Solar Tracking

Solar Tracking
How low can you go? Snow and ice and cancelled school.

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Garden shimmering

Mark and I left town for the weekend—packed up The Ark with warm blankets, a fresh loaf of bread, and the flower guides and headed south to Table Rock, a mesa in southern Oregon with an excellent rep for wildflowers. We left behind email, TKAM character sketches, photo survey of neighborhood organization…It was a good trip—Mariposa Lily all the way up the hill, madrone trees in bloom, warm breezes…and we found an old school Italian restaurant in Medford that served garlic bread and piles of spaghetti drowning in sauce. The owner was the host and knew everyone in the place except for us. We stayed in a state park with hot showers and lots of little kids circling the roads on small bikes, scooters and one electric motorcycle (Mark as jealous). At seven AM this morning, Mark woke up and rustled around loudly enough to stir me. “It’s a great morning for driving,” he announced and it was, cool and bright. We headed out so that we could climb the hills on I-5 before all of the traffic. We were home by noon.

The garden was shimmering when I walked out back….you know that afternoon, in mid-May, when all of your work planting and trimming and coaxing seeds out of the ground suddenly bursts out and every plant in the yard is glorious? That’s what we had. All of the spring veggies were huge in the sunlight; the potatoes were filling their beds; the onions were proud; the breeze was gently swaying the wind chimes; the bees were humming in the back corner; the chickens rushed out of the coop and plunged into the compost pile. White alliums crowded the front garden beds and the fig tree is finally leafing out. Everything was glorious and there were no pressing tasks. Life was good.
At dinnertime, I wandered out with the basket….mustard and kale greens that need to be eaten before we plant beans, asparagus shoots, micro-greens (aka lettuce thinnings), and hunky radishes….and we ate outside, balanced on the planting bench.

Summer will come.



No comments:

Post a Comment