Plants give us oxygen for the lungs and for the soul.
Linda Solegato
You are currently browsing the archive for the Gardening + Nature category.
Plants give us oxygen for the lungs and for the soul.
Linda Solegato
If only there could be an invention that bottled up a memory, like scent. And it never faded, and it never got stale. And then, when one wanted it, the bottle could be uncorked, and it would be like living the moment all over again.
Daphne du Maurier
There was quite a lot of hullabaloo over this dusting of snow: panic, oversaturated news coverage, school closures, and the like. It was, as you can see, quite fluffy and lovely, and the winter highlight for many school children and their parents. I went out long enough to feed my fine feathered friends and scoop a bit of the chill into my hands, enjoying the particular scent of snow before it all melted. Then, several hours later, it came back, a movie camera in reverse, giant flakes covering every surface again. Much of it remains, along with bitterly cold air and sunshine. Where am I?
Have a wonderful weekend!
It is Wednesday, and I cannot seem to wake up. Not that it being Wednesday has anything to do with it. I was tired yesterday, too. I actually fell asleep while listening to the radio, fully upright, in a chair. The minutes between 3:30 and 4:00 lost to a vortex of slumber. That is usually a hubster move. Bless his gigantic heart, that handsome fella can sleep anywhere, anytime. I tend to be more of the Goldilocks variety, so it came as quite a surprise to me.
It’s dahlia time in the garden, beautiful dahlias – such marvelously constructed flowers. And August. How is it August already? Maybe I’ve slept for longer than I recall. Maybe I haven’t been awake for a long time. Do you ever feel that way? Or maybe the opposite? Sometimes I wonder if, on those days when I am thoroughly spent by 8:00, and Charlie Rose, no matter how fascinating the guest, seems an impossibility, I’ve been so very awake, so hyper aware that my senses cannot take one more bit of noticing, feeling, smelling and collapse blissfully onto my pillow. Is that it? I wish I knew. I am my own mystery, gentle readers, truly.
Sure, there are things I know about myself, but so much more that I can’t quite put my finger on, so much that keeps me wondering. In some ways I like it, but in others, I just want some answers or a bit of clarity. Maybe an impressionistic painting. Who is going to paint a Van Gogh of my life? A good question to ponder on a sleepy Wednesday.
What question would you like answered?
Einstein famously said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. This path and the surrounding area are a perfect example of his definition. For the first eight years in our house, the hubster and I weeded and weeded it (I even spent a few weeks digging up ALL of the weeds, only to have the majority return the next year – heartbreaker), planted grass seed, watered, fertilized, and mowed, but got the same result. More weeds, more ugly, more mowing, and a whole lotta cursing.
Then, only after being ostensibly whacked over the head by a giant imaginary hoe, we got sane and tried something new. We planted a tree and two yellow flowering currants (friends of the birds and bees!), followed by a whopping sixty kinnikinnick plants. Slowly but surely, the area and our feelings for it began to transform. There was an increasing amount of green and shade. We no longer had to fertilize, water, or mow, leaving more time for more fruitful projects.
This included moving some pieces of stone from another spot in the garden and watching a path emerge (though it is still a little wobbly). Then there were more new ideas. The placement of stumps, the moving of hostas, and the purchase and planting of more than a dozen native plants: strawberries, huckleberries, and bitter cherry trees. No longer an eye sore, it is a pleasure to gaze upon it, as I often do now, from a perch in the bedroom. I look at it and feel grateful for the shade, the clean, cool air wafting through the window, the sweet berries I’ll eat one day, and the blessed sanity of changing one’s path.
Tags: Gardening + Nature