In the garden....

...life and its troubles are forgotten.  There is no stress, no pain, no suffering.  There is only the smell of earth and mulch, the hum of bees, the joy of dirt and harvest.  The horses come 'round when I'm there, curious as to what has attracted my attention to their 'neglect.'  And by neglect, they mean that they haven't had delivery of fresh watermelon rind yet and that is wholly unacceptable.

I've grown flowers for as long as I can remember; they are easy.  Vegetables...this is new.  I am not the only one who cares to eat them, and they are fussy.  I am grateful for the pack-o-nine hounds that keep the deer at bay, limiting their forays into the pasture to the region just beyond the riparian zone by the creek.  An abundance of marigolds - literally one planted between every vegetable plant, has kept the insects to a minimum.

The herbs...oh...the smell.  It's not enough for me to snip them for meals.  I need to break a bit each morning and inhale their scent.

We're starting the second planting of french beans, cilantro, and dill.  The tomatoes are coming on nicely but not yet ready.  I have a recipe saved from Garden & Gun magazine (how great is that title? It's one of my favorites and as Southern as it gets...) for fried green tomatoes that I am dying to try.

My friend Deborah of MacCarthy farms (check out her page on Facebook; her gardens are almost as beautiful as she is - inside and out - and her knowledge base is insane) gave me plant starts of Ronde de Nice squash (the round one in the back of the photo), zucchini, a variety of basils, tomatoes, melons, cukes.  Essentially the only thing I managed on my own was asparagus, dill, some basil, sage, and a second round of tomato starts after learning the hard way what NOT to do...).  I purchased peppers and they floundered.  I transplanted them to containers after reading that they like rich well-drained soil, and am waiting to see....

Anyway!  The harvest has begun.  David sliced zucchini julienne style tonight, and pan-seared in Irish butter with minced fresh garlic and red pepper.  Served with grilled steaks and sautéed mushrooms, it was divine.

I'll pack the cukes with some imitation crab meat and a splash of teriyaki sauce for lunch tomorrow, and it will be a treat as I have a big cabin turning around.  It will be my first 'turn-around' clean since I've taken over some of the housekeeping duties.  We'll see how that goes..but lunch will be good!

I miss riding, spare time, swimming in the pond after walking the dogs, yoga class....but I am grateful for fledgling birds, Birdette and Fiona, the hounds, chances to love on Faith Elizabeth and how much she loves watermelon.

You don't get a guarantee at birth; there is no 'sure thing.'  There's just life.  Surrendering to that is the first step to peace.  I'm still searching...

Namaste.

Simple Contemplation

The air is cool in the morning.  We may be in the mountains, but it's still the South, and afternoons are a bear.   I carry Abbie out to use the bathroom (she's doing extremely well and doesn't need to be carried, it's simply part of her diva personality), and turn the hose on the garden.  Watching it grow has been magical and I picked my first squash and zucchini yesterday.

Grab a cup of iced coffee, head to the back porch, fill the bird feeders, check on Birdette and Fiona, and settle in to "observe."  This morning, Hank is lying by the top of the deck stairs, Maxie is sitting by the grill and Abbie is wandering between the two.  Chance has taken up his post on the front porch, ready to ward off anyone who dare approach, with his deep bark.

And I just sit, and watch. I watch Doc, the roan stallion in the next pasture quietly grazing, and the seemingly infinite variety of birds that flit back and forth from the great black walnut trees to grab a seed then retreat to enjoy it in private.  I am in awe of the work ethic of the bluebirds and tree swallows, skimming the pasture for breakfast for their babies, tucked safely in the nesting boxes, with relentless determination.  There's no Plan B for them, nor would they consider complaining.  They do what is necessary; they don't expect anyone to do it for them.  I admire them.

I smile at the charge of the mares across the creek into their "club room," the series of tunnels and open spaces they've carved out of the heavy woods on the other side: a shady and cool retreat where they'll spend a good bit of the day.  Grace is definitely not Kachina's middle name as she moves with the delicacy of a lumberjack through the narrow passageway.

This has become my morning ritual.  Observing, coffee, light yoga to stretch out my body, meditation to quiet my mind.  I bring my date book and my journal to make notes on thoughts that I know I will forget, for some of the best ideas come during this time.  I do not speak; not even to the dogs.  Silence is a key part of observation.  It is impossible to listen with your mouth going.

The chipping sparrow has a fledgling and she's teaching it where the food is.  I've been watching her teach it all manner of things this week, either from the hammock where I do my evening observation or here, in the mornings.  The baby's call is distinct and 'cluttered': too many notes.  It will become more succinct as it ages.  Only one baby is odd, but there are many predators for young birds.

Something visited close to the house last night, for Ellie the Walker Hound has her nose practically embedded in the earth under the tree just to my left, totally focused on the scent, and oddly silent.  Ah - there it is.  She has found the trail and is off through the pasture toward the creek, baying in a way that most definitely is not conducive to quiet reflection, but she makes me smile.

The fog is burning off as the sun crests the mountain behind me.  The golden hour light is gone.  It has been a challenging few weeks, and I have many questions.  The answers are here, for all of us.  We just have to be still and listen.

Namaste.