Really trying hard to get the garden in but it’s just a helluva job with no tiller (hand weeding ain’t easy) and I need to do something about the soil. Somehow got Fusarium Wilt on last year’s beautiful tomato plants and it killed all the different varieties as well as the squash plants.
Also have a problem with too much acid from the overhanging coniferous trees (added lime) and too much shade from same. The symbiotic relationship of the peaches and grapes needed to be tested before they took over the rest of the sunny spots so I closed my eyes while el esposo took a handsaw to some of the branches. Unfortunately, he was looking out for himself in getting them out of his mowing way and I just don’t have it in me to cut any more if there’s the fuzz of a baby peach clinging on.
So the hoeing is still being done in hour shifts–that’s the fourth problem; cain’t get around like I useta–and I hope to get the tomato and pepper plants in this evening, and I should be out there bright and early in the morning to put in the seeds.
And as usual, do a little dance to the Garden Gods for an Indian Summer.
. . . or ADD? Notice where the bookmarks in each sit.
It must be the poet in
I was extremely curious as to what
Mindy Bray’s
In what she terms “verbal visuals”–and what a lovely term for visual story–
As a picture framer I’ve come across old tintypes but didn’t realize that photographers still use the process. Well, artists like Jessica Somers do, with some heartacheingly beautiful results.
Last year I posted here about the collaboration between
I really need to point to some of the incredible work being done on the
angles. As anyone who’s painted a room with windows on various walls can attest, light changes color and two walls with the same paint will often show up as different as these images illustrate. Light, for John, holds the brush; he finds the story that is painted into the composition.
Maggie claims ” I think all of you who write are so creative and good long-range planners, too! I can barely come up with one story . . .) But Maggie is wrong.
Yes I know; where have I been? Haven’t I been reading and why haven’t I posted about literature?
following its instinct and free of human intervention can find what it needs to survive in the crack of concrete and gather its bits of dirt around itself and sprout where it’s fallen on the step from my hands last September where I sat collecting the seeds for this year’s planting. Which depend upon me and still wait.
But even the great call to attend to the gardens and yards doesn’t get its full attention from me this spring. I have wrapped myself up in a hypertext world so am writing, writing and creating natural things that come out of my head and do not like dirt and birdseed.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology