Growing and Climbing Like Vines

Blossoming Beneath the Surface

Happy Spring to you!  We’ve seen Pi Day, St. Patrick’s Day and the Vernal Equinox/Ostara come and go, yet the snow continues to cover the ground in New England.  We hope and trust that under the white shroud of crunchy crystals, the earth is preparing to bless us with a panorama of brightly colored buds.  The tender beginnings of flowers and leaves are ready to announce their presence to a world that yearns for their cheer.  The snow is ready to melt, and so are our hearts.

Winter Crop hoop houses
Winter hoop houses hold growing greens for our community to make salads

 

Growing Like a Vine

Global warming has dumped upon us a series of very unusual storms this season and many areas of the world are reeling from them.  Despite such phenomena, I believe that the earth will manage to deliver her cyclical rebirth through the flowers and plants that will sprout and become green.  The cold winter will recede to let her have her way with the world.

Vines are one type of plant whose growth pattern seems to run parallel to human development.   All types of vines begin small and tender like infants, in the form of fragile seedlings.  With enough sunshine and water they take off, running up trellises at light speed like happy growing children.  A vine is one type of plant that needs just an ounce of life-giving energy in the form of basic nutrients to blossom and run rampant.  With a moderate amount of encouragement, they blossom beautifully and reach for the sky.

Peas are one of my favorite types of vine, which love to climb toward the sun as they grow.  March is the time I usually sow snap pea seeds in my gardens.  I provide trellises to support the nature of their growth patterns and they reward me with beautiful flowers and a harvest of sweet pods full of peas to snack on.  Pea plants tolerate a wide range of summer temperatures, so if I plan well I can grow up to three cycles of snap peas in one summer season.

Ivy as a Symbol of the Vine Family

Peas are not the only prolific type of vine plant.  Pole beans and grapes are others. Gourds are also very fruitful, delivering their delicious creations at varying times throughout the summer growing season.  Watermelon is the sweetest of them.  Then there’s the yellow squash, zucchini, and butternut squash.

Painted Ivy
A section of ivy painted with acrylics by my daughter around our back door frame

Finally, there is the ivy plant.  Ivy’s fresh green leaves begin sprouting past their dried up ancestors in April, and by July the plant needs to be cut back so that it doesn’t crowd out everything else I’m trying to grow.  In the fall, ivy is a symbol of abundance that lasts the longest of all climbing vine plants before it succumbs to the hibernation demanded by winter.  Some have foliage that turn bright colors before they die, but most remain green.

To keep the essence of green in our homes throughout the cold winter months, my daughter and I have painted ivy around our back door frame.  The back door opens onto a deck with stairs that lead to our back yard, where our gardens are.  Below the stairs is a rock garden where ivy used to climb up the frame. Since I learned that climbing vines can damage any standing structures they latch onto and contribute to their premature decay, my daughter and I have taken to painting the ivy instead, using a stencil.

When the days become seasonably warmer, we will take our stencil outside to paint ivy on the wooden columns that hold up the deck stairs, to replace the climbing ivy that was removed last year.

Climbing Toward the Sun

Sometimes I find myself feeling akin to a vine.  With a little care, I’ll grow tall and leafy and climb around any support structure provided for me.  With the support of an ornate trellis to cling to, I will climb toward the sun.  The extent of my growing more branches and leaves depends on the energy that I take in and the height of my trellis.  From my growth as a vine, my leaves are the gifts I share with the world: music, writing, leading labyrinth walks, and giving love through cooking and baking.

What forms my support trellis?  I believe that eating well, giving myself enough rest, and doing what makes me happy are all parts of my trellis.  So are my friends, family and co-housing neighbors.  What materials work together to provide a support trellis for you to climb around as you grow?  Please feel free to share as a comment below.  I look forward to reading them.

We all can use the support of trellises.  Sometimes we are called upon to play the trellis for friends or family members who need our support.  Small nurturing gestures show love that encourages our fellow humans to grow fresh branches with many leaves that reach far and wide.  Let us be trellises for one another in these challenging times.

