Sparkling Lotus Ink

tackling the fence - part 1

Yesterday afternoon J and I got the first piece of our garden fence erected.   He'd suggested this after I announced this past weekend as an ideal time to get our tomato plants in the ground.  I had not suggested it because there are all kinds of other ways I'm obliged to tweak his sense of doing things as he feels things ought to be done just so we can get them done.   And so there we were.  Figuring it out based on J's formulated ideas morphing into a few degrees of winging it.

Don't have to say, as I often do, that I took direction well.  It was more a morphing physical and mental process of my own.  The fence was like doing yoga in tandem with an energetically and physically oppositional Force.  Intuitively I understood a form of movement practice I've never experienced.  Just knew how to be with it - moving only as need be and focused in an almost binocular way on Jim's task of tacking the fence gauge to the wooden posts.  He also created half of something I call a temporary gate-fold right where the fence gate will be.

Through all of this I literally shouldered the fencing's weight in the place he'd asked me to stand.  This took me places I've never been/seen/imagined before.  Just in terms of learning what my body's capable of at an intuitive level right there in the moment.  If I hadn't focused on that specific slant I might have spent most or even all of the time making a silent mantra out of i can't do this.  Having accomplished most of the best so far all the while telling myself I couldn't accomplish diddly - well.  I thought with everything else that's changing and re-arranging itself in these times I'd upgrade and discard as many I can't programs as possible.

Shallots are up enough that they must have a bit of topsoil hilling provided by day's end.   Also watering.  At the moment that's kind of faraway on a list of things for doing far later in the day.  Am still sore and slow from yesterday's work.  J cut himself prepping vegetables last night so we'll leave the construction project off-burner for a few days while the cut heals. Can definitely get the tomatoes planted a bit at a time over the next few days.  But just for today I have a single - albeit three-fold - gardening goal in mind:

In keeping with this season's theme of sacred pairings - I'll be planting a pair of blue vervain plants in three locations.  It wouldn't be right to let it go at that  because -

This is the arrangement the plant's medicine spirit sought before the physical plants had even arrived.  My brain couldn't make the jump so it stuck.  I'd get to yes okay I see and I understand.  It will be fine.  Convince myself I felt a few molecules lighter and more crystalline.  And then my brain and intentions would jump backwards. 

it wasn't so much I balked at the direction.  Was my ingrained attachment to planting in Groups of Threes.    I traced the roots of this - the way they traveled almost endlessly back to the neighbor lady who allowed me to become a fixture in her garden when I was four years old. Our relationship and her tutelage developed throughout the next decade.

always plant your tall mainstays in groups of three.

The larger co-creative theme of this growing season is definitely sacred pairings.  This has been confirmed in emails from my vibrational/energetic/intuitive gardener's network.  Sacred pairings have shown up in other ways as well.  This isn't about moving numerology forward it's about getting the duality of polarity held in balance right in the here and now.  Or so it seems.

eta: as of early afternoon I've planted two of the three pairings.  am anticipating no problem getting the third pair done after a bit of rest.  Oak pollen is swirling all around and I wound up leaning into an allergy caplet.  Third such choice in the past eleven days. 

additional edit:  J has in fact got the proper fence clips.  He explained some other Thing involving a tool he doesn't have but has since discovered he doesn't need.  For reasons he has definitely explained but I don't remember specifics.  Seems like there's so much to keep straight about this garden enlargement and all the many different Things it's proving to involve.  Plus there have been snafus aplenty as with anything you suddenly decide must be done three months before everything involved needs to function.   

Mainly it boils down to everything happening at a slower pace with plenty of cogitation in between.  What is happening is good and a very positive hint at how total enclosure might feel from the inside.  Had been a bit concerned the space surrounded by wire would feel cut-off from the established field energy.  But nothing of the sort occurred.  This time of year J. stops mowing around the fire pit.  Many of the medicinal herbs I wildcraft for tinctures, blended herbal teas, and oil infusions grow there. 

clarity & focus

Unexpected yet incredibly well timed - was called to prepare a flower essence around noon today.  Above shows the bowl shortly after settling it in perfect suspended balance between two of the repurposed field rocks.  It contains three vibrant blooms from the largest surviving Montana Blue Centaurea. This flower essence is all about vision that's both crystalline and comprehensive.  Can think of no quality more relevant to these times. 

***

one of the fleece flower's stalks topped by an exploding baseball-sized sphere of still tightly budded flower panicles.  the Fair Maiden lives!  holding breath a bit waiting to see if she blooms as well.

Took this documentation just prior to 'staking forward' per the plant's suggestion.

Discovered the echinacea that's appeared utterly eclipsed by the foxglove has managed to thrive enough to produce a side-shoot clump of itself.   This was completely concealed and utterly unknown to me before the staking.  Have spent some high octane quality time in this general portion of the evolving sanctuary bed today.   The energetics feel good.   See below the rough facsimile of an isosceles triangle formed by the three vibrant blooms that offered themselves for the essence bowl.

Love the fact that one of the flowers is completely red violet.

crowning glories

It could just be me but I'm so moved and inspired by the giant fleece flower's architecture.  At the moment she's about 18 inches wide.  Her flower stalks will eventually add another two to four feet to her diameter.  She has 17 stalks this year.

When her flower stalks are fully extended and in bloom they will look like exploding baseballs made of highly luminous silk chenille sprays of light. 

