My Own Green Thoughts

Daffodils in my front garden a few years ago....

This morning I read Melissa Wiley's lovely blog Here in the Bonny Glen in which she wrote about her gardening adventures in a post called "Green Thoughts." Since she, a well-known author of children's books (and now a Brave Writer instructor!), also lives in San Diego, I felt a true affinity for her post and all of the lovely green things--even "weeds"--that her family has grown. I meant to write just a short reply to her post, but it soon took on a life of its own. Yep, I ended up writing a blog post in reply to her blog post! (Sorry, Melissa!)

So here it is...which some additional "green thoughts":

I've found that San Diego is a pretty forgiving place for gardening. I loved gardening when we lived in North Park; our century-old Craftsman had enough Victorian to it that it was a stand-out on the block naturally, and the family who had own the home before us (from 1945-1991 when we bought it) had planted calla lilies beneath the porch railing. Oh, when they bloomed, honey, they BLOOMED.

And, as I said, I found that I could pretty much ignore all of the gardening "rules," and everything turned out beautifully...most of the time, anyway. I could never get Canterbury Bells to grow...which I loved for the name even more than the flowers themselves. (Does anyone else do that? Choose seed packets or even six-packs of blooms based more on the name of the plant than the plant itself? No? I must the the weird one, then....)

I sowed wildflower seeds on either side of the front walk and ended up with a host of pincushions, cornflowers, Queen Anne's lace, and other English garden-y things. As much as I wanted to try foxgloves, I had little ones back then and wasn't going to chance it. Along the east-facing long side of the house I had hollyhocks (which my husband has always called "hockeypucks") growing so high that they were curling under the eaves--and that's with a significant stone foundation and then the house itself! They were close to fifteen feet! Amongst the "hockeypucks" I had six different kinds of lavender, plus rosemary and other herbs galore (and sunflowers that grew almost as high as the "hockeypucks"!). My husband put in a brick-lined rose garden for me along the backside of the fence separating the back and front yards, and roses of all colors held riots there. Gardening was definitely my "thing."

Our old house, repainted by new owners. We left it gray with white and burgundy trim....

And the kids reveled in the spring clover's "sour grass"; we'd let the lawn keep growing until we were losing toddlers in the vast greenness, and then the kids gathered up armloads of the beautiful bright yellow flowers on their long, juicy stems--the very definition of "cheerfulness." Unfortunately, they never kept long, of course, but I had bouquets of them, overflowing the jam jars as they lined my kitchen counter before the lawn mower heartlessly took 'em down. We had to watch Monty Python & the Holy Grail to calm our nerves and get us laughing again.

But up here in Pine Valley, I must choose what to plant carefully, with an eagle eye for frost-hardiness. We've had frosts as late as June 12th (our middle son's birthday--which also killed our Pippin crop that year!) and as early as the end of September, so the delicate blooms I adored in the city either need more time than I can afford them between frosts or will wilt in our summer heat (sometimes above 110!). Fortunately, two of my favorite old-fashioned flowers, pansies and stocks, are quite frost-hardy, and rosemary abounds. Lavender is a bit touchy--no Spanish lavender here--but the French and English varieties do fairly well. But with the arrival of my autoimmune challenges, I haven't had the strength to garden much, plus, we now have half an acre vs. our little city plot, so the sheer size of it is daunting.

Our mountain home since 2001

This spring I do want to plant more. The daffodils (still blooming after the 15 years we've been here and who knows how much longer before that!) are sprouting, and the purple irises will follow. I've done tulips in the past, too. Now that middle son has worked landscaping, we're going to sit down and plan out our spring plantings and see what we can rescue and what we'll need to replace and what we can add. ;)

And yes, there are a few "hockeypucks" lurking along the back fence, a true homecoming for me when we first moved in and still stubbornly self-sowing. And a few old rose bushes, half-wild now, that need some TLC. But I really want to get out there and make something beautiful in our garden this year.

As I pondered my garden today, I remembered a lovely quotation from L.M. Montgomery's sixth book in the Anne series, Anne of Ingleside:

One gold-grey smoky afternoon [Anne] and Jem planted all the tulip bulbs....

"Isn't it nice to be preparing for spring when you know you've got to face winter, Jem?"

"And it's nice to be making the garden beautiful," said Jem. "Susan says it is God who makes everything beautiful but we can help Him out a bit, can't we, Mums?"

"Always . . . always, Jem. He shares that privilege with us."

So, thanks be to God for the privilege of sharing a bit in His Creation as we plot and plant the bounty of His Beauty!!

Counting on the daffodils,

Grammar Goes...Poetry Pops (In)

On Friday I finished teaching my first Brave Writer online course of 2015...which happened to coincide with the 15th anniversary of Brave Writer! The Groovy Grammar Workshop is the only course I teach that I didn't write myself; it's Julie's brilliant brain child. Grammar rules drilled into us since third grade melt away while we learn to play with words and create nonsense words--and even a nonsense poem! Grammar, after all, is about writing clearly and powerfully, and that philosophy underlies Julie's "topsy-turvy" approach to the grammar monster hiding under our school tables. If we learn to play with language, to experiment with strange word combinations, then we will learn to write more effectively...and with a panache that brings out the wordsmith in us all.

So Monday marks the beginning of the next phase of playing with the power of words: The Playing with Poetry Workshop.  I have been pleasantly surprised that this is my third course in a row to fill up and be closed before the class begins; the same happened with the MLA Research Essay class and Groovy Grammar. This closing of classes has never happened in my nearly thirteen years with Brave Writer, so I'm very pleased and blessed to have full classes. In this poetry workshop, we'll be writing all kinds of poems: the Japanese forms of haiku and tanka, shape and visual poems, traditional stanzas, and lots of "found" poems. Again, the emphasis is to experiment with the power of language, to have fun playing with words and phrases, exploring the musicality of words (even approaching song lyrics as poetry!), and simply enjoying the unbounded creativity inherent in each of us.

