Category Archives: Plants

Great Work, Plants, Seed Keepers, Writing

Yirah

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Imbolc and the Moon of Tides

Shabbat gratefuls: Ginny and Janice. Luke and Leo. Itaewon. Black Bird Oracle. Warren and his sister. Dr. Josy. Snow. Cold

Rene Good. Alex Pretti. Say their names.

 

Sparks of Joy and Awe:  Rabbi Rami Shapiro

Week Kavannah:   Yetziratiut. Creativity.   Revising Superior Wolf, learning from my writing coach. