Just as we were entering what I like to call “the woodwright shop,” the room where we sat up a mini-woodworking area so Steve can do small projects upstairs instead of in the basement, I noticed the fall of sunlight across the room. “Wow, look at the ferns!” I kind of thought I was talking to myself but to my surprise Steve started rolling that way. I didn’t expect him to reach for the sunlit fern fronds with his left hand but he did. When I asked him what they felt like, he said, “Feels like feathers.”
They are Rabbit’s Foot Ferns. And somehow I’ve amassed a tiny collection. I think it happened during the pandemic when I just wanted some inexpensive greenery in the house to clean the air, add some humidity, etc. And they sure are forgiving when I forget to water. Their furry rhizomes spill out over the pots and from them new leaves emerge.
There’s some serious repotting that needs to be done as soon as I find the right planters. Hmmm. Perhaps I’ve identified Steve’s next small works woodworking project, some nice wooden planters. We’ll see. 🙂
There is a blue jay that likes to sit upon the porch and pound peanuts into any bare earth it can find in one of my pots, most often the pot of marigolds. A dove will occasionally land and then fly away, a fleeting guest, not like the mating pair that tried to nest on the porch during the pandemic. Now that I’ve added some pots of long willowy grass, lemongrass and zebra, sparrows will do a curiosity flyby but have not yet landed that I’ve seen.
I’m tempted to put out a water feature but that might attract more than birds. I am quite pleased with the porch this year. It was garden therapy i thought for Steve but it has surely been for me as well. I tell people I think I have reached capacity in terms of adding more containers but even as I look out the door now I can imagine one or two more containers just ‘cause. It is primarily a culinary space with many pots of basil, mint, lavender, thyme, rosemary and oregano. I added the lemongrass for height and texture though I know it is used in cooking as well.
I keep telling Steve the violas are edible but that’s a lost argument. Most attractive to me at the moment is the lavender. I’m sure for Steve it is the basil which he just pinched yesterday and we made a small batch of pesto for dinner.
I think of it as a mini-healing garden. I learned of the concept on my journey with Steve these past few years, sitting with him or by myself, in the rooftop gardens of different hospitals. Due to recent mobility challenges Steve had not been able to sit out there though he helped plant many of the containers. I call those Saturday mornings at the kitchen table surrounded by dirt our indoor gardening time. He pots the plants and I position them on the porch. He could only look out but of late we’ve learned of these things called suitcase ramps and voila he is able to sit in our little garden.
He doesn’t crave it the way that I do. We’ve discussed the fact that, in Virginia, I grew up in a porch culture and he most certainly did not. When he does sit out there I hope there is some benefit to mind and body. It is mid-July and the violas are fading. New opportunities await for filling some containers.
I’m in the mood to plan a winter garden. I think in the coming week that is one of the things I shall endeavor to do in one of my blank notebooks. Design a garden. Now planning such a garden, and even implementing it, will in no way save the world or “fight the powers that be” but it will center me and that’s important for when I am ready to deal with the insanities of this world through words or images, my pocketbook or my vote.
I did garden this past spring and summer. It was a hodge podge, not a great failure, but not quite the success of previous years. Even so I did find joy in cooking with the fresh herbs and even in watching their beautiful decay when I would forget to water them. Ahem.
Growing lavender indoors was a spur of the moment experiment. Not wholly successful but still growing and smelling delightful. That’s the plant I unfortunately watered too much. But I’m learning.
Part of the winter garden will include the geraniums given as a gift by a young friend not knowing that I mostly grow herbs inside. The red petals, when fresh and now dried, brighten several rooms and I hope they will do so this winter. We’ll see …
I need to prepare for winter in all sorts of ways. I am beginning by planning my garden. I finally, finally, finally cleared away those things that had died or had served their time and their purpose. I consolidated the potted herbs that thrived like the oregano with those herbs struggling but worth nurturing like the tarragon. Spread around me are empty pots, vases and votives. So many votives in different colors and sizes. I love lighting tealight candles in the winter time, not so much to banish the darkness but to bring out the beauty as light and shadow dance on the various surfaces.
In previous winters I’ve grown tomatoes and potatoes in addition to herbs, sprouts and edible flowers. I live in a house with many windows so there is a wonderful greenhouse effect. Though I sometimes freeze the plants do surprisingly well as light pours in at different angles throughout the wintry days. It’s not yet happened but it will — the oak tree that towers over one side of the house will lose its leaves and even more light will enter. I try to remember that as I plan my gardening strategy.
It is also a decorating strategy. What is it that I want to see and perhaps even need to see in the winter time as I enter a room or hallway in my home? What do I want others to see? While I don’t think I think it through that thoroughly it is a rather, soothing creative time. It might also be a procrastination time … there are so many books I need to read, want to read, and things I need to write. But I choose to believe that putting those things aside, concentrating on this task of cleaning, arranging and strategizing is part of my creative process.
I am done for the day and pleased enough with the results so far. My to do list for next week includes buying a small bag of potting soil and then I’ll begin to plant my sprouts and we’ll see what else falls in to the soil.
I suspect my perspective of these flowers, mostly planted in a median strip, are somewhat colored by having recently watched a documentary on the Hubble telescope. Enjoy, and have a good day, folks.
Not with my one pea pod. In the right light I can see the tiny peas. One for sure. Two maybe. I’m hoping for three. The whole pod is about three-quarters of an inch. The largest pea is the size of the smallest seed bead and the smallest pea like a period. Why does such a tiny thing bring me joy? Even in the midst of pain, physical or otherwise, I look at that pod and it makes me smile. And I wish I could box up that feeling, in tiny boxes of course, and mail it out to the friends and family who need some joy in their lives. Or at least a momentary smile.
I ended the year feeling a bit prickly. But I do not like to stew in negativity and so this morning I decided to spend a few moments photographing the literal prickles on the few cacti I have scattered about my home.
No problems were solved but the act of movement, of looking outside of myself, was a wonderful exercise. And, to be honest, I think I’ve taken these cacti for granted. Tucked in various corners, they need so little care that I sometimes forget about them as I fawn over delicate sprouts and herbs and the occasional flowers and veggies I grow indoors.
I’m glad they were there on this New Year’s Day. 😉
As a child I remember a wire fence separating our house and yard from that of the neighbor’s. Along this fence twined the milkweed vines so thick that we were sometimes a stop for errant monarch butterflies. And there entwined amidst these sturdy vines were the delicate strands of the honeysuckle.
A friend taught me how to harvest the nectar. Quite tasty though I did wonder how long would it take to fill a glass or even just a thimble.
Sometimes I’d attempt to braid the vines to make tiny crowns for my dolls’ heads (because my brothers would not deign to wear them). The flowers adorned play dough cakes and moist mud pies. With hindsight, I wish that I had placed them upon the dark red mulberries that I once handed to my dad on a tea set plate.
Just some of the thoughts that came to mind as I recently stood next to a wall of honeysuckle.
Words + Images 