The volunteer foxglove is a bit smaller by comparison but not by species.  This is another thriving plant - already 16-ish inches tall.  She has a few main flower stalks and a few more secondary side-shoots.  Beneath her copious leaves lies a red echinacea that flatly refused my rescue services.  It was so nonsensical to me that I kept insisting on speaking of my intentions to separate the pair.  But since we've unearthed a mind-blowing rock pairing from the middle of our field I've gained an enhanced take on the sacred nature of Things unknown to me. 

  we will be fine if we're left to do our work.  stake generously and with a forward slant.  cut away biggest leaves to use for printing in the special book.   The two plant spirits seemed to be joined in a single voice.  Co-creation in which my biggest part is letting it happen without imposition or interruption.

much tinier but HUGELY joy inducing - at least one of the five bronze fennels I planted last year has survived the wet bare-earthed winter.

In the field I've managed to overwinter two green fennels I grew from seed last year.   But in terms of pics let's stick with this one small area:

Would love a few hours of J's muscle-time to move at least two of the three visible Stella D'oro daylilies.  But I'm willing to be patient because it's officially fence-making weekend.    A few hours from now I'll be as immersed in it as he's been for the past day and a half of planning and measuring and double/triple planning. 

This prostrate oregano had been on my wish list for years.  For the brisk competent Mistress of the House that i am not and do not aspire to become but have always loved and admired the garden spaces of such women - and them within their spaces - bustling here and there amidst the plants with a clear head and inviolate sense of competency and verve.   Meanwhile ...

  Grew the oregano in a tallish pot last year and presumed I was only achieving a few notches above heeling-in - for overwintering only.  Then realized I could create a rocky terrain for it to grow into over the next few months. using some of the scale-proportionate rocks we pulled from the ground.  Started towards the field with a wheelbarrow.  J, who had just told me he was done for the day and was heading in to compose for a few hours.  But then he saw me through the window of his office, got curious, and wound up tagging along.  Was appreciative he was willing to heft the rocks in and out of the wheelbarrow plus push it.  I took the pictures of my first rock-introduction before I had the thought of grooming the plant to look pretty.

Have got a good feeling about this and surrounding plants seem inclined to agree.  There will be more rock placements. 

Montana Blue Centaurea is the original medicine spirit of the Evolving Sanctuary before that's what it was.  At first it was a painstaking perennial bed planted to be in bloom in every portoin of our growing season.  Its evolution began with the owners between those who built the place and us left it to fend for itself for seven growing seasons.  To this day I'd give a lot to have a look at the original plans - plus just a few pictures of how it looked when it was loved and doted-over.

  In flower essence realms Blue Centaurea offers long range clarity of vision.  Over time I've found this can mean any number of things depending on the person's specific healing/illumination needs.  I intend to re-seed this space with replacement crowns as and when.

And crowning just a few steps away - but in the presence of a whole other vibe and eco-system - the snowball viburnum beside the frog pond has begun to leaf-out.  I'll do some pruning before the weekend's over.  IF there's time.   Better do it in the next few hours - along with a few other pruning tasks.  J's currently picking up an augur he's rented for the weekend - plus the additional (wooden) posts he'll need to make the fence.  By this evening or tomorrow morning he'll need me on deck to hold the fence in place as need be.   Am a little nervous about it.   There's nowhere to lay the fence flat on the ground to the west.  Any available choice risks considerable damage to the recovery work I've been doing in the transplant garden.

yesterday afternoon he staked out the positions of both metal and wooden posts.   we are both a little overwhelmed by what we've set in motion with this endeavor.  the sheer physical size of the space - made all the more tangible by the nuts and bolts dimension of what's entailed in getting this new thing properly enclosed. 

***

on a whole other page of mandatory gardening to-do actions I need to start putting some of the basement seedlings into transplant pots.  A few of the second-hand six packs I needed to use right at the last moment have split their seams.  Need to protect the exposed roots n-o-w.  Am not overwhelmed simply because all of This keeps me from focusing too much or too deeply on all of That.    that which IS just like the individual pockets of beauty and sanity we're all doing our best to maintain.

never understood people who dealt with anxiety and the unknown by staying busy busy busy.  have always felt they were primarily afraid to sit alone in their own mind EVER and perhaps that's true.  but it wouldn't necessary mean their soul and spirit lacked depth or an ingrained ability to persevere on terms as real and valid as my own.  far from it, is what I'm learning first hand.

it's a good thing to realize.

have YOU realized anything that shifts you frame and widens it a bit?

yesterday & today

Clearly the biggest news of late is the reappearance of Snappy.   My first sighting occurred on this same date last year.  Recall my grandmother's Way of driving me to contemplate snapping turtles to help myself drop down into a quieter center of personal gravity.   Knew instinctively what I was looking at  there on a rock ringing the frog pond and yet hoped to be wrong about the species.  Snappy was fairly tiny at this time last year and s/he's still pretty small.   Between 5 and 6 inches.   In the interim everything about the creature has grown into its cellular etching, natural form, and patterning.  Like all turtles this is a very well designed creature. Plus, of course, it bites to devastating degree.  J and I were both hoping s/he'd moved on at nature's urging.  But. Realistically that was two people hoping there'd be no need to deal with yet another problematic Thing just now.  Why on earth would s/he move on when s/he has a pond stuffed to its gills with plump tadpoles.  there's a lot to Snappy's story and the amount of time/thought/reluctant turning to heart space I've put into the situation. 

