Tuesday, October 20, 2009

An Eternal Love


Every year we take this particular drive to see the fall colors. We often end up taking it twice because the first time we go too early. I am quite certain that we could eliminate this redundancy if we did a wee bit of research before hand. Each year one of us mentions this little fact and each year we both look away and pretend not to have heard a thing. We like this drive. We take our time and will often take mysterious side roads for no apparent reason other than curiosity. It adds a sense of adventure and discovery to our little drives.

We follow rivers and waterfalls to cut through mountain passes and ski resorts. There are sweeping vistas of the richest greens cushioning fierce and rugged mountain peaks with crystal clear waterfalls seeming to pour from every rock and crevice. When winter’s cold hand turns them to ice it will look as though the mountain is crying diamonds.

Passing downward we again follow along the rapid flowing river as it winds its way through the mountain pass. There are so many places to stop and marvel that it is impossible to imagine having to pick only a few. We always turn our heads to grab a quick peak at Deception Falls. That is an entirely different trip though so we have to pass it by on this one. Spring time is the best for that one when the snow is melting the falls are rushing and roaring so loud you can barely the person next to you. But this is fall so we just give it a fond glance as we pass by.

The scenery on this drive is enough to break your heart. You almost have to wonder at the purpose of such beauty. Edward O. Wilson suggested that the world was beautiful to us because we were creatures of it. In his book Consilience he connects science to beauty in such an elegant and reverent way saying that everything about who and what we are is created to perceive this beauty. It is as though our very existence were meant to rejoice in the beauty around us. I am gratefully not finding it difficult to perform this portion of my human duties.

The river winds along chasing rocks and fallen trees as we follow it to the valley below. The trees and shrubs along the way are bursting with an unimaginable explosion of color and seeing the sunlight through the autumn leaves always makes me cry. It is as if these two elements were always meant for one another. It is a beautiful love affair between them, perfect and eternal. I feel small against this spectacle. It is one of those blessed times that I am granted a clearer perspective of my own humanity.

Of course fall is one of those cozy up to the fire times full of pumpkins, hay bales and hot apple cider. It is warm and pleasant with the sweet melancholy of sepia toned photographs and faded summer flowers. There is a moment however just before that which touches my soul deeper than any memory or personal thought ever could. It is this beautiful dance between eternal lovers. When the sunlight hits those leaves its like there’s no one else in the room. It’s just them, each one glowing in the other’s gaze. And so we stop at this little grove every year to watch this dance between the sun and the trees. There will be plenty of time for pumpkins and cider but for right now I am content to watch a beautiful love story play out another chapter in this golden romance.


We will follow this river to our next stop in Leavenworth for some Bavarian fun and then onto the Wenatchee orchards for tree fresh apples and pears. There may even be some grapes left at the vineyards.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Scrappily Honest


This is a slightly different post for me today but then again I don’t really have an actual theme do I? I keep looking for one but just can’t seem to figure it out. I have decided that I will post pictures for no good reason. Why? Because I like them, because it will give you something to look at while you are wondering just why in the world you come to my blog. It will distract you from my writing and you will forget all about that dangling participle or misplaced comma. Quick! Look over there. Ooh pretty flower….

Tara over at Eye Feathers hit me with… I mean honored me with the Honest Scrap Award. It’s sort of like Slug Bug for the Internet. It’s a game, people get hit, somebody cries and someone always gets in trouble. So I said, “You bet I’m in!”
Here are the rules:
You tell ten truthful things about yourself.
You pass the award on. You know like that horrible cold you had last winter.
You include the link for the louse…darn, I mean the super great friend who gave it to you
And include links to your victims, shoot…nominees.
Not only does Tara have a wicked sense of injustice she is also a pretty savvy editor and not to shabby with a pen and paper of her own. She is currently working on a novel for young adults. Give her a visit.

