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ferny. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it looked sickly hanging in the garden section of the home improvement store. there it was – all dry and twisted – a boston fern with no one to love it.

our sweet potato vine had given it up on the old vintage ladder that leans against the house on the deck. it was not handling life well there. we moved it to the top of barney and it came back to life, its lime green trailing around barney’s keyboard, its heart leaves offering company to all the birds and squirrels that frequent the top of barney’s upright-piano-ness.

we were sort of looking for something else for the ladder, though it was not with fervor – it’s only an old ladder on a deck leaning against the house – it is not necessarily a priority as summer wanes.

the sickly fern was in and amongst lots of other sickly ferns. this one, however, made it into our hands. “‘it’s $7.50,” i complained, “that’s a lot for a fern that looks like it’s not going to make it.” plus it felt like so many plants there needed people to care for them. i felt a little overwrought looking at all the dried-up herbs and annuals, perennials outgrowing their pots, the potted canna lilies and small ornamental trees fallen, laying on the concrete.

we pondered it – like we do most purchases – and decided to adopt the fern, bring it home, nurture it and hope for the best.

when we checked out, it rang up at $3.75 – half-price – making it a bit more palatable.

we placed it carefully in the backseat of big red and told it we were bringing it to a new home. we told it we would take care of it and not to worry – the first item of business was to get it some fresh water and sprinkle its crunchy-dry fronds.

it doesn’t really take much to take care of a fern. “ferny” as we dubbed it (because we are clever like that) perked up as soon as it started drinking in much-needed water.

devising a way to hang it from the ladder (three old shower curtain hooks did the trick!) we placed it in its new home. it immediately looked proud and we decided that next year we would go straight to the ferns for the ladder-on-the-deck.

now, as summer continues to wane, we are watching our tomatoes and mint start to lose their exuberance. the jalapeños are still trying to make new little baby peppers and the chives are pretty much going strong. our licorice plants all seem happy and so do the vines growing from the actual sweet potatoes we planted in dirt. but the other flowers are showing signs of fall coming, the ornamental grass plumes are changing color, the day lily flower shoots have browned and are ready for pulling. we are gearing up to enter a new season.

i wonder how ferny will do as time goes on – and september becomes october. i wonder if it will survive moving indoors as we are not necessarily intuitive green-thumbers.

no matter what, we will do the best we can. and if calling it by name (along with all the other named plants in our home) and cheering it on – best-guessing its care with the help of our horticultural friend google – will keep it nurtured and thriving, then we have set our course.

i am convinced of the direct relation between nurturing and flourishing. and that – nurturing – we can do.

*****

NURTURE ME © 1995 kerri sherwood

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just right. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we had a field trip, an outing, a get-out-of-the-house, a jaunt. “yippee-doo-da!” we thought as we headed out.

it was to a couple of our favorite garden centers. we decided that we were on the the quest for a plant to place on an old painted-white column that is in our dining room. the column has been waiting for Just the right thing – feeling all forlorn and empty like no column should feel. and, after trying all kinds of other things – things from around our home, from in the basement, in the attic, things from outside in the garage, things, things, things…we finally knew what should go on it. a living plant.

we have two heartleaf philodendrons in our house – one that our girl gave me as a gift (that one is named “charlie”) and the second that i gave d on the occasion of our seventh anniversary (that one is named “seven”). we went searching for another – so that it could grow and vine its way around this 3’ tall column, next to the stack of vintage suitcases, just off from the dining room table.

i simply cannot walk around a nursery and keep my camera in my bag. it is impossible. the potential photographs are limitless – color exploding everywhere you look.

in particular this day were the coneflowers. in a big expanse of plant stands, they were in their glory, putting passive color charts – rightly – in their place. i was trying hard not to whip out my camera, but eventually i gave in.

i only took a few pictures, but these – “intense orange”, “hot coral”, “mineola-orange”, “orange-red” – were so vibrant i could not ignore them. ignoring them – missing their call – would be missing a breath. they were like the most extraordinary sunset – a sky full of coneflowers.

after wandering and touching and drinking it all in, we brought home a deep-forest-green heartleaf philodendron, named it “just right” and placed it on the column, which grinned.

we aren’t going far these days – keeping our old dogga company, making sure he is ok.

but it doesn’t take going too far to remind you of the glorious all around you.

