Gray Turkey

A flock of turkeys often visit the field near my vegetable garden. Yesterday, i did a double-take. A gray turkey with white wings strolled in their midst. The turkeys didn't seem to notice this difference.

We all know that a turkey is a turkey. One is not better than another. No difference except feathers.

Do we know--really know, deep in our bones--that skin color is also no difference. Except that we act as if there is a difference.

Little Shop of Horrors

Several years ago, i planted spikenard (Aralia racemosa) as a big background plant in my woodland garden. Last spring, i found several spikenard seedlings in a 30-foot radius from the original plant. I began to get a sinking feeling--this was going to be way too many five-foot tall plants. The closer i looked, the more seedlings i found. Finally, i asked the gardener to dig the original plant out of the ground and throw it on the burn pile. I didn't want to take any chances with this plant, which i nicknamed Audrey, after the monstrous plant in The Little Shop of Horrors.

The gardener chopped off the greenery and dug around the plant and got down to a five-foot wide woody rootball. Oh-oh. Dangerous! It took her more than an hour to uproot the little horror.

Sometimes we plant habits in our life, thinking how beautiful we are going to look with this habit. My mother, for instance, smoked cigarettes like Bette Davis. And she did look beautiful. But... Then it's awfully darn difficult to get away from that habit. The root is thick and deep.

Today the gardener discovered another big spikenard growing in the opposite corner of the garden. Oh-oh.

Fire Fly Cherry Tomato

My favorite cherry tomato this summer was Fire Fly, an All-America Selection for 2019. This blond, pale yellow tomato surpasses even my very favorite Sungold.

I'm just now harvesting my very last tomatoes. Alas, the tomato season has come to an end, as we must also.

I'm taking training at hospice to become an Advance Directive volunteer. But first, i need to update my own directive for the end of my "season" here on earth.

When tomato season ends, i simply pull the dead tomato plant out of the ground, and store away the tomato cage. When the season of a human body is coming to an end, the decisions are not so simple.

Have you filled out your Advance Directive? Named your agent? Given them instructions for what to do when you can no longer speak for yourself? It will be so much easier for you and your family if you take care of this.

Labeling

I am still harvesting green beans--a basketful every day. In the midst of all that greenery, some beans have escaped my notice and become big bean-y beans; others are young and tender. No matter. I blanch and freeze both. My sweetie insists on labeling the big beans so that when he takes a bag of beans out of the freezer, he'll know what he's getting.

Labeling our meditation object is a good practice to remind ourselves what we are doing in meditation. Hearing. Hearing. Or Feeling. Feeling. Or even Seeing. Seeing. Labeling is a big help in our mindfulness practice.

I'm wondering if i can be mindful enough to pick my pole beans every day.

Yellow Leaves

Yellow leaves are falling, falling. A blizzard of golden leaves in the air. A carpet of sunny leaves on the ground.

Leaves that were once high up in the treetops, fluttering in the air now lie in stillness on the earth.

Fall. Falling. Change. Changing.

Earth Worms are Migrating Too

Birds are flying south. Monarch butterflies are winging south. Snowbird friends are migrating to Florida, North Carolina, or Arizona for the winter. 

Earthworms are migrating too. They head deeper down into the soil to spend the winter below the frostline. Here in the North Country, that's at least 3 feet deep.

As you consider the cool and cold seasons ahead, where do you want to burrow down?

There are lots of distractions out there, but what does your heart of hearts really, truly want? Listen.

Mine wants to burrow into a couple or three particular meditations. I want to burrow into the subtle dullness that so often arises. I want to practice loving everybody. Yes, that's right. Everybody. That's where i'm burrowing this winter.

Wild Grapes

While on retreat last week, i took several quarter-mile walks along the country road which is more like an extension of the retreat center driveway. Every few hundred feet, i could smell grapes! Wild grapes. So deliciously grape-smelling.

I picked a few. The grape skins were sour; the seeds were mouth-puckeringly sour; and the inner grape--well, it was sour too. Oh, but that smell of grapes was over-powering.

The sourness of New England grapes stems, in part, from the acidic soil in which they grow.

What's your inner mood? What's your "inner soil"?

Meditation helps us change our natural mood setpoints toward positivity. When the inner climate is sunny, the words that come off your tongue will be sunny too.