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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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tending boundaries. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

the gardens on the side of the backyard where barney is are not fancy, but they are lush. they are full of daylilies and ornamental grasses, three peonies and a volunteer hosta or two. it is the side of the yard where squirrels scamper and hide with stolen cherry tomatoes, finches and house sparrows and cardinals gleefully dine on birdseed, barney ages into mellow beauty with wild geranium at its feet. back in the corner there is an old firepit with burgeoning red salvia, surrounded by dwarf sedge grasses, a few dark green-leafed hosta, and one struggling pampas grass by the back fence. when it all gets away from us, there are a few weeds scattered into this garden, a little more wild than the rest but well-loved nonetheless. with a very few exceptions, all of these plants in this side garden have been generous gifts from others – from their own gardens or purchased at nurseries for us – and we value and cherish each and every one.

we also value and cherish peace, so the metal peace sign we purchased at a garden shop in the little town a smidge north from where dogga was born is an ideal addition to this wild and verdant garden.

one of our neighbors needed to clear off some vine from the garage that runs along the second half – the further half – of this garden. naturally, granting permission for access to our yard, he came equipped to do the job – with a ladder and a bucket and snippers and bio-bags. as they are avid gardeners i did not feel like i needed to be out there, managing his work. we were keeping dogga inside during his task on this sunny day and so i did glance out the window often to monitor his progress.

watching him step – with both feet and sans any sensitive awareness – over the little garden edge-fencing into our garden and directly onto our daylilies – crushing them – was shocking. he moved around in our garden, his foot placement of no apparent concern to him.

i did not go outside to admonish him. i just couldn’t believe what he was doing. i guess i didn’t want to create conflict, but i was most certainly feeling the conflict.

when he was done, the brick of their garage was clear of vine, but our little garden next to barney was trampled. the daylilies lay on the ground, their fronds broken. there was no mention of any harm done to them, no apology, no contrition whatsoever.

i couldn’t help but wonder why it was that our garden was not good enough to protect in his effort to take care of his own property.

i couldn’t help but wonder what he would have done had i literally traipsed all over one of his gardens.

i couldn’t help but wonder – after – why i did not go outside and demand that he stop immediately and to be please be careful.

at what price is keeping the peace?

fancy or not, our garden counted. whatever was this disregard? i literally cried looking at our flattened lilies, what was lush and standing now mushed on the ground.

and, mostly, i was utterly upset with myself. in an effort to not stir the pot, i allowed this man to enter my yard – and to be ruinous – and i did not stop him or hold him accountable.

and that is not ok.

we mustn’t just stand back and allow any single person – or, for that matter, any administration – to crush that which is ours. we mustn’t permit others to run over us, to expect us to grant them undeserved or undue authority or accommodate any higher priority in which they cast themselves (or is it “caste” themselves?), to trample any part of the precious home we have created.

that is not peace.

peace: a state of harmony marked by the absence of hostility, violence or mental anxiety.

relational peace: treating other people with respect and kindness

global peace: respecting the earth and all living things

every bit of what happened here translates – from the smallest act of irreverent ruin to the most heinous – lack of respect is lack of respect. where is the line?

and now, we will be tending what-were-our-intrepid-daylilies, our boundaries, and the loss of a bit of our peace, hoping for them all to come back.

*****

BOUNDARIES © 2010 kerri sherwood

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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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blushed with beginning. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

“if you remain generous, time will come good; and you will find your feet again on fresh pastures of promise, where the air will be kind and blushed with beginning.” (john o’donohue – to bless the space between us)

the licorice plant, in a pot on top of the little chest on the deck, was clearly stressed. actually, beyond stressed. something had invaded it; webs were forming inbetween its branches and most of the leaves were turning yellow.

after having no luck combating this invader and worrying that whatever it was would spread to the herbs and vegetables we had planted right nearby, we made the decision to empty the pot and put the licorice plant into the sort-of compost pile next to the garage. we felt bad but thought it was best for the rest – eliminate that which is harmful, minimize the potential of further harm. we decided to go back to milaegers at some point and purchase another licorice plant. we just love the muted, soft shade of green of this plant with its somewhat wild, trailing branches.

when we brought home the new licorice plant, we ended up bringing it inside – placing it on an old stool in front of the living room window, enjoying it inside this time. in its place on top of the chest outside is now a new mint plant, which seems to love the spot in the limelight.

