Holiday Greetings!

Happy July 4th!

Summer! Here at last. Here we are a couple of weeks past the summer solstice and my garden is in full swing. Cucumbers, zucchini, yellow squash,sugar snap and snow peas,garlic, new potatoes, red and black raspberries, blueberries and very soon tomatoes,and green beans. Acorn squash, butternut squash are beginning to set fruit, and pretty soon I will spy small but growing cantaloupes and honeydew melons! This evening I will blend basil, parsley, garlic and Parmesan cheese into pesto magic! Not to go all veggie on you but I think this beats hot dogs and hamburgers for Fourth of July fare!

In addition to the garden, this summer I have enrolled in an online journaling workshop offered by Story Core Circle out of Austin, Texas. I have offered my own workshops acting as facilitator. This summer I decided I wanted to be a participant! the title? "Journal as Provocation". Sounded interesting....and provocative!

Speaking of workshops, this September I will be attending the  Transformative Language Arts Network (TLAN) conference where I will be offering a version of "Questions for the Second Half of Life". As you may know this past  winter I offered a 12 session journaling experience inspired by the work of Fr. Richard Rohr and his book Falling Upward.

This will be my fourth TLAN conference. I attended in 2010, 2012 and 2013. Each year has been unique and  has had a profound effect on'my writing life'giving me the confidence to honor what I have to say. As a result of my attending these conferences I uncovered the desire to create this blog and discovered the courage to jump in and offer my writing workshops. This is an amazing community of folks who are supportive, inspired, tremendously creative and generous!

  Join  us  September  19-­21,  2014  at  Lake  Doniphan  Retreat  Center  in  Kansas   City,  MO  for  our  11th  Power  of  Words  Conference  to  explore  how  we  can  use  our  words  —  written,   spoken  or  sung  —  to  make  community,  deepen  healing,  witness  one  another,  wake  ourselves  up,  and   foster  empowerment  and  transformation.  The  conference  features  workshops,  performances,  talking   circles,  celebration  and  more,  featuring  writers,  storytellers,  performers,  musicians,  community  leaders,   activists,  educators,  and  health  professionals  (scholarships  available).  http://TLANetwork.org  

 

Early Spring Evening

The sun, so close to the horizon,

High pitched voices of children rise above the ground

In the yards across the road,

Their shrieks and laughter dapple the orange lit sunset.

Chickens are nestled peacefully in the coop,

Dogs settle for the night, dandelions dot the back pasture.

By tomorrow I will see circular globes of milk light dust.

This is the spring we have all been waiting for!

We have turned the corner!

The days grow longer, beckoning us to spend our hours outside,

To soak in the warmth, the sunlight, the sweet air,

So welcomed after a winter of winds, snows, the sleet and rains

That drove us inside, relentlessly, for months.

And now, the blessed season of rebirth has begun,

Calves, bees, lambs, peas,

All respond to the call of the lingering light.

My heart lifts, and opens, awake to the

Possibility of my own fresh indwelling,

Waiting to emerge.

What is waiting in me to be reborn?

What is waiting to find me as these days unfold?

What will I allow to find me?

Mary Brandenburg

May 6, 2014

Sunday Morning in March

Having finished my coffee ritual, and having  fed the chickens,

I find myself standing here, barefoot, at the kitchen counter

Savoring a breakfast of a single apple and an orange.

The dogs peer intently, focused on my every move,

lest something, an apple core, a wayward crumb, fall to the floor.

Their interest in my breakfast is proportional

to the remainders of French toast ,liquid eggy mixture and syrup

they have already slurped up, delicious remnants of my husband’s meal.

He asks me to cut his hair, or what remains of it.

Clippers glide, leaving a pile of grey brown hairs

which collectively resemble a dead mouse deteriorating on the counter.

As a last finishing touch I carefully spread a thin layer of shaving cream over the shiny dome of his balding head,

and carefully remove the odd stray hair pointing skyward.

It is grey outside, not 40 degrees, and damp.

I shouldn’t be disappointed, it is not yet April,

a morning to do inside things.

