Blooming in April

Many mornings you can find me nose-deep in flowers, still half asleep and barefoot, but inhaling flower scents nonetheless. I don't need coffee to wake me up. All  need is dew on my toes, sniffing a rose, pollen up my nose.

It's true: most mornings I roll out of bed and head out to the garden. Admittedly, I need to tend to the dogs first: Raka, the big dork, acts like she hasn't eaten in days, and she will let you know in no uncertain terms. Hazel, the little dog, freaks out every morning like she hasn't seen me in months, so I need to reassure her that I am indeed here to stay for the long haul.

Dogs thusly fed and assured, we step out the front door, where usually a brisk wind rattles our ears. The dogs pee and chase the bunny while I administer my daily inspections: how many millimeters has each plant grown since yesterday? How many more degrees did a flower bud open?

When we first moved here a little over a year ago, there were only two small Rhododendrons. Before doing anything at our new place, I spread compost around the house's foundation and planted lots of things I had dug up from our Marblemount Homestead.

Why pay for new plants if you can just steal their babies?

Almost all of the things you can see in these photos were either divisions of old plants, gifts from fellow gardeners, or plants grown from seeds scattered on the Earth in spring. 

 

Truly, dear reader, growing a lush flower garden doesn't need to be expensive. 

I do have to admit, though, that Old English roses are one of my weaknesses (together with dark chocolate, a nice silk yarn, and puppy kisses). So whenever there is a thing to celebrate (Mother's Day! It's coming up! Steve!!! Kids!!!! Are you reading this????), I like to go to Christianson's, my favorite nursery dangerously close to our house. They have an AMAZING assortment of everything, including Old English roses.

I could spend days there. 

Someone please forward this to my husband Steve, and maybe he'll see my oh-so-subtle hints. 

 

What are you growing nowadays?
 

Turning 44, and one of the things I've learned

On the same day as the shooting in Orlando, I turned 44.  My husband, kids and I were hiking on a mountain top to an abandoned fire lookout, kayaking on a magical lake, and feeling lots of love and joy.

A day later, when I found out about the tragedy, I started feeling guilty about all the bliss I felt on my birthday.  The guilt lasted exactly 10 seconds, because I realized that the kinds of feelings I experienced on my birthday are exactly what the world needs in the face of insanity, fear, hatred and death.  We need love, joy, community, family.

I am so heartbroken about what happened.  And as always in the face of unspeakable grief I am holding my loved ones close, trying to teach them inclusivity, that we humans are so much more alike than not and thus should treat each other like brothers and sisters.  

Anyway.  I am now 44, rapidly heading towards the half century mark.  I think this would freak me out more if I didn't feel so healthy and strong.  Honestly, I feel more vibrant than I ever have.  

My hair is turning grayer, my wrinkles are deepening, my hands are looking like the appendages of a woman 20 years older than me (I don't wear gloves when gardening or washing dishes), but I feel wiser, deeper, and more seasoned. 

I think ageing has a lot do do with our mindset.  Our culture tells us that we will get aches and pains, that we will get sick, tired and ugly.  Well, I have an issue with that paradigm.  There's nothing that says we can't get healthier and more alive as we age, right?  I jump on that band wagon!  Jump with me!

The hike up the fire lookout was gorgeous.  Wildflowers, sweeping vistas, ferns, gnarled trees...

Don't worry, she didn't kill it. This butterfly was dead, and she was sad and insisted on a proper burial.

On the way down, I lagged behind.  Steve, who knows I like my space, took the kids with their chattering and noisy enthusiasm and led them down the mountain, while I quietly walked alone, blissed out.  The afternoon light was so soft and pretty, bathing everything in golden light.

The backlit flowers seemed to call out to me to stop and admire them.  I reflected on how much I've learned from flowers.  Mostly it's about how to be fully present, to exist in a grounded way and letting their light and beauty shine unapologetically.

