Untwisting

I've learned a few things in recent days.

First among these, I am coming to understand what it means to carry an injury to one's spine.  It turns out that I have some not insignificant issues with a few discs in my neck which are potentially problematic (most inevitably, without proper care), but manageable, nonetheless.  Neck like an oak tree (on fire), so I've been told.  I have, perhaps, been underestimating the effects of this on my general state of well-being, while routine tasks such as doing the dishes, lifting a few pounds, normal movement, sitting, sleeping, seeing, swallowing, breathing, etc. have become increasingly difficult.  Considering the relationship of vertebrae to the central nervous system, I am not particularly surprised--albeit relieved--to find that I am feeling much, much calmer and more lucid after only a few adjustments.  I'm on deck for three per week during the next month--an aggressive schedule, to be sure, but this new person I'm seeing is not messing around.  For the first time in many years I feel the beginning of a much needed and long overdue change in my body, and in the most essential element of my continuing existence as homo sapiens.  It would be a bit foolish to say that I had no idea, but I have to wonder--as the urge for smoke and drink floats away, as I open my chest and stand firmly on my two feet--how in the dark I have been, for quite some time.  The oak is mighty, but when it breaks, it breaks for good.  To be more of the willow, to bend and to grow again, is my design...

The power of transformation.  In a garden it is nearly impossible not to experience this, as I had the pleasure of being reminded this evening, after a day which went from good (I can drop my head back freely!) to worse (tight grip overtaking skull) and back again... On my arrival home I noticed that one of the pumpkins I planted with a friend last week, if only as a gesture of unyielding hope, was up and in the world.  Peppers and tomatoes grow riper daily, on plants which have exceeded my expectations by so far that I am truly humbled by their presence.  Here and there, flowers continue to open portals of color, coaxing my greyed matter into a more vibrant state.  This yard is actually rather amazing, in the number and variety of plants growing in it, and in the gentle way it has wooed me, despite my reluctance to give it my whole heart.  The neighbor(hood)'s cat, Vishnu--who I'd been calling Haiku--climbs over the fence to greet me as I wander the grounds, finding new growth at every turn.  By contrast to the 120 acres of land I grew up on, this smaller scale requires a somewhat tighter focus...With macro lens (oh how I wish!) there are so many small wonders to behold...

Tonight I witnessed something which I suspect few among you have seen.  I was just about to plant a few cast-off globe thistles when a trumpet of white caught my attention.  I grabbed my camera and took this shot:
 

 

...and I missed the next one, because before I was able to think about what I was seeing, the blossom gave a gentle twist and opened, to my surprise... 

 

and then, another...

 

and was fully open within moments:

 

Datura: goddess of the garden, unfurling herself in twilight to rival the moon, wielding dreams as swords to cut through the mists of time, unwinding... 

 

Also known as Jimsonweed, erroneously as Moonflower, and more commonly as Loveapple, Daturas are members of the Solanaceae family, so potato beetles love 'em:

 

In the few minutes I spent taking a few photos of this lovely plant, the blossom which had only just opened began to fold...

 

...and in the softening whiteness, this momentary vision...

 

These flowers close as quickly as they open, though at the moment my Datura--planted only two short months ago and already big as a forest cat--is covered with fat green pods, ready to burst.  It's possible I might catch another opening, but I've had enough experience with this sort of thing to know that it's no coincidence, when a flower spirals open before your very eyes... This is a plant of ancient wisdom and shamanic tradition, hallucinogenic dreams and love potions, not one to be taken lightly.  I've never grown one before, but have always admired them, and now that we've become acquainted it's time I carry myself off to bed, to sleep, perchance to dream...

Sheets to the Wind

So I'm watching this guy create a collapsing tower and expanding flower out of a single sheet, with intricate and intimate precision, the culmination of hours upon hours of carefully planned creases and in-creases, while I'm lying on the sofa trying to figure out how I can fish a radish out of my Bloody Mary with one chopstick.  Yep, that sounds about right.  As I found out, it is not necessary to be drunk for this to be difficult, or for one to fall into deep cosmic love with a piece of folded paper... If one of your favorite pastimes as a kid was graph paper, or cloud-busting, or you've ever been turned on by sculpture, or if you find yourself laid up or needing to lie down for an hour, you might enjoy this little documentary titled "Between the Folds".  Those of you who are already doing origami mathematics over your morning bowl of Alpha-bits might find this old hat, and unfortunately the narration is both dull and annoying, but there are some paper wonders in this film (as well as a bit of insight on Chopin and Rachmaninoff), a worthwhile diversion.

