Namayos

I believe the tomatoes are finally done. Fitting, that they’d last until now, as this is the week I sow next year’s seedlings into the dark promises of starter pots.

After we arrived home most days, we’d go in the front door and straight through the house, climbing out the back door, hand wrapped around finger. I’d think about what needed tending where, but she would make the same loop each time. “Namayos? Namayos!”

Whether they were actually tomatoes, or sometimes reddened jalapenos, she didn’t much mind…until she selected one to sample. Jalapenos always came back out with a hand off to me and a simple “papa’s.” A paste tomato would follow suit. But oh, the Chadwick Cherry tomatoes. Off came the cap with a “yuck! bye bye” and into her mouth it went. “More?” could just be deciphered through a mouthful of tomato.

We were expecting our first freeze Monday night so I had to cut any dreams of vine ripening short. We harvested the final stragglers before I put (nearly all of) the vines out of their long-seasoned misery and into a wheel barrow.

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We went out again, albeit without school this week it was mid afternoon, and had a good chat about how tomatoes don’t always grow. She looked to their beds, saw no vines, and went straight to the jalapenos (which I had yet to remove.)

“Namayos?” she inquired.

“Not in the winter, love, but soon,” I replied.

Dig in.

Sometimes I have a day. As everyone does, somedays. Today was one of those days. And on those days, whether or not the weather is game, a good sweat with a shovel solves most things.

With the sweat and the shovel off limits a few months yet, I took to the fingertips. One fresh, soft, new tuft of grass at a time. Into the bucket with you! With you, and also with you. And the calm came and the methodical was found and all was well again soon enough.

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Dig deeper.

If at first you find only frustration and disappointment…
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Dig deeper.

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It’s not quite the fifty pounds from a few years back, but for the size of that planting and the size of this one I’d say it’s a tie. 28 pounds of sweet potatoes and I’m pretty sure I missed a few that dove down or escaped under the planks to the edging paths.

And while I felt a month late, apparently I’m 11 days earlier than 2012. Also, note to self: if you want to turn questionably nutritious soil into glorious earth sow sweet potatoes first. Now what to sow tomorrow to keep it lovely until spring?

Shadows cast.

The roses have buds. Branches glow, casting brisk lines. Cranes blot the sky as the earth sheds the day. The seasons have changed and the world feels crisp, crunchy.

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The sog battles the snap underfoot. Giving with one step, resisting the next, I feel the transition dance through my soul.

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My timing is off. The beat, I’ve lost. I am not the only one out of sequence.

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It’s time I pause to join once again in the rhythm of things.

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Rain rain…

Here to stay…coming back another day…

With no rain to speak of for a few months it seemed, and then three weeks in a row of serious rain things are a bit…soggy. The mosquitoes aren’t the only happy life forms at the moment though.

The sweet potatoes have blossomed and blossomed again.
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And the bee butts are grateful.
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The fungal mat is showing its true colors…
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Including this interesting specimen who starts out in tiny pillars that open into perfect little raindrop goblets.
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As unhappy as my onions are (I’m pretty sure they’re goners) the lemon basil has a mind to go from occasional herb plant to full on ground cover. I may have to help that little broccoli out before its trying to push through a jungle.
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More rain expected for the next two days, and it started again yesterday. I do hope everyone stays safe this time.

Hanging up my gloves.

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It appears that I am to hang up my gloves for a season of my life. Arguably nearly three seasons for the garden, all told. I haven’t quite come to terms with this. I’m not sure if I will, but I’ll do it none the less.

Growing a family is hard work, and sometimes we need more rest for a season than we would like in order to do so.

I can toss out carrot seeds gently, though, I imagine. Ah, but look, March’s unsprouted seeds are showing up after our hurricane rains…

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I can admire the garlic greens from a chair.

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I will sow and nurture tomato and pepper seedlings at the New Year, plugs prepared by others’ hands, so that I may yet enjoy this view again next year.

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But turning the earth must wait. Hauling the manure and hefting the nicked leaves aren’t for me this year. Smells of the last of the tomato vines as they’re pulled for the bin will waft into someone else’s nose.

Unearthing the treasure (hopefully) buried beneath this beast will be left to others’ devices.

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I already miss the mowing. The nausea and the heat haven’t allowed me to mow in months. But maybe I can still pull weeds? And the wheelbarrow handles just fit so well in my hands…but DH will bend low to grab them for me.

I don’t sit still well. I never have. My back aches faster and deeper from stillness than activity. Life brings challenges anew. I am used to the physical challenges of exertion. I’ve enjoyed a sub-less soccer match in 26° and 106°. A half a mile of lunges? Sure, I’ve done that. 20 hour work days? Let me at it. But to find stillness for months? That’s daunting to a degree I’ve yet to feel on the active end of the spectrum.

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As with labor though, I’m given the reminder that at the end, there’s a baby. A whole person with a life to lead. New eyes to see the world. New thoughts to join the cacophony of humanity. A new heart ready to be filled by love. At the end, it will all be worth it.

Those we do not speak of…

There are things we don’t speak of. We don’t show our fear, our pain, our weakness. Rarely does anyone admit to the rules out loud, but they’re there. Some days they’re louder. The demand for silence deafening such that the heart can hardly feel.

But then you’re alone again.

The silence washes over you. The fear, the pain, the weakness within…they hunger for the space and wander into the void slowly, blindly. Murmuring, whispering, their voices are found.  The first wail pierces the sky opening within and the pain is your only clue – you’ve hit your knees as the rain begins to fall.

I admire those who live beyond so many rules. I work on finding where and how to traverse such terrain, so unstable to my sense of balance. Because sometimes, often times, the break and the mess is exactly the strength and precisely the beauty.

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The temperature rose…

I planted the onions today. A bulb’s worth of garlic. The cauliflower starts, nearly four months old, but mere wisps of expectation, went in.

The sprinkler rained around the newest plum, July. From fifty feet afar it made the air feel cooler.

The sun beat back the shadows and the mist drops upon the earth rose again to reach the sky.

Retreating indoors, I, myself,set the temperature to rise…

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