2010-There is no verb following the word roses because no one verb is adequate. Roses (the wild ones) not only are blooming but have permeated everything with their perfume. Even my dreams have been beautifully and romantically affected. Lucky for them they have this one magical (albeit short-lived) attribute, because without it there would be no reason to tolerate their sprawling, invasive, clothes-grabbing, skin-scratching existence. The pink tinged flowers are not particularly beautiful, except their fragrance makes them so. Last year I gathered them up and made rose petal wine. When it was new the rose scent was overpowering, but after aging a year it became pleasantly subtle. Unfortunately, an unpleasant bitter aftertaste also developed. Perhaps after another year it will dissipate.
2011-Summer has come all of a sudden; high 80’s hot and humid. But the changeableness still says spring. I was able to finally plant the seedlings I started (tomatoes, melon, cucumber)but they have suffered much from lack of light and I don’t know if they can recover. I will plant more seeds alongside and they will probably catch up in a short time. The roses are behind this year, looking to need a week still before they open. The wine was not a success, but it did make a nice flowery vinegar.
Storm
How the maple tree danced
With the wind last night!
I didn’t know the old girl had it in her
(Suppleness molded to majesty)
The lightening burst on a wanton self
Usually hid in verdant maternal embrace.
Were the robins shocked
In their wildly rocking nests?
Or did they just forget
When the morning came, soft as May
And nothing to show for the night but a leaf
Here and there
Hanging all askew.
2012-Suddenly I feel at war with nature. A rabbit (I think) is eating much of the garden. After fence fixing, deterrent spraying, trap setting, and milk carton cages something is nibbling plants. After finding a deer tick on my arm I am creepy crawly feeling all the time and slugs are gaining the upper hand, in spite of conscientious Sluggo applications. Four mice so far dead in the kitchen traps; the weather swinging abruptly back and forth between hot and cold, wet and dry extremes. It’s all so adversarial, not my sweet gardening back to nature fantasy at all. Is every human endeavor on this planet bound to be shown up at some point as just another form of battle? What are we fighting, really? Is existence just struggle after all, or is it a sign that I am not aligned with what is?
2013-The roses seem still at least two weeks away, but; I’d saved one bottle of rose petal wine from the vinegar experiment and was shocked-shocked I tell you-to discover that it had evened itself out, lost the bitterness, and turned delicious with the faintest flower scent. And now that last bottle is gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment