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Tag Archives: gardening


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sweet tomato dreams. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the tomato photo shoot. it was our first harvested cherry tomato from our lush and hearty plant that is tucked over by the fence next to the potting stand, sharing space with the ornamental grasses. before we tasted the produce we had grown, i wanted to capture its winning smile.

now, i’m not really a still-life kind of artist…i prefer more freedom…but this little tomato turned out to be quite a little starlet in this shoot and converted me – at least momentarily.

this little tomato was ultra sweet, having been warmed by a very hot sun and carefully tended. there are so many green orbs on this plant…we are anticipating a caprese salad or pasta. in the meanwhile, there is much to be said for the positive reinforcement of produce yielded from our attempts at growing.

“a dream doesn’t become reality through magic; it takes sweat, determination and hard work.” (colin powell)

it would seem to make complete sense to recognize that sweat, determination and hard work, but even i can attest to the fact that there are places of employ that simply disregard the success that has been created by someone working diligently and devotedly in their name.

it is the same that is happening right here, right now in this country. workers – important spokes in the societal wheel – are being tossed left and right, leaving literal and figurative produce to rot. profound medical research, critical environmental science, expansive educational ideology, the hard work of laboring in fields or restaurants or hospitality – these workers are finding themselves booted by someone whose excuse is – obviously – a vision that no longer aligns with theirs. for a country (or a community or an organization or corporation or any institution) that wishes to abdicate any formerly-intended mission, eliminate employees who are making a difference, cut corners and costs – biting their noses to spite their faces, stop forward movement, undermine the career paths of employees and send them careening, cruelly evict its dutiful people, is a country (or a community or an organization or corporation or institution) that has lost its way.

it is simpler out back in our tiny gardens. the basil and the rosemary and the cilantro and the jalapeños and the parsley and the mint and – yes – the cherry tomatoes grow. with our careful tending, vigilant watering and pruning, they reward us with bountiful produce. in turn, we do all we can to support their growth and they respond with healthy herbs and tomatoes. it is a cycle, an if this-then that, a very simplified conditional relationship predicated on a premise and a result. even any syllogism (major premise, minor premise, conclusion) about our garden would yield a productive conclusion, steps toward the dream.

i asked AI for a syllogism about the contemporary united states. this is what instantly popped up:

major premise: a healthy democracy relies on robust, respectful dialogue and a willingness to compromise for the common good.

minor premise: current political discourse in america often exhibits increased polarization and a decline in civility and compromise.

conclusion: therefore, the current state of american democracy faces significant challenges to its healthy functioning.

i fear that this – the fallout of this republic functioning as a democracy – is exactly the positive reinforcement – the dream – that this current administration is seeking.

and now – because i am overwhelmed by the corruption i have witnessed firsthand both as an employee and as a citizen – i am going back to tending my herbs and my sweet cherry tomatoes.

*****

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sweet potato sprouts. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we are sweet potato fans. and it was in recent research we realized we had been storing our sweet potatoes incorrectly – in the fridge. no wonder they were going bad sooner than we expected. so we moved them (and the russets and the gold yukons and the vidalia onions and the garlic) to a hanging basket in the stairwell which seemed to exponentially lengthen the life of this store-bought produce.

and then there was this day.

david – laughing – said, “ya gotta go look at the sweet potato in the stairwell!”

to say that i was surprised was understating. hot pink shoots were growing out of our sweet potato…sweet raspberry-colored, tiny-leafed shoots of a plant…right there in the basket hanging over the stairs, over the bin with dogga treats, next to the angle-broom and the swiffer, adjacent to the bag-o-bags hook.

and a science experiment was born as, suddenly, we were farming sweet potato.

we put some good potting soil in a planter and – just guessing, with no research – we planted the entire sprouted sweet potato tuber in the dirt. we watered it and stood back.

now, we had no idea what to expect. we truly did feel like we were in junior high – with a science fair project report due in a few weeks.

instantly, i was back in ninth grade, typing my lab reports on thin erasable typing paper. i loved typing and used any excuse to type. my earth science teacher – everyone’s favorite – charlie – graded our lab reports on a check system. check, check-plus, check-plus-plus, check-minus. i pretty much always got a check-plus-plus because, well, that was the kind of diligent student i was. he never wrote any comments on my lab reports, which was disappointing, so i began to wonder if he was really reading them. i decided to experiment a bit. i started to include the words of nursery rhymes – randomly – in my lab reports. i kept getting check-plus or check-plus-plus and he never said a word, convincing me that any genius lab report i might have written had gone undetected. years later we crossed paths on some social media and i reached out, asking him if, perchance, he remembered me. his response was classic: “of course! you typed nursery rhymes in the middle of your lab reports. how could i forget you?” but i digress.

