growing things

Here are pictures of us starting our garden several weeks back. Look at us, so full of hope for new things to grow, things we could eat and be nourished by.

Shortly thereafter, we were further inspired by our friends in Portland, Jeff and Kezia, and Steve and Darla, when we had short visits with each and toured both couples’ lovely gardens. Here. I’ll include a few pics of those visits. Here's Jeff and Kez with her sister Naomi:

Darla

a nice shot taken by Steve of us with them

Well, this weekend we had to call it quits on our garden. As full as we were of hope - that's as full as the soil on my parents’ property is of clay. This, despite the addition of wheelbarrows full of aged horse manure. Our test starter tomatoes and squash are now wilted to smithereens. We could buy soil, but we’d have to start completely over, digging out the clay, and we just don’t have time. Plus, how much do we want to invest in setting up a garden spot here when we’ll be (hopefully) living in our own place next growing season? So, with much sadness, we laid down our shovels and hoes. “Oh well,” I kept thinking, “At least I’ve got our little pot of herbs back in the Park.” I have been tending to that little pot of parsley and basil set just outside our door in the sun, watching like a hawk to see if the myriad of ground squirrels would take interest in it. They never did. They never cared. Until I was gone all day yesterday having my monthly pregnancy checkup. I came home to a simple, very feng shui, pot of dirt. A stripped stalk lay flat on top, its roots pulled up in a clump. I cannot believe it. Now the only thing left that we’re growing is a baby. And if clay or ground squirrels even look at me wrong, believe you me, I will bust out the jujitsu.

Speaking of baby, though he or she isn’t very holdable or very knowable yet, it’s fun to watch Jason already figuring out what roles he can and cannot play in supporting us. We are salsa people. Salsa that you eat with chips; not so much dancing. Although this pregnancy bit is certainly promoting the shapeliness for salsa dancing. Anyway, the other night we got some new fresh salsa, and when we got it home remembered the big tomato/salmonella scare. Jason volunteered to eat it first, and if he didn’t get sick, I could eat it the next day. There are quite a few microbe-laden foods that pregnant people are to avoid, so this was logical, but it’s harder for me to be inspired by the potential presence of invisible beings than for Jason, who has spent many hours observing them under microscopes. I pouted and ate canned salsa instead.

Well, it happens that Jason is reading The Birth Partner, given to us by Darla, and a few minutes after the salsa incident, perhaps as consolation or an attempt to redirect my attentions, he asked if I wanted to practice squats in preparation for birth. I agreed to. After about three squats, he suddenly dropped my hands and stepped back. “Gawd! Are your knees crinkling?!” He stood there frozen, hands trapped in the middle of the air by disbelief, me in a low squat. I said, “Um, yeeeaaaahhh…” He was referring to the sound a lot of knees make when they’re unfolding. He began backing up, wincing and contorting his body, muttering something about us getting old. I said, “Oh Honey, relax! My knees have been doing this since high school. It can’t be an age thing. Maybe overuse or misuse when I was young…[I was talking louder now, since he had left the room] So, I take it we're not doing squats anymore?” “Right,” he said from the kitchen, dishing up more fresh salsa.

Moral of the story: it’s evidently sometimes easier to risk your life to microbes than listen to knees crinkle.

Another growing thing that isn’t dependent on us, thankfully, is bear grass. Here’s some near our house. It looks like a big light bulb sitting atop a thick stalk. Bear grass is the official flower of the Park and is in full bloom now, and boy is it stunning to come around a corner and see a whole field of it. It’s so stark against the dark greens, blacks, and blues of the forest and sky. And you feel like you’re discovering a little miracle when you see an individual stalk tucked into a corner of the woods.