OK so here I go. Just like truth or dare but without the bottle and the cute guy your spin never lands on. At least my hands aren’t sweaty…anymore

Ten truths about me

1. I paint to disaster movies. It keeps the other side of my brain occupied so I can just do and not think. Dante's Peak being a frequent disaster. As a matter of fact the more you watch it the more you see just how big of a disaster it is. Love that movie. hehe
2. I regularly encourage my adult son to quit his day job. He has a good job. I have my reasons.
3. I bite M&Ms in half. OK, there’s no defense for that I just do.
4. When I was a kid in the first two weeks of the school year I would read through all my text books and do all the work. I think I might be an undiagnosed nerd.
5. I saved a man’s life. (not kidding)
6. Painting or sculpture I always hate it right before I am finished. I have learned to stop tossing them out.
6.a. Bonus truth: I secretly want to take back paintings I have sold and “fix” them. My ego is attending group meetings. We’re working it out.
7. When I was kid I ate Peanut M&Ms while watching Sean Connery in Live or Let Die. I got sick. I threw them up. To this day I can not look at a Peanut M without gagging. Looking at Sean Connery, not a problem.
8. I worry that I will die before I have done anything spectacular with my life.
9. I’m not afraid to die. I’m just not interested. No seriously. I’m not interested.
10. While I appreciate grocery stores I hate shopping in them. It’s the lighting and deliberative psychological layout. It rubs my instincts the wrong way.

Now this is the part where I list my victims…I mean my nominees. There is a wonderful mix of characters here so I hope you will stop by each of their blogs if you don’t already. Yes, even if they don’t want to get all honest and stuff. Oh, come on guys, it’s not like I’m asking you to reveal your deepest darkest secrets to the whole wide world. Well, unless you want to that is. I mean that’s ok if you do. It’ll be just between friends. You can totally trust us. It’s only the Internet after all. Who could possibly be watching?


Terry Lynn Johnson: I want to learn more about someone with such an appreciation of nature and her adventurous spirit. Was she outdoorsy as a kid or is this new? Has she ever been attacked by wild animals? What’s the strangest thing she ever ate? Does she secretly wear fuzzy pink slippers because they make her feel girly?

NuttyGnome: Because while we have only just met she sure seems like very interesting character and I have questions. How did she get that way? What is going on in that quirky head of hers? Does she have a maniacal master plan written up somewhere? Does she have minions and what’s the application process for that?

Rosey Pollen: because she just seems really fun, brave and like a pretty cool person. I also bet she has some juicy dark secrets. Hehe Has she ever been in a motorcycle gang or a member of a quilting bee? Does she have a secret talent that we don’t know about?

Janie is a brand new mystery to me. I just met her but I love her energetic spirit, joy for life and I would like to know more about just what makes her tick. What is it that puts that great big light up a room smile on her face?

FlowerLady: My sweet dear friend who has had a pretty interesting life and yet is so shy about it. What wonderful adventures has she had that she keeps stored away in a box at the back of the closet? What makes her such a sweet and thoughtful person? Is it the bread machine or her adventures in Europe? Who is the mysterious DH and does he have anything to do with it? Does she wear fuzzy pink slippers because they make her feel adventurous?

Jeni at Highly Irritable: just because I wanted to see if she would yell at me for tagging her. The woman is a terror and her children are plotting world domination. Seriously, if you want to know the enemy you should read her blog. Her stories are hilarious and so representative of what we’re all thinking but too chicken to say out loud.

Jewel at Pink Ink: this amazing woman is always trying on new hats in her life. She lacks the good sense to be insecure and embarrassed like most of us. She lives boldly, with passion and honesty and I just want to see what she has to say. It should be a lot of fun!

You realize of course that I have we will never hear from these guys and that I have been banned from their blogs. sigh. It is a terrible price we pay for art.
A Post post correction: In item number 7 I stated it was Sean Connery in Live or Let Die. A reader has graciously informed that it was actually Roger Moore in that film. A great big Oops and apology to all involved. I still think Sean Connery is pretty nice to look at though.