This class is especially fun because the moms (and quite often the dads, too) write their own poems along with their kids, so poetry becomes a true family activity. We advise that at the end of the workshop, the favorite poems be gathered, editing, and published in a family anthology of verse. What a memorable way to finish the course!

Last year, an eight-year-old student in our Playing with Poetry Workshop (with the help of her mother, of course) published an illustrated book for kids on writing poetry. Here's the link to Cassidy's book on Amazon: Roller Coaster: A Kid's Guide on How to Write Poetry. Isn't that amazing??!!

So as Playing with Poetry Workshop begins tomorrow, I thought I'd share my favorite poem with all of you. Despite my adoration for 19th century British literature, my two favorite poets are Americans, and my favorite poet is even from the 20th century. The brilliant e.e. cummings (1894-1962), both artist and poet, saw the world in a way that emphasizes the beauty in the ordinary. Each spring my mind quotes "[in Just-]-" as I work the winter soil in preparation for summer flowers and summer trips to the beach bring to mind "maggie and milly and molly and may." But this strange poem that I first encountered in my high school sophomore English class has been and probably always will be my favorite:

Flowers and Hat: Patchen Place by e.e. cummings (c. 1950)

[anyone lived in a pretty how town]
by e.e. cummings

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

1926

(For a printable copy and to listen to cummings read the poem, check this link:
"[anyone lived in a pretty how town]" --The Poetry Foundation)

So wishing you all as joyous a month [of poetry] as I will be enjoying!!

Poems for Spring

Daffodils in front of our porch

Spring creeps slowly into our mountain valley. This morning the clouds shield us from the sun, and winds buffet the vanilla-scented Jeffrey pines that surround our mountain cabin home. Rain is forecast, and the memory of basking in the sun while reading and writing in a beach chair on the front lawn Wednesday seems unreal. The house carries the chill of last night's cold this morning, and I reach for a second cardigan with a shiver.

But our town's main street is flanked with cheerful daffodil banners, and the flowers themselves wave happily each time a car passes. Despite the fact that we receive the vast majority of our snow in March (and did this year as well), March still heralds spring as minuscule buds form on the branches of our Pippin tree and pale blooms emerge on the young peach tree, which we hope will fruit for the first time. I inspect the lilac bushes and am heartened by the greenish-brown buds forming, a promise of fragrant white boughs to come.

And so with spring in the air despite the storm marching its way up the mountain, I thought I'd post a couple of spring poems for your enjoyment.

This one appeared in my inbox this morning, a daily offering from Academy of American Poets:

The Enkindled Spring
by D. H. Lawrence

This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.

I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.

And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, ashadow that's gone astray, and is lost.

And, of course, my favorite spring poem of all time, written by my favorite poet of all time:

in Just-
by e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame baloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's
spring
and
the

goat-footed

balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

So I bid you all a happy spring, whether the actual conditions agree with the month of March...or not. And please feel free to share your favorite spring poems in the comments section. We can always use more spring!!

Spring blessings,

Growing Community Spirit

(Benjamin and Fred working the garden site, taken by Timothy)

I was asked to write a story for the San Diego County SKOOP about our local community garden group, Pine Valley Community Gardens, so here is my little 300-word story about our little group, one in which two of our boys are heavily involved.

My two boys return home, sweaty, exhausted, and absolutely filthy. After I send them to the shower, I receive an e-mail from one of the women involved in the local community garden, thanking me for sending the boys, ages 10 and 15, to work all morning at the site of the Pine Valley Community Gardens (PVCG).

In January a small gathering at the local library branch discussed planting a community garden. A long-time dream of Judith Dupree, board member of the Pine Valley Improvement Club and co-editor of The Valley Views, the assortment of young couples and families along with more seasoned residents pledged to form the PVCG in order to make this dream a reality.

One attendee mentioned that her landlady may have a plot we could use, and soon we had permission to use a thirty-by-thirty square foot area on a horse property with composted manure right at hand. The group was soon joined by Linda Hooty and her amazing Agricultural Science class from the Pine Valley Academy who tested and helped in preparing the soil.

However, growing this garden provides many more benefits than freshly-grown veggies. PVCG seeks to also grow something even more valuable: community spirit. Young people working alongside older residents fosters a spirit of camaraderie that will build far more benefit than the vegetables we grow.

Donations from The Mountain Empire Men's Club, Descanso Hay & Feed, and Accel Framing have helped greatly to develop the “pod” plan that prevents pests and critters from harvesting more vegetables than the gardeners do, also allowing the garden to be fully organic and as “green” as possible.

Check out Pine Valley Community Gardens at http://pvcgardens.blogspot.com for current information about this group of gardeners committed to growing both community and a gardenful of organic vegetables.

Gardening with community spirit,

Second Sunday After Trinity

According to the Christian Calendar, we find ourselves in Ordinary Time. Now, "Ordinary" doesn't just mean "every day," "not special, "not extraordinary"--although it indeed marks an absence of high Holy Days of Advent, Epiphany, Lent, Pentecost, etc. No, "Ordinary" goes back to the idea of counting, of ordinal numbers: first, second, third, etc. In the Anglican tradition, we track each week by how many Sundays since Trinity. In fact, this Sunday marks the "Second Sunday After Trinity."

For a more in-depth article on Ordinary Time, click here: Ordinary Time.

The liturgical color for Ordinary Time is green, symbolizing our ever-growing faith in our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ as He nudges and shapes us (if we allow Him) into His image: into His love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23). So as our faith greens, watered by His Word, cultivated in prayer, nurtured in fellowship with others, we grow into Christ-likeness: a beautiful garden for His glory.

