Meditation and Gardening

There's a reason there are gardens in monasteries and it goes beyond feeding the monks.  A garden feeds the soul.

With the spring finally giving us more than snow, rain, sleet and chills, I am finally back in the middle of my flowers: weeding, pruning, transplanting, and counting up my floral treasures.  There are forty different flower beds in my domain.  I was able to clear ten of them before the blizzard, then all activity came to an end until this week. Now I must finish each and every plot by the end of May and get in the vegetable garden as well.

It is a labor of love as I rediscover plants I'd forgotten were there.  Today it was the bed adjacent to the driveway.  Over there are the phlox, next to them the leaves of the Siberian iris, spurge, yellow loosestrife, peony, spiderwort, and red monarda.  And that's just one bed!

I found violets and grape hyacinth beginning to bloom.  Lamium is in bud.  I worried about the current bush and the yellow rose.  Did they come back?  Yes, they did as did the pink rose I transplanted from a neighbor's yard after he died.  He originally planted it for his wife who died several years before. It needed to be saved from someone who likes lawn more than flowers.

The cherry tree will be in bloom in another week. The lilac starts a few days after that. The pear and apple trees will follow a week later.  I know all of this from the bloom charts I keep from year to year.

I am ruthless with weeds.  Out they come by their roots, to be thrown in a heap to be taken to the city dump next week.  All frustrations, angers, and anxieties go with them.

I make mistakes.  Every year, I begin to pull out plants before I recognize their leaves. This year I was mean to Sweet William, a flower I love.  Oh well, I have more seeds and will re-sow. I can't manage without him.

I come away from my garden with an aching back and sunburned arms, but a mind refreshed.

Waukau, shoes, and friendship

     Norma Miller and I met at Seymour High School at the eighth grade introduction to the school when I was fourteen and she was thirteen.  We were in the eighth grade at two different one room schools about four miles away, yet we had never run into each other.  She was my first true friend, a bright girl with interests similar to mine.  There was a track meet going on but we just began to talk and talk and talk. 
     We've been BFs every since. Even when we went to separate colleges, we kept in touch and so it has been all these years.  
     These days, Norma lives in Chicago, but she occasionally comes to Oshkosh, Wisconsin to visit her mother and I inevitably drive down there so we can have a catch-up chat.   
     Today was such a day.  I picked up Norma and her husband Rich for a hike into spring.  She read something about the Waukau Nature Preserve west of Oshkosh.  I had never heard of it but I was willing to give it a try. 
     Using my hit or miss navigation system I call zen driving, we found the village of Waukau and soon after the Waukau dam.  We wandered around that area for a while passing over bridges, looking at falling water, smelling dead carp on the shore, and watching clouds drift by.  However, this wasn't the preserve we were looking for, so we asked directions from some other wanderers. 
     True to form, we missed a turn and ended up in a bar in yet another village, Eureka.  This time we got better directions from the fish fry patrons and found the nature area.  
     We followed the path, climbed down a bank, photographed wildflowers, especially a white kind of trout lily.  We found bloodroot, too and even a patch of that shy spring flower, the hepatica.  
     Norma and I remembered breaking open the stems of the bloodroot and painting ourselves with the red sap.  Rich, a city boy, never heard of that.  These days, the flowers are protected.  We were satisfied with photographing them.    

     We worked our way over muddy spots and kept going until I ran into a branch. 
     A head wound bleeds profusely, so holding napkin Rich supplied to my forehead I worked my way back up the bank to the car and the first aid kit New Zealander Liz Miller gave me years ago.  It had what I needed but I realized I would have to replenish my stock of medical supplies before mid-June. 
     We returned to Oshkosh for lunch and shoe shopping, sharing a BOGO at the Payless Shoe Store.  We checked out a dollar store for items useful to travelers.   Norma gave me some seeds to plant in my garden. 
     And we talked and talked and talked. 
     Until the next visit, dear friend.   

When it All Comes Together

Today was one of those days when things go your way.