 I could so totally fold that.

Good News and Bad News, and Good News

So the good news is that earlier this week (with a hand from a friend, much appreciated) I finally got that big blue tarp that's been occupying the better part of my backyard--in one way or another, for the past three months--folded up and back in the garage, and today I got in touch with an ass-kicking "chiropractor" who I believe will be able to help me out, for real, with some chronic body issues.  The bad news is that it appears I have been rather underestimating both the pain I've been in and the severity of my "neck" problems ("walking cranial mess", were the words she used, I think), and as a result my weekend plans to transform that big ol' pile of dirt into the northern hemisphere of my radiant garden have been reclassified from promising project into "ridiculous idea".  So, looks like everything's going on ice for now...

The gardens up north are thriving this year, in the loving and capable hands of my mom and dad.  It's a stellar summer for the curcurbits--zucchini and summer squashes, melons, cukes and winter squashes are thriving and full of fruit and blossoms.  The tomatoes are looking good, too, and even the peppers and eggplant, which were just spindly little leggy buggers when they went in, are now bushy and full of flowers.  The brassicas are lagging, but they should do just fine through the home stretch into the Fall, as things cool down, and even through frost.  Loads of sweet corn is about where it should be this time of year, and the onions and potatoes look great.  There's a super-happy patch of Calendula taking hold of the eastern border of the back garden, practically unstoppable now... Not so many peas and lettuces this year, after a late start, but there's time for more greens in the Fall.  Carrots are going gangbusters and the rest of the roots are slowly chugging along.  There's a beautiful, thick stand of Jerusalem artichokes at the western edge of the compost garden, and the patch of Russian comfrey at the opposite end is three feet high and rising, just a few short weeks after mom cut it down for the first time this season.  Borage abounds, as usual, and some of the perennial herbs I put in last year and this Spring have developed into nice little communities.  The old--I mean OLD, like at least 30 years--rhubarb that mom and dad split transplanted from the end of the asparagus bed to the northeast corner of the front garden is so big you wouldn't know it hadn't been there forever.  All in all, a good year for growing and things are doing well.  The bad news is, the good word has got out (perhaps spread by the baby rabbits who were born this Spring in last year's tomato patch...), and there's a plague of chipmunks who are, in relative terms at least, wreaking havoc.

My own gardens are doing sort of surprisingly well, too--tomatoes, peppers, broccoli and cabbages have quadrupled in size in the past two or three weeks, and I've got basil bushes with leaves so large and lovely I've been eating them like lettuce, in sandwiches.  The frigging squirrels stripped away the onion bags and stole my few precious strawberries, but since I wasn't really expecting any fruit this year I guess I can deal with that.   Still have flowers to plant and fencerows to fill in and various other things to tend to but that I will get to in due time.  Now I'm going to fetch the Led Zeppelin from the basement, refill my cup, lie down on my shaggy rug of bliss for a very long time, and thank god for doctor's orders.

Jungle of Dreams

Last night, a tiger sauntered through my greenness, 
all grace and strength, within reach. 

Today I have changed.

So few remain.

Travel In

(skip it, 10 seconds in)

In The House!

Bugging Out

I propped the kitchen door open last night, while hauling a carload of old stuff (aging wines and meads, mostly, a lot of them forgotten: currant wine from a few years ago, chokecherry wine and cordial and mead, lilac mead, sage mead and beer...quite the assortment of delicacies) into my new place, and inadvertently welcomed a bunch of moths, mosquitoes and other bugs to my abode.  One among them dropped itself into the space between the two halves of an open window, where I fished him out with a twist-tie:

I'd never seen a beetle like this one before--something akin to a Junebug but bigger, and golden, and much more relaxed--so I snapped a few photos while he waved his mandibles at me in an ever-so-slightly-intimidating way, all the while clinging steadfastly to his twisted and wiry mate, of which he did not let go even when I turned him out into the garden...turns out it's a Grapevine Beetle, I learned from the folks over at What's That Bug.  Strangely enough, their featured bug for the month of July is a Japanese Beetle, which is only odd in that I encountered one just this afternoon, traversing the back of my neck as I sat at my desk...Pretty little thing, but not cut out for the cubicle life, so I carried it out to seek its fortune on the streets of Minneapolis...There's new life to be found everywhere...