I weeded my tomato garden and thought I would show it off. After all, it was quite a task. I have pig-weed and chick-weed that grows like mad in my garden space.
My old farmer neighbor Shirl says, " if you don't have weeds growin' then it ain't no place to grow anything else." I like when he says that. I turn it all philosophical. (Of course.) I think about being blessed with what I have, and those weeds, those annoyances, they are there to remind me that I am truly living. The earth is fertile and so is my existence. I can grow my creativity, or relationships or tomatoes, but I have to remember when I manifest those things in my life, I have to accept what comes with them. It is about accepting the totality of life. Not just the round-red-fruit parts, but the weeds-that-crop-up-and-eat-up-my-energy parts as well. They both are necessary. Infertile land gives birth to nothing, not even weeds.
|stake and tomato|
|holy plastic staked tomatoes and blueberry (the dog)|
|three pole bean teepees|
Maybe this is how lettuce prays.
|lettuce tower patch|
For example, the raspberries are in season! Tonight I did the berry picking by myself. I harvested much more than last evening when I had Sophia "helping" me. She ate one picked one. I don't blame her, they are so good. I hope when she gets older, she remembers berry picking and eating them straight off the bush. I remember picking wild blueberries in New England when I was a girl. Perhaps that is why I have a sense of melancholy, when the berries come.
|waves of ripeness|
|plump and sweet|
|the secret hideout|
|bird's nest in the berry briars|
Earlier today I was stung by a honey bee. It must have got inside of my boot and got trapped. It stung me on the inside of my foot on the side of the arch. I took my boot off and sure enough a bee and a bee bite. I was laughing and I looked at Rusty and said, "honey bee stings really don't hurt that bad, I can totally keep bees."
Well, I went inside and checked my email, because I had advertised my LaMancha buck for sale. A guy immediately answered the add and came over. We got to talking about goats and cows and farming. He really appreciated our farm. He loved Earl, my Nanny goats and the chickens. Then he mentioned he is a bee-keeper. He has a bunch of bee boxes and he goes to people's houses and captures swarms or hives that are unwanted and brings them home, or to his circle of bee-keeping friends. So, I get all excited and tell him about my bees in the old Victorian house we own and how I have always wanted to keep bees. So he gets all excited when he sees the house and the propolis soaking through the clapboard. We start talking bees. Now he is going to set me up with a hive box and Rusty and I are going to go help him do a huge honey harvest. His nickname is Red. So if I talk about Red in the future you know. My son is a redhead. Gotta love 'em.
So the freak honey bee sting and my announcement to Rusty (and the universe) happens, then poof... a bee keeping buddy lands here.
Oh, and Rusty says getting stung by a bee might help my arthritis a little. :-) Imagine.
A great day for the birds and the bees. A bad day for the weeds. A great day for crow.