August 2007 Newsletter
Sunshine is filtering through sunflower leaves in an iridescent lime green, red and salmon geranium blooms glow. "Oooh, take a shot of that!" My photographer friend obligingly fetches her camera and takes a few more frames. "You should have been on the garden tour." She matter-o'-fact-ed to me. "Your yard is so... ummm... interesting! Other gardeners should see it. Especially how the birds, insects and critters are welcomed in." This particular Sunday morning, following a Saturday night's rain, all the plants are washed clean and the flowers sparkling. Well-fed and freshly bathed birds sing their best tunes. The morning breeze off the foothills is soft and cool. Just minutes before my friend stopped by I sat at my picnic table in solitary company, patting a little goatskin drum and falling into a meditation of life, here and now. A garden provides the perfect venue to petition the universe. Divine mystery pours in from the atmosphere. With an open, welcoming heart, the garden helps my life's sadness and heartbreaks to be soothed. Gardens help to sound the depths of my existence here and follow my path. Hope for the future and determination to stay my life-course is renewed. Both within and without, all about, I find the spiritual comfort I seek.
I visited Gateway Gardens last week, sat under the arbor and had a discussion with the grapes. "Hello, grapes. How generous you are. I see the purples; where are the green grapes?" Looking down the path, weedy seedy heads stood ready to do their weedy work. The old plum tree was still growing, while the aspens seemed to be dying back, pulling their energy in closer to the trunk. Drought, no doubt. I'd love to speak with the gardener.
Rebuilding the habitat would be a beautiful thing. Balance is needed between the browning of weed seeds and the hearty shrubs and trees. Growing more food, more flowers and using the land at it's highest abundance level, challenging it, encouraging it to rise and thrive seems the right thing to do, according to this gardener's heart. The currant offered me some fruit, as did the chokecherries, bringing forth images of drunken robins throwing chokecherry parties at creekside. Funny parties. I miss that.
The cottonwood surpassed the aspens shooting big dinner plate leaves of green and silver up into the sun. Cottonwoods, my favorite deciduous tree, hold a special place in my heart, this one in particular. Feverfew was ready to throw more happy seeds, while the lemon balm mellowed in the late morning heat. In the shade of the "bee tree" I sat with my memories. The bee tree, in the next yard, is slowly leaving. Slowly, slowly. Trees grow slowly; they die slowly. Music from the dancing water of Fountain Creek sounded familiar chords overpowering the melody coming from the house. Contentedly I sat and waited. Perhaps I simply needed to breathe in deep my connection to nature. Perhaps I was waiting to touch an intimate connection from my former life once again. Memories are trailing behind in this passage through time and a tangible wave of timelessness swept over me. How I will always love this place between the creek and the river of people. A brief moment of infinity was added into an unwritten journal that I carry in my heart. Peaceful freshness from the organic was all about, dripping from the eaves and stirring in the air.
But today is Sunday, and I am in my own garden, here and now. I eat a ripened rose hip from my newest addition, rugosa roses. The hips are as big as crab-apples, soft and sweet. A sister alpine currant stands tall in two year old glory, next year it will offer me fruit. The lamb's quarters and happy dandelions dutifully feed my rabbits while sunflowers grow everywhere in a tempting display for the squirrels overhead. Growing food in edible gardens is the highest use of urban lands. Potted plants patiently spin their roots round and round, yet bloom and grow as best they can. The future is held tightly in the grip of their roots.
This July has been a return of the monsoons for the Front Range. Lightening astounds and thunder humbles us. Thunder brings the world into silence. My prairie-loving soul is passionate about a good storm! Keep the rains coming! Gardeners, and the farmers, keep prayers going. The harvest is coming. Peace.
© Becky Elder 8-2003/7-2007
"Everything gardens."
Peter Bane, Permaculture teacher
Blue Planet Earthscapes P O Box 861 Manitou Spgs, CO 80829 (719) 685 - 0290