the other day, d was bringing a handful of weeds over to the “compost pile” and spotted our licorice plant. there it was, glory restored, its branches clear of webs, all silvery green leafing, its root ball firm and seemingly undamaged. without a word, he replanted it into a bigger pot and placed it on our babycat chair next to the driveway. the next time we went out to go for a walk, he drew it to my attention.

i was shocked to see this stunning licorice plant – revitalized. it seemed perfect in our now-outdoor wicker, next to the old fence that sports a beautiful green vine wall every summer. a new beginning for this plant – nourished, i guess, by the tumble of compost, the rain and fresh air, the shedding of a pot that might have been too small for its roots.

to say we are thrilled at the rejuvenation of our licorice is an understatement. every single time we are out back or we pass by it is a reminder of the chance of a second chance.

and in these times – so fraught – when we get lost: in the travails of discord in daily life and relationships, in the failure of making headway in our work, in any ability to let go of wounds – when we wonder if we dare hope for a new start – when we fight to give voice: to move from stagnation or a past that needs air, that needs releasing – when we recognize and eliminate that which harms us – when we work to actually create that new start – in these times, we need that reminder.

time will come good and you will find your feet again…where the air will be kind and blushed with beginning.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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how one comes to the table. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

the plants are stressed. you can see it. there are yellowing leaves, limp branches, tiny fruits. even the sweet potato vine is doing a dance for survival with the intense heat and humidity, storms and wind.

we are trying to be vigilant as we take care of all of them – the ones on the potting stand and on the deck. i carefully try to determine if they need more water or less water, more sun or more shade, a little fertilizer. this is not an exact science, i find, and i am not necessarily an intuitive gardener. i do, however, come to the table with good intentions, wanting all our plants to flourish and have all the nutrients and circumstances they need to thrive.

i imagine that the growing season on our potting stand will end sooner this year than we wish it to. even so, we will have totally enjoyed its cherry tomatoes, basil, jalapeños, cilantro, parsley, chives and mint. i wonder if next year we will try a few new veggies or herbs. (had we not already tried lettuce, i would think that might be a good choice – since lettuce is on the do-not-fly list these days.)

in the “weird things category for 100”, we are now washing our produce again. after we get home from the grocery store, we have gone back to taking out the large stainless steel salad bowl, filling it with water and scrubbing everything with the vegetable brush. it harkens us back to the pandemic – and not in a good way. those memories are filled with stress and the grief of separation from others, too many devastating stories for all of us to have to go back in any way.

frustrated by lettuce-and-so-many-other-things, i feel like the leaders of our government should come to the table with intelligent solutions and goodness, instead of self-centered rapacious destruction and chaos, so much of which is cruel. we need clean water, clean air and clean food as the most basic of things – the most basic of our good health – yet there is some serious intentional undermining of all of that by this administration. and so, more trauma.

we are witness to the shedding of authentic responsibility these days when people in power are asked to come to the table. though there are those of us who come to the table in good faith – with the intent to do the right thing, to navigate together – there are others who absolutely absolve themselves of any culpability and come to the table empty-handed and empty-hearted. nothing can grow in that space.

the squirrel somehow discovered that we had a few tomato plants. we watched him upside down in the tomato cage, plucking choice cherry tomatoes off the plant. he then scampered – tomato sticking out of his mouth – to the fence, where he perched and munched on his snack. and then, he repeated the whole thing all over again. his intent was clear. he was a hungry-bunny squirrel and gave no illusions of minding boundaries – the ones between what was his and what was ours.

the thing is, we really don’t expect squirrels to be mindful that way. we don’t expect them to be respectful or to honor others or observe any kind of discipline. squirrels are not goody-two-shoes.

people – on the other hand – have every capability to be straight arrows. we expect them – particularly those who have been given authority, those who are supposed to hold the high regard of others, those who have decision-making power – to come to the table with good intention, wanting all to flourish and having all the nutrients and circumstances that all – ALL – need to thrive.

*****

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make-do-ers. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

i always feel like i have to explain – to people new to our kitchen – that our kitchen is old (like our almost-centenarian house), that the range is at least sixty years old, that – yup – all told, we have some significantly old stuff.

we are make-do-ers. we’ve been make-do-ers all our lives and we will likely be make-do-ers the rest of our lives. it is a mindset. not a bad thing or a good thing, it just is. and neither of us can imagine a different way.

the heat and humidity and rain of the last months have made our basil go crazy. we have two plants and i have cut them back – which actually makes them grow more. we’ve made pesto and tabouli, pizza margherita and tomato soup with fresh basil – it is caprese heaven.