Saw Snappy for the first time yesterday when I was on my way out to the firepit to process two essence bowls.  one joins my flower & stone roster: aquamarine and celandine.  that was planned.  Once I'd set down the bowl I looked at the self-resurrecting (deer systematically eat it down to bare earth later in the season when they take to bedding down in that corner of the field) strawberry patch.  Collecting flowers in the bowl brought open-crown hyper-realism to my awareness of the individual blooms.  I'd never fully noticed the perfect green pentacles formed by the sepals' frame of sparkling white flowers!

Strawberry's flower medicine spirit was an enveloping mantle of good cheer.  Simmering just below the walking-around crust of what the day contained.  I felt it rise and caught a few breaths to comprehend what the experience was teaching me.  Any plant or other form of sentience can do this.  Our particular species is probably the slowest learner to be found - but still.  I was enveloped by Strawberry's healing signature and the organic nature of its medicine spirit.    I have no prior experience with something so spontaneous, complete, and fluid.  Strawberry entered my senses and enveloped every part of me with ease and confident optimism.

I was invited to linger within my collection process - to treat this specific experience like a spiritual cleanse and soulful picnic.    And so I jumped into a whole other way of being.  Instead of monomaniacal focus on The Process and its undeviating Procedure I took off my shoes and socks.   Used a set of the filters from the aqua/celandine bowl to saturate the soles of my feet  until I felt a tingling gratitude for the nourishment.  took the next filter and moved into the urge to swipe it from my forehead to belly.  It was the most relaxed and organically meaningful experience of my week so far. 

Rubbed the strawberry filters on primary and secondary heart chakras front and back.  Then an upward swipe from heart to crown.  

Later in the evening my much anticipated order of Blue Vervain/Verbena hasta arrived via Fed Ex.  The plants were in transit for two days and are still un-kinking themselves on the back deck.  Had originally planned to get nine then dropped back on both expectations and plans in the wake of  T needing the biopsy followed almost immediately by J's layoff.  Will plant in two groups of three or three groups of two.  Probably the first.  Hope for enough seedlings to take hold so I can raise them as the third group I originally envisioned.

Here's a lovely( 4:13 minutes) blue vervain primer from radiant bee loving Deb Soule.

Read through the company's unpacking/further acclimation info.   I've only ordered live plants once before - from this same company in the wake of their annual seasonal clearance sale.  I remember being impressed and grateful for the careful packaging - as I was this time.  But based on the size of the plants I received previously I'd imagined the six above would be roughly half the size and age they are.  These are very well established plants.  I know where I'm planting them but first they need some days to acclimate and harden off.  They're joined on the top deck by the basement seedlings.

The picture above documents my 2020 'nurture babies' having their third day on the deck.  It's their first experience with dappled morning sun.  Am leaving them outside for progressively longer periods of time.  They still need protection from wind and rain in addition to the shock of NE night temps.

This morning I got up early.  Motivated myself in roughly a tenth of the time that's become my hunkered-down slow poke mode-of-choice.  Was determined to get the shallot sets in the ground - plus do some other field-based chores - before the sun lost its cooling slant from the east.  Planted ten rows of 5 sets.  Have a means to safely and effectively share the overage that thrills me in its simplicity and the organic way the opportunity/connection came together. Once I'd hustled myself out I took my mindful-mode time getting things in the ground.  Was deeply appreciative of J's level of care in the removal of thickly matted grass clumps and stones of all shapes.   And the careful way he'd mixed in topsoil so all I had to do was add rows of lobster compost and be equally careful mixing everything together.  Enjoyed rattling over this year's shallot site so much that I walked through the whole garden in various configurations while rattling.  Figuring out where the tramped-down pathways will be once the fence is up.

You are asserting yourself.  We welcome you as one.

Same acknowledgement and encouragement as the other day.

My first layer of clearing effort has now reached a point I wasn't sure I'd be able to achieve. Now I need to put muscle into eradicating some of the wild pea vines that are a story unto themselves.   My plan is to get as much clear soil as I can - in patches here and there if need be - in order to broadcast amaranth with deliberately placed clusters of sunflowers.  A sunflower house is too much fussy work for all the other Things.  But I'll raise just as much joy as possible growing bird food for the many different species who live here ringing the field with their songs and activities.

a shadow-selfie from yesterday's energetic picnic at the fire pit.  love the way my hat's shadow makes me look like a pumpkin head.

everything IS illuminated

pics taken at four different times over the course of two days.

Yesterday I weeded, re-topsoiled, and thoroughly amended a whiskey barrel in which I'll grow beets. I got a mixed variety packet because mixing varieties has led to family favorite side dishes.  Today I did the same with two whiskey barrels in which I'll grow carrots and finocchio.  J's been in the field a lot doing a second round of rototilling.  Tomorrow I'll seed two of the whiskey barrels and plant shallots in a bed he amended with the lobster casting soil conditioner and two bags of top soil.   It's late to put them in but I've been as late as the first week in June and still managed to reap a full year's harvest.  I find they do pretty well provided the soil's still cold enough to hold the night temperature for at least half the day. 

***

Today I had a responsibly quick visit with a favorite local friend.  Haven't seen her in person for upwards of a two and a half months.   The garden-oriented place where she works has set up online shopping and I timed my pick-up around when she was there and free to take five minutes.   We spoke of what was good and whole for both of us but also spoke of exhaustion and its many derivations.  We laughed.  Behind our masks we were both smiling.  I brought home thyme, rosemary and the last sage plant in stock.  And If I'm honest - this is the first time I've been out in the larger world that I wasn't incredibly saddened by all the many things there are to be saddened about/over in these ever-shifting days. It's pretty much the only time in a bit over two months that I've done something containing a social component as opposed to staying rigorously task-oriented and steeped in the nobody must linger vibe.   Lingering for laughter and traded confidences is the part of my former experience I've missed the most and the thing about my personal i-me-mine aspects that leaves me feeling most out of whack.  