in just days our little sweet potato’s tiny leaves leafed out and it has begun a growth cycle that will force us to reckon with what to do next. we are considering a metal trough planter, but also recognize that there isn’t long enough for the sweet potatoes to develop into sweet potatoes. it is a conundrum. but a truly sweet (no pun intended) reminder of the amazing turns of life and growth and actualization.

in a time during which so much is grabbing at our attention, a country and people disappointing us beyond belief, more corruption than we can wrap our heads around, we are grateful for this hot pink attention-grabbing sweet potato slip.

“live life, my sweet potato,” my momma always told me. i think i feel some sprouts comin’ on.

*****

GRATEFUL © 2004 kerri sherwood

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not to be underestimated. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

this year – because i guess we are somewhat behind the gardener-curve – we fell in love with sweet potato vine. we planted a small lime green starter-plant in a pot on our deck, placing it on top a vintage stepladder. every single day we stand in awe out there, marveling at its growth, drinking in the color, peacock-proud of “our” accomplishment – which, as you know, only entailed transplanting it into a pot with some good dirt. mother nature did the rest. we were merely barely-consequential conduits in the process. we vow that next year – and i’ll put this on the calendar – we will get more lime-vines, for lime-joy is not to be underestimated.

because we – silly us – thought that there may be more of these – still – at the gorgeous they-grow-it-all-there nursery we go to, we had a little adventure there the other day.

we could – and do – spend hours wandering in and amongst the aisles and winding paths of this nursery. we are sponges – trying to learn a bit more and a bit more as we go. we ask the attendants there questions. we get answers rich in information and planting advice; it is a lesson in the gift of receiving lessons, of still learning.

we found a dark purple vine to put on the tall upright ladder on our deck and a licorice plant to go on a garden table, both on sale. we took note of what we might like to plant next year.

our front gardens are filled with switchgrasses and hydrangea, day lilies and sedum. our back gardens of ferns, grasses, daylilies, hosta, clematis are stalwart hosts of our herb potting garden. it’s really our deck and our patio that have room for a bit of creativity, annuals that captivate us.

we sat on the deck in the waning heat and light of day and talked about maybe adding a small raised bed next year – one of those galvanized metal planters. we deliberately veered away from current events. we rolled our eyes and vehemently shook our heads, not willing to ‘go there’. we are both aghast at the state of things – so many things under so many umbrellas. so, in our best wander-women-how-many-summers-do-we-truly-have-left-and-how-do-we-wish-to-spend-them mindset, we planned and dreamed and lived – for those minutes – in the small space taken up on earth by our deck, our house, our front yard and backyard. we bragged aloud – to each other – about the explosive growth of everything out back (including weeds). we know that this year we know a bit more than we did last year. i vow to write it all down so that we might draw from our new this-year knowledge next year.

we sigh and settle back in our old gravity chairs and watch the squirrels sip water at the birdbath. a breeze picks up off the lake and i close my eyes to memorize it all.

*****

we are trying to regroup, rethink and refocus our melange blogpost writing a bit. we – like you – know what is really happening in our world and do not need one more person – including ourselves – telling us the details of this saddest of descents destroying democracy and humanity. though we know our effort will not be 100% successful – for there is sooo much to bemoan in these everydays – we have decided to try and lean into another way – to instead write about WHAT ELSE IS REAL. this will not negate negativity, but we hope that it will help prescribe presence as antidote and balm for our collective weariness.

*****

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DANCING IN THE FRONT YARD 24″x24″

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clematis sisu. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

clematis is known as the “queen of climbers”. it is symbolic of ingenuity, cleverness, mental strength, all clearly relevant to this vine climbing with abandon, climbing wild and free.

out back – next to our potting stand, completely covering the metal peace sign we purchased at a tiny garden shop on the great river road, trying desperately to overtake the tomato plants on the ground and the basil on the barnwood stand – there is a clematis vine. unlike this purple clematis, it is sweet autumn clematis and will have tiny fragrant white flowers late this summer. we didn’t plant this. it was planted by our eastneighbors a few years back, seemingly to block the open visual space between yards created by the wrought iron topper to their otherwise privacy fence. in the last couple years they have not tended nor encouraged this clematis.