*****

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the silhouette of happy. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

every day we walk our hood-harbor loop – whether we extend it beyond 3.5 miles or not – we pass this tree. on this particular day – with this particular sunset and this particular western sky – it was particularly striking. it stopped me a couple steps beyond it – whispering to me not to miss it – and i went back to photograph it.

wow.

the silhouette.

i remember a very specific photograph taken of me when i was (very) pregnant with my girl. i was sitting and teaching a piano lesson and, for some reason, there is a photo of this. looking at that picture after it was developed (as in film-developing) was eye-opening. i couldn’t believe my profile. it didn’t have the inherent softness of a silhouette, flaws blending into dark and inky . it was just – well – a straight up picture – no softness, no blending, no depth of field out-of-focus. good grief…i was gigantic. all, of course, worth it in the end. it makes me laugh now, but the day i saw the photograph – in one of those envelopes of prints/negatives you’d get back from the photography store or walgreens or wherever you might mail them away to – that day i shed a few tears. i was just shocked. one rarely sees oneself from the side. and, like, wow.

this morning – a few days before this is publishing – we watched a video of buddhist quiet wisdom. it was about aging – which is yet another time of life that our photographs look less and less like we think they should look.

i think the main takeaway for me from that video is the very simple message: you already have enough.

what we bring to this moment – letting go of all the other moments – is enough. the ultimate in presence. a profile of peace and acceptance and utter appreciation.

last week there were a few days when the combo platter of actual temperature and humidity yielded ridiculously high feels-likes outside. we decided to stay in.

and somehow, in our staying-in, we decided to clean the kitchen cabinets…you know, the ones with plates and bowls and cookware and platters and plastic storage with too many lids and not enough containers and dipping bowls and servingware and cutting boards and tupperware and handed-down mid-century glasses and corningware and pyrex mixing bowls and platters and trivets and jam jars that are now everyday glasses and those multi-colored plastic sippy-cups (with lids) and tervis tumblers and (have i lost you yet?) voila! two gravy boats and the plastic shaker thing in which you mix the flour and water.

so.

it was a ginormous task.

i said to him: i don’t want this to turn into a big-deal-like-all-day-thing.

ha.

it turned into three-big-deal-all-day-things.

but, in the middle of extracting everything from the cabinets and laying it on counters and then washing it all and d washing out every single old cabinet and shoring things up a bit and taking stock and thinking through what should stay and what should go and how it should all be stored – what makes sense for day-to-day life – we found ourselves inside very present days.

the silhouette of our days profiled narrative of the last forty to fifty years – old things, new things, things we purchased together, things i had from my previous life, things that had been handed-down.

it was a gorgeous sunset in our kitchen each day we worked on this project – lighting up stories from long ago to now, laughter and joy.

we worked both quietly and raucously. and, at the end of each day, we each had some pretty achy muscles from the up and down on chairs to reach cabinet shelves, the constant on-our-feet washing, washing, the belly laughs about curly straws and sippy cups and a yellow ceramic platter – to which i am still dedicated though i haven’t touched it in at least a decade. we were horrified at the dust and the far reaches of old contact paper and the sheer volume of stuff that had fit into cabinets that looked like it would never pack in there again.

in the middle of our giant-but-not-supposed-to-be-giant-which-yes-caused-a-ruckus-or-two task, we never once gave specific thought to how our aging bodies looked. we never once questioned where we are in life or where we think we should have been. we were just where we were. and it was most definitely gratifying.

it was enough.

and it was backlit by the sun, setting on each of our days, the north sky out the big picture window over the sink illuminating a hot day ending.

the silhouette of happy.

*****

TANGO WITH ME mixed media (sold)

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coleus-rich. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it was $2.49. it sat in the midst of lots of other tiny coleus plants, on sale. the colors spoke to us and, though we weren’t planning on potting a coleus, we couldn’t resist the sale. this little plant has literally done better than any other plant we have purchased this year, including the two sweet potato vines we have placed on ladders – which usually rock, but have been just too inundated with rain and heat this year.

just goes to show you that something doesn’t have to be really expensive in order for it to be exquisite.

the color patterns on this coleus remind me of things you did as a kid: when you put celery in a tall glass and added water and food coloring. then you watched the food dye climb up the xylem of the stalk. or maybe when you went to summer rec and made cool tie-dye t-shirts (when you weren’t making braided plastic-lacing lanyards).

we spent time on the deck studying our plants and potting stand. the weather has really taken a toll on our herbs and tomatoes. they will likely not last until the bitter end of summer this year, which is too bad in a season when you can’t feel comfortable with store-bought parsley or basil or cilantro or, well, many produce items. or eggs. or bacon. or beef. or granola. or – the big one – lettuce. it all makes one’s head spin…so we are sad to have a garden that is diminishing too soon.

