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.

The languid skipper sets an example.

When I was pruning the salvia in front, this skipper was languidly sipping from the same. You can see its proboscis going right down in. The creature was definitely not feeling skippy… I wonder if skippers die in winter? Did it lay eggs somewhere already?

So much is going on in the garden. These irises really should have been divided again — but, already? I’m afraid they will have to wait until next year.

 

I ended up with so much lemon verbena — what wealth! This is a very nostalgic herb to me, because of when I was in Turkey riding non-air-conditioned buses across Anatolia, and first experienced its delicious scent, though I didn’t know what it was. The bus attendant would walk up and down the aisles every hour or so with a big bottle of something like cologne, and if you held your hands cupped he would sprinkle a tablespoon or so into them. I followed the example of others and quickly splashed it on my face and neck for refreshment. Later, when I returned home, I brought an empty bottle with me and kept it for many years, just so I could take a whiff from time to time.

It was decades before I matched that scent to the lemon verbena plant. I mentioned in the summer how I had made lemon verbena paste, and last week I made lemon verbena simple syrup, trying to use a lot of the leaves before they fall off when the bush goes dormant. Now I wish I had just dried them. Making tea is the obvious thing, but for some reason I never did, though I had dried a few leaves last year and they were sitting on the counter. Last week I made a pot of tea with them and loved it. It’s wonderful just “plain.”

A few months ago my neighbor Kim broke a big stem off a plant on her patio and handed it to me. “Stick this in the ground,” she suggested. Instead, I cut the stem into three parts and put them in water, wherre I noticed they had made a lot of roots pretty quickly. One day I spied this huge flower cluster at the back of the jar by the window. Kim says this is a Plectranthus ecklonii, and her plant never gets blooms like that. I don’t know what I will do with it, but I found out that it is not terribly frost tender.

Plectranthus ecklonii

 

The olive that I repotted with great effort is looking healthy again. I guess my pruning wasn’t too bad, either. I do enjoy pruning, but I’m glad I don’t have to do all of it, or get on ladders anymore for that task. I can just prune the smaller bushes and leave the big ones for my helper.

Recently I did prune all four dwarf pomegranates, in advance of their dormant pruning that will happen later, because my new landscaper consultant told me I should “lift their skirts.” Ahem… is that common parlance in the gardening world? I had never heard the term, but I knew what he meant.

I am thrilled that my Japanese anemones (below) are putting on their best show ever, though they still are not robust — I gave the four of them extra water this year, and they have been getting more sun since the pine tree was thinned. If I feed them a little maybe they will do even better next year.

I have lots more to do before I will feel prepared for winter, but that skipper put me in touch with the reality that I, too, am slowing down. Most likely I won’t get “everything” done. And I guess that will have to be okay!

Beguile us … Slow, slow!

OCTOBER

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.
Retard the sun with gentle mist;
Enchant the land with amethyst.
Slow, slow!
For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,
Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,
Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—
For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

-Robert Frost

 

 

 

Like bread, or the sea.

After I left my car at the mechanic’s shop for its routine service, I set off walking down the road to the bus stop. After only a few steps I stopped to admire plants along my way; I did that a few times. The California Buckeye startled me as it always does, looking like the dead of winter in early fall. The large conker peeking out redeemed the scene.

It was fun, walking for ten minutes through a sort of industrial park, where all the people arriving for work gave their energy to the atmosphere, and lots of pickup trucks lined the road, bare of sidewalks most of the way. The air was crisp but not harsh.

On a bench at the bus stop, I looked briefly across the frontage road at the seedy mobile home park whose sign was missing some letters and read “Taylo.” A mockingbird’s song came to me from somewhere, surprisingly not drowned out by the heavy traffic noise. And then my gaze rose, hungry, to the sky.

I recognized the remains of a jet stream (or chem trail?) as one element of that picture above, but there was so much else going on up there! I began to think about what Emerson said, that “The sky is the daily bread for the eyes.” I mused on how sometimes we are given all sorts of fancy bread, but at other times the sky is plain blue, or white, or gray….

After a short ride on the bus, I got off and started walking the rest of the way home, along a boulevard where I had plenty more of those big spaces to wonder at. I was struck by the realization that I was the only human on earth to whom each particular picture was given, because I was the only one at that GPS location, at that moment in the constantly changing arrangement of images.

If one lives in the big city, with skyscrapers hogging the sky, usually a little bit at least will peek through; I like to get my bearings occasionally by looking at whatever patches are available for viewing. Being in prison, though… now that would be hard. I guess they do often let at least some of the prisoners outside sometimes, but they might not feel safe and relaxed enough to feast on their daily bread in that setting.

Twice now I’ve started reading The Marvelous Clouds, and shared some quotes here. I reread some of Albert’s comments that I included in one post about the book ; he passed on some excerpts from an article about it, which is about media. One thing the author said was that “Clouds illustrate media ontology. [They] exist by disappearing.” 

I gave that book away a while back. It’s very thought-provoking, to be sure, but I think if I had continued reading it I would have just been page by page arguing with the author over various things. I don’t like that he uses clouds for anything. I’d rather receive the gift of clouds as bread for my eyes. This arrangement of clouds below looked like it was pretending to be mountains in the distance:

The author of that book, John Durham Peters, also said that clouds are the original white noise. If you want to follow that thought, read the article linked in that more recent post of mine. But I think it’s more profitable for the soul to go out and look at the sky, whether there are clouds in it or not. When there are no clouds, or they have merged into a less enthralling picture, watching them might be like staring out at the ocean. It’s always moving, but it can be boring at the same time. Sometimes we need that plain bread. Feasting all the time is not good.

While my thoughts were on the clouds, my legs carried me into neighborhoods closer to mine, but I took a less familiar route and saw this beautiful plant that I found out is called a Common Lionspaw. I got distracted from the sky and started thinking about where I could fit one of those in my garden.

My cloud show seemed to go to intermission for a few minutes, with the actors going off stage — but quickly it started up again, as the sun began to break through.

Then, I was home again. It was time to start the rest of my day, and figure out what to eat… but my eyes had already had a big breakfast.

I walk myself into a state of well-being.

Pippin sent me this picture and quote that looks like she found it on Facebook. The picture reminds me of one I took of my other daughter, Pearl, once when I was walking with her in the autumn. I cropped off the quote and copied it here:

Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Every day, I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it. But by sitting still, and the more one sits still, the closer one comes to feeling ill. Thus if one just keeps on walking, everything will be all right.

-Søren Kierkegaard 

It was last fall when I last revived my walking habit. The days are so gorgeous, it seems the only proper thing to do with them — although garden work serves nearly as well, as long as one doesn’t rush, and takes plenty of moments to breathe deeply and look at the sky.