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greenstormI missed this last night, so I'll do two today maybe. Anyhow, I will do one now. I have a keyboard and I'm not doing it from bed on my phone, that's a good start.
I am grateful to myself for taking the plastic off my north window so I can open every side of my house and feel the moving air on my skin. I am grateful to the wind for gently stirring every aspen leaf even remotely in earshot into a quiet ocean susurrus.
I am grateful for the seasons for progressing with the comfort of structure and the intrigue of variation. Today the leaf miners are out on the aspens. Last week was hot two years in a row. This year there are more roses. The apples are swelling just as they always do.
I am grateful for my garden. Already it's bigger than I am, it's more information than I could ever take in. Tomatoes greening and foliage exploding, corn expanding in such different ways in each bed: up and slim or wide and green and thick-stemmed or slender, each a different green, each leaf a different shape, squash putting on leaf after leaf and the soaked seeds sending up cotyledons that make me wish I'd recorded all thirty-odd types seperately because I've never seen a squash cotyledon so huge, beans, melons, brassicas-- it's happy, and I'm happy, and I'm already thinking for next year. I walk it every morning.
I'm grateful that my past self sowed just a few glutinous barley seeds on my deck, for seed multiplying and to see what would happen. One type either didn't sprout at all or was eaten by crows; the other did sprout in two different buckets of soil. One bucket had two seeds, one bucket had three. Now I can observe the differences between buckets (maybe the drainage in one is stopped up, the plants in it are paler and smaller, or maybe it's a fertilizer issue?) and the glorious tillering on the biggest plant -- nine stalks! -- and just generally have a sense of bounty and focus different than the larger-scale garden gives me. Hopefully it will be a successful seed multiplication.
I'm grateful for my geese, who accept me as one of the flock.
I'm always grateful for cooking and eating with people. It may be the most human of experiences I'll ever be accorded.
I'm grateful to always be learning more about myself, to be able to see patterns pop up and think about them and hold them through my daily life.
I'm grateful for a pantry full of empty shining jars and a summer to fill them; for empty carboys and rhybarb and roses to fill them; for a house full of the things I love to do.
I am grateful to myself for taking the plastic off my north window so I can open every side of my house and feel the moving air on my skin. I am grateful to the wind for gently stirring every aspen leaf even remotely in earshot into a quiet ocean susurrus.
I am grateful for the seasons for progressing with the comfort of structure and the intrigue of variation. Today the leaf miners are out on the aspens. Last week was hot two years in a row. This year there are more roses. The apples are swelling just as they always do.
I am grateful for my garden. Already it's bigger than I am, it's more information than I could ever take in. Tomatoes greening and foliage exploding, corn expanding in such different ways in each bed: up and slim or wide and green and thick-stemmed or slender, each a different green, each leaf a different shape, squash putting on leaf after leaf and the soaked seeds sending up cotyledons that make me wish I'd recorded all thirty-odd types seperately because I've never seen a squash cotyledon so huge, beans, melons, brassicas-- it's happy, and I'm happy, and I'm already thinking for next year. I walk it every morning.
I'm grateful that my past self sowed just a few glutinous barley seeds on my deck, for seed multiplying and to see what would happen. One type either didn't sprout at all or was eaten by crows; the other did sprout in two different buckets of soil. One bucket had two seeds, one bucket had three. Now I can observe the differences between buckets (maybe the drainage in one is stopped up, the plants in it are paler and smaller, or maybe it's a fertilizer issue?) and the glorious tillering on the biggest plant -- nine stalks! -- and just generally have a sense of bounty and focus different than the larger-scale garden gives me. Hopefully it will be a successful seed multiplication.
I'm grateful for my geese, who accept me as one of the flock.
I'm always grateful for cooking and eating with people. It may be the most human of experiences I'll ever be accorded.
I'm grateful to always be learning more about myself, to be able to see patterns pop up and think about them and hold them through my daily life.
I'm grateful for a pantry full of empty shining jars and a summer to fill them; for empty carboys and rhybarb and roses to fill them; for a house full of the things I love to do.