the other day – on one of the days of tornado warnings and severe thunderstorms and torrential rain – i went out and snipped off a whole buncha basil, placing it in water in ball jars and small vases – so that later in the day we could make basil cubes. how lovely to have a harvest so plentiful that we now have both basil cubes and pesto cubes in our freezer for the winter. pretty amazing.

so she was here only for a day – and as we showed her around our house, chatting about the basil cubes we made the night before – i got to see our home through someone else’s eyes.

and for a moment or two, i took in her truly delightful comments about what she saw. for her enthusiastic words about our old kitchen, her laughter about our chunks of concrete and repurposed “furniture”, her “awww’s” when we told stories about rocks or branches or tiny baby shoes or old suitcases – these were so welcome, particularly for two people whose cars have ages that add up to 100 years right now.

we make-do. we are kinda proud of it. some of our best stories are stories about how we made do. we are convinced we would have nothing to talk about if everything were just … you know … perfect.

the suntea is out on the deck steeping now and the mint for it is at hand; the basil is ready for another shearing. we used the tomatoes on some homemade pizza last night and have all the ingredients for jalapeño poppers – both of ann’s recipes. we are soon to make another batch of tabouli and are – rightly (right now) – staying away from (as they say in colloquial wisconsin) “boughten” lettuce and other dangerous parasite-dwelling produce. our range is ancient; we wash all our dishes. we take back roads and turn our shampoo and conditioner upside down for weeks before calling them done. we have a window a/c unit, there are clamps on the edges of our roofing (waiting for the roofing guys), and a zip-tie holds the rocker molding onto littlebabyscion.

but heck. we wouldn’t be interesting any other way.

*****

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

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tabouli party. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

in dramatically exciting news, this has been the week of tabouli. with heat indexes off the charts, it’s a refreshing change of pace.

it’s only mid-july and already our little potting stand garden is rocking. we have sooo much mint, a wild burst of chives and some curly parsley (our flat parsley has been the incredible-shrinking parsley – which must be because it’s on the preferred diet choices of our local squirrels.) the first batch of jalapeños are ready to harvest, many of the cherry tomatoes are orange-ing up, the basil is happily basil-ing along.

in an effort to use the herbs of which we have plenty, it brought to mind our quinoa tabouli – which uses the harvest we already have at our fingertips.

in these days of sickly sticky parasites invading the fruits and vegetables of these united states it feels extra good to have just gone a few steps outside to clip off what i needed for this fresh salad. it is a weird world with way too many things to worry about.

pasta with basil, homemade pizza margherita, jalapeño poppers, pesto, mint and lemon suntea that basked on the deck…and soon…more of our own cherry tomatoes for everything under the sun…the recipes line up in wait.

our adirondack chairs adjacent to our little burgeoning herbandveggie garden, we sat outside – after dinner – after sunset – while the fireflies danced through the backyard – and talked. our tiki-type torches lit, dogga conked out on the deck, we reviewed yet another strange set of days – strange in an insane number of ways. we wondered – yet again – what we can do.

we are beyond saddened by the schisms that deepen with every single corrupt thing that is reported (leaving us to truly ponder what is too opaque – too silenced – too hidden – to be reported, even by hardworking alternative media sources.)

and yet we know – even with our intense sadness – that there is no going back. anyone who thinks that all this is acceptable in any way – including what seems too easy to avoid – the new veggiefruit parasites running rampant because of this administration’s gluttonous greed and incompetence – is lost to us. that loss is mindboggling. it is heartwrenching.

and so, i guess we’ll just party on with our tabouli.

*****

WEEPING MAN mixed media 48″ x 36″ (available for purchase)

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daisy-path-ing. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

we took off our sunhats. it was a hot day and we had been gardening for hours. the purchased plants had been potted, all the transplanting in the yard was done. it was that golden hour after all the work and before making dinner. we poured a bit of cool pinot grigio, took a tour around the yard and then settled into our adirondack chairs in the shady corner of our deck to gaze out at the yard – one of our favorite pastimes now.

the daisy path – as d has aptly named it – is slower. it doesn’t require the striding or racing around of earlier years. it is a – rather, The – sweet phase and we are trying our best to hone it. we never expect to perfect it, so we are doing everything we can to appreciate it, be grateful for it, honor it.

every night last week we sat on our patio or on our deck, just sitting. at the end of the day – after having dinner al fresco – we – truly – just sat.

and we talked. about anything, everything, nothing.

earlier in the day – on one of the days – i got ready to plant one last sweet potato vine. d had spray-painted a plastic pot and it was ready for the transplant and to be hung on the old ladder in the corner of the deck.

