July 30, 2017

A Fierce Practice, Let It Mature

July 29, 2017
No proofies.


I can't believe I could forget such a thing as the goldenrod. To forget that she even exists. To whack through the plants in the far pasture, in search of thistle, and taking down what I thought was invasive purple loosetrife in the process. Those tall, long, lanky bodies. It didn't even dawn on me that the goldenrod was still emerging. Still only stems and foliage. Still in the process of becoming

It wasn't until walking the dog this week, noticing a weedy patch in a neighbors yard, growing a crown atop a spindly leafing base. Oh, is that...goldenrod? I forget that just because the purple cone flowers and rudbekia and asters are among us, that not all the flowers of the cycle are with us yet. And so, as it begins to take a shape that I recognize, beyond the feel of goldenrod yearning inside my heart, I am able to see it again. 

It is, compared to all its flora friend, a late bloomer. I am a late bloomer. You may, very well, be a late bloomer too. The purples are popping and producing cones and the milkweeds are already forming pods and the alfalfa has flowered weeks ago. The American Germander loos exhausted. The cool weather grasses are just catching their breath after all this heat. They already are. These things already are. In the meanwhile, the goldenrods are sturdying their perennial energy and standing tall and coming to be in this world. At their own pace. Behind the rest of the pack.

But, of course, the goldenrod is what gets us through. Its flowers, when they come in August and September (and if we're lucky lingering into October), mirror the rich hues of late afternoon light. The last flowers of the year, standing like beacons, sentinels of color and sustenance, watching over and protecting the wild grapes and the blackcaps and yarrows and canary grass as the cycle back into dormancy. Preparing for the winter, and the year ahead. These last fireworks, lighting the path, the sky, forward as the days noticeably shorten and I pull my green cardigan off the shelf for the first time. 

This moment is not here yet. The goldenrod's flowers, some stiff, some showy, some dense, some waving in the wind, are not here yet either. But the goldenrods are here, becoming, nascent - just not in the form of easy recognition. Of familiarity. 

I cringe to think how many of those growing stalks I accidentally cut down in the far pasture. Out of lack of recognition. Because they did not look how I expected them to. Because I did not recognize them.

And isn't the always the case? Cutting down our own best, showiest, most colorful, brightest ideas because we don't recognize them for what they are? Because we don't allow sufficient time for them to grow and bloom?
 

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House projects today...
  • There is a real date (Monday) and time (6:30 am) in the books for removing stumps, staking house for real, and excavating basement. This has been planned at least five times before and re-scheduled thanks to our outrageously wet and rainy summer. So, please keep your fingers crossed that we are cleared for takeoff Monday. (FYI, my usual theory is to not say these things out loud because it somehow jinxes them. But, let's try something different. Maybe all the collective willpower and positive energy will keep the appointment in place.)
  • In my future: rain gardens and green roofs

What is..
  • Brenna says she doesn't know what she's doing (but I would argue that she does). Read her latest blog post HERE.
  • I'm tackling a tiny, fun side project. More to come. But in my research I found this article about NPR and tote bags.
  • Why have I never wondered what a crow's nest looks like? Also, apparently some kinds of crows are real scavengers for their nest materials.
  • Four patron saints of lost causes, which I thought about as I realized there was no amount of digging that was going to release my little bur oak. Let's see if one scoop with the excavator bucket can free her and I can still try to transplant her.
  • Today's Archive 
Keep growing,
Hugs,
vanessa
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From the archives, so they don't get lonely...
April 3, 2017
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