very good Friday

Lately my ‘get up and go’ has ‘gone down and went’. Some days I want to stay in bed… have a headache…can’t think straight…wanna eat pralines and cream straight from the carton. But TA-day, with the help of the middle Sprout and the Texan, I finished a project! Do I hear a BOO-YAH?

The back patio

This was the perfect day…Good Friday…to work on the patio. Hauling out the succulents I kept in the sunroom through the winter, and planting some pots with a few annuals. The weather:  warm. The wind:  still. Un-freakin-believable.

Brought out the radio and cranked up K-LOVE to be inspired on this Holy day. Praise and worship music perfectly tuned to plant petunias.

where I worshipped this Good Friday

This song spoke to me….Who Am I, by Casting Crowns

I am a flower quickly fading, here today and gone tomorrow….a vapor in the wind.

Get to growin’ plants!

Proud I finally finished something. Break out the margaritas, Texan. It’s patio season!!

Thanks to my fellow gardeners. You helped me cross the finish line. I’m grateful.

Good Friday love to all. Hang on….Easter’s comin’.

don’t even THINK it

You KNEW it was coming, didn’t you?…..the obligatory, boring garden post. My own personal Field of Dreams..if you plant it, the tomatoes will come……

We’ve had rain.  It’s green in this high plains desert.  We are thankfully basking in the green-ness.  The grass is happy. The wheat is happy.  The cattle are happy.

It’s been one of the best Spring’s ever (OK….we’ve had some breezes!) and we are grateful.  Here is what green wheat looks like in the Spring….if we’ve had rain.

Here it is in June….being harvested.  Notice the gathering storm?  It’s always the Amazing Race to get the wheat harvested before the June storms wreak their havoc.

Here’s the Texan in a grain truck during harvest.  He’s a happy camper.  Grain in the grain truck before the storms. All is right in the world.  Amen and amen.

In gorgeous, wet years like this, it’s natural to do some worrying.  When the crops are this beautiful and things seem so right…….I sometimes think about…..I can’t bear to say it because I don’t want to tempt fate.….it’s wrong, I know…..lean in close to the computer and I will whisper it to you………hail.  Henceforth, I will refer to it as the h-word.  Don’t mention it and it doesn’t exist-you with me?

I only have my little Field of Dreams to fret over.  But I think about the Texan overseeing acres and acres of gorgeous wheat.  He takes it in stride, cause he’s been at it a while.

His grandfather started all this….then his Dad….then the Texan and his family.  He’s been in wheat fields since he was knee-high to a grasshopper….or a jack rabbit….or a coyote.  He’s pretty much seen it all.

Some years there is heartbreak.  When this stuff….the h-word falls from the sky.

The h-word NEVER falls in a bad year.  It only falls when there is the best crop EV-AH glowing in the field, waiting expectantly for harvest.  It only falls when the farmer has faithfully worked….blood, sweat and tears….toiling in the field.  When he feels he has supremely succeeded and grown something worthwhile and GORGEOUS.  The heavens, planets, and stars have aligned perfectly to produce something spec-tac-u-lar. That’s when it falls; violently, painfully, and forever unwelcome.

Heartbreak.  Despite the best efforts.  Despite doing everything right!  Made me ponder how the h-word falls in our lives and brings destruction and grief.  One minute, our crop is growing, green and hopeful.  We’ve made our plans.  We’ve dotted every ‘i’ and methodically crossed every ‘t’..  We’ve fertilized, watered, sprayed for weeds and pests….the sun has shone and we  stand expectantly on the shore overlooking something extraordinary.  Then swiftly, the storm rages and we are left slack-jawed among the ruins.  It happens.  I can’t tell you what it means.  I can’t fathom why.  I won’t offer an easy answer….you draw your own conclusions.

For me, recovering involves a measure of acceptance.  And some time for sadness and grieving and railing against the heavens.  Then, it is important I take the next step and plant the next seed.  The seed for the future.  It doesn’t matter how small the seed (or the step), I just need to do my part and plant it.

I don’t know how the Texan has done it all these years. I’m beyond grateful for his example. My seeds and garden are vastly smaller. I look at my humble garden…my expanding tomato vines…..and pray for the best.  For today, I will revel, wallow and indulge in the blessed green. 
Hope your week is beautiful.

the hope of manure

Someone is slowly closing the refrigerator door here.  The light is becoming friendly and is lingering a bit.  As such, my thoughts are turning to………..manure.  Temptation whacked my head yesterday at the local walmarts and I came away with these:

Isn’t that the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?  The dream of my first BLT!!   Just what I need right now. I told the Texan about the tempting mountain of horse manure at my trainer’s barn. ‘When it warms some more, let’s get a truck and a manure spreader and go crazy putting the rich stuff all over our yard and in my garden!’ He responds…’I just love your let’s. They always involve lots of work for me.’ His cynicism = more of a challenge to me.

These are the fun little seed-starter peat pots. They are conspiratorial partners in my delusion thinking I am going to start this glorious garden all from seeds. It’s got a snowball’s chance in hell. For today, hell be damned. I need to keep dreaming of seeds and manure.