Yet surprise! Yesterday afternoon as I headed home,

windows down, catching the warmth of welcome 70 degrees and full sun,

what met my ears?

The sound of the tiny tree frogs, the 'peepers',

A true sound of springtime arrived.

“Bidden or not bidden, God is present.”*

Mary Brandenburg

March 23, 2014

*A translation from the Latin, a phrase Carl Jung had carved into the lintel above the doorway of his summer cottage and later was  imprinted on his tombstone.

Taming the Blackberry Thicket

March 9, 2014

First Day of Day Light Savings

            March. A fickle month. One day it can seem as though old man winter is still having his way with us, holding on with gnarled frozen fingers, sending temperatures into the teens and wind chills making things even worse. Then, as if by some magic trick, the sun emerges from the flat grey sky warming the air and temperatures climb to near 60 degrees! Indeed, can spring be far behind?

This afternoon, temperatures in the mid-40s, I ventured out to take a walk, my first walk in months and months, having been sequestered inside by single digits and more wind. Today as I strode down the road I was hopeful that this might be a real day of spring. Alas, wishful thinking. As I rounded the curve flanked by open fields the wind came up fiercely, bringing streams of tears trickling down my cheeks. I made an about face and headed in the direction of home. Now what? Still a great afternoon to be out of doors.

            Off to the garden I went, with loppers, heavy duty work gloves and my jacket whose outside shell is as strong as titanium...perfect for bearing up to the daunting task of pruning back the blackberry thicket. This is a March task if ever there was one. In order to safely attempt the job one has to be dressed properly...so the day has to be cold enough to wear such protection, yet not so windy that the canes swing around and rake your face with evil thorns. Indeed, it feels as though this plant has a mind of its own which most sincerely wants to protect its longevity. You tug on it and it tugs back! Wear a hat and in no time it has been snatched off your head! In ways it feels as though you are wading through and trying to prune back a massive thorny spider web who's every intention is to thwart your success.

            Having performed this springtime chore going on seven years now, I have come to realize there are two requirements essential to one's inner attitude: work slowly, don't hurry, and its corollary which enables the first one, be patient. As my 'chicken coach' and friend David once wisely said to me the day he meticulously off loaded my brand new chicken coop from the back of his flatbed trailer, placing it precisely on the foundation we had struggled to prepare, "nothing good ever comes from going fast". Wise words that serve many situations!

            In the meantime I had opened up the garden gate, braced it open with a stick so it would not slam shut in a gust of wind, and invited in 'the girls', my four beautiful chickens who, incidentally, are back to laying like champs and are thus, somewhat, earning their keep. As I struggled with the massive blackberry thicket, they most happily scratched in the left over straw mulch enthusiastically peering into the soil for whatever treasure it is that they excavate from below.

            The dogs kept watch over a neighbor clearing the final layers of snow on his drive, Lila barking out acknowledgement of his presence.

            This whole scene is one of such contentment: doing a necessary job in the season it needs to be done in, the animals thankful to be finally out in the sunlight and warmth....and as I worked I had to remind myself of the reason for this afternoon's effort: the possibility of blackberry cobbler or blackberry smoothies...or if I am really ambitious and all goes well, perhaps blackberry jam that could serve as Christmas presents.

            It is not wasted on me that perhaps this afternoon's work is a throwback to an earlier way of life. It would be far, far easier to simply purchase blackberries at the grocery store. But doing that would deny me of one of my most profound joys: the experience of engaging with the process of producing my own food, of having my hands quite literally in the soil, of connecting with the cycle of the seasons, all of which allows me to feel in tune and attuned with the Universe. Believe it or not this task , when seen for what it really is or means, has an almost sacred quality. It all makes sense to me.

            Someday I will no longer be able to do this, spend an afternoon in March pruning back the blackberry thicket. At the age of (almost) 62 I am well aware that life changes and with it our bodies respond to time. So for now I will savor this annual spring chore, my wrestling with an entity that resists my attempts to tame it and I will consider it fun!

 

Stewardship

August 26, 2013

     Late Summer. Rounding the bend toward Autumn. This afternoon, after my days work was done, the dogs and I ventured out to the garden. My intention was to pick the plum tomatoes I spied a few days ago. By now, I thought, they should be ready.