but it is unstoppable.

on our side of the fence it is exploding. it doesn’t seem to favor nor suffer the hot weather, the dry days, the stormy torrential rain and wind; it is ambivalent to the forecast and presses on, despite any challenges, regardless of anything in its way. the clematis finds its way around – or through – and continues growing – a burgeoning bundle of green that each day swells in size, thriving on the fence and the potting stand and the tomato and the basil’s clay pot and our wrought iron gate and scrappily winding its way through the ornamental grasses along our lot line. flourishing, flourishing.

it is not unlike women.

and right now, with the warped, conservative, backward, rights-thwarting, chauvinistic, misogynistic, downright hateful view being thrust upon this nation as policy on women, we must draw on clematis-sisu.

recently someone read a post i had written a few years back – one that included reference to an even earlier post from december 2019. it seems inexorably relevant right now and, with your grace for repetition, i’m reposting it here:

“this piece today is dedicated to all the women who have made it through, all the women who are making it through, all the women who will make it through.

your fire has brought you to the edge of the battlefield many times and you have still made lemonade; you have still prevailed.

you have made it through intensely emotionally abusive relationships.  you have picked up the pieces and you have moved on.

you have made it through physical or sexual abuse.  you have risen from the ashes.

you have made it through terrifying health scares.  you have pulled up your boot straps and determinedly plodded through with massive courage.

you have made it through society’s prioritizing of body image and appearance.  you have been measured by your cleavage or lack thereof, by the indent of your waist, by the clothing you choose, by your hair.  you struggle to remember you are beautiful.  you stand tall.

you have made it through vacuumous times, the middle of chaos, the middle of multi-tasking.  you have created.

you have made it through physical summit experiences.  you have scaled mountains.  you have boarded down untracked chutes.  you have trained your body with weights and exercise.  you have run.  you have skated.  you have pedaled.  you have breathed in and sighed an exhale.  you’ve run thousands of lengths of playing fields.  you took the next painful recuperating step.  you dove to the depths.  you have been on world stages.  you have risen with hungry or fevered children night after night.  you have competed.  you have given birth.

you have made it through falling.  you have made mistakes.  you have been human.  you have forgiven and you have been forgiven.

you have made it through an education steeped in gender-inequality and bias.   you have chosen to learn more, to actively seek the resources, rights and opportunities due you, to resist against the discrimination.

you have made it through a system that undermines your success and devalues your value.  you have fought for your place.

you have made it through financial challenges of single womanhood, of single motherhood.  you have been scrappy and, without complaint, you have layered onto yourself however much it took to get it done.

you have made it through work situations where you’ve questioned how you would be treated were you to be a man.  would you be yelled at?  would your professionalism be questioned?  you have asked these questions.  you have stayed, holding steadfast, or you have moved on; you have decided what is best for you and moved in that direction.

you have made it through the skewed-world fray into leadership roles where your every decision is challenged or thwarted.  you have overcome; you have triumphed.

you have made it through being-too-young and through aging.  and you are not irrelevant.

you have made it through.  you have spoken up, spoken back, spoken for.  you have written letters.  you have marched.

you have been pushed around.  but you have pushed back.  and, just like the tortoise [in the photograph accompanying this post], you have made it through.“

we are clematis. we are women. we are: all the women who have made it through, all the women who are making it through, all the women who will make it through.

scrappy.

like a vine.

with abandon.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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tiny garden.* [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

it is just a little corner of our yard – about 4′ x 6′ or so off the east side of our deck, tucked next to the fence.

years ago – decades, really – we used it as a tiny vegetable garden. we planted a few tomatoes and other whatnot plants and attempted to have a bit of farm-to-table (so to speak) additions to our kitchen. being a tiny, difficult-to-access place, it was hard to keep up with weeding in that garden and it eventually went by the wayside.

wildflowers seemed like a good idea then – less maintenance – a freeness – a mayhem of a garden. that was lovely until it wasn’t. weeds were prolific and my neighbor’s snow-on-the-mountain was an ever-present menace.

half a dozen years ago or so we decided to build the potting stand with some delicious barnwood and industrial pipe. we added basil, a dwarf indeterminate tomato plant, some lettuce. we had a (yes, singular) salad with our lettuce, loved our tiny tomatoes and were ecstatic with the basil out our back door.

it has morphed – this little garden. and now, through a study of the survival of the fittest, herbs and jalapeños and tomato plants fill the space – this tiny space – wrought-iron-fenced off to really define it – this space that brings me peace.

