Home grown.

Yeah baby!

Last week saw the first frost of the season,

followed immediately by a blizzard.

Too soon, too much, too weird! I want to register a complaint, but I’m not sure who with. And anyway, I’m finding myself resigned to it being winter already.

Yesterday I had the door open and all day in the background was the sound of leaves rustling across the ground. Labor Day brought with it the orange undertone that creeps into everything green. Even the light is getting that low angled rust color to it and the squirrels and I are rushing to hoard the end of summer bounty.

In among tomatoes of every shape and size, the first little Benning’s Patty Pan squash. Fresh light green, to remind me that in the not too distant future it will all start over with spring.

My stash of frozen tomato sauce was parsed out over the winter and spring, and I defrosted the last jar just as the new tomato crop started to color.

I want more jars of sauce in the freezer this winter, and planted twice as many tomato plants, but we’ll see how many tomatoes get into the sauce pot once leaf spot diseases and tomato sandwiches have had their way.

Thank goodness there’s always the local farm stand.

How it stands there against the dark
of this late rainy hour, young and clean,
swaying its generous branches
yet absorbed in its essence as rose;
with wide-open flowers already appearing,
each unsought and each uncared-for.
So, endlessly exceeding itself
and ineffably from itself come forth,
it calls the wanderer, who in evening contemplation
passes on the road:
Oh see me standing here, see how unafraid I am
and unprotected. I have all I need.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

Seen only feet from these newly planted sweet young things…

Needless to say, she is not alone. This morning I saw a baby bunny inside the vegetable garden. At least the little ones run away fast and give me some sense of righteous satisfaction.

I am connecting with my inner Farmer McGregor, and dreaming of electric fences.

Your worst enemy cannot harm you
as much as your own unguarded thoughts.

~The Buddha

Weeding the asparagus patch, it strikes me how much like thoughts weeds are; ubiquitous, tough and insidious.

Now that I tend a garden I’ve discovered that weeds are clever, growing as close to a ‘good’ plant as possible, twining in and around the stalks and leaves, making it difficult to tease them out. My thoughts twist together as well, the undermining, repetitive, hopeless ideas tangled up with the useful, helpful, hopeful ones.

So I weed carefully, and I meditate. I can’t get rid of all the weeds, or of my negative thinking, but I can tease out the difference between constructive and negative thoughts, between the ground ivy and the asparagus, making room for sunshine and water.

I was looking through my photo archive and realized that all Fall and Winter I’ve been taking pictures of patches of sunlight, welcomed gratefully by my friends and I, and of the accompanying shadow patterns.

It’s getting chilly. I picked a load of parsley and pulled up all the basil plants yesterday, and spent the evening processing them and stocking the freezer with pesto.

I’m still in squirrel mode. I have half-ripe tomatoes sitting around the house and they continue to ripen on the vine as well, where the zinnias compete for the most colorful award, poking their heads out above what has become the tomato hedge.

According to my journal, last year’s first recorded frost was on October 19th. I can feel it creeping closer…

For the last fortnight the hummingbird activity at the feeder on the porch has been intense. A couple of times I’ve seen ten birds at once.

For such tiny creatures they have big attitude, reminding me of New Yorkers with their fast moves and “You lookin’ at me?” moxie.

(It was raining when I shot this, which made for noisy background, accentuating the traffic sounds.)

Indoors there’s been a lot of silent, focused, staring.

One morning I was standing looking out the side door at the garden. I was waking up, sipping my coffee, with Noola draped across my shoulders (she likes it there).

A hummingbird perched on the fence next to the tomato plants. All of a sudden he flew directly towards us and stopped at eye level, a foot away, hovering and checking us out, and then just as suddenly flew off into the trees.

Noola and I were both blown away by the experience.