Shrouded Fertility

What I like about fall going into winter is that it is a perfect time to get lost, even if it does get a little foggy at times.

The day started out clear and bright. I could see far into the distance as the valley spread below me. It would be a good day to take a drive along the highway of my thoughts and see where they might lead me. Perhaps they would lead to untold treasures full of glittering gems for future lives I have yet to imagine. Perhaps the road would lead to fantastical new concepts for the garden or maybe I might finally be able to decide who I wanted to be when I grew up. In any case it was a perfect day full of bright autumn sun, just right for getting lost and searching out new roads.

I sped along that highway of contemplation with the crisp autumn air slipping through the windows to invigorate my senses. Golden leaves clung stubbornly to the bones of summer along hillsides rich with deep dark evergreens while my thoughts played along the rivers of possibilities.

With summer finally over I could reflect on what had gone well, what disappointed and what I might like to adjust. Should I continue with the plan already in motion perhaps making minor adjustments or would I dig up entire areas to redesign with the seeds of promise? Should I make grand sweeping changes or let the days mellow a while longer? It was all very exciting to play with new ideas that might bring wonderful color and vibrancy to my life. At times I enacted minor revisions to sections that had pleased me so far and at others I ripped out entire areas with reckless abandon. Sometimes I imagined wiping the slate entirely clean and starting over with a fresh palette. I continued to travel along this road eagerly following deep into its mysteries.

Silently a fog had begun to drift in, filling the open spaces between summer past and winter future. Then somewhere along the way my playful excursions of deconstruction and rebuilding became complicated and confusing. The rivers of possibility that had once been sparkling and clear were now harder to make out and the grand plans that I had imagined were becoming as shrouded in fog as the golden autumn leaves. I had entered a tunnel of uncertainty. What if I changed this thing or that and then found that I regretted it all too late? What if I made a mistake? Had I become complacent with my past successes and forgotten how hard they were to achieve in the first place? Maybe it was better to leave well enough alone and not risk losing the good things that were growing. After all, things had been setting root and blossoming in the fertile soil that had been built up. Surely there could be little wisdom in disturbing that.



And then another curve in the road suggested that just around the bend there might be something better and brighter if I would only take the chance. Isn’t that how opportunities are born, by taking a chance on change? The fog grew thicker obscuring visibility, smothering the light and I was alone staring mutely like a forgotten relic of humanity unable to decipher the forest of choices before me.

The fog grew thicker and I began to despair of ever making the right decision. Perhaps nothing would ever change. Perhaps I thought, this was as good as it gets. But then something did change and it changed without me. It changed all around me but not because of me. The multitude of possibilities that were as numerous and vaporous as water molecules in a cloud began to coalesce. They became droplets of miniature combinations and possibilities that plopped together to form pools of thought. They became rivers and streams that cut new paths into wild unexpected places. What had once been an overwhelming fog full of tiny bits and details too full of risks and consequences was becoming a full bodied flood of ideas. The light began to tear through the clouds bringing with it clarity even sharper than .

I could see new ways of looking at the garden beds of my life. Of how they played against one another or how they might be rearranged for greater advantage. A new path was opening up before me that had previously not been visible to me. It had always existed but remained unseen by me because I had been unwilling to look.

Searching out a new path means that you have to have the courage to get lost once in awhile. You have to be brave enough to consider a life without all that is familiar and comfortable. Searching for a brave new world requires that you take some risks and that you have honestly weighed the values of each and every thing. It means that you are prepared to spend some time lost in the fog while the seeds of possibility germinate in impossible places. It is here in the misty clouds of imagination that the precious gems of creation are formed.

The vision of creative ideas is organic in nature and needs freedom to develop. Ideas are living things and like all living things there is a special magic, a divine spirit that gives them life. They are seeds full of potential for a gardener who is ready with good soil and just the right placement. There are a lot of seeds out there and we are producing more every day. The question is; do you have just the right spot picked out and is your soil ready for growth?

Gardening sure is a lot more complicated than I thought.

Survivor - Extreme Home Edition episode 5

When we last left our hard headed but bloodless heroine was alone in a dimly lit room at the dark of night. The Sainted one had gone home to more cozy accommodations which lacked the tube and needle set up or the frequent interruptions by James the friendly hemoglobin peddler. And where exactly was the heroine’s blood or at least the decency to look weak and pathetic without it? Did James have a day job on some street corner selling overpriced concert tickets or questionable used cars or was this his main gig? Was the Saint resting comfortably in his warm, cozy and currently extra roomy bed? Was he wearing soft fluffy PJ's all snuggled up in the down comforter unencumbered by that otherwise pesky conscience?
Traitor. No, I’m not bitter. Why would I be bitter?