in the last days we have had some big harvesting extravaganzas. our basil plants – despite an unsure beginning when i thought they might be goners – have responded to the sunshine and the warmth of this particular wisconsin summer.

with new clippers (it’s really the little things!) i clipped off the basil and some parsley as the youtube instructed. rinsed all the leaves in a colander and prepped everything we needed to make two batches of red pesto and a giant batch of green pesto, all of which went into the freezer for the middle of winter when fresh from our garden will taste ever-so-good. we have at least nine meals stored away and that was merely the first harvest.

i simply cannot imagine what it might be like to farm most of what one eats. the sheer joy of tending and growing and harvesting – all lots of work – tedium, really – (for even this little potting corner is time-consuming and i find myself worrying about the health of the plants, our investment in them, their yield) – but yet entirely zen as i lose myself in it.

yesterday i purchased a new cilantro plant – ours bolted along with the dill. so we will give cilantro another round – it is the perfect addition to our sweet-potato-black-bean burritos and stepping out back to snip it off is ridiculously glee-inspiring. (yes, yes…you are right…it doesn’t take much to amuse us.)

early every day i step out the back door asking dogga if he “wants to water the plants with momma”. every day we use this wildly cool watering wand and top off each of the big clay pots or wood planters out there. every day i – once again – think to myself how happy this tiny garden makes me. every day – in these moments – peace descends on me like the soft morning air.

*****

* (sing to the tune of don ho’s “tiny bubbles”: tiny garden/in the yard/makes me happy/is my zen-life-guard)

PEACE © 2004 kerri sherwood

PULLING WEEDS © 2010 kerri sherwood

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dill sacrifice. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

i could imagine it. dill roasted potatoes. dill on salmon. dill pasta salad. dill in pesto. dill risotto. tzatziki sauce. deviled eggs. the recipes are endless.

so we added dill to the potting stand. a big clay pot with good dirt and lots of sun and a splendid watering wand. and it grew and grew…into a dill tree with lovely willowy branches and fragrance that inspired. until it was ridiculously rainy, ridiculously hot, ridiculously sunny and then – pushing back on the stuff i didn’t know about dill – my dill-ignorance – the dill bolted.

i diligently clipped off the bolting parts, hoping that would suffice – that the dill would forget and resume its normal-growing-program. but – once bolted, always bolted.

so when i saw the tiny caterpillars on a sunday on the dill, i kind of smiled. it made me a little bit happy that they – these half-inch long critters – were munching on this plant.

imagine my surprise when i saw these hefty caterpillars on friday, merely five days later. these are some serious black swallowtail caterpillars. with such quick lifecycles and growth, i am now looking for the chrysalises (yes, i looked up the plural form).

i’ve given over to them. the bolting dill will no longer focus on producing leaves and so my time as a homegrown-dill chef is over for now. next time, i will know to move the dill to a shadier spot, for our potting stand does receive full sun much of the time. next time, i will be more alert, more responsive, more informed.

but for now – well, our $3.98 dill is strictly to support the lives of these two caterpillars and their transformation into butterflies (and maybe others i am unaware of as well). a worthy sacrifice. and one of these days, when i see a couple black butterflies dipping and sailing over our backyard, i will know that we were part of their metamorphosis.

and i’m thinking that $3.98 is not too big a price to pay to witness – and be reminded of – rebirth, new beginnings, positive change and hope, new chapters in life. it’s not too big a price to pay to witness the magic of flight. it’s not too big a price to pay for two happy caterpillars.

*****

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the lavender years. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

a couple decades ago a dear friend tied some stems of lavender together with string and gave them to me. it was a wish for peace, for calm, for comfort. one of the stringed-together stems still hangs in my studio.

sometime after that another dear friend shipped me lavender from her own yard – so that i might plant it in mine. for a time i had a lavender garden – returning each year until a neighbor’s invasive ground cover usurped my more fragile lavender.

the summer we lived on washington island we were privy to an amazing lavender farm – walkways in between beds upon beds of lavender in a field of tranquility.

a couple years ago i carefully dried some stems of lavender – hanging them in the basement – and then extracted the seeds, putting them in tiny organza bags to send to family members and close friends with wishes of healing and serenity.

in these last years we have planted big clay pots of lavender, anxiously waiting for the soft purple flowers and the scent off the breeze to lift us.

