The Gardens - In the Beginning

Saturday, September 12, 2015

Imperfection Perfect

I’m not a dog person.

I have a dog.

A perfect dog,

so it seemed

in the beginning.

Each year as he grows older,

and older,



his non-barking willpower

grows weaker,

and weaker,


weaker :(

Perfect dogie no more.


during a bad dogie barkathon

a cast stone statue

of man’s best friend

sitting by the food dish

content in all that materializes

in the complicated world

just beyond his nose

is so desperately 


You know…

that perfect dog.

I'm just perfection misunderstood, mommy dearest :)

Saturday, August 29, 2015

Swept off one's feet in the Garden of Hard Knocks

Thinking too much…is there such a thing as thinking too much.  It’s one of the prerequisites of survival, but when all the scenarios end in doom, the mind is catapulted into a series of depressions that’s difficult to evict.

Usually we all want to survive, but few of us are really prepared to try to survive.  Conditioned to total dependency on electricity; survival becomes extremely minimal without it. It’s a proven fact that a vast majority of people will be so totally self-absorbed and ruthless, that survival will first depend on trusting no one.

All supplies would have to be effectively hidden.  Those by themselves might as well kiss their ass goodbye…we all have to sleep some year.  Pets will either be dinner or shoved out the door for someone else’s dinner or starvation.

What if a window or windows are broken…where’s the protection now?  What happens as winter sets in and your living quarters becomes as cold as the outdoors, and the outdoors has ice and snow on the ground?  What about your stored water freezing?  Do you really want to burn wood in the fireplace so desperate individuals can see someone has supplies in that home?

Realistically, just how much wood would it take to survive a winter if you could keep it from being stolen by popping off anyone trying to take over your shelter because theirs has been proven inadequate?

I now view survival as a small part preparedness and an enormous part luck.  I feel the biggest and most dangerous obstacles would be my neighbors and that is a formidable enemy to overcome.  In the long run, unless I somehow could create miracle after miracle after miracle (does that happen outside of the movies?), I would be one of the losers and toast :(

I’m going to quit thinking for the rest of the day.

Mommy said I would be someone's dinner :(

Eleven days ago:

One step backwards and my balance was lost.
Airborne, I landed with the back of my head hitting the re-bar fence -
lower shoulders hitting the concrete stepping stones -
right arm hitting the log my falling bod knocked over.

That's the story I'm stuck with that sounds the best
I remember nothing except floating through the air
 and hitting the back of my head.

Took myself to the emergency room
 as the knots on my head and right arm HURT!

That experience was a nightmare.
Felt like a slab of meat on a conveyor belt in a factory
being picked over...
but was worried about my head or arm being cracked.

Pronounced okay that evening
had to visited my doctor next day because of chest pains.
Diagnosed with an inflammation of my rib cage -
still on medication and the pain is still there
if I exert myself.

I don't recommend this experience to anyone :)

Parking on one's own lawn by front door -
must be a southern thing.
Quite common here -
I've never experienced it any where else.

Moon and Stars Watermelon

Cantaloupe -
Not sure of its survival, as all the leaves 
have powdery mildew from so much rain.

I'm guessing the over abundance of rain every day did my corn in.
Got tired of re-staking it upright again every day, 
so pulled it all out...
hardly any roots had developed, so...

Last time it grew in the container it rooted to China...
don't know what gives this time around.

Things are beginning to fall apart.

A snake in the yard...Yeh!
Spotted here when part of the yucca was removed.
Slid under the rocks in the background as I disturbed him.
Garter snake - likes to snack on my small ground critters.


Gardens and Life...
the bad
 with the good -
and sometimes
the bad is
 the end.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

The Connection between Gossamer Wings and Fog Horns

I'm feeling a little beaten down today.  I seem plagued with my lifetime collection of collection of all that is beyond my control to control, and hidden in the depths of my soul; rising to the surface to create pandemonium with my thoughts.  This treasure trove of recycling muck is triggered by someone close, and at times I relish kicking that special someone all the way to the moon. is what it is.

Garden pictures are hindered by a struggle with those zombitizing swampy blood suckers with wings that the south never fails to endlessly produce each warm summer day; and the writing's a little hurried.  So be it.  I'm working on catapulting some old baggage into that abyss of who cares and reintroducing myself to myself when I'm back to myself.

A new batch of cicadas is in town.  The big ones...the ones that leave exit holes in the earth from half an inch and up.  Do you think they know I'm in love with Phillip Glass tunes...these little male composers of music with repetitive structures?  I do believe an entire day of one Phillip Glass composition repeatedly repeating would drive me into white rabbit territory, while the cicada's song drives me a little less than half bonkers.

Thousands of these guys expanding and contracting that part of them that belts out the same uproarious chorus over and over and over again from sunrise to sunset, proving once and for all time that no amount of ear-splitting pandemonium will cause the dead to rise, otherwise, they would be surging out of their graves by the multitudes at this very moment.

Glassy wings of transparency etched with strengthening veins, these little tykes with buggy eyes emerge from their underground world of a few or many years, depending on which family tree, for their last tango in Paris.  From dark into glorious golden light we all know when they have arrived.

Choosing not to scream bloody murder, I just slip into that quiet place two rows down to the left of that thingamajig in the far right corner of my mind, and toil in blissful solitude amongst the gardens and winged chaos.  When I do come up for air I'm reminded once again that nature is indeed a fickle spirit with sometimes no rhyme or reason whatsoever for life.  Isn't that grand!

I'm having one of those rest of my life experiences in which my weekdays are twelve days long and my weekends end after two hours.  I seem to be hurtling towards oblivion at astronomical supersonic speeds and when I try to drag my foot a little to slow myself down it catches on fire and I'm Haley's comet.  Figure that one out if you can.

That time of summer has arrived when gardening chores have become gardening CHORES.  When that last tree seedling and that last weed can never be found.  When I'm loosing my battle against the ants for territory.  When sitting on the back deck with a cup of Lady gray tea beside a bowl full of biscuits and blueberries and whipped cream, and a good book opened to page ninety three remains just a dream in my weary noggin.

But maybe, just maybe...

this year will be different :)

Tiger Swallowtail Butterfly in perfect beauty

An older one a little ragged around the edges

Another one not perfect, but still a creature of graceful beauty

Waiting for the corn to grow taller and anchor better in the moist soil

Watermelon vines looking for the street
huge honeydew melon leaves.
The basil's lost in there somewhere.

Larger yellow moons and smaller yellow stars
Moon and Stars Melon

Foam Flower leaves

Blending into the environment,
dragonflies are one of the most vicious insects in existence 
when it comes to eating-
oftentimes catching and devouring their meals in flight.
They have an endless appetite.
A deadly killer camouflaged in beauty.

Green Persimmons

Spicebush Swallowtail on Joe Pye Weed 


Until next time we meet-

forget me not ;)


do :(

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