And so I didn't think/contextualize about anything much - I was just in that moment socializing.  The masks didn't matter or in any way infringe on a single one of our combined Liberties & Freedoms.  It was sunny and warm enough if we stuck to the sun and the wind wasn't blowing.  Also had a chance to suss out the shape of this year's garden there in a different yet utterly familiar garden world.  The person who fulfilled my order was worried I didn't know much about plants or I never would have ordered three thymes.   My friend was asked to make sure I understood it spread farther and wider the happiest it was.  Nobody else could conceive it was true I knew quite a lot about plants and yet ordered 3 Thymes. We laughed and laughed about that  (I told you THREE THYMES now she isn't kidding when she says she was raised in a garden) and then pivoted back to our evolving days.

*** 

J also socially distance socialized today and arrived home with four generous bags of well rotted horse manure.  His friend has a connection.  They had it in the works for a week or so but J didn't want to raise my excitement level before the transaction was complete.  This is an invaluable development given all the newly tilled space we have to amend.  

***

Some of the pictures above were taken yesterday evening.  The sun came out just in time to cast that magical glow that steps everything out of time and space itself.    The last two pictures were taken yesterday morning about half an hour after it stopped raining.  Other pictures are from today in both morning and afternoon.

Tomorrow I'm turning off the heat mats under the plants in the basement.  Some, that have had two weeks without under-heating, will be moved upstairs to begin their hardening off process on the top deck.  This transition involves getting them situated in their transplant pots tonight and/or tomorrow morning.   There's a very beautiful co-creative wind at my back and I'm eternally grateful for that in these unsettled and unsettling times.

Namaste

 

here we go !!!

Day before yesterday was downright hot and the air quality throughout the county was afloat with many kinds of pollen.  I chose not to participate beyond a few cursory inspection tours of the garden beds closest to the house.  I'm thus declaring yesterday to be our first true day of Spring's greener beckoning magical phase.   Was in and out any number of times - listening to the landscape and allowing myself to be mesmerized by various specific plants and trees.  Last night there was a powerful micro-burst of rain and LOUDLY howling wind laced with a great deal thunder and lightning.  Many windows were open at the time and I had to rush to shut them.  J had fallen asleep upstairs and woke to hear the howling wind and rain that sounded like birdshot being fired through every portion of the sky.  He can sleep through a lot but not a wind like that.  He closed up our bedroom and met me in the doorway of the third bedroom/family lounge.  It was a northern wind and the rain had pelted into the room sideways for the ten minutes or so I was rushing around shutting up the downstairs.  I thought he'd be virgo-dismayed by the wet woodwork, rug, and chair but he only grinned and said isn't it wild?

Although I chose the evolving sanctuary garden for the lede image - it's not the way my Outside day began.  I went out the front door "just for a couple of minutes" and beelined down the sloping lawn to the yellow toad lily.  Cleaned her off and took a better picture for jude to find when she ventures by.  I was lavishly admiring as I worked,.  Seemed to receive confirmation of my hunch the plant would like to be divided in the fall.

Walked back to the house but then suddenly turned right and headed around it to discover the solomon seal buds have begun to open.  Made note of where I want to continue consolidating the forsythia with more incisive pruning.

Also checked on the Japanese Spikenard we put in last year.  It was one of those plants that just pulled on me like a tractor beam when we first got out of the car at our favorite nursery out in Amherst.   Once I'd made my wandering way to the source of strong beckoning energy I picked up the pot and hugged it close.  J kept asking if I wanted him to carry it but I just kept hugging and saying I was fine.  When we got home I set the pot right where it seemed destined to live.  

The location is a little too sunny for it to keep its leaf color.  I thought about moving it - mentioned the possibility to the plant and then about a week later I approached with the intention of reading the signs of its response.  The roots were FIRM and unyielding.  I'm staying.  I live here now.  And so I promised it improved conditions.  Consulted J. a few days back and in response he cut some leftover lattice to the size of the porch length behind the plant.  Today he's giving the swiftly actualized shade-aid a few coats of paint to match similar lattice at the bottom of the porch.  The shade-aid can be added or subtracted at any time of day.  Some experimenting will be involved but I'm grateful he had a much simpler solution than something I haphazardly described based on the construction of a telescoping shelf in the refrigerator.

This jack-in-the-pulpit is growing out of the enormous rock I introduced here.  Jude said the sense of Spring holds and even depends on the memory of winter.  I thought that was both an eloquent and elegant way of expressing my own sense of time, life, and this particular day's feeling tone.  Note off to the left a stray glimpse of carrion vine growing there on the rock.   It's been eradicated.   Took this picture on my second walk outside and removed the vine on my fourth.  It's been that sort of day - in and out and in and then back out again.  J's commencing to cut the grass so I thought I'd sit still and create this virtual walk. 

Canadian anemone abound at the edges of woods and on the 'far' stream bank.  The colonies sprinkled at the edges of paths and here and there in the woods spark joy for me - this is another friend since childhood.  The little cluster is nestled between roots of the maple that gave flowers to an essence bowl earlier this year.