My rock garden - featuring chimes
My rock garden while the ivy still grew there.  The two plans were good at reaching toward each other in favor of growing farther.
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The Transformative Power of Letting Go

 

Samantha the Christmas Star
Samantha Merry, our Christmas Star

Happy New Year!

Welcome back to the Gardener Dragon’s blog.  I hope that 2018 has been good to you.  It’s off to a roaring start here in New England with the biggest snowstorm of the season upon us.  I am grateful that I have the warmth of company from my husband, my hamster, my daughter and her friends in my home as I write.  At 6:45 we’ll gather with our neighbors at my co-housing community’s common house for a delicious meal of black-eyed pea stew, collard greens and corn bread.  I will be heading off for some gaming before that.

With a grateful heart I welcome this new year with wide open arms, and I resolve to write 12 fresh blogs this year ~ one per month!  I give myself that goal because in addition to this blog, I write for SheWrites and Hub Pages.  I am also working on two novels.

Letting Go

When seeking inspiration for my writing, I often look to nature.  When the weather is mild, i.e. a range from warm summer sunshine to light snow flurries, I walk the wooded labyrinth at the south end of my community daily.  I witness the wonders of life in the activities of the flora and fauna that live there.  Birdsong, chirping crickets and the calls of peeper frogs are some of my favorite forms of music.  I also enjoy the shower of rain sprinkling over me through the tree canopy above the labyrinth.  In autumn, the vibrant colors in the leaves embrace me in a warm and cozy aura of love.  After a light dusting of snow, sunlight is reflected in rainbows on the soft carpet blanketing the path.

One day in October, I walked around the woods by the labyrinth until I captured an image of a leaf falling from a tree.  The leaf floated gracefully to the ground in the breezes ruffling the canopy of branches.  The grace of the leaf’s descent came from the grace with which the leaf let go of the life it knew as part of the tree branch it sprouted and grew from.  I imagine that the elder leaf bid her leaf siblings and nearby oak and maple friends a fond farewell as she let go of her hold on the branch and let herself descend to the ground.

Falling Leaf
A golden autumn leaf falling from a tree branch

Transformation

The elder leaf was ready to let go of the life she knew in order to become part of the earthy humus that feeds the tree she fell from.  She gave herself back to the earth as a gift.  She was ready to become food for the tree that gave her life, or a gift found by a wanderer and pressed in a favorite book.   She was ready to let go and give herself over to becoming part of a new reality without forethought of what that new reality would be. She was open to whatever she was called to be next.

Lying on the ground, she was the same leaf she had always been, but also more than what she once was.  Her earthy fragrance became like a balm that lifts the heart of the pilgrim who picks her up and breathes her in.  Her life became connected more closely than ever to the other leaves that had already fallen to the ground. Together, their lives ended.  They were ready to rest under the frost and snow that covered them throughout the winter.  They were at peace because they knew that that they would eventually become warm and glisten in the vernal sunlight as the wheel of the earth turned to the next place in her cycle of life.

I strive to be like the gracefully falling leaves of autumn.  I want to let die within the parts of me that don’t fit anymore in order to rise to a new me in the spring.  Winter gives us a transformational gestation time to reflect, renew our homes and ourselves, and emerge in the spring more fully the people we are meant to become.  But that is not the end.  Our lives are the journey, ever transformed by the moments we live among our fellow travelers of every species.  Let us be transformed by the darkest, coldest months, to rise to the warmth of spring.  Let each of us be a new life ready to blossom.

Frosted Fallen Leaves
Frosted fallen leaves waiting for the peaceful sleep of winter

The Magic of the Elemental Touch

Out on the Open Sea

Under Sail on August 23rd

Last week my friend Richard brought my daughter and I out into the harbor for an afternoon on his brother’s boat.  Despite dire weather predictions, the day planned for our sail was perfect.  We were thus inspired to stay out longer than we had originally planned, tacking back and forth, sailing close to the wind.  The sun, wind, clouds and water gave us a magical day.