First of all, the sun was shining, the temperatures were moderate, and the wind died down. It was a day for walking around to see what was happening. I went downtown and found a big sign on the old pizza parlor, which closed down when the owner died suddenly. The sign read:  "Coming soon, China Garden!"  Whooooo---eeee!   A Chinese restaurant in Seymour.  Bliss!

Next, I went for my yearly physical.  My old doctor retired this past year and I met his replacement, Dr. Erin Kimball.  I found out I am healthy, though there are tests to come in June.  We compared travels.  Dr. Kimball worked in a hospital in Botswana.  I've been reading the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency novels, which are set in Botswana.  "I would love to go there, but who would hire me?"  Dr. Kimball told me that unlike many African countries, Botswana is rich in diamonds.  She encouraged me into looking for work there.  And so I shall.  I'm thinking January, 2013 which is our winter but their summer.  I have too many other commitments until then.

Then there was the e-mail from a writers' colony in Arkansas.  Nikki spent two weeks there recently and recommended me for a residency. It would be time to concentrate on my novel.  I got the application.  I am thinking about March 2012 for that adventure.

Then I heard from an editor who wants to publish my short story "Candle in the Window" in the on line magazine Mobius.  After thinking over the terms, I agreed.  Though I've published many articles, this is my first adult fiction sale.

I received an e-mail invitation from a friend who is having a Solstice celebration June 18-19 with friends camping over.  I am leaving on my tour on June 20, so this is a great kickoff.

I finished the day gardening in the sunshine.  My friend Susan came over and I gave her a big bouquet of daffodils.  She brought me a loaf of her homemade bread a couple of days before.  That's a good exchange of gifts.

Finally, Gary, who has been in Illinois helping his aunt on the family farm, came home.

What a lovely day it was, a day when things came together, putting my life in focus.

Daffodils

The daffodils seen through my office window brighten the gloomiest day.  I have gathered four big bouquets for friends and church members yet there are hundreds left.  They snuggle all winter under the pear tree then show up just when I need them.  The pear tree is in bud, too, with the promise of juicy Bartletts come fall.

Also in bloom:  tulips, anemone, lungwort (prettier than it sounds), scilla, Virginia bluebell, hyacinth, trillium, vinca, and pasque flower.  The snowdrops have given up and the crocuses are about to join them but there will be a resurrection of flowers next Easter.  

I ate my first asparagus three days ago.  I plan on making a strawberry rhubarb pie by the end of the week. We'll plant peas and onions by next week and by Memorial Day the gardens will be complete.  

Isn't spring wonderful?   

Shopping with Tisha

I still need more performance clothes for the summer trip, so I consulted my personal dresser (my daughter-in-law Tisha). We agreed to go shopping at the Appleton St. Vincent de Paul Resale Shop at their $5 bag sale.  I was looking for easily washed dresses that could be rinsed out at a campsite and hung on a line to be dry and ready for the next day's storytelling.  No ironing necessary is key since most of my campsites don't have electricity.  Pockets to hold my autoharp pics were a bonus. 

Tisha is a marvel.  She went from rack to rack pulling things off, holding them up to me and throwing them in our shopping cart.  We looked for good labels, too.  I didn't try anything on in the store figuring if things didn't fit they would go into my church's rummage sale on May 14.     

After less than an hour we had found:

--  six performance dresses or jumpers, one from Talbot's, two from Land's End

--  a pair of blue jeans with an elastic waist, nice and comfortable on long drives

--  a lavender Christopher & Banks sweater

--  an ivory Christopher & Banks spring jacket which is a match for another I own in purple

--  a long man's tee shirt suitable for sleeping 

One of the great buys was a Crofts and Barrows winter coat identical to one I've had for several years.  Its a lightweight coat that was still warm, but over the years the fluffy lining had worn down and I'd spilled more than one hot drink on it while driving.   The "new" coat was missing its hood, but the "old" hood unzipped and then zipped on the new coat and matched perfectly.  