This is the first garden you'd meet on the other side of the hemlock-lined path at the western edge of the field.  It used to be two distinct beds but over time they've become joined by colonies of milkweed and goldenrod.   Am introducing it because I've decided to document my reclamation of the bed.  It officially began today but for now I most want to share this:

A self-seeded tableau of green magic making under the gooseberry bush.  a Sweet Rocket plant seeded directly in its center and she is attended by several self-sown yellow foxgloves.  They are stalwart and certain of their Place here.   They haven't exactly rebuked my relocation plans but have made clear their intention to stay as they are.  And so I looked for ways to make their habitat more welcoming and attractive.    Today I began weeding in this spot for the first time in four or five years.  It's a space I love and always mean to [at]tend to but there are always only so many hours in a day.  The somewhat smaller originally square bed was planted with a single-stemmed plantlet from the gooseberry bush I'd been obliged to leave behind.  It was otherwise planted with  A. archangelica and Angelica purpurea as well as a modest colony of yellow foxgloves - all from the old place. Spearmint and orange mint hitched a ride of their own accord.  At this point the two mints are one of the bed's main acts from high summer onward  Somehow the space itself has co-created sequential ways to share nourishment and space. 

This is a close view of the area I hope to have re-cultivated by late October.  Will save tales of what's there and what kind of approach the various green ones have suggested to me during this morning's time there.  Got a bit lost squatting close for long moments of communion and consideration.  At one point this space was packed with plants from the old place.   During the latter half of our third summer here Graves Disease re-upped itself and the garden spaces throughout the property began to self-regulate.  I dreamed of it often and really never doubted it was happening but that truth lives side by side with my ongoing frustration to remain largely uninvolved due to how sick I was for the better part of three years.

Throughout this time there was a simple picnic table bench  at the edge of these two garden spaces.  I sat there frequently with Celeste sitting under or directly beside the bench.  A modest colony of milkweed stalks had appeared just before i got sick.  I encouraged them to stay and establish themselves.  fast-forwarding to now -  the former path was eventually obliterated by drifting milkweed and an ef-ton of golden rod.  Today I began weeding-out the goldenrod runners as gently as possible.  My extra care was rewarded.

The season's first milkweed scout was carefully re-covered with a loosely packed blanket of dried plant matter.   Am going to be fairly merciless with the golden rod in this area because I want to recolonize with more yellow foxgloves at the edges of the milkweed colony.  Will be saving seedheads - saving some for starting on the deck next year with intent to introduce them within the side-pocket spaces.   If there's plenty I'll also plant seed in the evolving sanctuary.  The bench is long gone but I'm going to start bringing my camp chair so I can once again sit in this spot.  It's a good place for day dreaming. Here's a quick peek at the main bed.  J and I have a two week timeline for getting the garden fence installed. 

In the background is a glimpse of J's completed roto-tilling endeavor.  He's juggling a lot right now but seems to be having an experience similar to my own in that stuff's getting done somehow.  Our ongoing byword seems to be:  essential.  What does that mean to us?  To me, or him, or our son?  What is essential for this new phase of life and any given day within it?   How do we show up for ourselves and each other so that our essential priorities are both nurtured and met?

Thistle emissaries are always welcome in my gardens.   I need to pitchfork and re-claim another strip across that's roughly the same width as the mulched portion.   It needs to be done very carefully as per dreams over the last month.    Along similar lines I can see that seed sowing of various kinds will be an ongoing effort for the next few weeks.    Day before yesterday I found balance and returned focus by fully organizing my seed packets in a small gathering basket.  I keep shuffling through them like tarot cards.  Have in the past often slept with bundled seeds tucked into my pillow case but I'm not sure I could handle the depth and specificity that might arise.  Have explained this while wandering and weeding in the main bed.

I did a bit of weeding here in an expanding  Queen of the Meadow colony.  As it's been expanding drifts of red clover have self-sown in a marvelous inter-planting.   Today The Queen's emerging stalks buzzed at me repeatedly.    You are asserting yourself.  We welcome you as one.

Soon now the entire garlic bed will be bristling with green shoots.

GAME ON

full sun all day

Don't worry!  Shortly after taking this picture I cleaned out the birdbath and refilled it to the brim with fresh water.  Before that I cleared the little shade garden that's half intentional and half volunteer.  In the Foreground are two large columbine crowns and some smaller children.  This variety is deep dark red and very prolific.  Beyond these crowns is a wealth of evening primrose volunteers.  They aren't the wild/field variety I brought with me from the old place or the purple leaved variety that lives in pockets of the evolving sanctuary. 

I started to clean up and cut back some of the forsythia but managed to misplace my pruning shears.  They cannot be found anywhere and the fanciful part of me wonders if the bird-land crew spirited them away to prevent me from interfering with "their" hedge.  For years I wanted to cut it back but J liked the extra privacy.   We reached a sorta compromise last year but then in October the house painters butchered a beautiful Yew by the corner of the house.  The birds sounded an ongoing alarm of dismay and calamity for days afterwards and I didn't have the heart to take away any more of their cover in the same general vicinity.  J agreed.  And we've both put a lot of love and encouragement into the Yew.  It will take a few years for him to fully re-calibrate.  In the meanwhile I'll keep most of the the height but otherwise tidy up the space-hogging sprawl of the forsythia. 

  The intentional part of the garden is comprised of the wild ginger and solomon's seal pictured above.  Mary is also intentional. 

Today's "star" emergent perennial crown (giant fleece flower) has been building up to this moment for the past two weeks.  This plant was unknown to me when I bought it at an end of season sale a few years back.   Sometimes I obsessively read everything I can find about a new plant and other times I just let time and growing together teach me first.   Will probably move on to the reading phase of things for this one sometime this summer.  Mainly because I want to make sure it's okay to divide the crown next year before I actually do it.  This particular garden could do with at least two more of these beauties because they look absolutely radiant with the morning light shining through the fluffy white flowerheads.

