We are stardust.
We are golden.
And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden. Joni Mitchell
I’m planting onions, “caging” tomatoes, weeding around the spinach, moving compost and readying a bed for beans.
But I stop this flourish of backyard activity to write for twenty minutes, without inferring (see yesterday’s post), in a neighborhood community garden a couple miles away. Writing only what my senses tell me–the large rosemary bush in the center of a brick framed plot, the trill of a mockingbird from one of a dozen large trees nearby, a small whirlwind of oak leaves–is easy enough in a setting I love. No one else is there and less than half a dozen people pass on the sidewalk behind me.
As I’m driving home, I consider adding yellow squash to my garden. The last three times I planted this vegetable, the dreaded squash vine borer invaded my “crop” leaving only frustration and a few small, mushy squash. I head toward the farm store for plants. It’s time to try again.
- Dear Community Gardeners Everywhere (reclaimthecurb.org)
- The View from the Gate (mrcboteler.wordpress.com)