I don’t know what “time happiness” means exactly, but I have an inkling about the longed-for place that St. Nikolai talks about:
Moments of happiness are given to you only in order to leave you longing
for time happiness in the bosom of the ever happy Lord;
and ages of unhappiness are given to you
to waken you out of the drowsy dream of illusions.
O Lord, Lord, my only happiness, will You provide shelter for Your injured pilgrim?
– St Nikolai Velimirovich
And I don’t know anything about “ages of unhappiness.” My sad times can’t by any stretch be called ages, though it’s true, when one is in the midst of intense sorrow, time warps.
Today has been sweet and kind of dreamy. I stopped on the bridge over the creek and thought about how beloved this little patch of suburbia has grown, especially in the last three years. This is the season when the creek bed is so packed with plants, you can’t see the little water that is down there. It was quiet and warm. The warm part of the day is short now.
I was passing by the yard with roses, lilies and other plants that are wilted and ugly from drought, insects, and disease. No one cares enough about them to pick off a dead leaf. And then what caught my eye and made me stop? A weed growing next to the fire hydrant.
“Weeds grasp their own essence and express its truth.”
– Santoka Taneda
It occurs to me just now that I may have posted a picture of this weed once before, recently… if so, it is deserving enough for a repeat showing. It has been neglected just as much as the cultivated plants, which for a weed means it was not killed or pulled out. That has let its essential health and hardiness shine forth and produce tiny and flowers all over, decorating the wasteland beautifully.
Today I’m wondering what this grassy “weed” is, along a stretch of path by the creek that didn’t get mown down – yet? It’s very familiar, and I guessed it was rye, but I can’t match it up with anything in Weeds of the West at this stage. Maybe when the seed heads develop, if it is allowed to remain.
The Queen Anne’s Lace that made such a lush display last year was removed on my side of the creek, but there are a couple of plants starting to bloom on this far side:
Thursday I worked in the kitchen and cooked up a storm the whole day long. I hardly did anything else. Every other Thursday my CSA box (farm box) gets delivered, so I had that to deal with. I made some more of the Egg Bhurji, a sort of Indian scramble, and got the flavors closer to my goal. This time I grated fresh turmeric into it because I had it on hand. I had bought the turmeric rhizomes to plant, but there were more of them than I needed for that.
I boiled the quail eggs. They were so darling at every stage, I even had to take pictures of them simmering in the pot. One place I read said to cook them for two minutes, another four minutes, so I think I had them in the pan for about three minutes, and the yolks are soft, but that’s very pretty, too! And they are very tasty. 14 calories and 1.2g protein each.
Last Sunday when I saw them as the love offering on that bench, it was amazing how instantaneous was the progression in my mind to the thought, “I could raise quail!” Ha! I did laugh at myself. It’s not beyond the realm of possibility, and it would be easier than chickens, but I want to get started on raising worms as my next homesteading project.
Now that the temperature has been in the 80’s the sweet peas are exploding; one day I took bouquets to two different neighbors, and the next day I filled two vases for my own house. Soon the stems will be too short to do much with, and I need to take them out anyway, to make room for the butternut squash that I will train up the trellis.
Some pretty blooms in the house are the Nodding Violet or Streptocarpella, a species of Streptocarpus, which a friend and I agreed sounds like a flower to feed a dinosaur with a sore throat. But they don’t make that many flowers that I want to offer them to the sick, so I think I will forget about the dinosaur and just remember Nodding Violet.
Mrs. Bread gave me my first plant, from which I accidentally broke a stem that I rooted into a second plant; I gave that second plant to friend Ann at church. Then my violet was struck down by cold in the greenhouse one winter’s day, but by then Ann had started a second plant which she gave to me. And that is how we take care of each other and of our Nodding Violets, and how I am learning to just keep them safe in the house. They are nodding “Yes” to that:
And in the back garden, the red California poppies are blooming under the (fruitless) plum trees. Mr. Greenjeans said that the warm weather we had a few months ago confused the plums and made them bloom early; then the frost hit and destroyed the buds. 😦 So he doesn’t have any plums, either. This is the third year for my plums and I ate one last year.
Considering how little attention I have given my strawberries, and the fact that they are old plants, it is a big surprise to me that they are so happy and productive this spring. This morning I picked eight fruits to bring into the house, which might set a record, but that could be because in the past I have eaten them all in the garden.
I hope your June is starting out as happy as mine. ❤
So many flowers are growing in my garden that I haven’t ever grown before, or not for a long time. The Kangaroo Paws are ever-changing and fascinating. One of the three plants sent up a flower stalk months ago, and the blooms are opening now. I didn’t know that these little rising-sun flowers that have popped out were even part of the deal.
In May Mrs. Bread took this photo of a dragonfly who flew right to that plant that matched his own color. He knew, even though the buds were small then. >>>
When I was in Monterey, on California’s Central Coast, I saw lots of Kangaroo Paws in different colors. Some plants were seven feet high.
Maybe next year all three of mine will bloom at the same time!
I bought a bale of rice straw with which to mulch the vegetables and strawberries, and I did get the job done just before the heat wave rolled in. While I was pulling hay out of the bale I was swept back to my childhood when we used to play in the hay barns at the neighbor’s horse ranch. I had completely forgotten about what was a fairly brief, but special year or two of my life, but that hay smell….
My everbearing type of strawberry plants are producing their second crop, and I’m getting more than in their first fruiting. Every other day or so I pick a few to eat in the garden. I’m enjoying them more than I expected, now that they are responding to the summer weather and being healthier.