Last week our garden "walls" (it's horse fencing and super sturdy) arrived at the co-op but not the posts.  With the Thing such a big deal in these parts they only take deliveries on Wednesdays.  Today J drove over to pick up both and also the five small rosemary plants I thought to call and order right before he left.  We were both worried the ten foot posts might not completely fit in the back of his truck because we also weren't sure how large the fencing bales would be.   Thus I did not tag along in case the posts needed the passenger's side extra space.   Spent the time working on a few non-food garden projects like the Mary garden.  Pretty soon such things will start taking a back seat to food garden cultivation.

Down in the basement everything's growing well. Above are leeks,  tulsi, lettuce leaf basil, and monarda citriodora aka lemon bergamot/purple horsemint.  Never grew it before but absolutely LOVED the hot-violet flowers upon meeting them last year in a friend's garden.

Tomatoes are thriving in transplant pots.    

Some of the tulsi has begun to push the first flower heads.  I'll pinch these back once the moon's in taurus and dry the tops to use in ceremonial strewing blends.  Once they're outside all harvested parts of this plant are used in tea blends or tinctures.   I stop harvesting for the house in late August.  This gives the plants an opportunity to yield plentiful blooms for the bees at a point when their options have dwindled and frost will end everything soon enough.  

All but one of the basket flowers came up.   That leaves me with seven for the evolving sanctuary.   They take a bit a fussing to get re-situated and fully on their way to happy life but I'm willing to put in the effort and patience because when they bloom they look like this:

The flowers are four inches wide and beloved by all pollinators and hummingbirds.  Their scent is kind of otherworldly buzz-inducing.  The first year I grew them back at the old place I used to sit under them (they peak around 4 feet high when they're happy) and watch the hummingbirds come to nectar.   My childhood skill of remaining motionless came back to me and I continue to treasure the moments of watching them without revealing myself.  It was such a joy to observe these beautiful creatures from an unusual angle.  Really got a chance to appreciate the mechanical wonder of their directional flight capabilities. 

It's a flower that makes me wish I was a bee. 

wandering amongst the side pocket garden beds

The above Browallia will thrive exponentially(understatement ...) once the tree leaves have unfurled to provide the level of shade this plant craves.

Today is the 10th anniversary of our closing on this Place after nearly two years of searching for it.  Afterwards J and I stopped back at the house we'd lived in for 14 years.  We stayed just long enough to change our clothes into garden grubs and grab the gardening soil amendments I was confident I'd be able to distribute over the course of that first afternoon and early evening.  Dream on!  A decade in we periodically laugh about that as well as many other things we assumed and presumed as brand new stewards of the land as well as the house.

***

Earlier today we took a slow tour of the [other] side dooryard and field - partly in mutual congratulation of all the dreams and ideas we've manifested in that time and partly as a way of adding to our singular and mutual to-do lists.  I took some pictures and then somewhat arbitrarily decided to feature images from yesterday.  I took them during a solitary much cherished Mother's Day ritual of quietly & slowly  examining the various plants that have come to me as gifts honoring that holiday.   I'm choosing to share them because they relate to garden spaces I don't tend to share very often.  The biggest reason for that relates to nesting birds and fledgling Safe Space I try to maintain until the later part of summer.

I call these the Side Pocket gardens because they ring a little side-shoot of our front lawn.  Each tiny garden plot has been designed to hold space within a Bee Highway (ultimately leading to the field) for the hives across the road.  The selected plants also service the fueling needs of wild honeybees, hummingbirds and a few species of bumbles.

Glad to see this foam flower has survived our strange green winter.  She was one of two last year but it looks like the moles got the better of the second crown.  Am thrilled with just the one, really, as this is a plant I loved only from pictures and rare woodland glimpses as a child.  Had to move farther north to see it more frequently in the woods.  And otherwise patiently wait-out a few decades before having a chance to grow it for myself as a cultivated garden plant.

Over the course of my gardening lifetime I've grown any number of Toad Lily varieties with the beautiful spotted leaf crown above being one of two favorites that are currently in residence.   The flowers are a beautiful brownish yellow that look a lot like delicate candelabras once the buds have fattened on slender branching stalks.

(I will remove 50% of the straw mulch debris over the next week or so as time allows.  Destination: the compost bin, where else. The other 50%  plus last year's fallen leaves will remain to decompose in place.)

Was excited to discover the Black Cohosh has begun to form a colony.  The flower stalks' scent wafts all over the yard once they've begun to bloom.  Once the tree leaves unroll themselves over the next three weeks this plant will have plenty of shade.  The leaves will turn dark purple in response.

   (Most of the little seedlings poking through the leaves are Jewelweed.   This plant is everywhere in the shady/moist pockets of the property.   It's beloved to hummingbirds - and me - so I always leave plenty of it as a bank behind this particular bed.  From there a weaving colony of individual plants will scramble down the gentle slope to the road.)

Here's one of two original Globe Thistles grown from seed under lights.  That was seven years ago when the bed was brand new.  Year before last both plants began to self-seed.  Last September I cut a few seed heads to scatter at the back of the Evolving Sanctuary garden.  This is a significant action on my part because it's one of my few plans that formed ahead of moving here that hasn't been either seriously altered or obliterated altogether by one kind of naturally occurring reality check or another.
I love the aging Hellebore coloration above because it's closest to the [wildly inaccurate] picture on the nursery plant ID label.  It took three years for the plant to flower and then it showed a single raucous plum and lime green bloom that stymied me.   I'd been looking forward to cream colored flowers with delicate raspberry edges.  But the bees don't care about my inability to shift my expectations seamlessly.  This plant - plus the surrounding ocean of pulmonaria - provides reliable nourishment at a time when options are somewhere between slim to non-existent.