Survivor - Extreme Home Edition episode 4


When we last left our contestants the unsuspecting, hardworking, pure hearted heroine and the loyal, dedicated and steadfast Saint were readying for bed. The kindly old doctor, having been driven over the edge by a clerical error, was pushing his own special brand of health care and the cruel eeevillle Rock was last seen plotting world domination. A maniacal laughter was heard rising in the hills.

“It’s almost eleven at night what the heck is he thinking?” asked the Sainted one. “Well, I don’t know but I don’t want an ambulance coming out here. I think the old guy’s cracked” replied our hardworking and did I mention excruciatingly beautiful heroine.

So off we go into the night for a long drive of uncertainty. Sure there was a hospital near by closer to home but we were still city folk and I wasn’t ready to share a straw lined waiting room with the local livestock. We drove the extra thirty minutes into the city so we could be appropriately greeted by sickly florescent lights, scratched linoleum and cold surly indifferent doctors. In times of stress it is of the utmost importance to feel that extra care and comfort that can only be delivered by overworked underpaid nurses who didn’t have the grades to get into Corrections training at Maximum Security. I mean seriously, if you are going to be naked in a paper gown three sizes to small for your um… personals, and cheap uni-socks are your only claim to real clothing as some stranger sticks, probes and generally molests you, it really should be a professional.



Sure there were some worried moments on the drive over but this was ridiculous. There couldn’t be anything really wrong with me. I was hammering away on the rock, moving stone and hauling logs just a few short hours ago. How could anything be wrong? But there was worry. Your doctor doesn’t call you at home after ten thirty if there isn’t something “wrong.” I just couldn’t imagine what it might be. So we joked about it instead. We blamed it on computer error then, we worried. We blamed the doctor for hiring lousy assistants, then we laughed, then worried. Eventually we got to the hospital emergency room.

I walked up to the admitting desk and told the nurse why I was there. She said they knew and had been expecting me. I wondered, “Could this get any weirder?” Yes, yes it could. One nurse worked on taking my vitals as another worked on taking my information. I said I was confused and could they explain just what the heck was going on? I couldn’t decide if I should be worried, annoyed or amused. The admit nurse turned her computer screen so that I could see it and said “This is what your doctor saw when he got your report back this evening.” On the screen was a long list of well, doctory things I had never seen before. It was the complete work up on my blood from earlier in the day. She showed me columns and rows of items and numbers all highlighted in green. She scrolled down a bit and pointed to several rows in bright flashing red with the word “Critical” bolded in capital letters blinking like the nose on a cheap Frosty the Snowman display.


I smiled. “Well sure, I cold see why he was a little unnerved then. I suppose that kind of error will get your attention.” She didn’t smile back. “Well what does it mean?” “It means you have no blood.” She didn’t say to me, “It means you’re anemic.” No, she said you have no blood. “This test says you have only a third of the blood volume you should have. A person with this low blood volume doesn’t just walk in here on their own. They come in an ambulance. Nor do you show any signs of anemia which is why it most likely a mistake but we have to check it out.”

More nurses and another vitals check just in case. They even checked my eyes for the tell tale paleness but found them fresh and rosy instead. They took some more blood to test which seemed oddly counter productive considering the situation. And everyone was in agreement that there I seemed perfectly fine. We all had a good laugh at how silly this whole thing was and I went back to wait with the Saint who was pretending to be comfortable on an impossibly hard chair. I was tired a becoming just a bit annoyed at being inconvenienced for someone else’s error. Eventually someone wearing a white coat over pink and white sheep pants called my name. Finally this silliness was over and we could go home.
Uh, NO.


”I need you to follow me into the back here. Your husband can come also if you like.” OK. We are ushered into the triage room where a row of beds is sectioned off with plastic curtains on shower rods. The woman in the shower curtained stall next to me is intoxicated way past being funny and shouting about something which apparently happened in an alternate universe. I still have no idea why I am here but I have been instructed to dress up in a high quality paper gown. The uni-socks are lying next to it like tiny blue pelts. The intoxicated woman in shower stall 4 still shouting now begins to violently throw up. I miss the impossibly hard chairs.

