…ate it anyway. Ate it anyway…
I fill the feeder and they come. They drain and abandon. I fill the feeder and they come. They drain and abandon. The finches and swallows, scissortails and sparrows, they give way. The doves and grackels have claimed their turf. I stop filling the feeder.
The tomatoes are in the shade. Did the china berry grow since last summer? I doubt by that much. My garden layout made it to Plan G before being constructed, and ended at Plan P by the time I finished building. I may’ve encroached on the shade a bit much. Everyone on the west side is a tinge yellow.
I grew peas this year. I wanted my daughter to have fresh garden peas. Yesterday, she ate fresh garden peas, straight from the pod held in my hands. A moment in time where the time spent away with the soil allowed the soil to grow the food to feed the time spent together. I didn’t even think they tasted that great having already baked through many a day near 90 degrees. She devoured them one by one. As did a caterpillar who had burrowed its way down into a pod and was happily munching through each pea toward the bottom. I let it be.
A tomato appeared at a sprint. Only flowers swearingly yesterday and today a large gum ball grown at an odd angle. As though one side pinched shut while the other ballooned. I lost the labeling system after the final transplant thanks to all of the rain we’ve been having (I never did make it back out with a pencil to rewrite the pen notations.)
Trees are trying for it seemingly everywhere. In the self-re-seeded celusia. In the lavender. In the lime. As much as I like trees and as much as some places need so many more of them, I have quite enough right here. I cannot help but pot up some of the more impetuous specimens. Would you like a baby bur oak? Or perhaps a pecan? I have extra.
The sweet potatoes are impatient months into their stint in the burlap sack. They were promised parole in April. “It’s May, you know,” they say. I dug a bed for them. Grass begone! Organic matter mixed in to lighten the clay. Oh, there’s a rock. Let’s pry that out of there…oh! there’s another rock. And another. Pry pry pry. And…that’s a pipe. Here’s a car, and a hardware store, and some couplings, and here’s a hole in the ground. It’s almost dark. I eyeball. I dry fit. It’s beautiful. I prime. It dries. I cement and connect and cement and connect. Cement and connect and cement and – snap! That’s another pipe. That was Sunday three weeks ago. Last Sunday I attempted the second fix. Cut too long…adjusted too short. Tried anyway. It leaks. There’s still a hole in the ground.
Happy Mother’s Day.
I made myself a cake. (This is doubly a treat.)
I hope today is full of sunshine on the inside and downpours of love be you a mother, have you a kind mother, or love you a lovely other’s mother.
A year and then some.
A year has passed. One could say that at any point and it would be just as true. A year has passed and then some. Her birthday has come and gone. The first anniversary of my birth day as well. Emotions gain so much in parenthood. Patience expands beyond previous horizons repeatedly. Joy bubbles to bursting at times. Sorrow rises and oozes and weighs over everything.
The glee at a sprouted seed, magnified.
The anticipation at the next growth stage, heightened.
The pride in the successes, overgrown.
And too, the melancholy and grievous loss over the end of the season, palpable.
So long, little baby. Hello, little lady. Thank you for the memories you’ve given (and the tokens you’ve offered with your tiny starfish hands.) Thank you for the clues to cherish those “one last times” so that I wouldn’t miss them. Thank you for all of the upheaval and growth. I feel my mind’s weeds have been cleared and the soil of my spirit has never been richer.
I’m not sure that the goodbyes to each piece of you will ever grow easier to live, but I’ll live them gladly because each goodbye for me ushers in your new hello.
Bill builds a spire to the sky.
Napoleon has conquered a new pot.
He’s come long way from the 2″ pot twelve years ago. Surviving the odyssey in the back of an old Ford through Death Valley in August. Landing in a sink of steaming hot soapy water (and coming out swinging.) Cats and dogs and freezes and forgetfulness have all taken their pot shots and here he stands. And there stand his progeny in the nearby pots.
A moment for green sheen.
Everything has a tinge to it these days. Cloudy. Dusty. Mossy green. There are oaks in these parts that grow dangling tassels that release pollen into the world. The wind conspires to help it along and soon enough everything is coated in a soft greenish yellow powder. Most people delay car washes until the trees have finished their raucous pollination. Not everyone notices when it coats the doorknob to the office or the top of the recycle bin and fingertips transfer the pollen from the outside world into the boxes of the day – the office, the car, the home. It isn’t as cursed as an allergy culprit as the clouds of juniper pollen (that causes cedar fever, go figure) that plague the area near the turning of the calendar to a new year, but for some it comes close.
I took the moment today. I remembered my camera today. Today, I went for the usual walkabout with our pooch. But this time, I made time.
