Thursday, April 26, 2012


Tis the season.

This last was two weeks ago; the red tulips are long gone now, and the ribes blooms as well.  But the daffodils and rosemary are going strong.  And the apple blossoms.  Be still my heart.


It's true, I am tired of the basement seedling scene.  It is a very contrived, idiotic situation to be sprouting plants in the darkest place you can find.  But, OK, it does work.  Time upstairs on the buffet by the North windows; time on the front porch, covered, with only east light; time on the back porch, in the weather and the western sun... and out they go.  I did it on Sunday and it was hot as hell and they instantly flattened to earth in mourning for their lost spring.  But I never worried.  It is just what those little guys like out there now.  Of course, too many cabbage starts, endive starts - because you can't pack them in and eat them young like the lettuces.  What is the point of an escarole without the blanched heart?

A few house plants got a breath of fresh air.  So needed.  They start to feel so dirty in the house after a winter.  The meyer lemon that has been hanging out green since Kiera gave me the little tree a month ago turned its bottom yellow in about four hours.

Saturday, April 14, 2012


Oh, spring.  I forgot about you.

I think depression is the feeling that nothing will change, or that we are left out of the change, untouched.

In order to not be depressed, we prepare for and try to accept the static nature of winter.  We take advantage of the lightening of outdoor chores, since, whether we make an effort or not, everything will drip and not grow.  We are blessed here in the Pacific Northwest, and some things do flower - but nothing grows.    

We forget the feeling of newness.  I forgot.  

And now you're here, layering on the romance.  Like a new baby or an old lover, you lead the way.  I am shy, excited, surprised.  You are a step ahead of me, unfolding, unfolding. 

I planted these plants with space between, expansion in mind.  Jeff pruned for rapid, rampant growth.  We were here, less than a year ago, when you could see the corn get taller in an afternoon.  And yet I forgot.  

And still you came.


I saw one.  Jeff saw it first.  Among the trailing grape hyacinth foliage, between the brown branches of last year's fava crop and the soggy sticks which used, themselves, to be asparagus, yellow fronds ten feet tall...

A new soul.

I want to say, hooray, not later than last year, at least!  And, we'll cut them this year for sure -
but what do you do with eight asparagus?

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

bleach water

So, there was all that cat shit.  

When Gay was here I mowed the row of its cozy, spoiled, rapidly growing, just-as-planned February bright, and we washed it in bleach dilution.

What else could we do?

It took a couple of rinses.

There were a lot of bags.  

Mixed greens (arugula, radicchio, leftover lettuce, luscious spinach just getting going, random other small and bitter things).  Chard.  Kale.

We did eat it all.  No problem!  Though some of those days I ate two salads.  Two fresh salads a day!  In March!  

Amazing what it's like, a few times a year, to really have enough from this little garden.  

Monday, April 9, 2012

just the facts

Last week, on Wednesday, I planted peas.  It was glorious warm and Holly for din and there was a debate, as the day stretched to evening and I chopped with the hoe and the girls spun the swings, about how they should be tied, 'this way or this way,' in which Zelda helpfully participated by wondering if we shouldn't just do them 'this way and this way.'  I rolled them in their black bath and plopped them into bed just as the darkness descended.

Yesterday I moved the two trays of starts from their schizophrenic basement environment to the plant buffet by the North window.  Just today they grew a new leaf each.  They are pale and wan.  That horrible basement.  There are cabbage, escarole, lettuces of many sorts.

This evening, after hot dogs on the deck, I began to make a space for them in the third bed by pulling out and gleaning the bolted kale.

Today I made a bouquet.

Perhaps tomorrow a few seeds, raked in hopefully? Spinach, radishes, mache, arugula.  Perhaps.