d asked me if he could get me a chair – as i have found that placing a chair on the patio next to the raised deck makes planting easier on my back. i thanked him and said that i was only planting this one pot.

but then i was struck by how generous this offer was. for in the middle of everything he was doing, he was concerned that it might be easier for me if i had a chair – as i had used while potting other days – and he was going to drop everything to go get me one if i wanted or needed it.

and so, it was then – one of those rare moments you remember – not because you don’t appreciate each other all the time, but because sometimes a very intentional wave of gratitude is easy for your brain to snapshot into your memory.

i walked over to where he was weeding the cracks in the patio and bent down. wrapping my arms around him, i told him how much his kindness meant to me. it wasn’t even a few seconds and dogga was there, right in the middle of our embrace, pushing his head up into the armwrap hug, his face even with ours, in the middle of so much love.

i whispered to d, “memorize it.”

of course.

we three stayed that way for at least a full minute, which is a long time for a busy aussie. it was a magical minute. definitely daisy-path stuff.

our old dogga stuck close for a bit more, to get kisses and pets and butt-butts. he didn’t see the tears welling up in our eyes as we committed it all to visual and visceral memory.

d went back to weeding and i potted the sweet potato vine and hung it on the ladder.

it seemed right that this sweet potato would keep vigil over our little corner on our deck. my sweet momma’s words, “live life, my sweet potato,” ring in my ears.

sweet potatoes and the daisy path. sunhats and glasses of wine, a checkered tablecloth and adirondack chairs. our dogga and a sanctuary of peace. love and gratitude.

the sweet phase, indeed.

*****

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enchanting. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we’ve gotten a few plants now. a couple sweet potato vines, a couple licorice plants. we also have our basil, chives, parsley, cilantro, jalapeños, cherry tomatoes and lavender. in the last few days we transplanted them into clay pots for our potting stand or their new home on our deck or patio.

our first day at the nursery was completely about reconnaissance. the second – at a different nursery – was to be wowed and make a few purchases…four to be exact. we were directly behind someone who had ridiculously-loaded carts of plants and flowers, along with a ridiculously-loaded price tag. we were just as excited as she was, only our joy was about our four plants, not a multitude. there is a reality to budgeting and we try to plan our purchases wisely, particularly in these times.

our third day out was crowded with people, the nursery was messy and the plants were picked over, but we still managed to find some herbs and tomatoes, lavender, salvia and sweet purple flowers whose name escapes me. our fourth day we filled in the gaps. the nursery had resupplied and we picked up the mint, jalapeños, and little white with purple flowers to contrast with the purples we had already gotten.

d lined up all the pots and planters on the patio and i took out my gloves from the old cabinet we had placed on the deck. and then it started.

from individual elements – these small (though not inexpensive) plastic pots of baby plants – turning into our own backyard sanctuary, filled with potential of beautiful flowers and edible produce. exquisite. each morning we look out the window – in the earliest morning light – to see these new residents of our home. each morning they are enchanting.

one day – over a century ago – all the pieces of barney were put together into an upright piano. where he went from there is unknown, but we found him in the church’s basement boiler room, not exactly a prime location for this musicmaking instrument.

after we managed to have him delivered to our backyard instead of to the junkman, we were thrilled with his presence. his aging might have been preserved by some marine wax, but we chose to go organic with barney. he’s way more of a granola piano than a botox piano.

through the years we have now had him, he has become more and more gorgeous, more and more a part of our backyard, offering shelter to the wee critters, a landing pad for those who fly or scamper. barney’s higher-purpose presence is grounding and part of the peace we feel when we step out our back door.

it’s hard to believe that it is almost june again. already. summer is at the edges.

the last two nights we have had dinner outside on the deck. as the sun just begins to slightly wane – to fall off into acute angles with the horizon – we sit and chat while the garden lights reflect in the pond. we wait for hummingbirds to zoom to our feeder. we watch breck quake in the breeze, marvel at the play of birds and squirrels, adore our dogga laying on the deck in the shade. it is all enchanting.

as the dark begins to settle into the alcoves of our yard – the ferns breathe deeply, the peonies stretch – we yawn and make our way inside. as we settle in under our quilt we talk about our day. we talk about the delights of new plants, marvel at the perennials we are astounded to see again. we are grateful for plastic adirondack chairs, a tiny bistro set, two old gravity chairs and a couple round rugs – the trappings of our deck – a place we truly find enchanting.

as it turns out, we don’t require much to be enchanted.

*****

GRATEFUL © 2004 kerri sherwood

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