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greenstormBeing able to set Threshold's beating heart as the center of things, and to ring it with fruitfulness and generous plants.
Sitting on the bench by the long-disused firepit for awhile. Someone made that bench long before me, but it will be used while I'm here, I promise.
My corns. Saskatchewan rainbow, it's a plucky little thing just like gaspe. Saskatoon white, it's even and lush and generous. Always gaspe. And atomic orange that's growing in the face of so much crow devastation.
Having water to feed my garden. It's something to watch corn go from spiky dark green leaves to wide shimmering green.
Swelling cobs on the gaspe, sometimes three to a plant! Always a miracle.
Clover growing along the path to the garden that I walk so many times a day. I love that smell. It belongs to Threshold.
Avi fixing my hand-me-down pellet smoker, and inspiring a lovely dinner of pork tenderloin and carbonara and garden salad I would not have made for myself.
Roses.
The act of scooping duck water out of the pools and hand carrying it to water each newly planted tree and shrub in a clear and emotionally legible act of service and care that is equally legibly rewarded.
Weather that cools down finally.
My dishwasher and my vacmop, these remain miracles of time and cleanliness I wouldn't be able to achieve without them.
A call from Josh where I can talk about the garden without having to explain it first.
Living more in my own head than in my words, for once.
The anticipation of lying in my hammock even though I haven't put it up yet.
A big cool class of water before sleep.
Anyone who reads this and cares, I'm grateful for you too. Thank you and goodnight.
Sitting on the bench by the long-disused firepit for awhile. Someone made that bench long before me, but it will be used while I'm here, I promise.
My corns. Saskatchewan rainbow, it's a plucky little thing just like gaspe. Saskatoon white, it's even and lush and generous. Always gaspe. And atomic orange that's growing in the face of so much crow devastation.
Having water to feed my garden. It's something to watch corn go from spiky dark green leaves to wide shimmering green.
Swelling cobs on the gaspe, sometimes three to a plant! Always a miracle.
Clover growing along the path to the garden that I walk so many times a day. I love that smell. It belongs to Threshold.
Avi fixing my hand-me-down pellet smoker, and inspiring a lovely dinner of pork tenderloin and carbonara and garden salad I would not have made for myself.
Roses.
The act of scooping duck water out of the pools and hand carrying it to water each newly planted tree and shrub in a clear and emotionally legible act of service and care that is equally legibly rewarded.
Weather that cools down finally.
My dishwasher and my vacmop, these remain miracles of time and cleanliness I wouldn't be able to achieve without them.
A call from Josh where I can talk about the garden without having to explain it first.
Living more in my own head than in my words, for once.
The anticipation of lying in my hammock even though I haven't put it up yet.
A big cool class of water before sleep.
Anyone who reads this and cares, I'm grateful for you too. Thank you and goodnight.
