Evening Song

Today has been the opposite of yesterday. It has been quiet and I have rested and I have renewed. I walked, I hung my laundry including the sheets which are now tucked tightly on my bed, waiting for me. I watered my porch plants, I gathered eggs, I took last night's trash and recycle down to the trash depot, I sent Mr. Moon off to Orlando, I worked in the yard.
It has been lovely, this day of rest and renewal.
In the quiet and peace I found treasures in my yard and I consider this one to be my Birth-Day present:

Doesn't look like much, does it?
Well. It is. For me. To me. It is the first bloom of the giant begonia I started from one leaf two summers ago. I was just wondering the other day if it would ever bloom. All the begonias I've ever had have had a bloom- where was the giant begonia's? And here it is. Tiny and unimpressive to the eye. It may grow larger. I do not know. But I am delighted at its appearance today.
Here's another present:

My Easter lily, or should I say, my "Easter" lily? Finally it has opened. I believe that Lily may have given me this lily. I've been watching it every day, patiently waiting for it to bloom. And today it did.

The thing I believe I have enjoyed most today was finally weeding and clearing out the place where I wanted to plant zinnias. I am so ashamed- I should have planted those tiny winged seeds two months ago. I hope they will forgive me and make something of themselves despite my tardiness in giving them to the dirt. The first seeds I ever planted were zinnia seeds that my grandmother had in a glass bottle and although I checked them every day, they never sprouted. I think they might have been many years old, those seeds.
But today I weeded and broke up the earth, the chickens very curious and coming to see what I was doing, and I spread a little composted chicken shit and then laid down leaves for mulch and brushed them aside to make a place to plant the seeds (a dark gash of earth) and I mixed the contents of three different types of zinnias from their packages into one and I so carefully placed them in the shallow indented row I made with my forefinger. Then I patted the dirt back over them and have set the sprinkler on and am hoping for the best. Summer will be with us for quite awhile and zinnias are summer plants and so I have hope.
I do.

I have been gardening for over thirty years and yet strangely, I feel like a novice; every year a new adventure, a different experiment in how to grow flowers and food. Isn't that odd? You would think I would know how to do it, what to do, and the best way to do it, wouldn't you? And yet, no.

There are so many different factors every year. The lateness of winter or the early arrival of spring. The bugs we have one year are different than the ones we have other years. So are the fungi and other plant diseases. One year the cucumbers may thrive while another they hardly do a thing. My peas this year have been a vast disappointment and the collards bolted so early, despite spring's long, unusual coolness. Why? I do not know. Half my garden right now is filled with bolted things- lettuces and the collards, mustards and even the radishes. I need to clear it out. And I will. It's just hard to let it go, for some reason. Hard to be ruthless with something still green, even if it's gone bitter and to seed.

But every year I hope to learn something new. Every year we hope to improve the dirt with composted shit and leaves for mulch. Every year is a new beginning. A new lesson. A brand, spanking new experience.

Sort of like raising children- just because you know how to raise one, doesn't mean shit when it comes to the next.

Believe me.

When I finished the last bit of the zinnia row and patted it like I'd pat a baby's bottom and turned on the sprinkler, I walked around with my camera for a bit.
Here are some different hydrangea, their blooms just beginning to turn color:

There are blue and pink and purple hydrangea, already showing like pieces of the sky in the different hours of the day in Lloyd, but mine are shaded and so are slow in coming. Shade makes many blossoms shy but what are you going to do? Cut down the oak trees? I don't think so.

Here's another. It's a fancier version. The tiny white blossoms dance around the inner blue ones. I'll show you what it looks like in a week or two. It will be different.

My chickens continue to delight and amaze me. Every day. They line up to be let out in the mornings and spend their day either in busy scratching or in rest under bushes or a shed. Jessie and I went out today and we didn't see them but when we went into the front yard, there they were, rushing us to see what we might bring them. They rarely go into the front yard so we were surprised to see them. We lured them back to their coop where Jessie had taken the rinds of the watermelon and cantaloupe and strawberry tops I'd cut up earlier. And Hank- that watermelon is TASTY! Elvis made his throat call after tasting the bounty to call the hens to treats. I never get tired of watching them, these social, intelligent creatures who give me such pretty eggs every day.

Miss Bob of whom I rarely speak. She is a quiet hen and just goes about her day but she is a pretty thing.

Daffodil and Luna The Cat, both wishing I would fill up the bowl with cat food. I had no idea that chickens and cats could co-exist so peacefully. Who knew? Not me. But now I do.

And now it's getting dark and those chickens have tucked themselves up into bed and I need to go out and shut their door against predators and turn off the sprinklers. I am filthy dirty and need a shower. There's an Amy's pizza in the freezer I am going to make for my supper. Why not? No one here but me. I'll cook some peppers and garlic and onions and chop up some tomatoes to put on it before I put it into the oven. It will be GOURMET frozen pizza.
I might watch some TV as I eat it.
I will not be watching the last episode of "24" which even my beloved NPR has been talking about today. I've never watched one minute of that show and so what would be the point? A show where they torture people? Oh, maybe there is more to it than that but I'm pretty sure it's not for me.

The crickets are singing and a distant dog is barking. Beside that, it is quiet.

Thirty-two years ago right now my baby May was just over twelve hours old. She was fussy that night. I remember. I stayed up with her and sang her songs and nursed her. I remember that well. I looked into her eyes and wondered who this soul was whom I had just given birth to. I wonder if the descendants of the crickets I hear now are the same ones who sang that night. They must be.

I had made a dinner the night she was born of peas and potatoes from our garden and chicken baked in the oven with barbeque sauce. I remember that.
There are potatoes in my garden right now and a few peas. A few.

I am alone with these memories and the knowing that I have had a good and peaceful day, the knowing that after all of these years I don't know squat about gardening and yet, was trusted with the lives of four children.

Amazing.

Grace.