On with the story.
Nursing staff and doctors in training hovered at bedside with bemused and befuddled expressions. Tests were performed and theories posited. Probes were sent in and were promptly sent back in a mangled uninformative mess. More elaborate tests were then devised. It eventually became apparent that a large and Evil Gnome was living within our brave heroine and stealing her blood for his devious plans of world domination.

The Evil Gnome with his diabolical plans had made a single grave error that would ultimately lead to his utter destruction. He had chosen a host already engaged in heated battle with an even greater nemesis that also had designs on world domination.
There would be no quarter given to this would be tin pot dictator. She simply couldn’t be bothered. Long grueling hours in dark smoky rooms passed as heroic efforts were made to study the enemy’s weakness. Desperate ideas for daring rescue missions were hatched under the strain of to much coffee and not enough sleep. Either that or someone in a white lab coat cracked a book and said “hey, how about we do this?” “Sounds good Bob, are there any frosted donuts left?”

Oh, fine! Here’s the TMI part of the post. It was a benign tumor roughly the size of Montana. They said they needed to shrink it before they would even attempt to remove it so, they gave me hormonal drugs. The result of which was my summer of Sudden Extreme Menopause…home edition. Now, I may be a late bloomer since I haven’t even come near menopause yet but if that’s how it’s going to roll when the time does come, I’m getting a sex change or going into an induced coma. Whichever one the insurance covers, I don’t care. There’s just no way I’m ever doing that again! Did I mention…EVER! Holy cow I thought I was on fire half the time life was dull as dust and I lost the will to live and…and…just thinking about it makes me want to curl up in a fetal position and suck my thumb.

Figuring out the source of the problem was just the first bit of resolving it. They had fueled me back up but the Evil Gnome was still working his evil disappearing magic operations. The supply lines needed to be reinforced and fresh troops brought in. Over the next few months they yo-yoed me between ridiculous amounts of birth control and the menopause from hell shots. I was on an iron dosage so high that the pharmacist actually laughed at me when I told him what I needed. No, he actually laughed. Out loud. He looked at me like I was two pills short of the Prozac prescript I should have been asking for. Then he gently explained that “the human body simply can’t process that much iron.” I said “Well that’s OK ‘cause it’s just going through the express lane anyway. Now give me the damn ship anchor and I’ll be on my way.”

I was instructed to eat a Caveman meets Popeye kind of diet. This also included such things as dinosaur eggs, lizard tail and pumpkin seeds all of which are apparently high in iron. As if sucking an iron ship anchor like a giant lolly pop wasn’t enough. Well I’m a good patient and since I have clearly displayed that I lack the good sense to know when I’m dying I obey the new diet rules dutifully. The dinosaur eggs tended to be a bit pricey and the lizard tail just too chewy, so I went with the pumpkin seeds. I put little jars those potential pumpkins all around the house so that I might snack on them throughout the day. I nibbled these little iron packed chips between sucking down eight million pills and moving rocks.

Yes, of course I went right back to slinging the pick axe and lugging rocks. I said I was a good patient I didn’t say I was a smart one. I’m actually a complete idiot when it comes to recognizing a limit. I took that first day off because well, I figured I had already missed most of it by the time I got back from the hospital anyway. The next day however I was right back out there on that darn ROCK digging away. It took a few days for the new juice to flush through the lines so things didn’t seem that much different at first. What’s that? Oh, where was the Saint? Safely back at work of course, where his annoying meddling in my affairs wouldn’t bother me. I always made sure to drop the pick ax and scurry back up onto the porch when I heard him coming.

I figured that we were going to need some river rock for this little project but upon learning that an Ivey League College education would cost less than the amount of rocks I needed would cost, I decided to scout out some other sources. I’ve been advised not to discuss the details but let’s just say I did find a source. I began daily trips out to the afore mentioned source and loaded my car up just until the tires began to flatten out from the weight. There was a lot space on that pond to consider so there were a lot of daily trips, sometimes three in a day. Sure I was loading and unloading rocks but I reasoned that I was actually resting more because I had to drive twenty minutes or so each way. I had to sit to drive. You can see the logic.

During this round of adventures however I began to suspect that something somewhere might be going a little askew. I began to have a little pain in my mid section. Ok, it wasn’t so little. I cried like a convicted hedge fund manager and begged to be put out of my misery. And just like that I was back in the ER visiting with all my old friends. Tests scans or whatever was done and I’m back in the too small paper gown with the blue pelt uni socks. This time I get a skinny bed with wheels and a sheet but no shower curtain. I do get my own room though, except it goes up and down and has little round buttons with numbers that light up. Cool! I’m getting sudden unplanned surgery. And I thought it was just going to be another boring night at home with the heating pad.

