A Plant Conversation

A long time ago, I thought that people who talked with their house plants were certainly odd, perhaps tottering on the brink of craziness. The idea that such diverse species as us humans on one side, and an ornamental African violet on another had a connection, and even an intimate one, seemed folly.

Over the years I have closed my personal gap to the natural world somewhat. I truly enjoy almost all of the living things around me. I appreciate them. I might even admit to being in a sort of communication with them as I stroll my garden in the morning or weave my way through the natural garden of an unpeopled riverbank.

For Christmas, I received a book. Love books! This one was an oldie and a goodie...The Secret Life of Plants, by Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird. Wild stuff! The first part of the book cites numerous experiments with human-plant communication. Real science stuff, too. And even though that exotic research is now decades, it sparked something in me. (Read the book...you'll certainly find it interesting)

I have decided on an experiment of my own. I planted a winter garden a bit late, but it is growing still. I produced oodles of red cabbage and brussel sprout seedlings which now people my cold garden beds, giving them a bit of vitality. They are maturing very slowly, which is natural, I suppose. I'd rather that some of the plants get the encouragement they need to really thrive, and I'm going to give it to them.

I chose two of the many to give my attention to. I adorned each of them with a red silk ribbon. I've even named them. Mr. Cabbage (how original) and Beenie Brussel. (don't ask me why) I intend to give them the support they need to really grow. They are neither the biggest nor the smallest of the lot, but somehow they stand out to me, and I'm nurturing a relationship with them. Daily I will focus on each, and communicate with them how beautiful and wonderful they are, how I appreciate them, and how they make me happy. I'll give at least a minute of focused attention to each of them every day.

I can't wait to see how they respond.

Fallen Leaves

an amber sienna carpet

enlightened by rains

now past

hugs the ground

waiting for

breath

to dry unattached loops

and blow them around 
in circles

A Colored Egg Hunt

The long-awaited day arrived...probably a few days ago. We've been waiting for Gwen and Isadora, (our hens) who have been roaming the garden for months now. They have come of age, but there have been no eggs to be found.

Gwen did a disappearing act this morning, which was curious. She was nowhere to be found in the yard or the garden until after 11. Did she hop the fence? Did a hawk have her for breakfast? No, she just mysteriously disappeared.

I suspected she had found a place to lay, but it was not in the nest box I built into the chicken tractor and lined so carefully with oat straw. This afternoon I went in search of the elusive eggs.

I suspected a large growth of Pampas Grass at the back corner of the garden, crowded up to the fence. I tried one approach and found only minor indentations into the body of the planting. On the other side, I inched my way along the fence, past the saw-toothed blades and spotted a path that tunneled into the dense foliage. When I stretched my neck and peered into the tunnel...there they were! Ten perfect light blue eggs in a cozy bed of brown Pampas straw. (Let me explain...our chickens are Americanas...they lay beautiful blue eggs)

I am so proud! And so happy. I am high on the wonder of life in it's natural state. Who cares that they don't like my nest boxes. This is what I wanted from my bug control program.

I've been grinning ever since the marvelous find, and cannot wait for tomorrow morning's breakfast.

Edible Flowers

While vegetable production has slowed to a trickle, flowers continue to produce. Zinnias proudly display their deep gold and bold orange petals, marigolds are enjoying the cool weather, and impatiens, in all their colors, continue to bloom.

But it was the hyacinth bean vine that caught my attention this morning, still spreading it's limbs on the goat wire fence. The blossoms are small, but rich in color, and...they are edible! I tasted one...tender, of course, with a full flavored snap bean taste. They will grace salad at dinner tonight.

An amazing number of flowers exist that enhance a dinner plate. Herbs are an obvious choice...chives, basil, lavender...thyme, dill, and cilantro as well. Less obvious are day lilies, (tasting like sweet lettuce or melon) marigolds, (which vary from tangy to peppery) apple blossoms and squash blossoms. And then there is my hyacinth bean...

I'm not an expert cook, so I offer no advice as to how to use them, other than to match them for sight and taste with dishes which seem appropriate to you.

Something there is about eating flowers...a fuller sense of beauty, perhaps...a satisfaction most complete.

The Thing with Okra is...

I have my favorites in the garden, but even the ones I do not favor at the table, I do appreciate. Okra is one of those. I am not southern, and have yet to develop a taste for it.

But as I tour the garden, I find so many things to appreciate, including okra. This morning these words found their way to a page.

The Story of Life in Okra

they stand tall in rows

plumb and evenly spaced

like pine planted decades ago

on a scale of their own

they've grown tall and erect

masai warriors standing sentinel

one faded blossom still remains

some tiny pods

that never will mature

their many hands of green

are tinted light and deeply dark,

some still and brown on slender falling branches

i dislike the taste of okra

slimy and southern as it is

but i listen carefully to it's telling of life's story.

A further endearing piece of information just came to me...it is sibling to cotton, cocoa, and hibiscus.

A Tour of the Garden

At 6 each morning the crowing begins. At about 7:30 I pull on my wellingtons and foray outside to let the chickens loose and spread some laying mash. (it has just become apparent that two of the four 'hens' we bought are roosters, and that will not do, so a change is in the offing)

This also my prime time for touring the garden, fresh with dew, and today...splashed with sunlight. Though not a lot changes from day to day, this time is special for me. It's part of waking and knowing again that the world is right, that tiny seeds grow to be flourishing plants producing fruit and flowers. Time to touch the earth-foundation of life and know that my being, along with all that exists is unshakable.

This morning I found a number of things that pleased me. Purple cabbages and brussel sprouts look promising. Salad greens and swiss chard stay with us, plenty enough for table fare. Hyacinth bean vine begins to color the fence and squash plants are fading gracefully. But I am especially pleased with peppers-both sweet and hot. They continue to grow to maturity. And, oh...the taste!

I love touring my garden in the morning, I do!

Pansies...and Hope

I sat in the pure autumn sun this afternoon and watched a gardener planting pansies. Her pace was without hurry as she carefully removed the plants from the flat and laid them on the ground. She was likewise meticulous as she troweled holes for the plants, slipped them in place, adjusted them so that they sat just right, and then pressed the earth around them.

Her movements telegraphed that she was clearly enjoying the warmth of the sun, the beauty of the day, the vitality of fall flowers, and the feel of earth sifting through her fingers.

To me, it was a picture of hope. Hope...just a few stepping stones away from happiness.