Summer...

The Independence Day holiday has just passed, and technically we're only 3 weeks into summer, but that milestone (the 4th of July) always seems to mark the "halfway point" in the summer season.  I suppose it is because schools start so much earlier than they used to.

I'm sitting on the back porch, watching the sun set behind the mares as they graze in pasture now rich and green from the 15 inches of rain we had last week.  A doe ventures into the field from the creek, and 5 dogs are immediately screaming across the grass, making it clear that it is unwelcome as long as they are on duty.  The other evening I returned home to find 3 doe and twin fawn grazing amid the horses, everyone getting along just fine.  I watched until they wandered off, amazed at the manner in which the mothers communicated with their young through only ear twitches and subtle movements.

It's been a trying week; holiday weekends always are but also because a dear friend was critically injured in an accident and air lifted to Erlanger.  Monday and Tuesday become one long blur.  She is amazingly strong, and while still in intensive care, and with a massively long road ahead of her, we feel more confident that the imminent danger has passed.  Life on the farm is not the same without her daily interaction in our lives, and the dogs are out of sorts as well, as "howling with Janie" is a near daily ritual.  In the pain and tragedy of the experience was a stark reminder of the tenuous thread which binds us all, and how rapidly it can unravel.  We will continue to do whatever we can to support our friend, but that will become more important as she begins the arduous process of physical rehabilitation and transitioning back to her home just down the road from us.

The garden is coming along beautifully, with everything doing well except the peppers, and a second sowing of my favorite veggies have just been put in.  Sunflowers and zinnia provide pops of festive color, and early evening "porch sitting", listening to the snorts of the mares, watching the bees pollinate and enjoying the songs of our many feathered residents is the highlight of the day.  Our farm is now a certified Wildlife Habitat by the National Wildlife Federation!

Lightening bugs are blinking their mating signals as I watch the last bits of daylight fade.  Venus and Jupiter are up in the western sky, hanging just above the large black walnut tree to my left.  Hounds litter the deck around me, tree frogs serenade down by the creek, and aside from the stench of the chicken litter that my neighbor has spread on his field, it's a pretty darn perfect, 75 degree summer night!

I've intended to put up some of my favorite waterfall hikes/scenic drives, and I will.  I think what I've learned from all that has happened with my friend is that you do what you can with regard to the non-major stuff, and aside from love, friends, and
relationships, it's all pretty non-major stuff.  There will always be work to do; we may not always have the people we love to visit with.  The next time someone pops by just to chat and you're "too busy", I hope you'll pause and take the time.  When you're rushing about stressed with all that "must be done", just find a bit of nature and sit for a moment.  The stores here sell a sign that I love:  "Never get so busy making a living that you forget to have a life."  Excellent advice.

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.