Ten or so years ago, I dreamed about heaven. I dreamt that I was planting beautiful rosebushes with deep scarlet blooms--but these bushes were without thorns. Digging in the garden has always been hard physically for me--even before I became ill--but I dreamt that Jesus was there, helping me. And somehow the soil was easy to lift--light, buoyant. In fact, the entire rose bed where I was planting was completely without weeds. Jesus helped me tuck the rich soil around the roots of the scarlet rosebush, its pointed leaves tickling both our noses as we bent into the rose bed, our hands working together. Another aspect of gardening I hate (in addition to digging and weeds) is the perspiration that runs down my face, stinging my eyes. But we were cool despite the warm sun on our backs.

Heaven was all about working alongside Jesus in ideal growing conditions, creating beauty with Him, partnering with Him in simple joys of growing roses--all the hard stuff gone, only the joy remaining.

And although this vision was only a dream--and I rarely remember dreams at all--it has comforted me somehow, showing that even now I can help Jesus grow things--growing my own faith, growing my marriage in His grace, growing our children for His glory. Yes, we still have hard work, weeds, and the sweat of our labor to contend with, but Jesus comes alongside us, the Master Gardener, planning the design of our landscape according to His vision and always ready to lend a hand whenever we allow Him to.

So that's my idea of these Ordinary Days--a time of rooting out weeds, of digging deep into the cool soil, of wiping the sweat from our brows, of planting, watering, cultivating and growing our faith and the faith of those around us. For this is a Community Garden we live in--not a private garden--and we all need one another; it's an integral part of His Master Plan.

So here's a new quotation for this week, on growing and gardening:

"If seeds in the black earth can turn into such beautiful roses, what might not the heart of man become in its long journey toward the stars?"
--G.K. Chesterton

And the Collect for this week from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer:

O LORD, who never failest to help and govern those whom thou dost bring up in thy stedfast fear and love; Keep us, we beseech thee, under the protection of thy good providence, and make us to have a perpetual fear and love of thy holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

May the Lord bless you with an ever-growing faith, one that blooms forth grace, hope, peace, and love for all,

Alas, Poor Spring--I Knew It Well...

(our front flowerbed...in years past)

Spring usually peeks her comely face around the corner of the fence around mid-March. She may flit in and out of our small mountain town a few times in the month to come, often chased away by seasonal frosts and the occasional snow.

But this year spring has been extremely shy. Here it is, a week before June, and despite pansies and Sweet Williams in my porch flower pots, I am bundled in sweats and two cardigans with a space heater humming at my feet. The sun is weakly shining outside today, but the highs are forecast for the 50's and a slight chance of rain looms for the afternoon. Last week the temperatures dipped below freezing several nights in a row, and I was regretting the change from flannel to cotton sheets in our often too-warm-in-spring upstairs bedroom and wished for my down comforter. Reluctantly, the boys were back to hauling firewood and stoking the stove to keep the house above sixty each morning. Our high temperature on Sunday afternoon was in the 40's.

Fortunately, the delphiniums, Sweet Williams, lobelia, snapdragons, poppies, and larkspur that I've potted and tucked into flower beds thus far are all frost-resistant; I never plant my more delicate friends until mid-June when all chance of frost is behind us. This year, however, I may be waiting until July 4th to tote home cosmos, parlsey, cilantro, mint, and other assorted flowers and herbs. I love a wildflowery garden, mixing herbs and flowers into untidy borders, and I hope to do more with my little garden areas than I have in the past, mostly because our boys are big and strong enough to tend to the difficult work I can't do.

So spring hasn't fully arrived in our little hamlet which is nestled into a cozy valley halfway up the mountain, within an easy hour of San Diego beaches and another easy hour to desert dunes. Spring flirts with us still, beckoning with a come-hither look one day, then is completely obscured by threatening gray clouds and the sharp scent of snow the next. And we remain watching the uncomfortable tango as winter refuses to yield the lead and fade into the background, and spring seems too timid to whirl us into summer days....

Wrapped in sweaters and sweats, I wait for the dance to become one of decided passion and zing, declaring that spring is truly here to stay, bringing her beauty and sunshine to grace our little valley once more.

When Lilacs Last on My Kitchen Table Bloom'd....

(Lilac in our backyard last spring)

As I finish lunch on this beautiful Sunday afternoon and prepare to hunker down and work on my online Shakespeare class at Brave Writer, the bountiful bouquet of white and lavender lilacs fill my kitchen with their distinctive sweet-n-spicy scent. With apologies to Walt Whitman and his lovely poem from which I stole my title, I can't help feeling a quiet joy each time I inhale the lilac-perfumed air.

Yes, 'tis the blessed season for the mountain lilac which blooms fragrantly all over our small town--in front yards, over fences, along back decks, even wildly in the few vacant lots around town. Their appearance is all-too-brief; in another week or two they'll be gone, shriveled brown reminders with the merest whiff of fragrance remaining. Because our two lilac bushes are in a very shady spot in our yard, they're among the last to bloom in town, often several weeks after the sunny-climed bushes have long lost their white and purple blossoms.

Mountain weather is so changeable. On Tuesday night I wore heavy jeans, a long-sleeved sweater, boots, and a suede jacket to our monthly writers' workshop meeting and the mercury dropped below freezing overnight while today the front porch thermometer reads 90+ and after church I donned shorts, tank top, and flip flops. The boys flopped onto the sofa, claiming how hot it is...as they will do every day throughout the summer.

Today also marks the official "changing of the guard" from winter to summer as I stripped off the uber-warm red flannel sheets from our bed and laid out crisp, palest blue cotton sheets, perfectly fit for summer. Off goes the red-flowered and green-leaved cream flannel duvet cover, buttoned around our down comforter, and on goes a thin cornflower-blue and white quilt. I plumped the feather pillows, removing red flannel pillow slips and replacing with eyelet-edged white slips. The green electric blanket will be packed away and replacing it is a thin blue blanket for cooler nights. Soon the oscillating fan will be turned on as we face the four-five months of summer heat which are blessedly relieved by cool mountain nights. This seasonal change is unheard-of "down the hill" in San Diego where the weather so rarely changes. The joke is that native San Diegans claim that temperatures under 65 are cold, and temperatures above 75 are hot. Spoiled rotten, we are.

