All posts by GretchenJoanna

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About GretchenJoanna

Orthodox Christian, widowed in 2015; mother, grandmother. Love to read, garden, cook, write letters and a hundred other home-making activities.

Only the day and I are here.

my garden, other gardens, poetry, time, , ,
The glory of 2020

When I was at Pippin’s I got to help water her garden, and pull ever encroaching forest ferns out of the blueberry patch. Many years ago she planted four varieties of blueberries, two of each, aiming for a harvest that would stretch from one end to the other of the season, and they mostly are growing and spreading, and bearing fruit.

She had recently taken her dahlia tubers out of winter storage and planted them inside the deer fence; they were almost all coming up. Often I have visited in September, for Ivy’s birthday, when those flowers are in their glory.

Four years ago I visited their homestead in this month of June, and it’s interesting to see my pictures of different plants and activities from back then. I don’t know yet when I will be able to return….

The glory of this day

Anyway, I drove home yesterday, and immediately went out to water the potted plants; the mock orange is stealing the show right now. I am thankful to have my own garden to play in.  Out there I can forget what month or year it is — or what century! — if only for a moment.

DEW LIGHT

Now in the blessed days of more and less
when the news about time is that each day
there is less of it I know none of that
as I walk out through the early garden
only the day and I are here with no
before or after and the dew looks up
without a number or a present age

-W.S. Merwin

From dogwoods to biscuitroot.

family, mountains, wildflowers, , , , , , , , , ,

I’ve been with the family of my daughter “Pippin” for a few days, several hours farther north in California from my home; they live in the forest in the mountains, where the air right now is infused with the scent of pines and manzanitas and all the other woodland plants warming up and drying out after a wet and late winter. Every time I leave the house or get out of the car and smell it afresh, I take several breaths as deep as I can make them, trying to get the forest into my body.

There have been many opportunities to whiff aromatics in the forest and out of it, as we’ve visited higher mountain meadows and streams (Tamarack Flat), the botanical garden in Dunsmuir, the McCloud River and waterfalls, and a hilly spot from which to watch how the setting sun colored the sky above a volcanic mountain (Mt. Shasta).

I’ve gushed over the dogwoods and peonies, and marveled at the names of plants new to me, such as scorpionweed (Phacelia) and biscuitroot. We saw swaths of the carnivorous California Pitcherplant, wild onions, and the wildflower called Pretty Face.

It’s been too much for me to process, truly! Especially when every morning brings new experiences — and I haven’t even mentioned the bird songs everywhere. Pippin introduced me to a new app called Merlin, that listens to your space and tells you what birds are talking or singing nearby. And the children are older, and staying up later now in the summer, so I am spending more time with them, and not on my computer. One book we read together was Owls in the Family by Farley Mowat.

So I won’t be identifying these photos right now, but if you have any questions about them I’ll be happy to answer in the comments or in updates once I get home again. For now, I just wanted to share a little “whiff” of my adventure with you, and I’m sorry I can’t send you the birdsong and the scents. But I hope you are discovering some of those wherever you are. Enjoy!

Why a tree should be this sweet.

love, nature, poetry, ,

So far I myself have only encountered the black locust tree, and I understand that its pods are toxic. I think the flowers smell pretty nice, but I read today that they are blah, compared to the honey locust. I hope I will one day meet those honey flowers, too (the picture below I found online), but this poem is about more than just one delicious species.

HONEY LOCUST

Who can tell how lovely in June is the
….honey locust tree, or why
a tree should be so sweet and live
….in this world? Each white blossom
on a dangle of white flowers holds one green seed–
….a new life. Also each blossom on a dangle of flower holds a flask
of fragrance called Heaven, which is never sealed.
….The bees circle the tree and dive into it. They are crazy
with gratitude. They are working like farmers. They are as
….happy as saints. After awhile the flowers begin to
wilt and drop down into the grass. Welcome
….shines in the grass.

…………………………………….Every year I gather
handfuls of blossoms and eat of their mealiness; the honey
….melts in my mouth, the seeds make me strong,
both when they are crisp and ripe, and even at the end
….when their petals have turned dully yellow.

…………………………………………………………………..So it is
if the heart has devoted itself to love, there is
….not a single inch of emptiness. Gladness gleams
all the way to the grave.

-Mary Oliver