I have gotten in the habit of waking around the yard--
my "little estate" in suburbia--
drinking my morning cup of tea.
The peach tree is blooming and has so far survived
rains and threats of getting the blossoms frosted off.
My iceland poppies are blooming beautifully on the one hand
but some mysterious yellow peril is tugging at their leaves--
They've been planted in sumptuous raised-bed soil,
or so I thought, and my pocketbook thought so too,
but they are whispering some trouble that I hadn't foreseen
in all the researching of a cautious beginner.
It is always and never day one in my yard.
I am in the middle of a giant project
that I only have limited knowledge about,
very limited knowledge despite being the granddaughter of a farmer.
It is like jumping into life midstream
and not knowing the right strokes.
Of all the hobbies that I have taken on,
gardening tops all for the need
for horse sense, bug sense, common sense
and secrets of the obvious.
Of course, the things made obvious
by thousands of years of growing and reaping
might have been lost in just a sneeze
of a generation or two,
And even our cleverest scientists may never guess what
that passed away knowledge was.
I suppose an iconic story of this
would be Tolkien's elves passing away from Middle Earth.
It is helpful to know
that one rarely drowns midstream in the manner imagined
and that a cold baleful of water to the face
can sometimes be a slap of laughter.
It is also helpful to know that nature likes to grow
and that even some things we call weeds
can actually be compliments to the salad bowl.
In the garden, biodiversity is the key,
And perhaps psychodiversity is
the key to a growing heart as well.
That is to say,
the more we don't have to crudely eradicate our own fears
But can allow all to be together and to be mindful of it
like a mother who soothes her own children
who are dear to her,
The more we can see the fruits in the landscape.
Surveying my yard does inspire a cornucopia of emotion.
I'd like to pretend
that it is all happiness or at least hopefulness,
but in reality there are some nasty critters there
If there were some sort of chemical to spray them out,
and leave me all-in-a-piece full of happiness
I'm sure that all aspirations to going organic would be out
no matter how nasty the pesticide.
Hope in the garden is something bigger than oneself--
sun and earth sized,
And is sometimes as hidden as a seed
and knowing how things grow helps.
I planted some broccoli starts a few months back
and they did nothing for so long
that I pretty much decided
that after all I was a victim of fate--
some sort of bad soil or bad sun--
and I left off observing them much
until a few days ago when I noticed
that they were shouting "look!"
and full of tousled crowns
and now I had to wonder how to best harvest it.
(I have been breaking it off floret by floret--
it seems such a shame to decapitate them all at once.)