each year i am amazed by the clusters of diminutive flowers that make up the whole. each year i photograph the green stems and the tiny buds waiting to spring into bloom. each year i run my hand along the stalk and gently along the blossoming lavender, always taken by the fragrance.

it is no different this year. i sat on the deck next to the pot of lavender. my mind wandered back through the years – the lavender years – the gift of a posy, the plants flown to me across the country, the lavender in the fields on island, the lavender my girl picked out at the nursery. english lavender, french lavender, sweet romance lavender, bundles of lavender drying downstairs, beautiful sachets ready to be gifted.

we are not high-brow gardeners. our gardens are simple and have many heritage plants and things that are not complicated to grow. we know little but each year try to learn a wee bit more than we knew before.

maybe one day we will add a raised bed or two to our patio – where we might add more herbs, more vegetables, more flowers.

the thing i know we will always have – whether there is a simply a potting stand and perimeter gardens like there are now or something more – is a big pot of lavender.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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tiny cup. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

this flower looks like Love to me.

it is our new elsa sass peony, grown from a root that was gifted to me last fall.

we planted it carefully, following every instruction, with the eyes of the root system facing up, in exactly the right depth of soil. it was all new to us and we were eager to learn how to properly care for this amazing flower. i placed painted rocks at the site of this root and an amalia olson we also planted. and then we waited. and through fall and into cold winter and then, finally, spring, we waited.

and then, in later april, the maroon sprouts appeared. there were a plethora over by where our one other peony is – the one with hot pink blooms, a transplant from a friend’s garden that zealously grows each spring. and there were a couple tiny sprouts by our painted rocks, indicators of at least the possibility of a little success. i took photographs and was pretty excited.

these are small plants this year, only a few stems. yet they each had a couple buds – tightly wound – promises of blooms. and so we kept a watchful eye and carefully placed fencing to prop them up – these fragile stems against the spring storms.

the pink peonies exploded into being. their scent wafted through our backyard and into the open windows of our house. it is an amazing display of color, a celebration of flower!, a double peony orchestral reminder of beauty.

and then, ever so slowly, the elsa sass opened to the sun. the white bloom – like a cup of petals – in slow motion, responding to a few warmer, sunnier midwest days.

i would have been absolutely content if this bloom had simply stayed exactly like this. i was taken by its sheer beauty, its purity, overwhelmed by its sweet fragrance.

maybe it’s the state of the world, the tenuousness of our land. maybe it’s an inventory of time – both that which has gone by and that which is ahead of us. maybe it’s simply presence – the moments gazing at something so beautiful you can hardly believe its perfection. in any case – for whatever the reason – i was obsessed with this stunning flower.

this one blossomed peony – this one bud that slowly unwound its way into the world – was a light for me. it filled me up. it reminded me to breathe. and – in the most-amazing way – this tiny cup of petals lay bare the lesson to hold gently all within me.

*****

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until breck. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

“if you would know strength and patience, welcome the company of trees.” (hal borland)

it was the first tree i have ever bought.

i know plenty of people who buy trees, spend lavishly on shrubs, bushes, flowers, on landscaping, have much knowledge about plants and flowers and such. but i – well, we – are neophytes in the gardening category.

my sweet momma loved plants, including outdoor plants around our house back on long island. but they were simple heritage plants – hostas and daylilies, hydrangea, four o’clocks. all easy to cultivate – and easy to transplant cuttings from friends. i don’t remember spending any of my growing-up years browsing nurseries with my parents while they tried to decide which new plants to purchase, with no regard to price tag. there was the occasional vegetable garden out back where the round above-ground pool had been and maybe a new houseplant or two but propagating by division was my momma’s way and, with a garden full of nostalgia-type plants, she instilled in me an appreciation for the simplest, for the less-is-more on-a-shoestring approach.

in my own planting through the years i have found that i have mimicked my momma’s style. cuttings from friends, transplanting excess from others’ gardens into my own, it has been gardening-on-a-budget. my purple iris, my lavender garden were from the gardens of dear friends. though stunning, they did not sustain long-term as my neighbor planted snow-on-the-mountain on the other side of the fence and it completely smothered my more delicate garden. our wild geranium came from the beautiful garden of a dear friend out east. our hostas and our daylilies and ferns spent some time rolling down third avenue in a wheelbarrow when another friend was paring down her over-producing garden. we did purchase the first of our ornamental grasses, but now they not only sustain but are capable of filling in many gaps in our garden by their own – or our – cultivating. we annually, now, purchase a few flowers in tiny packs from flats for pots – though the woman who bought five gorgeous big plants at $16.99 each in front of us did made me a little bit envious. each year, now, as you already know, we are also planting herbs on our potting stand – there is joy in stepping outside with snippers while cooking. all in all, there is minimal purchasing going on – which lines right up with minimal knowledge. what we do know is that we really love our gardens, simple as they are.

