FOUND IN: Floral Design, The Farm on June 08, 2014
The path it took was not a straight one. The curves suggest a journey unlike the others so proudly erect.
Looking beyond the obvious, it takes a turn toward elegance. Crystal decanter. Soft glow. A reflection in a black and white photo.
It basks in the midnight light, excited to be allowed to the party, finding it was the guest of honor.
FOUND IN: Nature, The Farm on June 03, 2014
I peered onto the mass with contempt. She has left me. Cheated and betrayed, I scheme. You can't go. I raised you. I nursed you. I gave you sugar water to build your masses. This is how you reward me?
The rain comes, the wind blows. It forces me to take cover. I worry they might run. Nightfall seals my dilemma. Catching them is but a silent picture played as if no one comes to the theater.
Daylight revels her disloyalty.
Departures are never convenient.
FOUND IN: Community, The Farm on June 03, 2014
The crates sat full against the kitchen wall. The morning harvest started at 6a.m. with onions, cauliflower, carrots, yellow squash and garlic filling the open void. We would begin at ten. At 9:30, I received the text, asking my location. "I'm still harvesting and have thirty minutes," I exclaimed.
I remember watching this as a kid. Mother canned each summer and filled the pantry with glass jars. It didn't make sense then, but we would be self-sufficient come winter. We did not know the word "sustainability" back then. Communal instincts and good friends were making this reality come alive once more.
Hot brine, ladled from a silver cup steamed as it met with blanched vegetables. The multiple layers will be vegetarian ravioli in October. You Can Can............
FOUND IN: Garden Design, Nature on January 29, 2014
(A late winter callistemon flower is encased in frozen precipitation.)
It starts noisily with gusty winds and heavy rainfall. It ends in silence. This is the kind of quiet that might go unnoticed until a walk reveals missing elements. The chirping of birds, dogs barking and the hum of automobiles are gone. The marsh, usually bustling with colorful waterfowl and long winged herons, seems to eerily hold its breath. Bridges are empty at noon; no humming, no beeping, no screeching. I walk alone up the slippery incline, no angst at losing limbs. The urgency to dart from one side to the other, as I have had to do so many times, is gone. I am literally standing in the middle of a street where hundreds would race. Slowly breathing in the icy air has my mind frozen, not exactly knowing what the next step might be.
(A view over to Johns Island reveals a missing element.)
I did not come here expecting the calm. With chatter all around screaming bad weather closings, mad rushes for last minute sundries and the approaching doomsday gridlock, my mind thinks "frantic". And while today's focus from the camera was iced precipitation, in the end it was all about the frozen noise.
(Mahonia 'Summer Sun' dips in the weight of frozen rain.)
The potential for fluid motion is not possible as the temperatures continue to plummet. As if in a second, time stills, so water can gracefully extend, but then stop. These are the opportunities that come with an occurrence seldom felt. Can you hear it?
FOUND IN: Nature, The Farm on January 14, 2014
A few too many years ago, a dip like the one we had last week would have been gut wrenching. Tears might have flowed. Sleep may have been interrupted. None of this was had.
Don't be deceived, there is contempt. She is not my friend at these moments. Like a girlfriend pointing out one's misgivings where only support should sit, she seeded uncertainty. How will I fulfill that promise. When will the bounty return? Will there be another?
Plant more seed. Look to spring. Find beauty in the wreckage.
Appreciate more fully what I had before the freeze.