While most plants are growing taller, the fennel is getting fat. I’m growing the bulbs to roast as vegetables. It must be time to pick them, because flowers are beginning to form on the feathery tops.
Chamomile flowers are cute little skirted pom-poms. This is the German variety, which is said to grow to 2 ft., but mine is 27″ high 🙂 The short Roman kind is on the other side of the garden, covered now with tiny yellow buttons, and no skirts.
When I bought plants in the spring, for some reason I thought I was getting an orangey-brown variety of sunflower, but my giant specimens are lemon-yellow, and I do love them. They are nearly 8 ft. tall, and would be all of that, if they held their heads up just a tad straighter. But then they wouldn’t look quite right.
The goldfinches have been hanging around a lot. This morning six goldfinches and one house finch were having a drinking party at my fountain, and taking baths, too, while I sat in the garden eating breakfast. Later on I surprised one that was pecking at a sunflower leaf, and last week as I was walking around in the evening I came upon a goldfinch perched quietly on a bachelor’s button, enjoying the air a bit before retiring.
I wonder if it was birds who ate my green beans…. Well, I consider everything experimental this year. It will be interesting to see which things want to come back next spring. In the meantime, I have learned how not to plant tomatoes in a box, and that if aphids show up on my kale, I better wash them off quickly. The sunflowers are trying to convince me — and so far it’s working — that they are a success.
If we would all break out into such glory when the summer sun shines!
I still feel as though my new garden belongs to someone else. It has some lovely elements and I’m awfully thankful that I was able to accomplish it, but the circumstances surrounding its creation were not ideal for creating the space I really wanted. Just starting out on my lonesome own, in my shaken-up existence without my husband, I knew that I did not like the old arrangement — that is, the swimming pool — that was obviously not Me, because it had never been. How to get what I did want, given the limits of my suburban lot and of my financial means, and most importantly, my mental wherewithal that had been reduced to Where?
My creative self was a room all in disarray from a crazy person rummaging around trying to find something. The cupboards doors left hanging open and random items spilling out or fallen on the floor: Oh, here is a piece of orange cloth…yes, that’s right, I like the color orange… and there is one of Pearl’s plums that are so yummy… get me a couple of those trees.
From a place of more understanding six months later I can say: I wanted to be plopped down into the gardens of an old Mediterranean villa where no plants were younger than ten years, and at least two full-time and expert gardeners and groundskeepers were always on hand to do the work, leaving me at leisure to walk or sit in the garden, to pray and read and watch the birds.
It helps to shine this light on the amusing and fantastical nature of my desires so that I can laugh at them and get to work on what is really here. One of the real tasks was planting the strawberry barrels. This was an idea that Landscape Lady found in a magazine and gave me the instructions for; I would never have conceived it myself, but it was an okay idea. It has been one of the few projects that I’ve completed almost entirely on my own, doggedly.
I shopped at several stores before choosing my barrels, and brought them home and sat them in the driveway with all the other junk and clutter that overflowed the demolition/construction area. Then began the string of dirt-moving episodes:
1) Reserve an appropriate portion of the dirt designated for the general landscaping by shoveling it into the barrels.
2) After several weeks, decide on a color to paint the barrels and the playhouse, and
3) Take all the dirt out of the barrels and put it on a tarp while I spray paint them on the dead lawn.
4) Until they get holes drilled, I don’t want to put the dirt back in, so I set them in the back yard to wait, and pull the tarp around the dirt in the driveway so the rain doesn’t soak it.
5) After two sons-in-law drill the holes on Thanksgiving weekend, I move the barrels to their spot by the playhouse and drag the tarp back there and replace the dirt — not before it dawns on me that the holes all around the sides for the strawberries to grow out of will be holes that the dirt will also flow out of. What? I look back at the article and see that it calls for non-soil planting mix. Too late for that, so I put some newsprint over the holes inside before I shovel the dirt in. Wait for February when bare-root plants are available.
6) Landscape Lady says that the soil for the drought-tolerant ornamentals is not rich enough for the strawberries, so before I plant I must dig in some compost. I put that on my shopping list.
7) February comes, and the bare-root plants are bought, but the nursery is out of the compost, so I shop at another store to get it. The bale is too heavy for me to lift into my cart, so I get help with that, but after I check out no one answers the call to help me, so I manage to tip it into my Subaru and then out again at home into my garden cart and into the back yard next to the barrels. Whew.
8) By this time I have read several articles about strawberries and barrels and I realize that I should have tackled this whole project differently (though if I had had that much sense back then, I would have said No to the whole thing). I need to take all the dirt out again and mix in the compost, and then add just enough back to come up to the level of the bottom row of holes, lay the plants on top of that with their bare roots extending toward the center like hair on a pillow, cover them up with enough dirt to reach the next level of planting holes, and so forth.
9) The old paper blocking the holes has become mulch. I decide as I’m completing the project that I should have bought some peat moss to tuck in around the root crowns to keep the dirt from escaping, but now I’m in the middle of it, and just cut some new pieces of newsprint to go around the plants. I will get some peat moss later and tuck it in after the fact.
Part of the reason this was not as fun as I normally find gardening to be is that it is too contrived. Non-soil planting mix? Trying to defy gravity? But I did it, on behalf of that strange woman who was presented with this idea back in September and said, “Why not?” The woman I am would just throw some California poppy seeds around the play house and let them bloom where they will for the children to pick.
A few days later, rain has soaked the barrels and we’ll probably see more leaves poking out soon. The weather will cool again, but the temperature won’t drop to January levels, and in a few months there will be fruit hanging out of the holes. If the grandchildren aren’t around to pick strawberries, I’ll put out a sign for the blue jays to help themselves.