Sure enough, I found twenty or so. Quite ripe, or almost there.

     The green beans – bush flat variety, and the pencil thin haricots verts had already given up a plentiful harvest. The timely rains we enjoyed helped.

Perhaps there might be a second offering. Did I read that beans produce additional harvests when picked regularly? Hope so.

      Sure enough, I found enough bush beans to make a decent contribution to supper. Moving down the row, bent over, I peered through the bushy mass of green. Voila! Another unexpected surprise.  Plentiful, slender, elegant haricots verts.  Another meal.

      Turning the corner past the yellowing cucumber vines I was greeted with another late summer bonus. Clusters of orange yellow orbs, the delightful Sungold tomato.

    There is something satisfying in eating what’s currently available. I don’t have lettuce anymore, so salad is not on the menu. Tomatoes with basil, or rosemary, or tarragon, sliced, roasted, sauced. Yes! Green beans with garlic, mint and cherry tomatoes. Yes again!

     Luscious wedges of cantaloupes grace the breakfast table. Last week potato salad with hard boiled eggs was a star attraction.

    When I am in the garden I find I move to a rhythm determined by the time of day, be it early morning, midday or evening.I am ever mindful of the presence or absence of rain and wind. And the month. What needs doing in April or May differs from what is required in August. I like being a steward to the seasonal and climactic changes on my small property.

    Steward. That is the perfect word to describe the position I occupy in the garden. Perhaps in life. I think it implies that I am not the central actor. Some other force greater than me, has the major role. It is my job to see that all the necessary ingredients are available to achieve success. Something like parenting, I think.

    Cantaloupes. Beautifully netted, round, heavy – one of my top ten favorite crops. This year, thanks to ample rainfall all summer, at just the right time, the cantaloupe patch offered up six or seven burgeoning melons. Patience is a virtue when it comes to melons. I have found that out the hard way by plucking one out, anticipating with joy the knife slice down the center, only to discover I should have waited another few days. Tough, flavorless, unripe.

As with many things, timing is everything. And attentiveness. Watching, observing, turning a careful eye to the subtle changes.

'My Inner Farmer'

This past Sunday, July 28,2013 I had the immense pleasure of listening to a wonderful piece on NPR.  Susan Stamberg was conducting an  interview writer, teacher,columnist for the New York Times and farmer  Verlyn Klinkenborg. His most recent book, More Scenes from the Rural Life,  is just out. It depicts glimpses of his life farming in upstate New York and he read various vivid, delightful excerpts from it.

What made this experience so pleasurable for me was to hear his astute observations of a  life lived close the the land.He is a wonderfully keen observer of the  patterns of nature, the seasonal changes and a life  lived with animals. While I don't have a farm, indeed we only have five acres, complete with 30 ' X 45' garden, fruit trees, berry bushes and, sadly,only four chickens, and two dogs, I could so relate to his observations and pleasures. He was clear to say that he is firstly an academic, yet  he comes from a long line of farmers. He returned to his family lineage when he purchased a farm in 1997. And while he does not make his living solely from farming, it seems that the rhythm and demands of  life on his farm are clearly the background 'fabric' of his existence. To a certain extent this is true for me as well.

By contrast, however, I do not come from a long line of farmers. Not my parents, nor their parents were in any way the types to be happy with dirt under their fingernails. Yes, my mother's father was a botanist/scientist and wrote an important volume on the plants on the island of Guam. (Useful Plants of Guam by William Edwin Safford, originally published in 1905), he was certainly not a farmer. However something, or somewhere in my DNA shows up as what I like to call 'My Inner Farmer'. Shortly after I graduated from college in 1972 I was inspired to ask my parents if I could dig up a plot of ground in their suburban back yard. With their permission I dove into this new passion. I purchased a small book describing French Intensive Gardening (The Postage Stamp Garden,  now out of print, I think), double dug a 10' X 10'  plot,added purchased organic ingredients (back then I didn't know anyone who lived on a farm, therefore had no access to compost/manure, my how times have changed!)  and by summer's end had my first jaw dropping experience of peering into a jungle of green and discovering...food! Cucumbers, pole beans, tomatoes...I was hooked. Ever since then, for the past  40 years,with few exceptions, everyplace I have lived I have always created a garden, I have always grown food.