My fingers itch to be out in the garden today, pulling weeds, trimming and tying back roses and "hockey pucks" (what Keith calls my hollyhocks). The boys managed to get the lawn mowed yesterday--we had to replace the battery and pump up the tires to get it working; meanwhile, our yard turned into lush jungly grasses--savannah-like, actually. It's a relief not to have to bushwhack my way around the yard any longer. The boys will do more weed-eating this afternoon after the temperatures cool--and after they clean the house while E is at work, housekeeping at the nearby Bible camp. But Shakespeare calls, so to work on Hamlet shall I go.

So now, with lilacs blooming on my kitchen table, a lovely arrangement we used on our Pine Valley Community Gardens bake sale table at the plant sale yesterday, I will hie me off my blog and back to discussions of Hamlet's apparent insanity. I leave you with the Collect for the Sunday after the Ascension from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer:

O GOD, the King of glory, who hast exalted thine only Son Jesus Christ with great triumph unto thy kingdom in heaven; We beseech thee, leave us not comfortless; but send to us thine Holy Ghost to comfort us, and exalt us unto the same place whither our Saviour Christ is gone before, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the same Holy Ghost, one God, world without end. Amen.

Gardening in Community

Right after Christmas, my dear friend and community bringer-together-er Judith finally put into play a long-time dream of hers: a community garden for our small town (pop. 1200). She put up flyers around town and we gathered a fairly good group of gardeners, and the group has slowly been growing over the months. I started a blog for the group: Pine Valley Community Gardens with information about meetings, seminars, work days, etc.

Our group was hugely blessed when we were joined by Linda Hooty and her Agricultural Science students from the Pine Valley Academy of Julian Charter School. At least once per week, Linda has her high school students at our gardening site--a 30 X 30 garden on horse acreage, complete with plenty of composted horse manure and water right at site. I volunteered my own boys to work at the site since I'm a flower and herb gardener, not a vegetable grower, and the critter issues--the rabbits, gophers, moles, birds, and squirrels--have kept me from investing time, energy, seeds, and, most importantly here in Southern California, water. And yes, our own garden needs a LOT of work, but the boys need an opportunity to work with the community and the chance to do hard, physical work. They've worked with the charter school students, with older community members and younger ones, and they've learned a great deal about how to pest-proof the garden.

Our 15 year old son T has been the most enthusiastic gardener, volunteering happily to bicycle over to the gardening site on Mondays to work with the charter school students and spending several hours each Saturday with the adult volunteers working on the structure. Ten-year-old B has also been an enthusiastic volunteer--but J, almost 13, hasn't found gardening as much to his taste as the other boys have. He spends an hour or two on Saturdays but hasn't been joining the boys on Mondays very often.

Today B and I drove over to the next town where the Descanso Gardening Club was holding their annual plant sale, and Pine Valley Community Gardens hosted a booth selling homebaked goods, apple butter, cold drinks, and heirloom beans and seeds. We increased our scanty kitty quite a bit, and we also thank The Mountain Empire Men's Club who recently donated $500 to Pine Valley Community Gardens --we'll also have a similar booth at next Saturday's Run to the Hills Car Show #8, hosted by The Mountain Empire Men's Club.

Soon the pest-proofing structure (called a "pod") will be completed, and we'll be able to plant the seedlings started by the charter school students...and our garden will be well underway. Up here in the mountains, we don't dare plant frost-sensitive seedlings until late May/early June. So we hope to be well on our way, gardening together as a community very soon.

I love being part of a small town community!

Glimpses of Spring

In our little mountain town, the blooming of the daffodils is the first hint that spring may be peeking shyly around the corner of March. Much frost and even snow may precede spring's actual arrival in our little hamlet at 4000 feet above and 50 miles east of San Diego. The barren ground surrounding our house greens with tiny sprouting things--even though winter chill has not yet left the mountains.

The golden daffodils, stretching fragile necks forward to greet the sun, promise me that spring is indeed traveling in our general direction. As I sketch garden plans in my mind while huddled in front of the fire warming stiff, chilled fingers, I know that the yellow harbingers of spring wait for me just outside the front door, lining up in grand procession in my front flowerbed, facing the waning afternoon sun.

Tiny white buds opening on the spindly peach tree also bring the promise of warmer days and of afternoons in my garden, weeding and planting. In the last slanting rays of daylight, on this last day before we start saving daylight once again (yet another harbinger of warmer days), I unearth the metal clippers belonging to my great-grandmother and cut away the dross of last year's growth. Her love of flowers and beautiful gardens sing in my very DNA. The dry brown deadness I clip, seeing the beginnings of green at the base of the dead--this year's growth pushing through last year's. I quickly prune away the frozen remains of last fall from the flowerpots on our porch steps, thrilling to the unmistakeable signs of spring, my mind spinning with the herbs and flowers I wish to grow in them: snapdragons, lavender, rosemary, primroses, poppies, thyme, stocks (my favorite flower), and even the simple white alyssum that spreads with alacrity through my flower beds.

But the daffodils opening their sun-faces this week are the best promise of spring--a welcome change from the shivering cold of January and February, and, yes--even March and April, in this little chill town nestled in the lap of the high mountains surrounding us.

And the promise remains, whispered by the greening ground and the sunny daffs: spring is coming. It is promised.

