Saturday, November 21, 2020
by Audre Lorde
What am I ready to lose in this advancing summer?
As the days that seemed long
grow shorter and shorter
I want to chew up time
until every moment expands
in an emotional mathematic
that includes the smell and texture
of every similar instant since I was born.
But the solstice is passing
my mouth stumbles
crammed with crib sheets and flowers
dime store photographs
of loving in stages
choked by flinty nuggets of old friends
preserved sweet and foul in their lack
of exposure to sunlight.
Thundereggs of myself
ossify in the buttonholes
of old recalled lovers
who all look like rainbows
stretching across other summers
to the pot of gold
behind my own eyes.
As the light wanes
what I thought I was anxious to surrender
I am only willing to lend
and reluctance covers my face
as I glue up my lips with the promise
of coming winter.
Posted by devon at 7:29 AM
Friday, November 6, 2020
All that you touch
All that you Change
The only lasting truth
That's Octavia Butler, of course.
Is both creative and destructive,
Demanding an yielding
Sculptor and clay.
God is Infinite Potential:
God is Change.
Are all around you.
All that you perceive,
All that you experience,
All that is given to you,
Or taken from you,
All that you love or hate,
Need or fear
Will teach you --
If you will learn.
God is your first
and your last teacher.
God is your harshest teacher:
Learn or die.
I love Death, so I don't hear this last bit as an invitation to escape her. I hear it as a declaration of fact: if you try to hold change still, you will lose touch with what is most alive.
Thank you, plants. Thank you, season of gorgeous death. Thank you, Ms Butler. I bow to the lessons.
Posted by devon at 8:42 AM
Tuesday, November 3, 2020
Always struggle with the area around the fig tree in spring. In late summer and fall the whole south bed is overwhelmed by the Pennisetum grasses I keep dividing (an invasive here, turns out) - maybe when I move the back line of sturdy yellow diffs out, I'll push a bunch in around the base.
Will I leave these dahlia bulbs in the ground? Or risk trying to over winter them in storage?
Another good place for some sturdy bland daffodils - this strip by the deck. Everything I plant there I end up moving, except strawberries.
Filled the north side of this bed with double daffs, the south side with the tall dark purple tulips that I wish were black. Moved two Panicum from elsewhere. The Nasella have thrived everywhere I stuck them - in the spring they were almost the only friends in this bed. Divided the orange flowered echinacea, prayed over them all to thrive. Not sure if I will keep those lilies there. Maybe they will resonate shape-wise with the banana in spring?
Last bag of bulbs to plant are these gorgeous dark leaved tulips - who knows if they will be sturdy. I want to put them in the big bed, just there to the right.
Posted by devon at 6:44 AM
Wednesday, October 28, 2020
In May, I thought, I'd like two more of these peonies in this East-facing Western edge of the garden. There is a sort of wall of older plantings there that defines the back edge of what we see from the kitchen, against the blackberries in the squatter yard. It is an undefined spot, where we can't decide if we need a path or not. Later in the summer, big grasses grow up and bend forward, and the Highbush Cranberry behind explodes with new growth and the peony greens are buried in the mess. But in May, oh how my heart sings (along with nearly every other gardener's I'm sure, and, from the evidence, all the bees as well) to watch this tender queen unfurl her paper petals to bare her sparkling cunt.
No cops. No prisons. Total Abolition.
Early May seeding... where did I get okra seed? I think I just wanted to see the flowers. Turns out they don't stay long enough to really witness. Not one of the okra that grew were truly edible. And the peppers and eggplant are still out there, finally finding their stride, as frost approaches. There was such a long, silly cycle with keeping the seedling pots on the proofing shelf of the oven, where it was too dry and not bright enough. When I finally moved them to the window and covered them with plastic, things started to poke up more willingly. Just last month in the great basement clean out of fire season 2020, I found the heat mat on the rat slab, under the camo netting curtain we finally threw out. I think next spring I'll try to seed in the greenhouse.
The peas ended up growing fine in the stone circle, but they were plagued by slugs, as I realize now everything that I planted in there this summer was. Too many places to hide. It feels like that spot wants to be a larger accent planting, anyway. Maybe a tree.
In contrast, the fava beans overwintered so well loose in the West bed. Beautiful, productive. The calendula bloomed so much and I appreciate them - but that orange is not my garden color. Can I get the cultivars with pale petals to self seed like that?
Wow, how the back edge explodes with growth. I can't even remember it being so low and managed. Reminds me to properly prune all over again.
Precious friend from Rebecca's garden, poking her delicate head up in the side strip. I think it is hard for tender new things to get going over there because of the web-mat of oregano roots. Maybe I'll look for her this moving season and see where else she might shine better.
Yes, committing to move the peonies. Eliminating that back path. Shifting the Coyote Brush that doubled in size from the center of that bed to further back. Dividing the grasses so some of them can come forward. The peonies are two different colors. Maybe I'll separate them. Maybe I'll let the pink one go.
Progression shot; closer to the end of May. The mullein starting to show their truth.
I grew fennel!
How those allium bulbs define the garden for their time! Then disappear so I forget them.
The tomatoes did well tucked against the house. The flowers I seeded at the end of May were well timed to step into holes in the garden in late June when the big wave of spring bulbs and greenery and calendula had faded out. Those zinnia and amaranth and strawflower are beginning to blacken in the garden now, but their season was long and glorious.
Posted by devon at 5:48 AM