The other cool thing about indoor gardening these past few months has been discovery.  When heart shaped leaves began springing up in my pots in the soil I had taken from the landlord’s garden, I thought that they were clover.

Some of the patches of what I thought was clover were so thick that I decided to scoop them up and plant them in their own tiny pots, a bit of green to help us stay sane this long winter. The leaves tasted a bit like lemon.

By mid-March the greenery had begun to flower, small bright yellow blooms that quickly spread their petals and then just as quickly faded away.  No blooms like I’d ever seen in the clover I remembered from my childhood in Virginia.  Still, I described the plant as clover.  But when the seed pods formed, I realized I should probably do my homework.

No clover do I have growing in the kitchen and other sunny nooks.  With search terms including shape of leaves, color of flowers and seed pods, I was able to discover it is wild sorrel, or in this case, yellow wood sorrel.  Still edible, thank goodness.  I doubt I’ll ever grow enough to reproduce the recipes I’ve found but it is a fun journey nevertheless.


One of the wonders of an indoor garden for me is the opportunity to look back.  I can snip my sprouts, in this case sunflowers, and then after tossing them onto a plate, I can look back at their pot and I find such glorious things like liquid rolling down a stem.

When I shared new photos I’ve taken inside Trinity Church with a friend, he remarked, “I see.  You’re digging deeper into the details.”  More details to share in the future. Have a good day, folks. ;)

awash in color

interior worlds

bizarre beauty

Last summer, a large bee and I had an altercation in the kitchen.  In short, it could not manage to exit out the window through which it had entered and so it now rests in a jar, frozen in time, quite beautiful, I think, if a little macabre.  Off and on, I have tried photographing the creature but nothing clicked until yesterday when the sun shone “just right.” Flowers both real and artificial reflected on the surface of the jar.  The bee’s wings glowed with iridescent light.  Factoring in curvature and irregular thickness of the glass … well, it was a sight that made me grab my camera.

The biologist in me is kind of curious what will happen over time, but likely what will is happen is that later this spring I will bury the bee in a pot full of flowers or maybe under that big oak tree.  We’ll see …


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