Before we got here, our yard had grass, trees, and roses. I haven’t pruned the crepe myrtles so I’m not sure they’ll bloom. I also haven’t pruned the roses. They don’t seem to mind.
Walking down the street, there’s this fuzzy little thing coming to life.
DH is particularly fond of this arrangement of Four Nerve Daisies, Blackfoot Daisies, and lavender.
The snails here don’t seem to mind succulents. This one being nice and smooth, I can understand. I do find them on actually prickly ones in my pots though and wonder if spikes are to snails as spice is to us.
What started out as decoy weeds have turned into quite the smattering of happy.
Speaking of a smattering, these irises are having a joyous spring. This bed is roughly ten feet in diameter and the neighbor across the street from them has its twin.
This little purple “weed” is not to be confused with…
This little purple “weed” (who has wood sorrel neighbors that were dancing in the wind so much as to blur for the lens.)
These “bushes” (most are grown to the size of trees by Texas’s standards of “tree”) are keeping the bees in a tizzy. (Bee butt!)
The brightest smile on the block by a long shot.
And soon to be the sweetest bite on the block.
Speaking of those juniper bushes…
As the clouds thickened, smothering the diffused bright light into a dimmer world, I came upon this treat. It reminds me of a childhood home where we had a snowball bush in the backyard and a giant bush of baby’s breath in the front.
I do hope you’re able to take a little time to spot the wonders in your world. It’s a whole new way to take in a breath of fresh air.
These aren’t those.
I traveled to Houston this week on business and the wild flowers called to me. They wanted to speak to y’all. They wanted to share their view of the world with each of you. I hadn’t packed my camera, nor did I schedule a spare moment to pull over to the side of the road. Boy, doesn’t that say something.
I didn’t schedule a single moment to spare.
As a result, I have blurry pictures taken through a dirty car window speeding by on a windy day. So…low resolution splotches and splashes of color. So instead, I will merely share their names with you, and within such names a link to images from others. Other people who thought to pack cameras. Other people who allowed buffer in their day. Who took the time to take pause. I hope I’ve learned my lesson. I fear I will be relearning it time and time again, the hard way, in the weeks and years to come. I won’t say that I didn’t try though. I have and I will continue to try.
Bluebonnets, that for nearly a decade I would accidentally call blue bells, carpet the roadsides. Other roadsides prefer a warmer shade of blossom in the form of Indian Paintbrush. Not to be confused with Downy Paintbrush. Then there are the Winecups and the Moss Verbena adding some purple to the scene. We can’t neglect the yellow of the Engelmann’s Daisy, the Texas Star, or the countless other yellows soon to pop. Or the white of the blackfoot daisy or the wrinkly poppy that are coming soon. The summers here may turn brown and dry and drab, but the springs contend with the best of the springs out there.
I did have my camera this morning though and there are things up and about on home turf. Stretching their arms to the sky in a morning yawn. Wriggling their toes deeper into the soil with the help of the sprinkler. Working on their tan in the sunbeams or flexing their muscles in the wind, the growth has started to outpace the pill bug population…or so I hope.
Elian the Avocado is working on his next few inches.
An accidentally acquired navel orange is giving it a go in hopes of a bee or two.
These leeks have an rather cumbersome bedfellow…
The Peas That Nearly Weren’t are in need of a stick to climb.
And it’s past time to mow thanks to the timing of the rain lately and the alignment of naps and daylight.
Thankfully, the baby monitor that I left to fend for itself in the flood waters from the sky has miraculously recovered so I am once again free to roam about once or twice a day on weekends. Or as I say, “I’m going to go play outside now.”
Deconstructed dessert
Instructions for living a life.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
Mary Oliver
Equinox and then some.
There’s also a super moon and a solar eclipse today. Busy day in the universe!
It’s been a rough day in the household today with life’s little hiccups all piling on heavy this week and culminating this morning. Nothing catastrophic. Nothing tragic. Just the wearing building and building too long.
It’s cloudy here with a light mist, so likely no eclipse or super moon for me. If you spot either, please do share.
I planted some of the tomato transplants last night with a baby in my lap. She was mesmerized. We helped DH reattach the fence to a reset fence post between plantings. I’ve sown carrots and beets that haven’t come up, and my peas are fighting the good fight against the snails though I’m not sure they’ll come out victorious. Chadwick’s lettuce is proving to be as reliable and sturdy as his cherry tomatoes, as they are the only seeds to sprout so far. And the teeny strawberry sprouts have the most charming little real leaves now.
Now if only the internet could transport scent, we’d be set.
Thanks to Tina, I believe that I’ve learned this lady’s name: Martha Gonzalez.
plumdirt 