Wheat Field with Crows, Vincent Van Gogh, 1890

From time immemorial human beings have been marking that time by looking to what is happening in their world, on their planet, out-of-doors, and usually the resulting designations are tied to the availability or impending availability of food. The process is complex. It involves the moon. The sun. The soil. The rain. The nutrients. The seasons. Largely we have in our modernity separated ourselves from many of these considerations, as they have been viewed as elements to “overcome” or dominate or eradicate or manipulate, as mostly, we mess with things. A lot. Man Against Nature, my early English teachers used to lecture me–an entire genre. Genre, indeed.

As we reclaim our agrarian roots we return to first the acknowledgment and then to the celebration of what our ancestors knew and celebrated: the turning and maturing of the season. And so it is with that age-old delight that I scope out my little kitchen garden, just outside the back steps, and cheer on with glee the first of many things coming to maturity.

It would be most excellent to begin a celebration by happily noting the recent blossoming of the beautiful dahlia my dear friend Conny gave to me for my birthday in a large pot. Actually the dahlias were hiding underground, she said, and now after some patient waiting they have emerged.

Was that not worth awaiting? And is it not the absolutely most perfect 4th of July flower? It looks to me like a happy red starburst!

Stepping beyond the fence into the tomato patch I am thrilled to see my first ripe Early Girl! Oh, yes, she might make it to a platter before the holiday is up!

Keeping her company are my beloved principe bourgheses, my all-time favorite tomato thus far. They are not as far along, but they are definitely the first of the season and I can hardly wait for their blessed abundance that allows me to make near instant sauces for summer pasta dishes simply by popping in the Cuisinart and then dropping into some nice garlic and onion sauteed in olive oil, with the usual seasonings. Yum!

At the foot of my principes, not to be ignored and undoubtedly about to make itself very well known, is a single morning glory, a volunteer, who within a month will have wrapped itself exquisitely into the principes, to be wedded for the season. I can’t stop such romance and it’s fine with me.

Still within the confines of the fencing just underfoot and hiding is the first zucchini of the year!

I only planted one! Can you believe it? The first year I had a garden I planted an entire package. Uh-oh. This is the counter-experiment to see how many one will yield! Do you ever slice them and then dip them in beaten egg and then coat them with wholewheat flour and saute them in oil? Oh, so delicious. And if you are up for it, you can put little bits of cheese on the sauteed ones and pop them in the oven to melt. Oh, your children will love you!
[Editor’s note, days later: Oh, dear. It is NOT a round zucchini as I’d thought. It is clearly a spaghetti squash! I found the real zucchini where I thought I’d planted the s. squash. Don’t you think they must be so delighted to have fooled me all these weeks?!]

Now, if you will follow me outside the fence just to over here, I will share with you one of the most exciting events in the garden: my first lemon blossoms on my new (improved) Meyer lemon tree! There are 27 buds. Does that mean 27 lemons?? Don’t tell. I want to be surprised!

And keeping watch over the blossoming Meyer lemons are the lovely (if annoying) trumpet vines. As invasive as they are I have finally come to peace with them and simply scold them mildly much as one might a dotty old auntie, or naughty goat, and pull them up where they do not belong.

They are so abundant they have covered the pittosporum where the jays built their nest so now the wild thing is covered each morning in hummingbirds. Who can complain?

Leaving the grace of the garden I climb the few steps to the back door, and stop to admire the last of my lilies, potted year before last and blessing us with their annual return. Yes, this is the last of the lilies, honoring the infinite cycle of birth and death and transformation.

Love and gardening blessings,
Kathryn xoxox

Posted on July 3rd, 2008 by Kathryn
Filed under: People at Life | 18 Comments »

Very early Saturday morning I felt Ruby lick my hand as I slept. “What is it, Ru?” No response. I drifted back into sleep. Again I felt a light lick on my hand. “You’re going outside,” I said. “Come on, Conner. Go outside with Ruby.” They jumped off the bed and made their way to the door leading to the garden and out they went. I went back towards the kitchen and bam! I heard them both leaping against the back door. How strange. I opened it and they raced in. Framing their scurrying bodies was a blinding flash of light across the western sky. Half asleep I struggled to understand what I was witnessing. Full recognition dawned on me as the flash was followed immediately by a brilliant jagged lightening bolt making its way to the ground from high in the night sky. Oh dear God. “By the grace of God there will be no fires, ” I said aloud. And then I stood transfixed watching the stupendous beauty that repeated itself over and over again. I watched in utter fascinating and thrill even while I knew in my heart of hearts this spelled Trouble for the county. And trouble for the county arrived. Over 6,000 lightening bolts struck the Earth, our earth, our Northern California earth, that night. And more thunderstorms are predicted for Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday night. There are currently 1,026 fires burning in my beloved Northern California, 10% of them right here in Mendocino. There were more. Nearly all are not being tended. Only those threatening life and human limb and home are being fought. The rest, quite naturally, and probably in the long run, healthily, are being left to find their way to extinction. The man power is stretched thin. The equipment is scarce. Resources are being used the best way they can think at the moment. Here’s what the northern half of our state looks like today:

I, and my garden are down there in the midst of that, thriving. Really.

Being a thoughtful girl, I am challenged to watch my thoughts, ascertain where they are coming from. Distinguish which ones are worthy thoughts and should be honored and acted upon. Buy hepafilters. Two. Buy a hepafilter mask. One. Buy extra water. Make note of the dog crate and extra bag of dogfood in the car. Take out the cat carriers and have them ready. What do I cherish that would need to accompany me should it come to that? What, indeed?

The jays are on their own. No clean air for them, poor things. No clean air for my pet lizard who has kept me company in the front garden all spring. But this afternoon out he came, from under the lavender where he continues to choose to live, to sunbathe, there in the haze. Life goes on. And he’s bigger! Life and growth go on. The tomatoes are bearing seven tomatoes. Large orange flowers bloom from the zucchini and pumpkins and spaghetti squash. Nothing stops or hesitates in the face of danger. Only I cogitate.

I settle for making a mental list of all I am grateful for. I’m not out in the boonies. We are safe now. The gas tank is full and ready. There are friends nearby making it clear I would be welcome there should it come to that. Would it come to that?

The only moment is this one. This precious one when I’m writing to all of you, grateful for your readership, for your showing up again and again. For your kind words and encouragement. For your laughing at my humor. For visiting with me on the journeys I take close and closer. Far and farther.

Thank you.

Love and gardening blessings,
Kathryn xoxo

Posted on June 25th, 2008 by Kathryn
Filed under: People at Life | 26 Comments »