This year the plant showed its appreciation of our clearing more space for it last fall.  It's been dazzling me with three flower stalks - each loaded with blooms.  The hot bright green interior isn't visible unless I make a point of looking for it - assuring the flowers I'm getting used to the different look from what I was expecting.  At a less hands-on level the dark plum bells that are constantly visible fit in nicely with the general vibe of that tiny quiet-feeling corner. 

The individual side pocket beds form spokes surrounding a grouping of trees, rocks and a naturally occurring elderberry bush.  Hummingbirds, goldfinches and catbirds nest and raise their young among those trees.  The catbirds in particular relish both the elderberries and a wealth of wild rosehips/blackberries.  They're my favorite bird-resident here both personality and song-wise.  Their yearly arrival is an important milestone for me.  I greet them joyously within knowledge their ongoing elaborate songs and my eventual inclusion in the flying games of the offspring are about to provide emotional ballast on the joyous end of the spectrum.  This year I cried a little at the amount of happiness the alpha male's initial Song of Greeting scattered throughout my emotional field. 

Originally the bed above contained three bee and hummingbird friendly plants:  the mountain mint which is seen above and, before that plant (labelled, amusingly enough, 'very modest spreader' but I'd grown it before and thus knew better) consumed all available space, two wild columbines and a low-growing NE native monarda species. 

The latter jumped clear of the bed and is now covering a lot of ground that's accessible only to bees and birds.  If I want to see it once it's flowering I have to walk down to the road and loop back around to stand on the street and peer through the zoom lens of my good camera.   Have done this once so far and it was a scary proposition due to road traffic.  This year who knows.  It seems likely I'll be able to safely pick some lilacs that grow out there just shy of the road - plus maybe also see the monarda flowers depending on how sane or senseless this state decides to be moving forward.

I rescued the columbines but one expired due to Something Unknown which kept attacking it in its new location.  The other has flourished  - Two years ago producing a daughter who in turn has produced a daughter of her own.  The tiny addition of a third generation was another thrilling discovery for me over the weekend!

For reasons I can't understand the above image has flipped itself and refuses to be re-oriented.  It's bothersome to me but realistically it really only impacts the three people beyond myself and J who read here and also know the gardens as they are in real time.   I planted the lilac and hydrangea 8 years ago.  Behind them is a clump of white peonies that J goaded me into accepting at our town's May Day celebration 5 years ago.   Beyond the peonies there's ladies mantle, lemon balm, and also  Siberian Iris transplanted from the Evolving Sanctuary.  In years past part of our Mother's Day nursery crawl has involved getting a few second year Korean Angelica plants to grow against the fence just behind the iris.  Have not succeeded in growing any from seed nor have they elected to seed themselves.  

Angelica archangelica was my Mother phase's plant ally just as Violet guided and nourished my Maiden phase.  Mugwort arrived right along with menopause to announce herself as my Crone's guiding light.  Part of making the transition seems to involve releasing attachment to 'having' Angelica of any kind as a stalwart presence in the outside world.  I'm still a bit attached at a soul and internalized level although mentally I've made the jump in as total a way as I can manage without the rest of me being full on board yet.  It's a process, isn't it?  Letting nature have her Way with one's inner pictures of Self as well as whatever does or doesn't grow ...

a single A. archangelica flower head at the old place.  one of hundreds upon hundreds over the time we lived there ...

Versatile Violets

Violet flowers and leaves serve a variety of human needs quite well.   They're rich in vitamin C and loaded with salicylic acid.  I especially love working with the flowers  because it's such a beautifully gentle process and, for me, deeply rooting as well.   They figure prominently in a great many of my childhood memories.  They're also my original home state's official flower and that pleased me a great deal.

[am including this link for a far more comprehensive overview of Violet's healing and nutritional versatility.  Today I'd much rather spend most of my time outside rather than re-inventing any word-based wheels on this or any other subject.  Additionally here's a video of some herbalists (including Matt Wood) discussing violet medicine.  Plus here's the irrepressable Susun Weed demonstrating how to make violet infused honey ] 

The picture above was taken a few years back following a friend's request for "a healing agent of some kind".  As someone with very little breast mass she suffered a great deal from what's euphemistically called discomfort associated with mammograms.  We spoke of this while sitting by the frog pond.  Its northern side has a very large colony of violets.  I pointed them out and shared the fact that I sometimes used an oil infusion of these flowers to make a cream I incorporated into breast self-exams.  I praised the plant's lymphagogue properties and offered to prepare them in a very light easily absorbed carrier oil.  Had automatically assumed that would be grapeseed oil but she'd read an article that spoke of apricot oil's affinity for the thinner skin that aging brings.

I didn't have any but she'd bought some at the health food store in the next town where she'd picked up some sandwiches and fruit salad for our lunch.  

"I saw it and bought it just because it felt very important to have it - right now, today."  She said as much in the lightly ponderous tone of somebody who follows intuitive cues even when they don't know why.  Because she did she was able to gather flowers and make the oil herself right there in my kitchen.  She now makes it on the regular for herself and her two younger sisters who share her tender breast situation enough to actively wince at the mere of thought of having The Girls squeezed with imperious finality between the two plexiglass plates.