Finally when I am all gussied up in my brand new outfit someone in a white coat who is not wearing pink and white sheep pants comes in to tell me how I will be spending the rest of my night. “The blood work has come back and the original test was accurate though your numbers are a bit lower now.” WHAT? “We are setting up a room for you now. The blood for the transfusion is on its way.” WHAT? Apparently I can’t hear anything he is saying because while his lips are moving there is no sound coming out. I just smile at him like he’s a little slow. He smiles back and I stare at him like I am a little slow.
He explained that while it didn’t seem to make sense and that I shouldn’t be in the apparent good condition that I was it was however true that I had no blood. Well mostly. He told me that my wrongly maligned doctor had probably saved my life because I would probably not have made it through the night. He said they would be down to take me to my room in a few minutes. I sat there on the edge of the shower curtained bed with the exact same expression the farm animals I expected to see in the straw lined waiting room back home. The woman next door continued to wretch.
It was a much longer process than I had ever imagined. In the movies they just wheel some desperate looking sap in on a gurney next to the pale dying patient. They hook up some tubes and poof, blood starts to flow and everyone is up for a cup of tea in a few minutes. Turns out it doesn’t work that way in real life. It was an all night affair on a slow drip with bags coming and going.

I sent the Saint home and settled in. In the meantime the big pond would miss a day of work. The blasted Rock had won this one but this isn’t over yet. I shake my tiny bloodless fist at you Evil Rock and vow my vengeance. A break for refueling and it’s back ON! Just you wait and see what I can do with a full tank buddy. It was starting to get personal.

And this concludes today’s episode of Survivor Extreme Home Edition. Tune in next time when we find out just where did all those river rocks come from? How big is this beast anyway and why did one solution lead to an entirely separate emergency surgery? Will the handsome chiropractor make his heroic debut or will our heroine finally be crushed in a stony defeat? Until next time on Survivor Extreme Home Edition episode 5…

Monday, October 12, 2009

Don't you feel tired yet?


It has turned cool the past few days. A cold system from Alaska and beyond has been slipping by and teasing us with winter promises. It is still a bit too early for the trees to really be in their flashy fall outfits but some of them are too eager to wait and have begun primping for the big show. The long dry summer we had brought some unusual rewards in my garden this year. Many plants that would be dormant many weeks by now are instead blooming. There are oriental poppies blooming with fiery red sumacs and forget-me-nots putting on a private show behind the waterfalls. The “blooms once a season” climbing roses are flowering like it was June. Candy tuft is making an encore as are the delicate lavender water hyacinth. I had planned on filling the compost bin with them. They had other plans apparently. I even have sword ferns that have decided to unfurl one last frond or two before the winter season hits. Honeysuckle is sweetly blooming right along as though it had no idea what time it was.


I have loved every single flower and speck of green this year; from the first colorful peek of tiny crocus to the full blown shameless display of six foot daisies. The colors and flowers of spring and summer have paraded in the grandest display of exuberance. The scents have carried me away to distant lands of memory and future fantasies. I have delighted at the determined and unexpected sprouts that grew to become spectacular plants. Just not exactly where I planted them.


I have especially rejoiced in the tenacious spirit of plants that refused to die. The little sumac tree in these pictures for instance. Last summer I dug him out of my neighbor’s trash. Her rambunctious dogs had chewed the poor thing down to a nub. It looked pretty darn dead. One day I noticed that dead stick in the trash was leafing. There was no dirt anywhere to be found in that trash can but this little stick was not impressed with that trivial detail. He wasn’t giving up so easy. I took him home and put his one foot length of dead stick and single leaf in a bucket of water. Later I planted him above the pond and he took off like the weed he knew he could be.



I have stories of near death experiences throughout my garden. There are plants that I culled from the dead racks parked by trash bins at nurseries and behind Home Depot. Orphans that no one wanted, sad little flowerless plants with sagging leaves kicked to the curb and left for dead. I offered them sanctuary from neglect and pretty plant syndrome and they found a home in my garden. They have rewarded me with an abundance of lush growth and riotous color for which I am truly grateful.


