"Maybe it's the time of year, and maybe it's the time of man, and I don't know who I am, but life is for learning."*
No, definitely, it's the time of year. It hit me like a ton of bricks a couple of weeks ago. A few flowers started coming up out of the ground (I still can't believe they do that all by themselves! Evidence of intelligent design, or just botanical intelligence?), so I was wondering what would come back strong and what wouldn't. Then, of course, the weeds came back strong, because they're weeds. Which is my cue to leap into action, because of my nordic peasant blood, midwestern protestant upbringing, and control issues. So I've been steadfastly weeding beds on the weekend, filling the wheelbarrow with dandelions, maverick grass, and other pesky intruders, and dumping it on the compost to be of use someday. All part of the cycle. Build up, break down, move around.
"I'm goin' down to Yazger's farm, gonna join a rock and roll band, gonna get back to the land and set my soul free."*
What's really been fun is going to Local College's Equine Science facility (horse barn) out on Old 3C, loading up Hank the truck with year-old manure, and unloading the rich, dark stuff on the garden. This year's black-eyed susan, lavender, iris, beans, tomatoes, and peppers will be the beneficiaries of last year's horse feed. The immediate impact is satisfying, adding a layer of organic matter to the low mounded beds. And the long-term impact will be even better.
"I dreamed I saw the bombers flying shotgun in the sky, turning into butterflies above our nation."*
I'll give progress reports periodically as I recover from the repetitious movements of bending, lifting, and carrying. Pretty soon I need to get some veggies in the ground. Not being a grow-your-own-seedling gardener, I'll bring home some packets from the selection on the long tables at Local Nursery, plant the tomatoes a little too close together, as I always do, and start nurturing next year's batch of homemade salsa.
"We are stardust, we are golden, and we've got to get ourselves back to the garden."*
Me gusta el jardin!
*heartfelt cliches courtesy of Joni Mitchell
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2 comments:
Hooray! One of my favorite hippie-era songs, and homegrown tomatoes.
"Homegrown tomatoes, homegrown tomatoes,
What would life be without homegrown tomatoes?"
Here's to the outlawing of those maverick, pink, foamy, flavorless orbs trucked in from God-knows-where, currently residing under the name "tomato." Horseshit, I say!
Horseshit indeed! It's great stuff. They clean out the stalls every day at the stables and dump it in rows out in a back pasture, where a year's worth of equine droppings mixed in with the loose, sawdustlike bedding lies composting in the open air. If you go for the darkest, most decomposed pile, it's thoroughly broken down and ready to become soil again. From which emerges...homegrown tomatoes!
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