our coleus, however, is apparently going to gleefully hang out for a while. one piece that broke off from strong winds in a thunderstorm is inside in a jar of water. it has rooted and we’ll plant it, hoping to carry the happy coleus into the fall and beyond.

we budgeted and planned for our potting stand and went a bit over, having to replace a few herbs along the way. the extra was fine with us – we can cut back somewhere else – for we find this little garden a joy. and in the middle of the salmonella-e.coli-cyclospora scares, we have been grateful for access to its harvest. though the produce return-on-investment may not be the same as buying bulk produce or herbs at the store, harvesting our own has – once again – inspired us. and this year – in particular – it kept us from buying anything worrisome. maybe next year we will add a few more veggies to our garden. maybe a galvanized raised garden or two.

in the meanwhile – between the time that the potting stand no longer produces and the time we plant again – in fall and winter as we plot a new crop of plants and think about the possibility of a farmstand subscription (CSA), we will glance over at our indoor coleus and remember the riches of this summer – even the ones that were just $2.49.

*****

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a heart. of course. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

just over a month later, the tree crew came back.

our treasured tree had been shorn but its main trunk and some branches remained after the city arborists cleaned it up post-storm that split and felled it.

now they were back.

i knew as soon as i saw the trucks pull up that this was the day. this was the day that i would say my final goodbye to this beautiful tree, the guardian of shade in our front yard, the stalwart maple next to our driveway’s apron. this was the day i would whisper – once again – “you didn’t do anything wrong. you did everything right,” to the tree that pre-dated our family here by at least four decades and still grew up with our children. this was the day i knew would be hard. last goodbyes are like that.

they showed up around 11 and, even with a lunch break, they were deft and efficient and the last big piece of sturdy trunk was lifted into the bed of the dump truck at 1:15. they raked and blew some of the sawdust off the driveway, got in their trucks and, before 2 or so, drove away.

when i brought them bottles of water i asked them, “do you guys get attached to trees, too?” they all said, “no” and i wonder if that’s because they aren’t thready or sentimental or if that’s because we are only talking about trees or if that’s because it is their livelihood to trim and take down trees. any way you look at it, they knew that i was really sad – and they were actually quite kind about it.

the guy on the lift had a giant chainsaw. there was one more big branch to remove from the trunk – a big branch whose upper branches they had already trimmed. this branch arced upward from the main trunk, up toward our house. it had been the branch responsible for shading our front garden, the branch that towered over much of the yard, that shielded the daylilies from too much sun, that held a bit of a flat space where it met the center trunk – a perch for weary critters. this was the branch on which the kids would grasp to try and swing up into the tree. this was the branch i saw the best when i rocked babies in the nursery and gazed out the window. this was the branch i looked out upon – in all seasons – from my studio – composing, practicing, answering the muse. this big branch was central – a sturdy, steadfast piece of a long-beloved tree.

the big claws swung around to hold this branch as the arborist began to cut through the dense maple. it took a surprisingly short time for the chainsaw to make its way through – and then the big branch let go of its tree and it swung freely, held by the claw.

and then you could see it.

right where the branch had met the trunk – right where the branch separated from the tree and the very last offshoot from this very old tree trunk was gone – was a heart.

of course.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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paper plate holiday. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

there are paper plates hanging on trees just off the sidewalk all over our ‘hood. they announce that there will be a fourth of july parade early on the 4th.

for all the years i have lived here – longer than i’ve lived anywhere – there has been a childrens’ bike and stroller parade on independence day here in allendale. we used to have jack andrea at the front of the parade, beating a snare drum – with everyone, all decked out in red, white and blue with decorated bikes and strollers and wagons, following along. a joyous time followed by ice cream on author florence parry heide’s front lawn (now, for years, moved to a different front lawn).

at some point our children became too grown-up to participate in this parade and it was handed down to the younger children in the neighborhood.

for years now, we haven’t participated in it, but it still holds an old-timey sense of charm for me and i still can feel the anticipatory glee of little children who get to be in a parade.

only this time – as the parade makes its way around the blocks – i worry about what is to come for those very little children. this time – though we are celebrating our democracy – i wonder how long it will hold. this time – though a 250th celebration should be a big deal – i have to sit it out – the glee, the charm, the excitement. this time i have deep concern about where it is this country is heading.

