Unsocial updates
All last week, I ran from thing to thing. These are the social media posts I drafted and redrafted in my head, and never shared.
gardening
Two-week review
Sometimes my life spins more quickly than I can follow. Here are some snapshots from the past two weeks. We spent a precious weekend with our second son on his home visit. He said that when I took him back to camp, he wanted to show me Eagle’s Point, so we packed a lunch and …
Under the ice
Today, at last, the snow melted enough for me to check how things were doing. The tulip greens were up a couple of inches, the daffodils barely poking, not even the crocuses showing any color yet. I looked for the Lenten Rose, finally exposed to the light just hours before.
It was tiny and crumpled and distressed.
Regarding herbs
In my husband’s rubber boots, I walk through the crunchy-wet snow to check how things are growing. Brave and hardy, new-sprung leaves are poking through the ice. I always worry about them, and wish I could tuck them up warm. They need another mama while the earth pulls her nasty pranks on them and leaves them to shiver.
Gifts of great beauty
So now that we are talking to each other, what should we talk about? If I were a smarter blogger, I would have quickly followed up on your willingness to talk with a titillating post on a hot topic, like “Q: What do you think of The Shack?” (A: I don’t think of it at …
In praise of the soybean
My dad grew edamame before it was cool. We called it by another name back then. In the garden he claimed from a Minnesota meadow, he planted rows of soybeans, poor man’s food he remembered from his boyhood. When the plants died in the late summer, he uprooted them by the dozen and laid them …
Herb gardens
Confession: I am obsessed with herbs. Gripped. Infatuated. Besotted with herbs. Last year we dug up a patch along the south side of my house and I started an herb garden, with flat slabs of limestone for edging and paths, and a handful of starts from my aunt and a few friends. Thyme. Sage. Rosemary. …
I Am From
What Anita did looked so fun I decided to try it too. Here’s the template if you want to join the party. Based on the beautiful poem “Where I’m From” by George Ella Lyon. ***** I am from hot suppers and homegrown cabbage and children in and out of doors. I am from the ancient gray …
Green beans and good deeds
Did you know that I can hear what plants are saying? This is one reason why I hate weeding (besides the fact that it is hard work): it feels cruel and unfair. I hate the sight of all those babies gasping and shriveling in the sun. When I prune I have to steel myself against …
On gardening and imperfection
Part A Confession: Almost I would give up writing on any issue I care about, for the way in which I am tested in that area immediately afterwards. I wrote about seeing work as play, and immediately began taking my own so seriously I could hardly stop to breathe. I wrote about grace, and started …