WHEN THE RAIN COMES . . .

It's been overcast, thundering and raining.  For the moment, the draught is over.

I took my dear friend to her doctor appointment today -- an appointment that must have worried me at a subconscious level because at 2:30 this morning I was out of bed and at the computer, researching.   The Internet is both a blessing and curse in this day and age.

The appointment went the way of all cancer appointments -- for every answer given more questions arise.  With cancer comes the waiting game – waiting for biopsy results, waiting for surgery to be scheduled, waiting for pathology reports.  After returning home, I found myself unable to concentrate on computer work or to tend to any of my daily chores.  Instead, I stood in my doorway a long while, watching the rain inundate flower beds in the front yard, and thought of tumors and surgery and lymph nodes and chemo and . . .

As soon as the rain stopped, I walked outside to breathe in its after-smell  -- of musty earth and worms and damp plant life that is like perfume to those of us who love to garden.  It’s a mood-altering drug, this smell of post-rain, and I want the scent of petrichor to linger.  It’s fresh smell jarred me into wakefulness, if even for a brief period.

As I walked down the driveway I almost stepped on a dark gray garter snake with long golden stripes down his back.  I believe I frightened him as much as he startled me and he quickly slithered under the Potentilla.  I immediately ran to get my camera.  He’s not a shy one, this little garter, and it didn’t take long for him to reemerge.  After we adjusted to each other’s God-given right to stand our ground on this earth, we sat down in peace with one another.  I got close enough but not so close as to make him uncomfortable.  Looking well fed and healthy, the little garter quietly posed for me as I snapped away. 

Perhaps he is the offspring of the dead one who still lies under my Lilac bush.   Be that or not, there’s no doubt my garden is his home.   I’ve seen this garter before and I’m happy to host him for every meal he requires.  Not quite the carnivore of the bull snake, I’m still hoping the little garter at least takes care of some of those destructive ground squirrels.  At a minimum, I know he’s flicking up nasty bugs.  Just as I stood back up to come into the house, I caught a hummingbird and a bee midflight.   It’s not often I get to snap three lovely creatures within a few minutes of each other.

I’m at the computer now, but I’m hardly doing productive work, writing in a garden blog when I should be job hunting, or reconciling deposits for the Foundation, or developing the roadmap for upcoming marrow registration drives.  But if I didn’t have the rain today, or the garden, or the garter snake or the blog, I’d probably just be sitting on my couch, thinking about cancer.  Or worse yet, doing more Internet research.  So I’ve had a welcome distraction from life’s worries this afternoon.  I’m ready to stop writing, to force myself to do worthwhile tasks, but as I look out my office window, I notice gray-white bloated clouds hovering low in the sky.  I think I’ll resign myself to the detour of the day, go to the front door, and breathe in the zesty smell of ozone that offers the promise of more rain to come. 

THE BEAUTY OF A DAY

Why would anyone plant Daylilies in their garden?  Each bloom lasts but 24 hours.  What a short life these individual flowers have – yet the mother plant thrives.  In fact, she can live through the harshest and driest of times.  I know this to be true, because all three of my Daylily plants survived the Time of Great Neglect.

You can’t really harvest the stalks as cut flowers, unless, of course, you want a very time-sensitive arrangement in your vase.  Daylilies require you be an early bird if you truly want to gaze upon their glory, for it is with the rising sun that the bloom opens wide its petals to all that the day has to offer, its little stamens sticking out like antennas . . . searching the airwaves for vital information that fuels growth and development.

As the day wears on, the widely expanded flower begins to wither and by evening, you are forced to witness its mortality.  Next morning, the throat of the bloom has collapsed into a tight, elongated sarcophagus.   Gone.  Never more to be appreciated.  You, the caretaker, reluctantly pinch the closed tubular flower from the thick stalk, knowing that by doing so sister buds will be provided energy to open and live within their own 24-hour cycle.  And this is why we gardeners love the Daylilly.  Because she lives and dies and lives again with each rising and setting of the sun.

