Tag: nature

Season Switch

One afternoon last week a cold wind began to blow and in the course of a few hours, the weather switched from summer heat to an autumn chill. Summer’s final days usually make me melancholy — the end of long hours of light and evenings of warmth. Not this year. I feel done with the heat, ready to drag my sweaters out and stop feeling guilty about neglecting the garden.

Between relentless high temperatures, the groundhog’s appetite, invisible creatures that made skeletons of my chard, and my own neglect, the garden is mostly a mess. I wade through weeds to salvage what veggies remain. A variety of peppers, a handful of cherry tomatoes and an eggplant or two.

Basil is hanging in there. But mostly, it’s a wash-out. One sunflower lays bent in the garden although I planted over a hundred seeds.

In a nod to autumn growing possibilities, I replaced the remains of the hanging petunia with a mum but otherwise, am ready to let it all go.  There are still a few weeks left of my CSA vegetable deliveries. Squash, black kale, potatoes and carrots galore fill the crisper in my very small fridge. I am ready to make soups and other slow cooking meals to fill the house with smells of simmering garlic, onions and herbs.

I retrieved my fuzzy slippers and heavy robe from the back of the closet to bundle up for these morning sessions. This quiet hour of writing is now dark and cold. While I sit, morning light gradually seeps into the room and so the day begins. I am ready.

 

Saturday Kayaking

Recently, I have been wondering about a lovely author who came to the store for a signing more than 10 years ago.  Mary Parker Buckles lived on an island off one of the towns just south of Norwalk.  So close to this mad world of insane traffic, strip malls and a population scrambling in pursuit of the dollar, she lived in a perfect little pocket of nature out on the water – and paid beautiful attention.  A search leads me to Margins, her exquisite, now out-of-print book, otherwise there is not a sign of her on the cyber highway. Which seems perfect. I like to think she is still out there, so close but very much away from it all.  I fantasize a bit about having that be my life. Especially after yesterday’s amazing afternoon of kayaking.

Clear skies, a slight breeze and the incoming tide pushed us along with the occasional heave. As we paddled towards the islands, schools of tiny fish broke the surface of the water. First they splashed to the right of us, then to the left, then further out – a teasing chorus line of glittering fairy-like-fish.  As we came into a cove of the first island, a large egret stood beautifully white against the green marsh grass, posing elegantly before lifting off towards the trees.

Around the next bend, the water opens up and the Long Island is the only piece of land – hazy in the distance. From that expanse of water, we saw what looked like a moving head with something protruding out of the water. “What’s that?” we both said almost simultaneously and agreed it must be a snorkeler although there was no boat nearby and the swimmer was a bit far out.  We paddled closer and saw  —

Seeing deer is old-hat for some people but they don’t hang around my neighborhood much and I still thrill at the sight of one so close. And this one was swimming! From where? We followed — “not too close,” I said to Rob who, I think wanted to pet the creature.  It scrambled out of the water and bolted for the trees.

Then we found this little spot and for a bit, pretended it was ours. And for as long as we lingered there, swimming, sunning on the bit of weathered wood tacked onto the jetty, waves sloshing beneath us — it was.

Antidote to Doldrums

I had an insight yesterday. Not headline-making, just personal. On a minuscule scale, I experienced the rather well documented theory that being active helps to combat depression. Who really knows what brings on a ‘funk’ but my downer may have sprung from a day book-ended by doctor’s visits, first for me and later in the afternoon, my daughter.  I had rare hours to myself for much of the afternoon and made the mistake of spending an inordinate amount of time thinking and getting anxious about the fact that I have decided to have my ovaries out at the end of September.  Precautionary. Something not too suspicious looking, but still something, is on one of them — and rather than go through a battery of tests — I blithely said, “just take ’em out!” Then I started reading (ah the danger of the internet!) about the surgery and recovery time and got, well… depressed.  It crept up on me, heavy feelings turning into walls of gloom I couldn’t quite see over. Rather, this doom crept out of me like a miserable, hibernating sloth that’s been hiding away within me like a miserable parasite just waiting for the moment to return.  And then, by the skin of my teeth, I managed to pull myself out of paralysis.  Grabbing some clippers, I forced myself to get up and make the rounds in my very overgrown yard.  August isn’t much for flowers but I managed to find these  and more importantly, I chased the threatening gloom away by participating in, paying attention to and moving in nature.  And it started by getting my ass out of the chair.