While I listened to Verlyn Klinkenborg bemusedly describing the inflated antics of a Tom Turkey after mating, I was busy in my kitchen processing a sea of basil into fragrant pesto sauce, and upon finishing that I was taking the skins off of a gazillion ripe plum tomatoes in preparation for making Sauce Pomodoro with, what else, basil! All this in anticipation of a cold January  evenings when we are yearning for the taste of summer past. We will  reach into the freezer and pull out frozen pesto ready to be thawed and combine it  hot pasta or enjoy the intense sweetness of freshly picked tomatoes.'Remembrance of things past.' It makes all my hot, sticky labor well worth the effort.

Harvesting Late Summer's Sweetness

The end of July. More than a month past the Summer Solstice and the garden is showing the signs of the change in seasons. The summer squashes, just two weeks ago overwhelming are,thankfully,slowing down (anyone know 1001 recipes for zucchini??). Cucumber and winter squash leaves are beginning to yellow and wilt, and the tomatoes are ripening before my eyes. Potato plants have been browning up for a couple of weeks. Depending upon one's point of view this can look like abundance...or a tsunami!

Most every day I wander out into the garden and have a look around. What needs picking, what needs pruning...as in the blackberry canes that reach out to rip the hat off your head, or the cantaloupe runners that sneak their way into the tomato bed. Try to keep a check on the weeds. Good luck! They LOVE hot weather!! Everyday something to do. My 'inner farmer' is so content. Yes, trying to produce as much of our own food as I can manage (yes, that is my goal) IS a part time job, yet an amazingly satisfying one. Not to mention delicious. Yet some days I find myself saying "so many vegetables, so few meals!"

Right now I am keeping an eye on beets, green and red cabbage, cucumbers, yellow squash, zucchini, pole beans, haricot verts, basil, tomatoes (13 plants),  swiss chard,kale, (how many massaged kale salads and kale chips can one plant make? That's a joke :),  sweet peppers, egg plant,and  blackberries. Not to mention herbs: mint, rosemary, oregano, tarragon and chives.By mid August the cantaloupes will begin to ripen and I will soon  harvest the butternut squash. Right before the first frost in early October I will unearth the bed of sweet potatoes. And just this afternoon I started broccoli and brussels sprouts from seed in the basement under a grow light.

But speaking of potatoes! This week was the time for magic, time for the great potato harvest! Of all the tasks in the garden this might be my most favorite. It is like Christmas and Easter rolled into one! As I said, the potato plants have been browning up for at least a couple of weeks, sign that the skins of the tubers are toughening up and ready to dig out of the ground. These are potatoes that  I was lucky enough to get into the ground by the traditional St. Patrick's Day planting date. If  I am remembering  correctly the receipt from Kendall's Hardware indicated that I purchased about 6 pounds of golf ball sized seed potatoes, 2 pounds each of  three varieties (yummy Yukon Gold, Red Kennebecs and another white potato whose name I don't remember) for about $8.00. So I got out my gardening fork, and pulling away the straw mulch I carefully placed the fork several inches away from the main stem of each plant, stepped onto the fork and then gave a firm upward thrust. As if by magic gorgeous red or white potatoes revealed themselves a midst the dark moist earth. Nothing quite like it!

By the time I was done I had discovered 26 plus pounds of potatoes, enough to last us well into the New Year. That is a pretty good return on my investment. What is so amazing to me is that all I did was to provide the environment for Mother Nature (and God) to do her thing....soil made nutritious, thanks to my chickens' manure(which is the engine that drives my entire garden), a thick layer of straw mulch to keep the soil moist and an even, cool temperature , and occasional watering when needed...and simply stand back and voila!Late summer goodness!

A dilemma: do I make vichyssoise or gazpacho...or both? "A catastrophe of riches!"

Coming up next up: putting up tomatoes and the making of.... pesto! Did I show you my basil plants? Oy!!!