As invisible as bones

[greenstorm]

I haven't been writing about my garden much, and that's because going into the garden and looking around is as much a part of me as anything else. I don't report on my nails growing, my hair dye fading, the cracks in my heels filling with ground-in dirt. I don't report on the gaspe corn plants growing with variable heights that betray their genetic diversity, thickening their ears as the tassels brown. I don't talk about the way my seven manual crosses are growing fruit: how KARMA purple x sweet cheriette grows a cheriette-style octopus vine with what look like grape tomatoes, pointed and bigger than I expected as they betray the concept of the smallest size being dominant; how mikado black x uluru ochre makes plants that look dwarf despite dwarf supposed to be recessive and they have nice big tomatoes swelling; how everything with silvery fir tree seems more reliable; how different crosses do well in different situations, from pots to hydroponics to soil. I haven't mentioned how the potatoes were up late and have a fun array of leaves, and some look like they're going to flower. The asparagus I planted next to the apple trees, the way some apples from seed have taken off and some have died, the way the new orchard is growing well but needs pruning, all that has done unmentioned as much as the way my nose is sunburning more than usual while leaving my cheeks and arms untouched. Some things are working, some are not. It's my garden. My manual crosses especially are an extension of me and so somehow cross into that private inner space. The garden lets my soul rest, be content, and just live here where it supports me in being myself.

It's very good.

Comments

[peatweaver]

the relationships here sound beautiful and enriching, all the more as they become part of one's plain living. i'm still new to growing and hope i can reach this point of things.