Floating on the Sound

Floating on the Long Island Sound, the sweltering temperature drops by degrees as the breezes blow unimpeded across the water. Our blood pressure also lowers, as we shove off from shore leaving the hubbub of our small city to fade off as we paddle out towards the Norwalk islands.

Although, it’s still plenty busy out there.

Yesterday, there must have been a convention of dragonflies, so many hovered helicopter-like over the reeds.  An osprey floated so high above the water, I wondered how he could see his prey? Or perhaps like us, he was relaxing, letting himself be buffeted by the currents with no intentions whatsoever.  There were plenty of seagulls of course and yesterday, the more entertaining terns who dive down with a splash at the water to catch their fish. Swallows wove through the sky after insects only they could see.

Later, as we rounded one of the islands to a protected cove, we drifted close to white egrets, elegant creatures until they open their beaks with a strange, guttural grumble. Cormorants were out in force.  Peculiar birds, they sit together in a team on the rocks staring off into the distance, some with their wings spread open like a crucifixion before diving off under the water. On a little beach tucked beside a salt marsh, a swarm of sandpipers were invisible until one or two made an odd dash in pursuit of a nibble or took off into the sky, with a few more following in a frenetic flash.

I’ll bring a camera out today and try and capture one or two of these players and download pictures later.

The Patient

Perhaps it was the thunderstorm earlier this week that delivered the scorching temperature, now wilting us on the East Coast. Lightning strikes hit so close, a friend ended up in the hospital – and what are the odds? (he’s fine now) The morning after, inspecting the raised bed vegetable garden, I found my glorious heirloom tomato plant almost snapped in two. But wait —  I said, almost. 

I ran inside and rifled through drawers, boxes and bins for tape.  Carefully, I lifted the leafy stalks, heavy with little tomatoes and flowers. Holding the pieces together with one hand, I wrapped the black tape electrical tape around both stalk and stake with the other. Then I watered it.  24 hours later, there was still no wilt and the little yellow flowers were still intact.

I mean, what do they graft plants with? It’s got to be some kind of tape, right? But I wasn’t crazy about the electrical tape and presumed my favorite herb and garden center would have tape. Plant band-aids?   I told my tale to the two women at Gilberties, and they nodded sympathetically, obviously expecting I’d lost the tomato plant. But no! I exclaimed, it seems to be doing just fine.

They did not have any special tape but one of them suggested getting surgical tape – the kind that breathes. So I did – and with chopsticks, built a split. See? I fed it and have been watering it extra. Okay, I talk to it too. Whatever, it all seems to have worked.

This is my favorite plant now — and of course, rich in metaphors for me. It may yet die, but if it makes it, these tomatoes will be the most delicious of all.

Another Day – Catskills Retreat

I know there is a full moon tonight but I search the horizon from my bedroom window to no avail.  There are more trees than sky around here. Full moon, full day of writing. This evening, I took a break to make dinner.  A pleasure to concoct surrounded by these friends, I improvised a meal of whole wheat pasta with a medley of vegetables — onions, an abundance of smashed garlic, mushrooms, grated carrot, zucchini, summer squash with olive oil, topped with a poached egg, fresh basil and parmesan. It is not as gorgeous to look at as to taste, but here it is.Smooshed up, the poached egg blends together scrumptiously with the vegetables and pasta.

I wrote outside under an apple tree this morning. A few feet away but out of sight, Laura had set up her pastels in the flower garden of hollyhocks and bee balm. On the porch, Diane was also drawing. Later, someone played the piano.

There is a dreamlike quality to these days — immersed in our art, our dreams, our books, the river. We ask each other what day it is and exclaim at how quickly time is passing. We speak with longing and love about our loved ones at home but are absorbed in these precious moments to just – be. We read each other well, knowing when to engage or leave each other alone. We recognize in each other, the thrall of inspiration.