dogga is more and more bothered by the fireworks, so we will not be leaving him as they proliferate throughout the lakefront. as our boundary-less neighbors set off giant fireworks directly behind our house, we will try to shield dogga from the noise and flashing lights, from the fire in the trees and the sky.

i worry about the opossums, the raccoon babies and the birds and squirrels in the trees adjacent to those pyrotechnics and crackers that rock the house. i worry about the fallout of bits of firework that we find in our yard and on our patio, our deck, inevitably our roof, the next morning. i worry about the lack of regard to safety and – as it approaches the wee hours of the night – i wonder about the lack of respect for others.

what is it they are celebrating? i wonder. what is it we-the-people are passing on to our children, our childrens’ children?

what about our country – in these moments – in the throes of unprecedented corruption – is there to celebrate?

the purple allium is in the garden over behind the art center on the lake.

as much as i have enjoyed a good fireworks display – and even a hand-held sparkler from time to time – this time – this year – in this country’s current circumstances – on this paper plate holiday – i will just glance over at the striking allium – exploding in all its purple glory – and call it a day.

*****

FIGURE IT OUT ©️ 2010 kerri sherwood

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stunning evening. stunning evening. stunning evening. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

a couple weeks ago, on friday night’s date-night, we had no plan – as is often the case. we so enjoy the sanctuary of our backyard that it, more than not, wins over going out anywhere. it was quiet and the sun was waning, a little cool. we added a layer and talked about watching a movie outside or taking a walk.

we hadn’t yet been – this season – to the marina in a town down the road where they sponsor live music at a biergarten on the harbor. and so we decided to jaunt down there for just a bit, walk on the boardwalk along the lake, listen to the band.

it was a stunning evening – between 7:30 and 8:30 the star of the show. the sun was setting on the western swale horizon of sand prairie grasses and fen. little to no wind, perfect temperatures, boats lining the docks, guitar strains in the air, a paramotorist sailing across the sky.

this past friday night, on friday night’s date-night, we left for milwaukee in humidity that made my hair into unkempt-fuzzy-curly-big-1980s. our third time to see our son perform at milwaukee pride, we were excited as ever. it was also a stunning evening – between 7:30 and 8:30 the star of the show – for us.

leading with the joy of doing what you really love, they took the stage and transformed the house. what had been a meager audience, with a complete lack of dance juju – with a lead-in karaoke non-dance-non-EDM-music performer inappropriately booked into a dance pavilion slot by someone who clearly did not understand how to shape the evening – well, they turned it around. in short order, there were hundreds and then thousands of people under the pavilion, dancing, raising their arms in the air, celebrating. i’m sure the next performers were grateful; our boys were one heck of a lead-in for that next slot.

we took photographs over by the water, the sky turning inkier as time went on. they went on to play a big nightclub gig and we drove home with lightning in the sky to our west, glad that the storm hadn’t arrived any earlier.

it’s saturday as i write this. tonight, i imagine, we’ll make some homemade pizza and a salad, maybe pour a glass of wine, turn on some music, and sit at the bistro table on our deck. our old dogga – who is worrying us a lot these days – will lay nearby and we three will watch the sky change as day moves to night.

another stunning evening.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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at home. with dogga. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

bundled up in down vests and gloves, we were finished the cleaning-up of the backyard, readying it for winter. though we are reluctant to face the winter, it feels good to tuck away the adirondacks and the gravity chairs, the rugs made of recycled plastic straws, the firepit and the little wrought iron glass table. as i cleared leaves off the deck to make it easier for my wonderful husband to shovel future snows, i stumbled across this bit of evergreen. fallen from our spruce tree, it reminded me immediately of the little tree we – years ago – had brought home from aspen: “ditch”, named after our favorite trail there, a profoundly emotional place for us.

i brought it inside.

it now has a place of regal importance on the bistro table – the place we tend to sit for happy hour, for dinner. with windows overlooking the backyard, we can watch the waning light and review our day, dogga at our feet, for he loves the cool floor of the sunroom.

we won’t be traveling this holiday season. our old dogga is now a senior dog and as we watch him – in his slowingdown – we are dedicated to being witness to these days with him. it’s not like we wouldn’t like to drive – or maybe, even fly – to visit relatives or friends or go on an adventure, but it is definitely that we don’t want to leave him.

dogga’s presence has been a constant for us in the entirety of our living-together. his steady amber gaze, his unbridled enthusiasm, his quirks – they are all a distinct element of our life. he steadfastly helped us through all the – interesting – transitions in this decade plus. and so, we are committed to being by his side, honoring him in his aging, in his challenges and his ever-growing list of quirks. we want to hold space with him.