Gardening ... or the Lack Thereof

Usually April and May find me puttering in my garden, clearing away the dead and frozen stalks and foliage from our mountain plants and planting seeds and new six-packs of dianthus, pansies, violas, and stocks. I'm usually outside watering every day it doesn't rain, trying to make up for our mere 18 inches of annual rainfall, or else I'm trimming back rose branches, chopping dead hollyhock stalks that I allow to go to seed in the autumn and winter, clearing away the pine straw around my lavender plants.

But not this spring.

I'm not really certain what happened. I love gardening as much as ever. Actually, I should rephrase that last sentence: I love the idea of gardening as much as ever. I have only planted my front porch pots this spring, and I did that back in early February, and now that the sun beats down with relentless afternoon heat, the cool-loving pansies and stocks are rapidly shriveling and browning, fading by the minute right before my eyes. And that's the extent of my spring gardening.

Why have I neglected one of my favorite activities? I ask myself the same question as I peer out the window beside my desk at the tangle of unpruned roses and wildly out-of-control onithera (Mexican primrose). I have been in more pain than usual this spring, the result of stress and busy-ness. But even if I had been feeling better, I'm not sure I would have taken the precious time to work outside. Too much work needs to be done -- writing, grading, teaching, homeschooling, facilitating online classes, tutoring, keeping up web sites and blogs, keeping the house running on a somewhat-regular schedule, etc. I simply haven't had the time (or the money, to be truthful) to invest in gardening.

However, with school waning (our final day is June 12), I really won't have too much of an excuse. Yes, I have a busy, busy summer ahead of me with facilitating Brave Writer at the Movies, proofreading language arts subscriptions for Julie, and perhaps working my class lectures into book form. I also would like to work on my other writing projects as well. And we want to go to the beach ... LOTS.

I miss digging my hands into the cool, loamy earth. I miss arranging colors in my flower beds, and watering them, watching them grow day by day. The interview I did on Monday with Lori at the nearby Guatay Mountain Nursery for our local paper, The Valley Views also enticed me into the spirit of gardening. As I questioned Lori, a Cal-Poly trained horticulturist and expert on native plants of San Diego, I felt my fingers almost itching to work the ground. I have so many things I would LOVE to do with our garden if money weren't such a concern (along with my physical limitations). I would love to rid ourselves of our front "lawn" and plant wildflowers with little gravel or brick paths running through them. I would love to add flower beds along the northern fence and a vegetable garden (raised beds to keep out the critters) south of the driveway.

Sigh. Well, once school is out, I am going to get outside with clippers in hand and trim back roses and hollyhocks, remove dead lavender stalks so the new ones have room to grow, and see if my peppermint patch took over the entire herb garden. It will be worth the aching muscles and stiff neck to get back to work in my garden, even if I can only work in it for twenty minutes per day unless I want a pain-fest to last for several days....

Gardening as a Way to Write

Gardening is a joyful work for me, one that somehow helps me to write as well. Growing a flower garden isn't easy in an arid region like ours -- one in which I spend 30 to 45 minutes each day with a watering can or hose in my hand just to keep the plants alive in hundred-degree heat all summer. After I spent my usual 45 minutes watering today, I went out with my camera and snapped a few photos of some highlights in my rapidly-fading garden.


Yet I take much joy in the beauty of the flowers, like the above bunch of old-fashioned double roses, with a little friendly bee included. While I water, pull weeds, cultivate the less-than-ideal stony soil, prune dead blooms, and tie up drooping hollyhocks, I find myself mulling over phrases, word choices, organizational ideas -- basically writing in my mind as I garden.

(above, flowering sage)
My excellent writer friend, Kitty, and I have discussed the need for writers to have a creative activity in our lives that allow us to write afterward. For Kitty, it's music, singing especially. And for me it's gardening. Thrusting my hands into the soil brings out something elemental in me, something in which I feel united to God's Creation, as though I can give voice -- or in my case, written expression -- to natural beauty. In gardening, I receive the blessing of being able to create alongside God in bringing together elements of His Creation into beauty and grace. To work with growing things -- established roses, hollyhocks that reseed themselves, evergreen rosemary, sage, and thyme -- feeds my writer's mind, filling it with words and phrases that never come to me at any other time of my day.

(above, hollyhock)
And in gardening, the solitude of the work also feeds my creative side. As an introvert, I need time alone to think deeply, to pray, to create. I adore my family, love my friends, delight in discussion, yet I desperately need to be alone where I can at last listen to God's quiet voice, at last open my mind to creativity, at last can think, consider, ponder, wonder. Solitude is indeed one of the greatest gifts given by gardening, one that refuels my creative side and enables me to be able to write. And the simple beauty of flowers, herbs, trees, and brilliant blue skies above me are of course the most profound gift of the art of gardening. Solitude and beauty make the perspiration running into my eyes, the blisters, and the sore muscles of gardening very much worthwhile.

Gardening This Summer

(a tree rose in my garden - taken this week)

My garden has been doing fairly well this summer, considering the benign neglect it has experienced as a result of my busy schedule. The roses are still blooming, and I managed to deadhead them on Saturday so we can expect another round of blooms in early fall before the frosts descend. I've also pruned back the snapdragons that overwinter so well up here in the mountains, sometimes lasting for three to four years before needing replacement; they'll also bloom a second time in late summer/early fall and don't mind the frosts a bit. I love their flexibility and the English-garden look they give my flower beds. They even seed themselves a little, surprising me by popping up in nearby planters this spring.

The orange California poppies are still blooming here and there, and the dianthus, commonly known by the endearing name of Sweet Williams, needs frequent picking of dead blooms. I've spent hours bent over these low-lying plants with their cheery white, pale pink, and fuchsia flowers, and they also survive the snowy winters here very well, but they are a bit of a pain (in a physical as well as a time-involvement sense). My lavender plants usually overwinter adequately, although they require cutting them to ground level early each spring and take a long time to grow back, usually reaching bloom stage just in time for the first frost.