Now the weather begins to hint at an end to this long day we call summer and I am finally ready. I am ready to put my pastel summer dress away in favor of a warmer richer sweater. I am ready to turn my iced tea in for a hot cup of cocoa and cool salads in exchange for hearty stews. This has been one fantastic party and I have partied like a rock star. I took pictures like a tourist with a new camera and I oohed and ahhed like a fan at a Hollywood premier. I have had a ball but it’s getting late and I am getting tired. I am ready to curl up next to the fire with a blanket and a hot cup of Joe. So will somebody please tell my stupid garden to pack it in and go to sleep already? I don’t want to be out there deadheading in the middle of December! Oriental poppies in October? Come ON!

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Survivor - Extreme Home Edition episode 3 The Big Pond


On this week’s episode of Survivor Extreme Home Edition our contestants risk their sanity and good gardening tools while putting their very lives in danger in their quest for the prize. A great big time sucking hole in the ground filled with watery green slime. Whoohoo! Now who wouldn’t want that? If you would like to be a contestant on Survivor Extreme Home Edition please call this toll free number 1-800 What was I thinking or text Quick somebody check my meds. Operators are standing by…most likely laughing their butts off.

The rules of the game are: two players, two dimes not on friendly terms so rubbing together, one pick ax and a shovel, and someone’s going to the hospital. This last card may be replayed at random intervals.

The arrow on the left in the above picture is where I thought there was a dig-able rock. Well there was a rock there and it was sort of dig-able but it certainly was not dig-out-able. It literally was the mountain side. The spot there under the arrow turned out to just be a high point. I mistakenly thought High-light. I just thought we would start with something big and make a focal point out of it. We started trying to dig and found we were not so much digging as much as we were scraping. Apparently there had been just enough debris collected for weeds to grow. The deceptive little bast*%#@!

A lot of times when talking about the work in building this garden I will say I this or I that. The reason for that is because it was pretty much I this or that. Not to be misleading, my husband is a complete saint and he did help me tremendously whenever he could but he was simply not physically here for most of it. I am an artist and therefore have a lot more control over my time than someone with a “real” job. I had been working on scaling down my work load and other commitments for some time so that at this point I could focus on building something new. I didn’t know what that something was going to be. I just knew that it was time to fill up my personal well and forge a new direction. While I did continue to paint and sculpt to a much lesser degree my sainted husband kept his day job. This was probably much more self serving on his part than I realized at the time. Again, the deception!

While he worked his cushy air conditioned day job, going out seeing people and being in the world, I worked the Rock. I worked the Rock in the hot blistering sun wearing ratty old clothes while my fancy high heels sat in a box in the closet. I swung a pick ax into hard rock while my sable brushes gathered dust and I sucked dust while my friends were sipping wine. I dug up boulders from the earth and found new and clever ways to utilize a refrigerator mover (also known as a hand cart). I scouted for gnarly stumps and logs in the woods to drag home. I didn’t care how big or impossible a rock or stump was to move if I liked it. All I knew was that I was going to figure out how to get it back home. I rigged pulleys and levers when I needed but mostly just built new muscle to get the job done. It was hot sweaty hard man work and at night I fell into bed like a member of a chain gang and woke at dawn to do it again.

The Rock just laughed at me. It had mocked me and my suburban vision of a nice little focal piece. I continued to scrape and clear away the debris, I pulled the evil weeds and the rock just kept going. There was no end and I could hear it snickering late at night. I swear that thing grinned at me when I came out in the mornings. Oh, it was so ON.

One day the Saint came home and asked what I needed him to do. I told you he was a saint. I cast a sly grin toward the Rock and said “honey… let’s turn this thing into a pond.” He just smiled. And I smiled back. Then he smiled harder. And I nodded my head yes. Then he began to cry. I didn’t care. I’m heartless that way. I grabbed the shovel and began to outline where I thought the pond should go. He continued to sob loudly. I took that to mean that I wasn’t making the pond big enough so I outlined some more. I lost sight of him for awhile. Later I found him sitting in the closet for some reason. I grabbed a shoe box and began to detail my plans with a stick on the lid. He seemed very excited. He had begun to cry again.

