GARDEN NEW

 Garden new. How does the garden grow. It grows like  a black cat among roses.......

 THE GARDEN by MOONLIGHT by Amy Lowell (1874-1925) 
           Won Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1926, awarded posthumously....

 A black cat among roses

 Phlox, lilac misted under a first quarter moon,

 The sweet smells of heliotrope and night scented stock.

 THE GARDEN IS VERY STILL.....

 It is dazed with moonlight,

 Contented with perfume,

 Dreaming the opium dreams of its folded poppies.....

 Firefly lights open and vanish High as the tip buds of the golden glow.

 Low as the sweet alyssum flowers at my feet.

 Moon shimmer on leaves and trellises, moon spikes shafting thru the snow ball bush.

 Only the little faces of the ladies' delight are alert and staring.

 ONLY the CAT, PADDING BETWEEN the ROSES, 

Smokey 2014 a true cat of the garden

 Shakes a branch and breaks the chequered pattern as water is broken by the falling of a leaf.....

 do you see those orange lilies? They knew my mother....

who belonging to me will they know, when I am gone....

Photographs 2019
Poem: The Garden by Moonlight (1919) from "Pictures of a Flaming World" 
by  Amy Lowell

I Dream of Dirt.....

I want to stuff seeds into the dirt. I want to see beans  flourish. Flowers tumble. I want to stuff seeds into dirt, till I can stuff no more. I want to plant my greenhouse with things that grow.

 I want to weed the dirt. Then plant the seeds, that turn into beans, that turn into flowers. First  I must  cut up liners for wire baskets.And dream of the seeds that will turn into beans.......I just want to stuff seeds into dirt.

 It's a little too cold for Cordelia, who hides behind the fence on the hill. She sniffs the chilly wind.

But not too cold for fog  on the ocean.

I want to stuff seeds into  dirt, that will grow.....

 Instead I join Spencer outside on a cool, sunny day. He always finds sun. He's not interested in seeds.

 Smokey's paws twitch in the  sun. He dreams of flying with the birds. I dream of dirt.

 And the mountain is foggy and misty and runny with snow. I miss the dirt. And the worms that wibble and wobble.

  Spencer dreams of being king . I still dream of stuffing things into pots of dirt.

  All I can do is  be patient. I'm not good at that.

 My  baskets are done. Hung  in the greenhouse.  I can sense the dirt underfoot. This time of year it smells wonderful. Crisp. Fresh. Wormy . Loamy. Bugs are starting to squoosh out of holes.

 Dale's old truck, broken and heat scorched , lies in the mud and rain.

 Gets me motivated to repurpose and reuse and renew. Time to redecorate. The toilet gets a makeover. ( Don't worry, that's just mud.......I think.)

 Spencer wakes from his nap. Peers into the greenhouse. He likes the greenhouse.

 He sees the toilet. Stuffed with a pot of dirt. Finally. I get to play in the dirt.

 Cordelia emerges, at last, from the fence. Sits on her Moai , once again, like she does when the season changes.

 And the mountain rumbles and grumbles overhead.

 Lion Mane  appears, after five months absence. Bigger and poofier than ever.She's more interested in watching the chickens next door peck in the dirt. Ahhhhhh, dirt.

 The sky  clouds over. The light recedes.

 The rocks in the ocean thrash  and rattle as the tides pull in.

 And the sun goes down again. Spencer drapes himself hopefully over the bench. He waves his paws elegantly. He is cute. And he knows it.     I dream of dirt.........

 "I hope a couple of birds will nest around the house. I'll do my best to make them happy, so every years they'll raise their brood of fledglings here...While I follow the sun, while I drift and roam to the ends of the earth like a chip on the stream. " ( Don Blanding 1894-1957 "Vagabond's House")

Dirt sloshing

  It's kind of like Christmas. This time of year. It's time to  finally muck about with dirt and pots and seeds and fertilizer and and and  and......There's a rapt  audience. (Just like at the Christmas  Concerts.) Smokey and Spencer from the hill. They flop in the  shade. They start to snore.
                       They like the tinkle of wind chimes and the quiet and dirt sloshing into pots.

 I don't have as many hanging baskets as I used to. I found they dry out too fast with a hot summer. Kind of a pain to keep up with. But I always do a few. Especially one with Rhodochiton ( Purple Bell Vine). Hard to find sometimes. My name is down at one of the local greenhouses to be called when a shipment comes in. ( Small town perk) In one basket I probably shove in about 22 little bedding plants. Maybe 23. Or 24.  I tend to shake off  dirt from the lower half , so they all fit.The more the merrier.  Then use the accumulated soil for another pot or two.

 Not only pots to plant, but seeds to sow in the back of the hill.
                                            (Reminds me I have to dig out the compost. )

 This year I picked up some Fish Fertilizer. For strong blooms. You have to use it sparingly. One year I used so much that the plants burned . Ouch. Had to replant .  But the second batch bloomed without even being coaxed. Stuff stinks. Flies will LOVE you...

                                       Hanging baskets are done. Ready for the greenhouse.

 It's not very large. Big enough for about 20 musicians. Maybe a few more if they don't bring their instruments. I utilize the space like crazy.No place to walk.And I won't tell you how I hung up the baskets AFTER all of this was inside. (Just imagine Cirque du Soleil)

This year, my neighbours invited me to plant a few things in their veggie patch. Fun Fun Fun. They had already planted potatoes. They grow like wildfire on top of this hill, with the sun beating down, and the deer poop. Great fertilizer.  I popped in pumpkin seeds, cataloupe ( have no idea if they will grow, but will see), Purple Bush beans, and Velvet Sunflowers at the far back.

  And a sheet of glass to cover strawberries , steaming away in the afternoon.

                        The cats snored away the afternoon,  missing all the excitement.

  Day is young, time to plant sweet pea seeds. A gazillion at last count. Sometimes I soak  them, sometimes not. Depends if I remember. I've never found it to make much of a difference.

 But soaked, or not, I plant them in  sea soil at  the terrace, in troughs at back of fence, side of house, in large pots ....basically anywhere that I think they will grow. Best  not to overthink . Just do. Just plant. Then see what happens.

I even buried some into  hanging baskets, swaying in the greenhouse.  

                So much dirt, so many pots. Running out of seeds. Running out of dirt to slosh about.
                                 And Smokey and Spencer  have finally woken up.