“That’s OK giant Evil ROCK. I’ll be back! I will be back to finish you. I’ve got my three feet down and that’s room enough for fishes. Do you hear that? Fishes!” Now I don’t know if the Evil ROCK actually heard me but I swear I heard him chuckling. Of course it may have just been the anesthesiologist.

On the next episode of Survivor Extreme Home Edition the Sainted One gets another confused call from a doctor and vows to never answer the phone again. The handsome chiropractor will actually make his appearance. No, really I promise this time he shows up. The track hoe riding neighbor and his wicked sense of timing will make an entrance and two famous Hollywood actors will share a heartwarming moment with our heroine.
See you next time on Survivor Extreme Home Edition!

Washington Apples

Just outside of Leavenworth is the Wenatchee Valley. I suppose technically the town of Leavenworth is within the Wenatchee Valley but somehow it manages to stand on its own, laying claim to a more mountainous identity than fecund farm land. That’s OK with me. A two minute drive around the corner and I am thrust deep into ample hillsides richly covered in sweeping orchards. Swaths of delicious fruit trees and lush grape vines cover hillsides that look down into a wide sparkling river cutting through the valley floor.
As far as the eye can see there are fields upon fields of trees and vines. Seemingly random impromptu fruit stands appear along the road side with upturned fruit crates for tables and simple awnings for a roof. Magic marker signs of cardboard announce the enticing farmer’s market prices and the variety is almost too wide to choose from. Samples of delicious fruit are handed out like free candy at a birthday party.

There are makeshift shelves lined with homemade jellies and jams. Recipes for pies and sauces compete for space on wooden tables covered with red checkerboard cloth. There are no green aprons or pristine white smocks of the conglomerate grocery here. There is just some member of the family who came in from the orchard that day to man the fruit stand.

The worn weathered hands of farmers hold out sugary slices of their hard work. They offer easy conversation and helpful information about their product. When I take a sample from their hand I know that this is the result of years of hard work and dedication. I can smell the soil on their skin and see the shimmering sun in their eyes. The satisfaction on my face as that sweet juicy fruit hits my tongue is their reward, their pride and joy. I am happy to pay them. In the performance of this simple transaction there is the completion of a circle that is often broken by the glare of florescent lights and plastic bags.

The markets and impromptu stands each have their own personality. Some are simply upturned crates with cardboard boxes and a lawn chair. Others have vinyl awnings hung over jarred treats and long wooden tables. While still others offer colorful banners beside dried corn stalks and hay bales complete with petting zoos and miniature cow trains for the kiddies delight. I love them all. We often ask if we can collect fallen apples for the horses back home and they always give us some bags just before asking if we’d like a box instead. I am so grateful that I live close enough to visit and soak all of this in.

I have been waxing poetic on the glories of fruit fresh off the tree and all things farmy but have left out one important element of the area and that would be the Applets and Cotlets Capital. What this means I have no idea. They make some kind of fruit based candies here and apparently they are quite famous for it. I don’t understand it. I don’t care for the candies so I don’t go. I just wanted to mention that these guys seem to know their Applets and Cotlets stuff and have really made a name for themselves since the early 1900s. The town of Cashmere is where you can find Liberty Orchards and take a factory tour of the Applet/Cotlet production. It looks pretty cool and I know a lot of people really love these candies. If you like this sort of confection, you couldn’t find a better place to visit. I just wanted to make sure that my personal preference for um, chocolate didn’t short change any of you fruit candy loving peeps out there. Just keeping it real folks.

There is a little stand that we frequent because they are one of the select few that grow the Cameo apple. This is my favorite apple. It is sweet, crisp and bright in flavor. It is in general an all around perfect eating apple. During this season we took a few trips over to the orchards and stopped at this particular stand for some of those Cameo apples. The farmer there is a sweet gracious man who is always eager to offer fresh fruit slices and tips for the best apple sauce combinations. On this last visit the gentleman was not at his stand. There was no one to be seen anywhere around. Just the highway and the dirt lot with fruit trees going off into the distance. Cue crickets. We had come a long way for some Cameos and Boscs so we were reluctant to leave without them. Then we noticed the cash box on the table. Sitting there simple and alone was an unassuming little silver box with a slit in the top. The man’s cash box. It wasn’t bolted down. The fruit wasn’t locked in Lucite boxes. It was just sitting out there in wooden crates with plastic bags hanging from the side. A sign hung on the wall with price per pound written in black marker. We smiled and began filling our bags. We weighed and reweighed our bounty on the old metal scales and then counted out our money. We folded the bills neatly and slipped them into the little slot that represented so much.

For many this kind of trust is a common affair but I come from a world of mistrust and suspicion in which the worst is assumed and “get them before they get you” is the code of the day. While I have never been able to assimilate this defensive attitude I often worried that I was hopelessly outnumbered and desperately naïve. I don’t consider this a gift of trust toward myself or even others so much as I see it as a gift of hope for the world I live in. It is an act of faith in the better nature of man and for that I am truly grateful.