The next day I set out to work my new vision. I began a daily routine of pick axing the gravel then shoveling it to the side. I would work this way until I had to give that set of muscles a break and then would lug some rocks or sawdust for awhile instead. In the evening the Saint would come home and help me with the things I couldn’t do on my own. We worked together till the sun went down and the endless days were filled with mind numbing labor.

One day a couple of months into the work I decided that I should see my doctor for a small complaint I had. I had been ill with the flu just prior to moving here and starting this little project and I just didn’t feel like I was getting my strength back to the level I thought it should be. Perhaps I thought I had some lingering infection that I just couldn’t quite shake. So I took the precious time away from my little project and drove myself into the city for a little check up. I was a bit embarrassed at being such a hypochondriac but I was just getting annoyed at having to take breaks, so in I went.


He checked me out took my blood pressure looked at all the things they look at and took some blood for good measure. He told me that I seemed fine and sent me on my way saying that maybe I should take a day off once in awhile. We both chuckled at this. He knows me. I got home, donned my chain gang clothes and hit the Rock for the rest of the day.

Later that night around ten thirty, I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang. The Saint answers and a few minutes later and says the call is for me. “I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth; tell them I’m in bed already.” “No honey, you need to take this.” “Well who the hell is it?” “It’s the doctor.” “What?” I was incredulous. So late at night where are his manners I wonder? He begins to tell me that I have to get to the emergency room immediately. I am completely confused but I am pretty certain he has lost his mind. Sad really, he was such a nice man. I tell him that I am just getting into bed but I promise to go first thing in the morning. Like all crazy people he had an uncanny sense that I was humoring him and then he said this; “If you do not go to the emergency room immediately I will send an ambulance with police escort to get you.”
Oh my goodness, look at the word count! We are going to have to pick this up again next time. Is the kindly old doctor losing his faculties or has there been a clerical error by his long time and loyal assistant? Will our contestant take the threat seriously or will the police escort be necessary? Find out next time on Survivor Extreme Home Edition episode 4.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

Trolls and the Cruelest Mother Ever


There were no rocks on my mind today, no doubt a few in it but not exactly on it. Then I suppose that just veers off into some silly Monty Python episode. But I digress, though I’ve barely started. I think sums up my Sunday.

Monty Python actually had some pretty healthy advice laced throughout their comedy. Life is too serious to take seriously. I am a huge advocate of taking control of your time on earth and living every moment at least a couple of times. I have skipped out on death often enough to know that every moment actually counts twice. You don’t have to climb mountains or jump out of planes, you don’t need to conquer the world or even travel it for that matter in order to live fully; but you do have to own every moment inside and out. I don’t believe that you have to be happy and infused with joy all the time but I do look for it and try to create it if I can.


When our son was a teenager I told him that we were not going to buy him a brand new car like the rest of his friends at school. I told him that I thought kids should suffer a little in life. He was genuinely shocked and appalled and he took personal offense that I had actually said that to him. It wasn’t about getting a new car as this was his first volley into that arena. It was about giving him the gift of no. How’s that for a parental phrase?
At the time there was no way he could understand what I meant by my comment on his suffering. All he knew was that I was the most horrible mother ever to walk the earth.

All his friends had brand new expensive cars purchased by their generous parents. They were birthday gifts, Christmas gifts, getting a good grade gifts etc. and they were sporty and shiny will all the bells and whistles. He on the other hand drove what he called “The Troll.” It was an old beater Oldsmobile Calais. There was a recurrent electrical issue with the turn signal when it rained so he often had to use hand signals. Then the inside mechanism of the driver side window wore out. When he had to use his hand signals he was forced to reach behind to the back window, roll it down manually and stick his hand out that window to signal. He became quite agile with this maneuver and could have won some serious Olympic medal if it had been a recognized sport at the time. The dome light would sometimes stick on and if he didn’t catch it in time the battery would die. The car was old, completely uncool and had a suspicious musty smell to it. His favorite feature however had to be the mysterious and consistent stalling out on the off ramps. For some reason no one could ever figure out the car would just die when he slowed down to stop on the off ramps. The Troll would take a few minutes to rest and then he could start back on his way. Eventually he began to figure this resting time into his schedule.