that brings me to trees. i cannot remember my parents purchasing trees while i was growing up. we lived in a wooded area and just enjoyed the trees with which we were gifted naturally. though as i write that i recall a dogwood tree out front to the left of the driveway. i wonder if that was a special tree that they bought…or maybe the mimosa tree out front with its beautiful pink fluff flowers….so maybe there was a tree or two….

i can, however, attest to the fact that i had never in my life purchased a tree to plant outdoors. not in new york, not in florida, not in new hampshire, not in wisconsin. neither has d. not in colorado, not in new mexico, not in california, not in texas, not in kentucky, not in washington, not in wisconsin. though we love trees, tree purchases have never survived the budget cuts. until breck.

outside the city market in breckenridge, colorado, the stand of trees had a big sign: “aspens – $9.99”.

$9.99??? for a tree??? one of our absolute favorite trees???

we purchased it before even checking to see if it would fit in littlebabyscion. and, because I’ve written about it before, you know the rest of the story. it’s now been almost 8 years since we brought breck home. we have held our breath, whispered quiet prayers, wrapped blankets around it, researched how to attain its best health. and through it all – living in a pot – and then a bigger pot – on the deck, disliking the shady fern garden into which we planted it – tucked next to the garage, and the big transplant to where it is now – it has not only patiently survived, but it has flourished. breck is now as tall as the side of the garage, as tall as the first story of the house. it seems happy and well-adjusted to its life in the ornamental grass garden, a spot for birds to linger, the object of our love.

maybe someday there will be a reason to buy another tree. we may have more space somewhere or more desire for shade or a wish for a stand of aspen or – the real factor – a bigger budget.

in the meanwhile, i feel incredibly content with our one tree purchase. breck is – obviously – ridiculously dear to us. it is a song of success in our simple backyard.

“trees are poems that the earth writes upon the sky.” (kahlil gibran)

*****

NURTURE ME © 1995 kerri sherwood

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all that potential. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it exudes potential.

so many clay pots and assorted planters, i drew a sketch of them all and began to list what plants and herbs and flowers we wished to grow this summer, sorting plants to pots. and we began the dreamy conversation about stepping off the deck and snipping basil or parsley, making ann’s jalapeño poppers, gazing at colorful flowers scattered on deck’s edge or along our gardens of grasses.

we are not well-versed in plants. we are most-definitely not well-versed in growing things to eat. and we truly don’t know much about different annual flowers – so we depend on the tags at the nursery and research. a few days ago we were drawn to two tiny-bloom flowers, though we didn’t know anything about them. it was a heart thing.

last fall my sister-in-law sent me two peony roots. we carefully planted them – exactly as the directions stated – making sure that the “eyes” were facing up and the root wasn’t too deep into the soil. in the miracle that is spring, peony shoots have risen from the ground – and you would think we’ve given birth – our wonder, our level of excitement are off the charts. it is a joy to think of these new beauties – with gorgeous big white blooms – growing alongside two established peonies, many ornamental grasses, wild geranium, day lilies, hosta, and healthy weeds of many varieties.

we have much to learn…about all of it.

gardening, we see, is like the joys of being an artist. experimentation and not being able to determine an outcome ahead of time – both are important in the process. we give over to the mystery of it all. we know that it all is steeped in potential and we embrace it. it’s a giant responsibility – a gift of nurture we can give – to our artistry, to our garden.

it would be an easy segue to connect the dots of this kind of potential – this kind of responsibility – to the governing of this country. it would be easy to speak of the glorious mystery of our melting pot, the growth that is possible in the garden of humanity. it would be simple to believe that there should be wonder and great excitement in nurturing all the people of this country – whether or not they are different than those we know well – learning and growing together. it would be natural to depend on research and heart in moving forward all that we – in these United States – can be.

but no. i won’t go there. it all just seems so obvious.

a country – a first-world democracy exuding potential beyond belief.

why wouldn’t you tend that garden with great care and embracing respect and intelligent research and nurturing love?

why would you wish to crush or annihilate or suppress or obliterate all that potential?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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