Well, I’ll be damned if cancer hasn’t re-entered my life once more.  Not me.  Not Genny.  But someone I love dearly.  I go to the garden for contemplation . . . and perhaps even more so for consolation.  I happen upon the Daylilies.  It comes to me that each day in our lives is a single blossom.  Each night, a lone flower that folds into itself, never to reopen.  Tomorrow is a new opportunity to fight the cancer beast.  Tomorrow . . . a new bloom.

IT'S THE TASTE OF THE FIRST PLUCK

There’s so much to see in the garden when it comes to observing the natural habitat of little critters.  This past week I encountered the garden snake again, a rabbit nestling in the chamomile, a ground squirrel darting under the spirea, and a turtle dove resting on a nearby tree branch.  And then there’s the single wasp that hangs out around the potager.  My friend Cori discovered the wasp nest right under the overhang of our garage.  For the most part, I leave all the animals alone, including the wasp because it is a great carnivore, gobbling up those icky bugs that do nasty things to one’s plants.  I have a healthy respect for wasps, though, and am not as brave around them as the bees.  I try to stay out of this one’s way when she’s hanging out on the patio.  I know that eliminating one genre of insects or animal can tip the balance, although a natural predator for the bunnies and ground squirrels would be a bit welcome at this point.  My hollyhocks are really struggling – seems the bunnies like those new tender leaves.  Where are the foxes and eagles?  They would have a gourmet dinner just hunting in my back yard.

Picture:  It seems bunnies not only like holly hock leaves, they also like eating chamomile.  Fortunately, they don't seem to be as interested in the chamomile flowers, which are done for the season and already harvested by me.

Picture:  As Dad and I were sitting on the patio, this turtle dove flew right over us and landed in a tree next to the garden.  Always good to have a camera on hand.

At any rate, the first harvest, paltry as it may be, is in.  This year I added container gardening as the small potager that abuts next to the patio is barely large enough to host the herbs and the handful of peas I tossed into the freshly turned soil late spring.  So here I am with a diverse family of tomato plants, chili peppers, cucumbers, and green beans adjusting to their clay pot homes.  In the past week I’ve noticed these baby vegetables leaving their infancy and headed toward juvenile growth.  And some are bearing their fruit already.

There’s nothing like plucking a ripe tomato off the vine, washing it with water from the hose and then biting into it.  I literally taste sunshine in that bite and it is in that moment I’m reminded tomatoes are really a fruit and not a vegetable.  That’s how sweet they are off the vine.  I won’t find that taste at my local King Soopers, or even Whole Foods.  From the backyard garden to the mouth, there’s no time for the tomato to loose the warmth of the sun that still runs from the vine into its very heart.  It’s the taste of the pluck - and there's nothing like it. 

Dad came to dinner Sunday afternoon, and together we collected the first small harvest from my backyard garden.  A single ripe tomato was sliced into three bites.  Still sun-warm, Mike, Dad and I savored our small slice of heaven.  Into the salad went the one yellow pepper and a handful of tender, freshly snipped cilantro, dill and parsley.  The chicken was baked in a five-herb olive oil topped with the second harvest of chives which were cut straight from the potager. 

Picture:  Here's Dad also inspecting the bird house I made.  He gave me a thumbs up!

Happy that we’ve enjoyed the first labor of fruits and vegetables . . . and that the animals for the most part are keeping the garden healthy (well, with a little human help such as the fence around the potager that keeps the bunnies at bay).  Looking forward to the full bounty.  Peas should be ready to harvest in another week or so.  Tomato vines should be bursting with fruit by early August.  And the first bite of cucumbers and green beans are anticipated next month.   Hope all of you in dry mountain climates with a short growing season are enjoying that first pluck this week too. For the rest of you who live in more fertile areas and whose garden bounty is in full force, well, we’re just jealous.  Happy gardening week to all.