this brings me joy – stepping into this tiny little corner garden. each year it has been a place to wonder, to learn, to dream, to envision bounty. tiny as it is, it is a place of abundance and, even as autumn falls, i cherish its every bit of 28 square feet.
the parsley and the basil are still producing – they graced our homemade tomato soup last night. there are a few jalapeños left, still growing. the dill has dulled; the mint has faded. the cilantro has bolted time and again, despite my best efforts to convince it otherwise. the cherry tomatoes are ripening on the vine and the rosemary is a small tree. i suspect the rosemary will make its way inside for the winter. it all makes me think of next year’s planting – adding sweet potatoes in planters, more tomatoes, maybe a few other vegetables. it’s all been a lesson in embracing something new. it is a tiny space of zen.
we are considering some changes as we look around our house. in the cleaning-out mode, less and less is necessary. clearing away a child’s desk, a lateral file, unused appliances or electronics…it’s all fodder for the space we need – particularly in these times – for cherished quiet, for serenity. i am finding there is a direct connection between the more clear space and the more breath. it will take some time, as it has taken decades to acquire so many things. but we have time and, i believe, we have the wherewithal to go through our house, room by room, and invite in a sagefilled peace.
it’s really all about intention. though we do not live in a vast home and are not surrounded by vast acreage, we bring an intention to our home that is purposeful. as we move from room to room, slowly parsing out the unnecessary from the necessary or the wanteds, slowly replacing items with other items or replacing items with air-and-space, we tend to how it feels. we want to create a space in which we feel comforted, supported, valued. we want to create a space in which others feel comforted, supported, valued. we want a place filled with soul and acceptance of the inbetween moments in all of life.
today we’ll make a batch of pesto. as i look at the basil plants, i figure it will likely be the last batch this season. oh, there will be a bit for our homemade margherita pizzas, but not in real quantity. so we’ll go slow. snipping and rinsing, chopping and grating. we’ll talk about our garden – truly, for the umpteenth time. we’ll relish the pungent aroma of freshly-picked basil in the house.
and we’ll stand in the kitchen – looking at each other – with tears in our eyes – astonished at our good fortune.
built from a couple planks of old barn wood and some galvanized pipe, its possibilities were endless. tucked into a corner of the backyard, cozied up between the edge of the deck and the fence, every day this mighty garden called my name.
not so mighty in size, it was wildly enormous in delivering zen. with a pair of clippers in my hand and a watering wand waiting nearby, i spent hours through this summer tending this garden.
and it has rewarded us with jalapeños and cherry tomatoes, basil and mint and rosemary and cilantro and parsley. nothing you can’t purchase at a market, but there is something about growing right outside your kitchen, a few steps across the deck, through a wrought iron gate from the patio.
we continue to harvest from this potting stand. we’ll see it through to the last of the herbs, the last of the peppers and tomatoes, all the while planning a bit more for next year. success begets trying some new things. we planted in previous years – and there was a yield of herbs, a few tomatoes, a handful of peppers – but there was something a bit different about this year.
and this was the year we needed it.
somehow, the universe – in all its energy and light – knew that this was the time. a time for us to invest our own energy and attention into growing things. not just grasses or ferns or peonies or a few other flowers, but things that would nourish us, things that would connect the dots from dirt to our kitchen.
a gift of growing at a time when growth – real, human, throw-out-your-arms-and-hold-all-the-world-close growth – seems to be shunned, devalued, debased.
i am surely turning into my parents. at least when it comes to their love of birds.
early this season – and after much research – we went to the nursery. we were set on purchasing trumpet-shaped salvia – for our hummingbirds. they didn’t have any but recommended cardinal flower, another flower that attracts these tiny birds.
we planted it in an old metal firepit out by the back fence next to the big leaf hosta, adjacent to the hummingbird feeder. and waited.
months. it has taken months for it to grow and to sport blooms. for a while we thought we would need to go find salvia, our original choice, to add to the planter. nothing was really happening with our cardinal flower.
until all of a sudden.
it shot up tall – almost as tall as the fence. and then, to the drumroll of the universe and its independent timing, stunning red blooms began to open. and, in a validating moment of glee, we watched a hummingbird hover next to multiple blooms and drink from them. finally.
this cardinal flower should have come with a note attached – “please be patient”. as it is a perennial, we hope it will return next year as well in this big metal urn. but we will plant some salvia just inside the perimeter of the urn next spring, because, well, we aren’t all that patient.
in the meanwhile, I’ve kept our red glass hummingbird feeder freshened and ready for any hummers on the move. it is completely delightful to watch them zoom in – they know the feeder is there – a tiny gps keeps track of these things in their tiniest brains. it never ceases to amaze us.
just like the birds who swoop in to the feeder out back or land on the edge of the birdbath, one of our favorite purchases from a couple years ago. they know. seemingly, word has spread to the house finches that we have grape jelly, word has spread to the sparrows we have dirtbath access, word has spread to the robins we have water to sip, word has spread to the cardinals we have easier access to food. because it is obvious that they know.
we couldn’t be more proud.
it starts for us when we wake to the sounds of early birds outside our windows. and, at the end of the day, out on the deck in the waning sun, we watch the swallows and bats compete for airspace while other birds seem to be finding shelter and places to rest.
yes, my parents used to sit for hours watching the birdlife. they seemed absolutely content, quietly observing and talking about feeders and birdhouses.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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)
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.
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.
reverse threading 