Buds of mahonia blossom, fetal curl at the center of sword fern, infolding, downturning hellebore, furred clasp of magnolia sepals, camellia’s embryonic swell— while the garden slumbers, I burrow under blankets, knees pulled to chest, arms tight-wrapped, like a December bud, sleeping—becoming. The earth is a pregnant mother, gestating through the darkness, crafting, creating, … Read more
Once upon a time, in earliest spring, when golden moments of sunshine played at rainbow making between intervals of storm showers, a young snail extended their tentacles out to the waking world. Snail, hugging cold ground with mucus-slippered foot, felt little beyond the plodding cycle of clouded day becoming night and onto gray day … Read more
Curbed in concrete and asphalt, rooted beneath impermeable surfaces of human engineering, yet still, you tower, you arch overhead, tickling third-story windows, holding nests and sunlight in your crowns. Thank you. Thank you street trees for the visual rest of your complexity in a straight-lined urbanity. Your branches trace dark lines, earth’s signature, on gray … Read more
Soft-fogged darkness, muted winter mornings, a warm mug of strong brew, and the swaying wands of Douglas Spiraea’s seedheads in complementary hue— rich as earth. Whorled outreaching form rising to ungloved touch, as plumply furred as a small creature crawling from hibernation, angled sunward, against the weight of rain. See their resilient charm: proud … Read more
The thunk, thunk of a chef’s knife nearby, Abby and I swapped stories at Lovely in downtown Springfield. It was late January. The new year buzz was as strong as the coffee in my veins, as rich as the soil in Ami and Jeff’s garden, as fertile as the friendship between us. Talk of that … Read more
“The Kalapuyas had originally a six month calendar that organized the spring, summer, and fall according to the camas growing cycle. The winter did not have any particular months as it was a long period where it was best that people stayed indoors because of the extensive rainfall.” -David G. Lewis I read this in … Read more
A clear yellow leaf shows like a portal through the green, heavy-laden branches of the fig. It’s going to be good year for figs, plump ripening with the season’s change, with the waning sun. Black beauty lilies are done blooming, giving way to the pink wonder of Amaryllis belladonna, she of the naked stalk, the … Read more
Creative resistance was kicking my butt at the drawing board so I headed outside. Cora confirmed in a quick text that this afternoon yes, would be wonderful for a visit, so I headed across the river to her place lickety-split for a garden excursion and a mood shift. We made the Dwarfs in … Read more
“Good thing Snow’s driving the cart,” my brother says to me over the phone. He’s navigating grocery aisles with his son steering, trying to find garlic oil for an earache. I sit on the stone stair in the sunniest spot in my garden, one hand holding the phone to my ear, the other combing the … Read more
Heroes If a hero is someone that saves you, then my latest hero is the writer Lia Purpura. The essays in her collection All The Fierce Tethers have been grounding, rooting, a reminder of wonder throughout this weird pandemic year. Instead of getting sucked into an anxiety-paralysis binging on news, I pick up the slim … Read more