On the other hand, the Mexican primroses, onithera, spread their delicate pale pink flowers everywhere -- I was warned when I purchased the six-pack at Summers Past Farms that they "take over everything," a fact I knew from growing them in San Diego. However, I wasn't sure how they would do in a colder climate, if they would completely die off over the winter or would survive the 20-degree winter nights and thrive. Well, they thrived -- throve -- whatever. Everywhere. They are so beautiful, and in the fall, their foliage turns a gorgeous red -- a favorite of mine in every way.

My herb garden is doing fairly well, except for the parsley and basil plants that the squirrels have also taken a liking to. I purchased a sage plant last spring, unsure of how it would do, and it has done very well, with its tiny cornflower-blue blooms and lavender-like foliage. The rosemary is doing very well - it overwinters perfectly here, and the peppermint and spearmint plants died off over the winter and then came back in little spurts all over a three-foot area.

The heat prevents me from caring for my garden the way I would like this summer, as does my health. On Saturday I spent just thirty minutes deadheading flowers and had three days' of lower back and upper leg pain to show for it. As much as I would adore spending hours in my garden, I am prevented by the heat, my health, and finances from making my garden all that I would like it to be. I will be getting some help next Tuesday when the Lake Murray youth group comes up to give us a hand with weeding and digging a new flowerbed. They offer their services for food and drink only as a service to church members; I'll help them out with some gas money as our home is 35 miles from the church. I am looking forward to the improved look of my garden, even if we can't afford the $500 gardener and the $500 water bill the previous owners paid to keep this half-acre in tip-top condition. I do my little best but am hoping that the help next week will be an encouragement as I continue to wage war for beauty in a yard being taken over by meadow grasses and 100-degree temperatures....

Don't Be Afraid of Dirt

For the past several years, we've been following the philosophy of health found in Dr. Jordan Rubin's The Maker's Diet. Our osteopath, Dr. Donald Adema, recommended having our entire family follow this program about three years ago, and although it was very difficult in the beginning phases, we've been fairly faithful over the years, the occasional "splurge" notwithstanding.

The Maker's Diet returns to the rules God gave to Israel, rules that were not just arbitrary guidelines but which Dr. Rubin shows leads to good health. So we cut gluten, pork, shellfish, and refined sugars from our diets and started eating Ezekiel breads, lots of fresh fruits and veggies, and eat as organic as is practical. We drink only water and organic tea, with organic lemonade as a "treat." It was quite amazing to see the kids' eczema vanish as we ate this way, and T's asthma has practically disappeared. But Dr. Rubin's ideas go much further than what we are to eat and drink.

Dr. Rubin also stipulated that use of antibiotic soaps, etc., were harmful to the immune systems, especially to those of children who need exposure to different microbial sources in order to build a strong immune system. He discourages "excessive showering" (as in daily) as showering removes so much of our bodies' natural oils that we need to boost our immune systems. He says that weekly showers are all that most children need, with soap-free sponge baths in between if they get dirty. He also discourages swimming in chlorinated pools and use of scented products like body washes.

He encourages mild exercise -- walking rather than jogging. And he also advocates gardening without gloves. Getting our hands deeply into the soil is an elemental human activity, he states, and it also helps our immune systems to grow stronger. We are meant to be people of the earth and to have contact with the soil, on a daily basis, if possible. I was quite glad to discover this portion of his program as I love digging my hands into the dirt while gardening; I use gloves only as a last resort even if it means having to soak my hands to remove all the dirt from underneath my fingernails.

Dr. Rubin once again advocates a lifestyle close to the soil in today's daily e-mail:

Parents do everything they can to keep their kids from getting dirty, but in reality, our environment is much too clean! Immune cells that are not exposed to naturally occurring soil microbes tend to overreact when they finally come in contact with them. Too many adults and children have been denied this much-needed exposure. The immune systems of children and adults are overreactive because they are no longer being properly "educated" on the biological playground of life.

To make matters worse, we oversterilize everything with disinfectant dishwashing, hand soaps, and shower gels; disinfectant body lotions and skin bars; and "deodorant soaps" loaded with antibiotic disinfectants such as triclosan. And we sterilize our soil using pesticides and herbicides that destroy beneficial and harmful microbes alike. These substances harm the immune systems of all living things, including the very plants we try to "improve" with our technological advancements.

Our immune systems need regular exposure to naturally occurring soil organisms for long-term health! If I child isn't exposed to soil organisms early in life, his or her immune system may seriously overreact when exposed to completely benign intruders later in life. Loosing touch with our planet has had an unfortunate consequence: It has contributed to the development of allergies, autoimmune diseases, and certain types of asthma in children and adults alike.

So now I don't feel guilty about letting the boys dig holes in the side yard as they recreate World War I's "No Man's Land." And they can take a quick sponge bath before bed most nights; showers are for Saturday evenings before Sunday church. And playing in the dirt, whether it's the boys and their battlements or myself puttering about in my garden, is one of the healthiest activities we can do. I always knew gardening was good for my soul; now I know it's good for my health as well.

First Day of Vacation!

For today (Monday, that is) being the first day of our summer vacation, I was certainly busy. I rose earlier than I usually do during vacation so I could have time to work on a project or two of my own.

It was a lovely day ... but hot. The thermometer hovered around 100 degrees from 11:00 AM - 4:00 PM. I spent my morning prayer and Bible reading on the front porch, then watered the flower beds before sorting and starting the laundry. At least half an hour was taken by cleaning out the front flower bed as the snapdragons just started blooming but the bed was littered with stiff browned oak leaves. My email box was cleaned out, the bills paid, thank you notes and birthday cards written and sent, and six chapters of Numbers read as I fell sadly behind in my Bible Book Club readings last month. I also took care of some MECAC business by updating the blog and answering the phone very often to pre-register children for the "Taste of Art" summer program that our art council is holding next week. I helped E do dishes as she has cut her finger quite badly after Keith sharpened the knives this weekend. BIG difference (especially while cutting tomatoes).