and so things like a bit of evergreen, like a strand of happy lights tucked inside the chiminea in the corner of the sunroom, like fluffy pillows on the glider in the living room – they are tiny ways to really enjoy our home during a time we will spend most of it not away, most of it at home.

like babycat, dogga has many theme songs, which we sing for him. “dogga-dogga, you’re the one. do-do-do-do. dogga-dogga, so much fun. do-do-do-do. dogga-dogga, in the sun. do-do-do-do. dogga-dogga, number one.”

he doesn’t require brilliant lyricism nor originality. his joy is pretty simple. kind of like a bit of spruce in a little glass vase.

“dogga-dogga, puddin’ and pie, mom and dad love you as big as the sky.”

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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holding light. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

the chipping-peeling-paint white cabinet spoke to me. it sat on top of a side table in the booth straight ahead of the walk-through from one building into the other at the antique shoppe. it had some sweet personality and i visited with it, lifting the old clasp handles to open it and peer inside. with shelves ready for stuff to be tucked away, this little cupboard charmed me.

i took a few photographs, noting the price, and we left.

i had an old aquarium stand next to my bed as my nightstand. it held a few photos and framed notes from my kiddos when they were little: “goodnight mom” and “mom” with hearts. it held a jelly jar with pens and pencils, a pair of readers. it held a small clock and a glass nightstand lamp that was my sweet momma’s. it held a box of tissues, babycat’s old “meow” bowl with trinkets and my earbuds. underneath, on the bottom glass shelf, it held a wooden crate that serves as a special box for earlier decades.

you may be getting the picture.

the fishtank stand held too much.

we visited the little white cupboard a second time, measuring it and taking more photographs, pondering.

we moved things around in the bedroom and i emptied the glass and wrought iron metal stand, paring down as i worked. and still pondering.

and then we went back to the antique shoppe – our favorite. i held my breath as we came around the corner to the place where you could see through the passageway into the other big room and into the booth where the little white cupboard still sat, patiently waiting.

and this third time, after a smidge of price negotiating, the little white cupboard came home.

because we do not have a matchy-matchy kind of bedroom suite, it seemed right to add this little cabinet to the old black-painted cedar chest that had been miss peggy’s from next door, the medium-toned wood dresser that had been lois’ before she left for overseas teaching forty years ago, the spring from my dad’s antique bassinet, holding tiny clothes-pinned handmade cards we’ve given each other. the live-life-my-sweet-potato print and the black and white canvas of babycat. the gingham print red and white wingchair lazyboy, the small black jewelry armoire i bought off marketplace, the pine cabinet from the town in the north carolina mountains where we bought property over four decades ago, the quilt a friend made when i broke both my wrists that graces the bed from which we removed the frame so it would be easier for our aging dogga to jump on and off. it is a venerable hodgepodge and we love it. the peeling-paint white cabinet is right at home.

we have always been drawn to items – particularly vintage – that are painted black. but lately, it seems, we are attracted to the things that are painted white, things that show life, things that have had some miles and some stories, some lovin’-on. but lighter, brighter.

and so these pure white flowers that are in our dear westneighbors’ yard are just exquisite to me. these hydrangea seem like the flowers of posies of love, of weddings, of hope. they bring a smile every time i pass by them, backing down or pulling into the driveway. such delicate beauty, these blossoms on shrubs where tiny birds gather.

maybe it’s the balance of light. this room – our house – has great sunlight streaming in many old double-hung windows. in these times, as we find ourselves slightly more insular – again – staying home with our old dogga – we are spending much time in the spaces of our home. the white fuzzy pillows, the white chunks of concrete, the old white door learning against the wall, the white throw, the white iron obelisk trellis…they hold light.

and right now – particularly right now – as we make our way through these times, it would seem important to gather around ourselves things that hold the light for us.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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the most real. [kerri’s blog on saturday morning smack-dab.]

in the middle of the middle of the chaos that is this world right now, the thing that seemed the most real was last night’s pizza.

with a new pair of garden snippers, we went out to the potting stand and snipped off some fresh basil for our homemade pizza. the oven was preheating while we sous-chef-ed. we poured a glass of red wine and reveled in the cool breezes coming in from the back door and windows. we dined al fresco on the deck with plates of pizza, arugula spilling out of salad bowls and dogga at our feet. ohhh, what a day.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this SATURDAY MORNING

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