One thing I learned about myself is that I am due for a serious refresher course in the basics of sailing.  Since my two main totem elements are earth and water, I’m okay navigating through them easily.  When you add the wind, I’m not so sure I can play well with its unpredictability.   I’m okay when the wind is behind me, but if I am faced with the prospect of sailing a boat close to the wind across the bow, my sense of balance flees from me.  My sense of adventure is checked by my desire to make sure the boat stays in one piece.  I am told that’s a good thing.

The Boldness of Youth

C steering the boat under sail.jpg

My daughter had been looking forward to our sailing trip for a month and was eager to help out with whatever tasks Richard was willing to hand over to her.  She helped hoist the sail, tied knots, and took her turn at the helm for a while when the wind was calm.  She even climbed up onto the prow when it was time to tie the boat to the dock post at sunset.

While Richard steered, my daughter was happy to splash in the salt water, sing songs from Les Miseràbles, take pictures, and watch out for pirate ships.  One racing boat we saw sported a black hull and matching black sails.  She called it “The Black Pearl.”  Guess which movies we’ve been watching together this summer?

The Stillness of Nature

Foamy waves off the side of the sailboat.jpg

One of the phenomena that I noticed during our time on the water was the effect of nature on the three of us.  Though we engaged each other with lively chatter in the car on the way to the marina and back home, against the backdrop of an broad mix of music, on the boat we settled into long periods of companionable silence.  Our senses became attuned to the sights, sounds and touch of nature.  We noticed flying cormorants, listened to the lapping of the waves against the hull, and were delighted by the spray of water and play of wind in our hair.  The atmosphere was so enchanting that our attention was fully engaged with how the elements moved in harmony with one another, and how the creatures of that world moved from place to place.

A Fond Farewell

Casting Qs into the Deep 2017.jpg

Our first boating adventure of the summer was also our last, since it happened so late in the season.  My daughter’s school year has begun and it is time for me to return to my writing and gardening.

Perhaps I will find a place to take a sailing class or two before our next adventure together.  In the meantime, I am grateful for the magical afternoon spent with both enchanting nature and charming human company.

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Three Spring Haiku

April Showers of Poetry

My Muse  has been good to me this month.  She has given me lots of inspiration for poems to share.  I am still working on finishing my epic poem, mentioned in my April blog post.  In the meantime, I wrote a few spring haiku and have taken some pictures to share.

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April showers fall.

Colorful new buds appear:

Green, white, yellow, pink.

 

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Bright sun warms the earth.

Time to dig and plant.

Happy gardens dance.

 

 

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Fields are green again.

Kids run around with laughter.

Night critters sing.

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A Fond Farewell to Autumn Leaves

As Autumn wanes and we await winter’s cold and snow, I bid a fond farewell to the colorful leaves that have graced my days the past couple of months.

September escaped my grasp and I have nearly allowed October to run away from me, too, as I have spent these past couple of months walking wooded paths and enjoying the glory of Autumn in New England.

As September glided into October, my family and I spent a weekend exploring Acadia National Park in Maine, one of the first parks in our national system founded a hundred years ago.  The flora, fauna, and geological diversity at the site captured our interests and imagination.  We were also treated to an early foliage peaking as the state of Maine is very close to Canada, and very close to the top of our continent. Brrr.

During the month of October, we have enjoyed the peak foliage season closer to home.  I have reveled in the glow of warm colors in the leaves as I walked our wooded labyrinth, took an art class around drawing fallen leaves with colored pencils at our local botanical garden, and watched my daughter jump into fluffy, fragrant piles.  Together we love to throw armfuls of leaves into the air and stand in the middle of their showering over our heads.

We have seen more rain fall from the sky this fall than we had all summer. The first frost bit our pole bean bushes and snap pea vines.  I am grateful for the kale that still grows and the butternut squash continuing to ripen in our pantry.  The beets still have some time before they are full grown and are hardier, so I have left them in the bed for now, and planted garlic bulbs for next year’s summer harvest.

As more colorful leaves begin to carpet the grass than flutter from the branches of trees, I extend my best wishes to you for a cozy and productive winter.  The world is ready to rest.  I am ready to spend more time indoors than outdoors.  As Garrison Keillor used to say at the end of his Prairie Home Companion show every week ~ “be well, do good work and keep in touch.”