The phone seemed to never stop ringing today. I gained two new tutoring students for the fall. I learned that our cable could be out for an hour or two today or tomorrow. I had a long chat with my dear friend from middle school -- we were both in Mr. Stan's English and History classes in eighth grade; I had called last week to alert her to the date and time of his memorial, but she and her family were out of town -- and had traveled north to San Francisco rather than southward to San Diego. A talk with Sheri caught us up on the items we needed to check with each other before purchasing materials for next year [GROAN! I'm so NOT in the mood to think about materials for next year when I still have this year's work to grade and submit ASAP). I found out that my chiropractor's wife is back in the hospital (but forgot to send an e-mail to Lake Murray -- something to do tomorrow -- or today as I'm composing this piece of writing after 3:00 AM) and needs prayer. I can't remember a few of the other calls, but as we're used to one or perhaps two calls a day, eight was a departure from the norm, and none were "junk" calls. Wow.

I started grading one research paper but became distracted when dinner was laid on the table -- stuffed peppers! Well-worth the distraction. So I'll have to get grading big-time tomorrow as the grades for the graduating seniors are due post-haste. I also have to add up the final grades for the Class Day class and grade their MLA research papers ASAP.

But today was a really great day. I could putter about, caring for my kids, my house, my garden. I could spend a loooooong time on morning devotions with no one to interrupt me (not too often, anyway). And I also prayed the Noon Office, the Vespers Office, and the Night Office throughout the day. And so went the first day of summer vacation ... and may all days be this productive and this relaxing.

Parsley, Sage ...

... Rosemary & Thyme!

I first ran across this wonderfully fun series when I was unable to sleep because of my illness a couple of years ago when it played every night at 11:30 PM on our local PBS station. A British production, Rosemary & Thyme began in 2005 and involves two intrepid, middle-aged English gardeners, Rosemary Boxer and Laura Thyme. Rosemary was a university professor laid off due to an unscrupulous colleague in the first episode, and Laura Thyme, a former police officer and avid gardener, was left by her D.I. (Detective Inspector) husband for a much younger woman. Rosemary and Laura end up starting their own gardening/landscaping business and somehow end up finding dead bodies everywhere and sniff out the mystery each time with a sense of humor and many views of lush English gardens.

E and I happened across the set of Volume 1 DVD's at the local library and checked them out, and we watched the entire six-episode set in a single weekend. Even the boys liked it (and I didn't mind their watching it for the shows are quite innocent, except for the murders of course) and watched the vast majority of the episodes with E and me. I ordered the set of Volume 2 DVD's this week and hope they'll be in soon (we're third on the list for them) so we can catch up with the myserious happening of Rosemary & Laura and enjoy all of those dreamy English gardens that I so admire and can't grow in our nearly-desert Southern California climate.

If you're looking for a fun and innocent TV program, try out the Rosemary and Thyme series; you'll find them well-worth your while. We certainly have.

It's SSSSPPPRRRING!

Winter is still peeping around the corners, leaving ice on my windshield every morning this week and freezing my cheery marigolds into sad brown clumps. But by the calendar, it's SPRING! And spring means GARDENING!

I didn't get to the garden during Holy Week, and the week after Easter, although vacation for us, held both a birthday and Class Day. So not until this week with short days due to standardized testing with our ISP was I able to survey my winter-worn flower beds and take a little action.

One of my problems is that I can only work about 20 minutes in the garden before my body starts to complain vociferously. It's the bane that accompanies my immune system issues: I must not overdo. But I did manage over a few days to clean out the front flower bed, discovering several snapdragon plants that overwintered well as well as my delphinium and shasta daisies. I unearthed my little birdbath from under the spent oak and Pippin leaves, pulled out the dead alyssum, weeded here and there, and planted one six-pack of Sweet Williams (dianthus):



The other half of this bed held all of my glorious daffodils -- over 50 bloomed this spring in a six-foot area. They were extravantly beautiful. But they bloom such a short time -- and endured a good snowfall as well -- so they're fading in upon themselves, waiting for the pregnant bellies of the purple irises to birth their spring blooms.

After dealing with the front bed under the porch, I moved to the back beds. One day was spent cleaning the perennials -- I lost the salvias (blue sages), but the honeysuckle did well and whatever the purple mounds are that Judith gave me last year, they sure are thriving:



I spent the next couple of afternoons in the next part of the flower beds that stretch along the back fence. I trimmed back the roses (rather late again!), weeded, dug out dead salvias, pulled up the spent gray stalks of last year's hollyhocks, and trimmed the dead foliage off the lavender plants, revealing new clumps of growth at the bases:



And I am rejoicing that three of my five tulips came back this year and even bloomed! Why the fuschia ones survived and bloomed and the red ones didn't, I just don't understand. But I'm glad to welcome tulips into my garden all the same. More than glad, actually; try enthralled! (And I'll get more for next year, too. when we can afford them.)



I have more of this bed to do as it stretches from the gate all along behind the house, but it will have to wait until I have time later on -- perhaps next week. But I love discovering the new green growth under the dead gray and black junk. It's definitely one of my favorite parts of spring: the gardening, the digging into the cool earth, even the stripes of black dirt under my nails. Aaaah, spring! It's puddle-wonderful and mud-luscious in every way.

Summer Gardening....

I spent most of Saturday in my garden. August is not the prettiest month for my poor garden -- the heat has wilted many a plant, and the majority of the flowers are past their first blooms. August is the time for dead-heading cosmos (above), roses, snapdragons, lavender, shasta daisies, and dianthus. August is the time for pulling out spent pansies and stocks. August is the time when the sweet alyssum takes over my front beds (I don't plant it; it just reseeds) and when the roses and poppies go through a second bloom cycle.