He hated that car with all his soul. He cursed it with his every breath and he resented us just a wee bit. Eventually he bought a newer car but still not a brand spanking new one. It didn’t have odd electrical issues, the window wasn’t taped shut with silver duct tape and it continued running even on the off ramps. When he went off to college he was still a tad bitter but he was starting to come around. Then day finally came when the cruelest mother to ever live was rewarded for her horrible comment about the suffering of little children. He had come home for a visit and said to me “You know, about the Troll, I get it. I can’t explain it but I get it. I couldn’t believe you would say such a thing to me at the time but now I am glad that you did. I wouldn’t have had this experience if you had bought me a new car.”

We weren’t punishing him or testing him and he never had to prove himself. It must have seemed pretty unreasonable to him at the time because by all accounts he was one of the most deserving kids for such a reward. He was a straight A student and top notch person all the way around. He was a hard worker and understood the value of a dollar better than anyone. This is why it was so hard to explain why he needed The Troll.

Character is built not in adversity but in fully owning your time on earth. It comes in owning your decisions and the responsibility that comes with them. And with hammering out your priorities and desires longer than it takes to swipe a credit card. Sometimes in our zeal to “want for nothing” and to erase bad feelings we seem to give away our growing pains, our rights of passage. It is in those less than elegant times in our lives when we learn not the value of a dollar but the value of a moment. We learn the value of our heart’s desires and of our goals whatever they may be. It allows us to know that what we are doing with our time on earth is the value that we have chosen.


What do Monty Python’s comedy, lazy Sundays and gardening have to do with any of this? Well you simply can not take yourself too seriously when participating in any of them anymore than you can take yourself to seriously when you are driving a Troll that has a window closed with silver duct tape. You have to let go of your preconceived and often misguided conceptions of how things “should” be and find the absolute truth of your moment’s value. You have to get down in the dirt of life and find the root of what is really making you grow. Once you have done that you will know what to nurture and what to prune away.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Survivor Extreme Home Edition, episode 2

Oh where to start today’s episode? The horror is almost too much to face again. I have always heard gardening referred to as a genteel activity. Something to calm the nerves and sooth the soul with all that gentle quiet nurturing. Lies!

In this next episode I will tell you the horrible dirty truth of gardening’s seamy underside. The underside of the all those pretty flower beds with their lush green foliage and bright cheery flowers decked out like two bit strumpets. Sure they say, “Come on over, take a little peek, get a whiff of my intoxicating perfume.” You take the bait, you look, you sniff and suddenly you’re hooked like an innocent rube on a free crack high. You can’t wait to get your next one, your next hit of horticultural ecstasy.
Suddenly your life is all about those little fantasy peddling pimps wearing the bling of the garden world, aprons and dirty garden gloves “Oh, yeah, we got what you’re looking for. We have some fine young ladies in pink for you just over here or perhaps you’d like something a little racier in deep red?” they coo at you with their compost scented breath. “Oh, but first you’ll need a few things if you’re to keep the little pretties happy. Let me direct you to our $ales a$$ociate

On you way over to the, ahh, $ales A$$ociate you notice the oddly glazed yet hungry expressions on the faces of the newly addicted. They shuffle along pushing carts full of bushy plants from seven different zones. A bell goes off in your head but you can’t hear it. The heavenly sprinkler system has just turned on and it is causing those tender young things to glisten with sweet moisture. There is a heady scent of rich lavender filling the air. Bees are hurrying to and fro rubbing their dainty legs in the fertile pollen dancing wildly in the… um, excuse me while I uh…



