. I want something (planting) that cannot be had right now. Impatience, frustration, and anxiety arise--more stress.
I had a lovely time-less hour in the garden, chatting with another gardener working in her plot. That calm is overwhelmed by the desire for things to be different than they are.
Wisdom is accepting things just as they are: plot turned over, seedlings transplanted, seeds planted. Ahh. A beautiful breezy day interlude in the sunny garden.
Friday, June 3, 2011
Psychic Gardening
There are days i don't go to the garden at all--except in my mind. I carry the garden with me psychically, thinking about the irises i want to transplant, the squash seeds i want to plant, and about getting a load of manure on Saturday.
Thinking about the garden is pleasant on a day, like yesterday, when i'm spending 4 hours in the car and busy away from home all day until late sunset at 8:30.
This being in one place--the car--and day-dreaming, pleasantly, about another place--my garden--is actually stress in sheep's clothing. Thinking about irises and squash and my plans for the manure are present moment thoughts while the body is seated in the car with its hands on the steering wheel and the eyes in its head gazing at a curvy road through the mountains or a straight black ribbon of interstate highway.
Tethering the mind to the body is challenging. The mind wants to go out and play while the body is chauffeuring it around.
The present moment is changing scenery of fields, forest, and rivers. Bring the attention to the sensations of driving, to the sounds of driving, to the sights of driving.
Oh! There's Rock Ridge Farm. I stop there and buy some cabbage plants for my community garden plot and some annuals for an unplanted flower bed.
A gardening interlude while driving.
Thinking about the garden is pleasant on a day, like yesterday, when i'm spending 4 hours in the car and busy away from home all day until late sunset at 8:30.
This being in one place--the car--and day-dreaming, pleasantly, about another place--my garden--is actually stress in sheep's clothing. Thinking about irises and squash and my plans for the manure are present moment thoughts while the body is seated in the car with its hands on the steering wheel and the eyes in its head gazing at a curvy road through the mountains or a straight black ribbon of interstate highway.
Tethering the mind to the body is challenging. The mind wants to go out and play while the body is chauffeuring it around.
The present moment is changing scenery of fields, forest, and rivers. Bring the attention to the sensations of driving, to the sounds of driving, to the sights of driving.
Oh! There's Rock Ridge Farm. I stop there and buy some cabbage plants for my community garden plot and some annuals for an unplanted flower bed.
A gardening interlude while driving.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Golden Light
Yesterday late afternoon, a terrific downpour of a thunderstorm with nearby lightning strikes was followed, in town (where i was in yoga class), by sirens racing down the street. One could practice compassion for the people at the destination of the firetrucks, but my mind automatically went to gratitude.
Aren't we lucky to live in places where 9-1-1 brings a firetruck or the police? In this rural state, we were only 9-1-1ed with street addresses (replacing the old Rural Route addresses) a few years ago. Before that, there was fumbling for the right phone number.
Aren't we fortunate to live in places where volunteer or professional fire fighters receive a call of desperation and can arrive minutes later?
And thank goodness for all that equipment and training.
On my drive home from yoga, the post-sunset sky glowed with golden light, and all the white clapboard houses passed had suddenly been painted the most beautiful creamy pale yellow. When i arrived at my destination (home: safe and dry), i went out to the garden to bathe in the golden light. And also to plant yellow summer squash seeds in what had been dusty soil just a few hours earlier.
Dryness. Gone.
Rain. Gone.
Thunder. Gone.
And then the golden light was gone.
Aren't we lucky to live in places where 9-1-1 brings a firetruck or the police? In this rural state, we were only 9-1-1ed with street addresses (replacing the old Rural Route addresses) a few years ago. Before that, there was fumbling for the right phone number.
Aren't we fortunate to live in places where volunteer or professional fire fighters receive a call of desperation and can arrive minutes later?
And thank goodness for all that equipment and training.
On my drive home from yoga, the post-sunset sky glowed with golden light, and all the white clapboard houses passed had suddenly been painted the most beautiful creamy pale yellow. When i arrived at my destination (home: safe and dry), i went out to the garden to bathe in the golden light. And also to plant yellow summer squash seeds in what had been dusty soil just a few hours earlier.
Dryness. Gone.
Rain. Gone.
Thunder. Gone.
And then the golden light was gone.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
The Good Deeds of Bats
Last evening at dusk, we sat on the deck overlooking the garden and saw a bat flying high above the yard. Since the prodigious rains of May gave birth to a population explosion of mosquitoes, we were quite happy to see Batty (as we dubbed her).
My niece, Camille, is repulsed by bats and terrified of them. To be sure, bats have a face that only their mother could love, but i love the fact that bats eat hundreds of mosquitoes every hour. (Speaking of which, a mosquito just landed on my finger as i am typing in my office! I deported it to the Great Outdoors.)
Once in a while, we can convert an enemy into a friend by thinking of the good deeds they do. Bats eat mosquitoes. Ants lick peonies open. Bees pollinate flowers and make honey.
A local man lectures on how to cook with invasive plants. (I continue to pull these thugs whenever i find them.)
And how about that person who rubs you the wrong way? Think of some good deeds this person has done.
And send loving-kindness to yourself.
My niece, Camille, is repulsed by bats and terrified of them. To be sure, bats have a face that only their mother could love, but i love the fact that bats eat hundreds of mosquitoes every hour. (Speaking of which, a mosquito just landed on my finger as i am typing in my office! I deported it to the Great Outdoors.)
Once in a while, we can convert an enemy into a friend by thinking of the good deeds they do. Bats eat mosquitoes. Ants lick peonies open. Bees pollinate flowers and make honey.
A local man lectures on how to cook with invasive plants. (I continue to pull these thugs whenever i find them.)
And how about that person who rubs you the wrong way? Think of some good deeds this person has done.
And send loving-kindness to yourself.
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