Together we sat at the table preparing two separate infusion endeavors while talking about a lot of other things we might not have discussed as a continuous stream of femalecentric herbal wisdom.  I worked on a white vinegar infusion to be used in sitz baths.    We also spoke of flower essences which she considered 'weird and possibly hokum'.  I laughed and said something along the lines of wow I've never heard that before - not even once let alone fifty million times.  She laughed as well. 

And so we spoke of flower essences in some degree of detail.  I hadn't been planning any such thing and neither had she.  We both laughed a lot more about that fact with a very gentle lilt to it.  She asked hesitantly if all the violet flowers we'd worked with might have something to do with our ability to break new ground together.   I shared my belief that all flowers have the ability to facilitate formerly 'impossible' conversations whether or not the topic of essence work was included.  We're still talking about that back and forth as we both discover more about flowers' capabilities as well as our own shared affinity for growing OUT of who we already are into that which we're actively becoming.

The basket above shows flowers and leaves that I gathered this morning.  On this occasion I wanted both for the purpose of co-creating an oil I can turn into a cream that I use in place of Aspercreme.  Its roll-on form came into my life about five months ago when my single arthritic knuckle became bothersome enough to eclipse my awareness of all the other knuckles that don't bother me at all.  I ate a few flowers as I did my gathering - moving from one colony of violets to the next so I was also moving from the evolving sanctuary garden to the frog pond and out into the field for a total of seven gathering locations.

Surface area is a key factor in making successful herbal remedies.  Ongoing wisdom makes clear that the potency and longevity of a remedy is directly relational to the degree of surface area. This is why most remedies are macerated old school with a mortar and pestle or zip-zapped in a blender along with the oil or alcohol carrier.  I continue to do a fair amount of both but, when it comes to violets, I simply collect more flowers so I don't have to cut them apart.  In keeping with this ally's gentle and sensitive nature I chiffonade the leaves - sometimes cutting the results at perpendicular angles to create more surface areas.  Today I let it go with simply creating the ribbons with a serrated blade. 

I have a dedicated enamelware double boiler I use for herbal infusions.   Unless I've planned ahead enough to have a particular carrier on hand I work with one of those large tins of olive oil you find in the grocery store.   During our last week of formerly normal behavior J picked up two of those tins for me.  Because I wanted enough to last me until the next violet harvesting season I wound up with roughly twice as much plant matter as I'd normally include.  Adding oil enough to cover the botanicals brought the infusion's contents about an inch short of overflowing.

Upon my most recent check-in the brew was morphing into its intended iteration. The flowers are drained of color and their stems are also white and roughly half their original size.  The leaves currently look like the canned soup version of leafy greens.  I removed the lid and will soon place the top/oil-filled pan on a trivet to cool a bit before I commence straining.

note:  I don't personally use violet tincture any more because I've found it's a little rough on my upper digestive tract - yielding heartburn and a stomach ache.  If I've time and the weather holds (snow is predicted.  sigh...) I'll put up a half pint of white vinegar infusion. It's really nice to have on hand for anyone suffering from hemorrhoids - especially those whose bodies don't respond well to epsom salts. just add a teaspoon or so of the infusion to the sitz bath water and swirl it around to insure it's well integrated.

The year J contracted Lyme (and struggled with ongoing very active symptoms for the better part of two years) I put up a few  half pints of the oil as a cold infusion due to the delicacy of the flowers.  I thought he'd like it for his joints but instead he used it close to constantly for headaches - which had rarely troubled him previously.   Once we were obliged to replace our stove I embraced the warming burner as the best combination of both options. 

Also - you did realize I wasn't gonna not mention this other application of the flower medicine - violet flower essence is really awesome for quiet reclusive types who also need to learn how to get up and out and shake their tail feathers from time to time in order to feel truly complete.  As an example, Molly Sheehan used to tell a wonderful story about a customer who worked with the essence and 'suddenly' began to attend and participate in poetry slams with cumulatively life changing results. 

a second day of unexpected sunshine

When I first got up this morning I couldn't wait to get out in the field.  Really wanted to see how the energy had changed for the volunteer windrow now that J's successfully removed all the Russian Olive trees that were a serious nuisance.  Below is a picture from mid-afternoon yesterday.

The big pile of brush between J and the fire pit seems far less invasive in this form. 

This looks so much better and far more to the point the white pines feel so much happier. The invaders from next door were really cramping their collective style.  but not anymore!

The picture above is a close view of the group's Speaker.    I know this because about a week ago one particular tree sitting slightly apart from the rest began drawing attention to itself.  I am the speaker for my group.  Usually I'd get this repetitive impression while I was deeply engaged in a garden task that couldn't be stopped mid-stream.  Finally we got on the same wavelength. 

I am the speaker!  The tree's exuberance reminded me of Nancy Pelosi doing that slow smiling turn with the gavel in her hand just after the mid-terms.

There was a slight breeze as you can see above.  I had my rattle with me. Moved directly in front of the tree without further fanfare.

"Hello.  I, too, am the speaker for my group."  I shook the rattle very quietly and then a bit louder.  Its tiny white stones moved in a percussive slurry that quickly found its rhythm.

  "Out here, where our groups meet their energies and purpose, this rattle is the speaker for your land's dreams and our combined heartbeat."

(to be continued)

how you would meet and greet the windrow - Speaker first - if you approached them from the woods path rather than entering the field from the front or back dooryards.

and these would be the last two of the group to meet and greet if you followed the curve of their colony from one end to the other.