By evening, we are ready to connect, so gather around the kitchen. Someone slices, simmers and serves delicious dinner. Somehow, easily – the dinners get made, the dishes washed, the lights go out, the day ends. We disappear to our rooms for sleep to the constant river sounds, anticipating another day to do — whatever we want.

A Walk in the Catskills

This afternoon, I forced myself away from my writing chair to take a walk. My bones were starting to ache from sitting so much.  I took a right out of the driveway and walked. I walked fast. I wanted my heart to beat a little faster, maybe even to break a sweat. I also hoped to find an end to the road. And, to get back to work. Then, I passed this beautiful field.

A woman a few decades older than me walked the other way and I said, “How are you?” and she answered, “Not as brisk as you are!” and I felt foolish, like a ridiculous speed-walker I might have once made fun of. So I slowed down. Here’s what else I saw:

No Place Like Home

Here I am, getting all women’s magazine-y, between yesterday’s travelogue and today, I cannot resist posting these photos of our corner of summer bliss. But how better to illustrate why I am happy enough to be an armchair traveler these days. After a few hours of kayaking around the beautiful Norwalk Islands – only minutes from this magical spot under our grape arbor.  

For dinner I grated summer squash and a let it simmer in the skillet in a bath of olive oil and a massive clove of garlic.  This I mixed with the garlic scape pesto I’d made earlier in the week and a few cherry tomatoes thrown in for color to coat the pasta.  Between bites, we wondered what to do with all these grapes.  Any ideas? 

Making Peace

Yesterday ventured into the garden recently ransacked by the groundhog.  For hours, I tore at the plant-to-plant weeds filling the space between surviving tomatoes, peppers and a little bit of basil. I tore at the earth with claw rakes and knelt to yank out the crabgrass, shaking off damp soil that clung to the roots before tossing them in a pile.  I had been ready to abandon this space but yesterday, my nails filled with dirt, rediscovering little peppers ready to pick and some vining plant that escaped Chuck’s teeth, (cucumber? melon? pumpkin?) I am back in the fray.

For one, there is a way I am – a state of being I get into when I garden that these days is the closest I come to meditating. The focus, concentration, complete engagement I feel, is a beautiful thing. It would be nice if there was lettuce left, but there will be tomatoes and some really hot peppers and the bonus of a certain peace of mind and sometimes inspiration to boot.  Harvest is not just about the vegetables.

 

Surrender

I give up — Chuck wins. Tomatoes, peppers, onions and weeds – plenty of weeds are all that remains in my garden. Over the last few days, groundhog trampled and ate the peas, the radishes, eggplant, cilantro, kale — it’s all gone — only sad little markers left like plastic tombstones.  I can’t help feeling like he was just being vindictive, which I know is silly. This is not some Disney animation where the animals behave like humans – I planted things that taste good to him and he ate it all – that’s it. This year in particular, he seemed to be hungrier than ever leaving me with almost nothing, but he wasn’t really being malicious. Still, I can’t help feeling wounded and a tad hopeless about future gardening.

Chuck gnawed right into the core of my optimism and it is this that has me down as much as my disappointment that there will be no sunflowers towering over the garden this year.  I rarely feel defeated for long and this will probably pass quickly – but for now I am in retreat, regrouping on what is possible and what is not.  And is it all just a crapshoot? And to think that farmers live this way, trusting each year, that nature will be benevolent and there crops will thrive rather than be iced, roasted, eaten or otherwise destroyed. I’m not sure I could do it.

Gardening doubt creeps into thoughts about the rest of my life – a shadow of pessimism about everything I am spending my time and energy on. What’s it all for?  Why bother?  It’s difficult not to focus on expected results instead of just embracing the process — even when there are hiccups along the way, with determination, and certainly some love, it can all be kickstarted again. And as for gardening, in the future, I’ll try planting my greens in pots and putting them up high beyond greedy Chuck’s formidable teeth.

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