I had so many clothes that I assumed I would be spending $10 but no, the volunteers stuffed it all into one $5 bag.  Wow!  They even stamped my St. Vincent de Paul "frequent shopper" card.  For each $5 I receive a stamp.  With two more stamps, I can use the card to take ten percent off a major purchase.  

 

Everything was in great shape and it turned out that it all fit.  I checked some of the stuff on the Internet.  The Talbot's and Land's End dresses originally sold for about $100 each.   The sweater was about $80.  In the end, I bought almost $500 worth of clothing for $5.  I feel rich, rich, rich!

But the best treasure of all is having a clever daughter-in-law.  

 

 

  

Bounty

Today, the first asparagus spears appeared in my garden.  I ate them for supper.  The rhubarb will be ready in a week. I'm already planning a strawberry rhubarb pie.  The herbs are coming, too.  The oregano and chives are ready.  I'll plant fennel, dill, basil, and parsley in about two weeks.

We've started beefsteak, rutgers, roma, and cherry tomatoes from seed.  I have 18 plants going, probably far too many.  We'll likely give some to our friends.  

Once my garden starts producing, there's food in the wild, too.  Starting tomorrow, I begin to walk a route that will take me a mile as I search for asparagus.   It is the same route my grandfather and father took before me. One of these days, I will pass it on to my grandson.  (My son doesn't like asparagus.)  I should get enough to serve it three or four times a week until mid-June and freeze a few pints, too.   I'll pick wild strawberries, blackberries, and mushrooms as the season goes on. 

Summer's bounty has begun.  No turning back now. 

Storytelling in Kaukauna

At Peace United Methodist Church in Kaukauna, the organizers told me I'd  told stories there before, but I couldn't remember doing it.  Then we figured out that it was decades ago.  I've been a professional storyteller for thirty years with hundred of performances behind me so if I forget, it's understandable. 

Today, it was a mother-daughter banquet that we had arranged almost a year before.  

I had to leave the Seymour United Methodist Church as soon as the chancel choir sang their anthem at the Sunday morning services.  The pastor  excused us from singing for the communion service.  I don't miss very often, and this way, I could sneak out of services at 11:00, get in my car and drive half an hour to Kaukauna. 

Mother-daughter banquets aren't exactly the same as they used to be.  There are single mothers.  Women with no daughters come anyhow.  (I had a son so was never eligible back in the old days.)  It still is true that women of all ages come, from the tiny girls to great-grandmothers in their 90's.  It is usual for the men of the church to serve but I ducked into the kitchen and found them talking sports.  Their wives had done all the cooking which was served buffet style.  The women had decorated.  All the men really had to do was pour coffee and later do some dishes, though the plates were paper.   "They don't trust us all that much," one of the guys explained. 

The food looked delicious but I can never eat before I perform, but there were egg rolls that called to me.  Finally, at the ladies' insistence, I put together a plate and stored it in the refrigerator to eat later.  (I did just that.) 

After the meal and a few announcements, I did my performance which consisted of two songs and two stories. The first song was an introductory one about singing stories.  Next came a story I wrote based on a Yiddish folk tale about a seamstress and what she did with a bolt of white satin.  I followed that with a story I learned from a Scottish teller I met in England.   Each story is about fifteen minutes long.  Finally, I sang a Judy Small song, "The Lambing to the Wool" which I think demonstrates that farm families are the same no matter what country. 

Later, as I ate my lunch, I sat with people who wanted to talk about my life on the road.  One woman would like to tell stories but she doesn't know how to make them interesting.   "What problems do your characters have?"  I asked.  "What trouble do they get into?"   

"I don't like to have trouble in my stories," she said.  I asked her what went wrong when she got married, and she told me a funny story about her cake falling over.  

"Is that the story you tell every time you talk about your wedding?"  

She said yes. 

I told her that if things didn't go wrong in my life, I would have no stories to tell.  She liked that way of looking at things.  

Though come to think of it, nothing went wrong at Peace United Methodist Church. 

I should have made something up.