Ok, never mind all that. It’s better if we just move along.
If you bought the sales pitch from Guido the plant pimp and you expect those garden beauties to perform for you in your bed at home then you had better not be taking them home to this…



On the previous episode of Survivor Extreme Home Edition we learned how I had rocks and more rocks on top of one great big rock. So yeah, no dirt. No heavy clay to amend, no sandy soil to loam, no bone dry depleted desert baked dust barely able to support cacti. Nope- just rocks. Now don’t get me wrong, I could grow a mean crop of gravel if I wanted. I think there were even a few species of alien weed left over from the last ice age in there but, if I wanted the floozy cabaret that Guido the plant pimp promised me then this would simply not do.


First to tackle was… oh hell, who am I trying to fool? There was no “first things first” business because there was no plan. I approached it the same way I approach my paintings and sculpture. I want to create a certain feeling or express a particular emotion and that is my focus. I’ll admit a little secret here that I always try to hide from my art buddies; I don’t give a lick about the subject or the light. Gasp! I know, I know. Blaspheme. For me it is always about what I want the art to say. How I want you to feel when you see it? It is about plucking the chords within the soul to produce a certain song unique to you. And that is how I saw this space.

There was a tough issue with the layout of the house and driveway, it cut right through the middle. There was the problem a too large an area of weeds to kill and the total lack of soil. Then I also had an unexpected issue caused by a lack of visible boundaries other than the electric horse fence. The space right behind the pond/yard is the neighbors land; their horse barn is just up the hill.

I wanted to incorporate all those challenges rather than fight them, I wanted to highlight them. The “Rock” I wanted to dig out and make into a focal point. (That however was before I knew what it actually was). From the Rock the neighbors had a lovely view into the woods so I wanted to visually make that part of our space. It was important that the space felt like it was supposed to be there, that it blended in with the surroundings. I suppose I really just wanted it to feel like the land had risen up to meet us.

We started…OK, I started, Hubby had better sense than I did, started pulling in gnarly tree stumps and digging up large rocks. Well I suppose I should use my chiropractor’s words, huge boulders and giant trees. He was so finicky. I had put down light gardening on my activities list and he about had a hissy fit when I told him how big they were in terms of feet x feet. Of course he should have seen that coming when I first came to see him crawling on my hands and knees. He very deliberately and right in front of me I might add, scratched out my light gardening entry and put “suicidal.”


You may be wondering how we got the desert landscaping. Pretty aint it? (no offense meant to all my desert loving gardeners. I know this isn't what you mean by desert garden) I can not begin to tell you how awful it was to look out there and see that everyday. The chiropractor may have been right if I had to keep looking at all that ugly brown much longer. You see a neighbor to the side of us has a saw mill where he is milling the lumber to build his house. This seemed like a good situation for both of us. We went down and collected his sawdust to spread on our “yard” and he got rid of the build up. I figured the sawdust would smother the weeds and hopefully add some cushion. We went down to the mill every few days and collected all the sawdust we could and raked it out. We just kept going till we eventually got a pretty thick layer all around. After a never ending ugly blur of time everything looked like the Saharan desert. It was just the look I was going for!


In between sawdust runs I was working on hunting down and dragging home new and interesting stumps and boulders. Every day the poor man I am married to would come home to find me smiling some big dumb grin and saying “honey come look what I found! I just need some help…” It was usually something like digging it out of the earth or lifting this 50 foot tree. I was trying to build up natural structures to fill the space. Eventually each one of these elements became the framework of a bed. With every new piece added I would walk the entire area to see where my natural step wanted to travel then placed items according to that pattern. There is a very easy natural flow that encourages strolling the garden. Because of doing this at the beginning of the process I don’t have to fret about placing focal points or plants. There are natural breaks and flows. I even placed seating according to that rhythm.

Next time on Survivor Extreme Home Edition we discover how to turn a mole hill into a Big Freakin’ Pond. What was I thinking and why did my doctor threaten to send an ambulance?Tune in next time for those answers and more…

I just needed a little happy place at the end.