PS. For those of you who are local: Stockings Garden and Nursery is just outside of Monroe but they get their produce from the Wenatchee Valley. I like their display and they sell Cameo apples.

Bavarian Disneyland

Leavenworth Washington is a special place. That’s a pretty simple statement isn’t it? I love this town but oddly not for all the reasons I usually hear. It truly is a beautiful magical place, romantically nestled in the shadows of majestic mountain peaks. The town of Leavenworth is like a Bavarian Disneyland. Everything and I do mean everything is Bavarian themed. From the Hotels, restaurants, and gift shops right down to the gas stations, Safeway grocery and Starbucks. Heck even the McDonald's payphones are housed in tiny Bavarian chalets.


The gift shops boast the finest quality to be found. Exceptional creative works saturate the entire area. Hotels are adorned with exquisite art which can often be found in one of the many gallery boutiques. There are all sorts of shop doors and windows filled with whimsical art, unique clothing and the most wonderful confections. Oh, had I forgotten to mention those? The warm buttery scent of big toasty pretzels with dipping sauces draws you into quaint bakeries full of aromatic breads and pastries. Savory hot bratwurst with potato salad washed down with a frothy micro brew draw you into underground lairs of deep forest timber. And then there are the candy shops filled with a kaleidoscope of rainbow colored treats. Sparkling glass jars filled to the brim with the delicacies of childhood and the richest chocolates of your wildest dreams.

Music plays in the streets while costumed merchants stroll and do business along the bric-a-brac lanes. Horse hooves and carriage wheels can be heard clicking and clomping as they carry people through the streets in a festive display. In every season Leavenworth has found a spectacular way to celebrate with festivals and events that revel in the natural beauty and charm of this amazing place. The piece De la resistance however simply has to be the winter lighting festival. If you have ever wondered what it would be like to live in a Currier and Ives Christmas card or even a Thomas Kincaid painting this would be it. I have never seen a more enchanting winter wonderland.


Now having said all that, singing the praises of this quaint little Bavarian Disneyland in the Great Northwest I must go back to my original statement. These things are not why I love this town. The reason I love this town is because it is the most inspiring little town I have ever known. Leavenworth was originally a timber, rail and fruit town. It was never a large town by any measure and only has about 2,100 residents at this time. In the not to distant past it boasted a dubious reputation of brothels, saloons and hard living. In the 1920s the rail line moved its roadhouse and rerouted the rails to bypass the town thus killing the timber industry in one fell swoop. The depression further hammered the town’s economy and the subsequent war years drove the last nails into its economic coffin. By the 40s and 50s Leavenworth’s boom years were a faded dusty memory. With their economic opportunities dried up and gone there was little hope of survival.

Then in 1962 the town leaders went to the University Of Washington Bureau Of Community Development in search of ideas that might save their town. It was the natural beauty of the area that gave birth to the idea of a Bavarian theme with the hope of attracting visitors. While longtime residents, Pauline and Owen Watson are credited with being instrumental in this Hail Mary pass it was a total team effort. In 1965 key business owners made the brave decision to remodel their buildings. Pauline drew up some sketches for the remodeled store fronts and sold the idea to other business owners. Soon an agreement to Bavarianize Leavenworth was reached and Project Alpine was formed to guide the process along. By that summer in 1965 the first remodel was underway.


Now here is the part that makes me love Leavenworth the most. They did it all on their own dime. The whole town got together, made a decision and gave it their all. There was no government money used. Instead it was entirely financed by the hard work and sweat of people who were dedicated to a goal and to each other. They used their own money, mortgaged their own homes and took on a tremendous risk individually and as a team. Their town was a dust bowl in the middle of nowhere dying a certain death with no hope on the horizon. And they banded together, pulled a stroke of genius out of the air and had the good sense to grab it will all their might. This is a true story of survival and redemption.

So while I do love the Bavarian Disneyland and the picture perfect winter playground what I really love about Leavenworth is something you don’t see. This town is a beautiful testament to beating the odds. When I visit and I do visit often, I see something else in those cute little payphone chalets and lederhosen clad shop owners. I see the triumph of the human spirit. Passing the bric-a-brac fronted buildings which are teaming with visitors from all around the world I am filled with awe, though not of the exquisite Currier and Ives images that meet every turn. I am filled with awe at the people who took a dying town and not only breathed life into it but turned it into something far beyond anyone’s wildest imagination. I love Leavenworth because it makes me proud. It gives me hope and renews my faith in the impossible.

Oh yeah, you may be wondering about the hats. I can't explain it. There is a fantastic silly hat shop. They are the official mad hatters of the town apparently. I think the ample beer gardens help.