August is the glory-time for hollyhocks, but not for much else. Some flowers are barely hanging on; others have given up the ghost and won't reappear until next April. August is the time for the herbs to wilt a bit, with the parsley and cilantro yellow and fade and even the mints look a bit weather-weary. The tomato plants look abused while they put all their energy into the production of delectably red grape tomatoes rather than green leaves.

I spent yesterday with my great-grandmother's clippers in hand, cutting dead blooms off a great many plants as well as sitting in a shady spot, weeding my new bed for the first time since we put it in. Why does grass flourish there so beautifully yet refuse to grow in the lawn area nearby?????? A few milkweeds have remain hidden in my beds and are now rearing their ugly heads, mocking me, daring me to pull them out without gloves and pierce myself on their wickedly barbed stalks.

At one point I stopped plucking weeds from between my salvias and sat there, appreciating the beauty around me. The sky was a lovely blue, studded with the occasional white cloud. The pine tops in the neighbor's yard bent slightly with the breeze, the same breeze that brought me the scents of pine and of vanilla. I closed my eyes, tilted my chin, and allowed the sun warm my face (probably adding a few freckles, too). My bare toes dug into the cool earth, and I wrapped my arms around my knees, drinking it all in.

This summer has been unseasonably reasonable. Usually the temperatures in July and August top out near 110 each day, with the usual accompanying misery. And, no, it's not a "dry heat" as we often receive afternoon showers which lower the temps by twenty degrees but also bring stifling humidity. But this summer the thermometer has remained in the high eighties to low nineties for the most part, a most enjoyable change. Yes, sweat still trickles down my back, down my face which I swipe somewhat dry with my old black gardening skirt.

But it's still fairly comfortable, this gardening work. A work done by my great-grandmother with the same clippers I grasp in my right hand. I think of her lovely little garden behind her miniscule house that I remember exploring as a child, with the long row of climbing roses separating her yard from the next. I think of my grandmother proudly tending her camellias and gardenias, asking us kids to pick the plums that she magically turned into the palest pink plum jelly. I think of my mother who still loves gardening, digging her gardening fork around the shasta daisies, turning the damp earth beneath her fingers, handing me the scissors to gather roses to decorate the dinner table. Gardening is part of my heritage, part of my soul, part of who I am and whom I desire to be. It's far more than a simple chore, I think, as I sit in the dirt, my face upheld to the sun.

"Hockey Puck" Season

July is one of my least favorite months. Humid, hot weather and a fading garden that I need to water sometimes twice a day take the joy out of life sometimes. but the hollyhocks are always at their loveliest in late July.

The "hockey pucks," as Keith calls them, joyfully and abundantly reseed themselves each year along our front fence. Hollyhocks are biennials which means that they require two growing seasons to bloom fully. The first season they remain green and close to the earth, hiding discreetly behind cosmos and herbs in my flower beds. But during their second season, they soar up to heights of six to eight feet at times, and then they bloom, starting at the bottom of the plant and slowly working their way up until finally the very tippy-tops of the tall stems are showing off their colors to the bumble bees. My garden hosts a variety of colors, from white to pale pink to bright pink to an almost fuschia color.

Around this time of year I have to tie them to the fence for support or else they tumble over, bent in half by the weight of their blooms and the height of their stems. I crowd them together, staking them in groups so that they bunch up into bursts of bloom. Hollyhocks are such lovely, old-fashioned flowers -- they remind me of English cottage gardens and of whispered wisdom passed down, mother to daughter, through the generations. They are sentinels of holy living: held up together from drooping with heat and with burdens too much for their slender stalks, hollyhocks support each other while still blooming extravagantly.

And isn't that exactly what God calls us to do?

Saturday's Simple Pleasure....

$1.29 worth of joy sits on my front porch, waiting for me to truck it around to the back garden and plunk it into the ground. I'll dig it a little home between two tall hollyhocks, remove it from its 4-inch pot, tickle its roots, and fold it into the earth. This little tuft of green and purple is one of my favorite plants, Mexican Heather, which I bought at Rite Aid yesterday. It will grow to be a lovely, large plant, blooming prolifically all summer long, and well into the fall.

If I carefully tuck it in with pine straw next autumn, I'm hoping it will overwinter well and be around for years of growth, bloom, and pleasure. All for the remarkable price of $1.29. Now that's a simple pleasure.

Ponderings whilst Gardening....

Today I weeded my back flower bed and removed all the pine needles that I use to mulch the more delicate plants and keep them from freezing. Although we live in Southern California, the elevation of nearly 4000 feet means we get COLD: we were down to 13 this winter, the coldest even some of the old-timers remember.

As I was beginning to tire, I reached forward to pull off a thick layer of dry, brown pine needles, and I uncovered the plant pictured above. And I began to think....

Some less patient gardeners would pull up this sorry little lavender, unwilling to wait and see if it will grow and eventually flourish. They're much happier in replanting a perfect lavender from Home Depot and having "instant success." Now I've never been a patient person, but gardening is teaching me otherwise. Last year I found this same little plant in just the same condition: half brown and dead, but with a twinkle, a tiny promise of green. I decided to leave it be, to wait and see. Sure enough, more and more green appeared, and by mid-summer it was two feet tall with purplish-blue spikes of bloom that the butterflies flocked to continually. So I've learned by experience to be patient with my garden, to give even an apparently dead plant a chance because Nature certainly is capable of surprising us.

Then I thought about how this little lavender's plight parallels that of some people I know. When I first looked at them, I thought that it wasn't worth the effort of cultivating a friendship with them. But with closer exposure, I could see the little growths of green that promised a future. So with hope and prayer, I continued the acquaintance, willing to give the time needed, and a friendship eventually blossomed. As it is with little lavender sprouts, so it is with the sprouts of friendship; all that's needed is a little hope and a willingness to wait and see.