What I love about flowers (and everything in nature, really) is that they just ARE.  They live fully in the moment without judging.  Lupins don't look at a daisies and say "Gosh, I wish they weren't so different from me!".  A rose doesn't lament that one of her petals is a different size than another one of her petals, wishing she looked different.  She just keeps on blooming her butt off, spreading her gorgeous fragrance.  One flower doesn't judge another: "Look at that bitch!  Who does she think she is for showing off like that with her vibrant colours?  I wish she kept it down a little."

I totally wanna live like that.

That night, we slept in our friend's tiny cabin and went bicycling (me) and eating cinnamon rolls (the rest of my family), and then headed to Pearrygin Lake to kayak.  Steve gave me a kayak for my birthday (!!!), so we naturally had to test it.  The lake's surface was like glass and took my breath away with its beauty.

My son Luke must have rolled his eyes at me because I kept exclaiming how gorgeous it was.  By the way, you know what the kids' present was for me?  They cleaned out the fridge after I hinted how much this would mean to me.  Have I told you how much I love these kids?  

What are you holding near and dear these days?

PS: I am giving away a spot in my self-paced, start-and-end-whenever-you-like fermentation course at the Woolly Moss Roots blog.  Head on over there and leave a comment to win it.  Even if you don't win, you can claim 10 percent off.  Get the coupon code at Woolly Moss Roots.

Alive and well

It's so wonderful that life offers pockets of comedy, even in the face of grief and loss. Watching our puppy chase butterflies, or rather their shadows on the ground, never fails to make me laugh out loud. 

Trying not to smile when my six-year-old (who is learning to sound out words) asks, "Mommy, does the F-word start with f?"... Some of you might not find this funny, but the ones who know me and my terrible potty mouth might.

In the midst of crying over my friend's suicide and another friend's death in a car accident, I find lots of things to be grateful for, maybe BECAUSE of these deaths. After all, we are alive, and we are well.

I'm feeling incredibly grateful for our beautiful piece of land, which grounds me and serves as my mental health therapy. It doesn't hurt that it also puts out a lot of food already!

And the flowers! The flowers! I pick huge bouquets of roses and peonies and station them around the house, so we can smell them inside and outside. I grow perennial flowers in various flower beds around our place, and I also like flowers in my vegetable garden, because they look pretty and attract pollinators.

Steve, the kids and I worked in the yard all day on Memorial Day. We went a little bit insane and paid for it the next day since we were so sore. But we got a lot done! Steve did macho stuff with the chainsaw that involved trimming up some pretty big trees that had gotten too overgrown, shading my precious flowers. I single handedly weeded so much buttercup and grass from under the blueberry bushes that my hands could hardly milk the goats the next morning. We also weeded the garden and mowed the lawn. Our place now looks worthy of being featured in Sunset Magazine or something.

We bribed the kids into helping by promising strawberries and whipping cream later on. It worked. They kicked butt.

If you look closely, you can see Steve on the ladder with a chainsaw in the middle of the picture. See how all that green swallows everything?

Another source of comedy and comfort are our animals. Truly, how could you be sad when you watch the puppy sniff noses with our new baby pigs, or when you hang out with the goats and chickens? Our baby chicks are now 3 months old, and the roosters are starting to crow. The other day I milked the goats in the barn and heard a terrible screaming sound outside. I just about knocked over the milk bucket trying to figure out who got killed. Turned out it was the rooster who tried to crow for the first time in his life. Yeah, keep practicing, buddy.

And lastly, who cheers me up most are my children. This weekend, little Eva got to hang out with her best friend and even be the hostess of a sleepover. These girls played in the garden for hours, making up games, grazing on fennel and kale. At one point, I asked them if they were fairies. They looked at me a little disdainfully and said, "No, we are obviously wolves." Right.

In the picture, their teeth are green because they are eating fennel. Obviously.

Let me leave you with a picture of my Cabra Al Vino. Remember, if you want to learn how to make cheese from me, take my self-paced, start-anytime online cheesemaking course. I promise, it's super fun!