For the Love of Dirt

Wednesday, June 16, 2021

Your Love from Heart of God

"I am the light, I am the vision..." -P.S. Jagadeesh Kumar

YOUR LOVE from Heart of God by Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) Nobel Prize poet of India

Let Your love play upon my voice

And rest on my silence.

Let it pass thru my heart

Into all my movements

Let Your love, like stars,

shine in the darkness of my sleep

and dawn in my awakening.

Let it burn in the flame

Flow in all currents......

Let my carry

Your love in my life

as a harp does its music,

and give it back to You

at last

With my life........

Photographs 2021

"Peace at last in the day"

Spencer and Rona

Saturday, June 12, 2021

LUSH TOUR

Rona

"Green is the prime colour of the world, and that from which its loveliness arises.." -Pedro Calderon de la Barca

"Lush" my mother said one day. (No not THAT type of lush) "Green Garden Lush tour. " The neighbourhood had set it up. Everyone signed up. Including my mother. Whether you had veggies, roses, pots, boxes.One tomatoe or a whole bunch of tomatoes. There were prizes of all sorts. Just for fun. To share ideas. Biggest prize was a fancy rake with brass trim.

My mother, in her Overalls, eyed her "garden".

Rona the Cat Plant

It consisted of two window boxes with its eight geraniums and eight lobelia, the patch of nasturtiums dug into the mud by the back door, and the towering row of sweet peas under the dining room windows.

We had just strung up the stems. But they still flopped over at the top. And the Tour was tomorrow.

Sweet peas

My mother had me take out four geraniums and three lobelia from the window boxes. Then rearrange the rest. The boxes looked a little demented and uprooted.

She stuffed the rogue geraniums into an ice cream bucket and set it on the front steps. To make it more welcoming. And time was short.

We pulled back the grass around the nasturtiums and washed down the black aphids hiding under the flowers. They wibbled and wobbled their way into the dirt. The sweet peas she left alone. They were just getting too tall to reach.

My mother trimmed up the bushes lining the driveway. They were overgrown and had minds of their own. We lived on a large half acre. Mostly trees, mostly green, mostly natural. Too many to trim. There were a couple of old trees rotting away that threatened to come down. My mother hoped they wouldn't fall on anyone .

The next day dawned . It had rained in the night. Everything was fresh and clean. The aphids were going crazy on the nasturtiums. My mother decided to wear a tropical caftan, she had like half a dozen in her closet, instead of her usual Overalls. Good choice. She wrapped an orange and red scarf around her head.

Six ladies arrived in one car. They walked up through the ivy covered path. Chatty. Happy. Laughing.

They marveled at quail running through the grass to the cover of the old trees. Being chased by Baby the Cat, whom we had adopted. The ladies stopped to stroke Baby's fur and fuss over her. Baby followed them around after that.

They loved the willow tree by the back door, and all wanted a snapshot under that tree. Baby joined them. To this day, that tree is still there. Sometimes I drive by, just to have a look. I can still see the people gathered under it.

The Tour ladies were a happy bunch. The nasturtiums intrigued them. Or I should say, the black aphids intrigued them. They were everywhere. The ladies AND the aphids.

They all had ideas about how to get rid of them. They wanted to know how my mother grew nasturiums. "Grown from seeds", said my mother. "Ahhhhhh, seeds, yes, look how bright the blooms are!" intoned the ladies. Some took pictures. Some said " Shooo" to the aphids.

But it was the Sweet Peas they loved best.

" Grown from seeds," said my mother. "In packets". "Seeds are the best," said all the ladies.

"Soaked seeds", said my mother. " "Ahhhh yes, soaked seeds," said the ladies. They plowed their noses into the blooms and sniffed long and deeply. Again and again. Some of them sneezed.

Rhodochiton

My mother brought out her scissors. She cut Sweet Peas for each of the ladies, put them into a small mason jar, and handed it to the ladies. They vowed they would have to draw straws as to who would get the jar.

They promptly all stuffed their noses into the Sweet Peas. All you could hear was sniff....snifff.....sniffff.

As they walked back along the ivy path to their cars, a pheasant strutted by. Years to come the pheasant did not appear anymore. Like the Quail. They disappeared over time. But back then they were plentiful .It was before the area was built up.

Sweet Simon and Rona

And just like that, the Lush Tour was over. Leaving the ladies to get a natural high on sweet peas in their car. My mother immediately put those rogue geraniums back in their window boxes. She changed back into her Overalls. She hummed while she watered the Sweet peas and the nasturtiums. Baby purred and threaded herself through her feet. It was a good day.

She didn't win best garden. Some hoity toity from the Beach won for her Squash and tomatoe garden. My mother, however, won best flower. The Sweet Pea. Best scent. And the prize was a box of sweet pea seeds for next year. To be soaked. To be planted. To be shared. To be sniffed..........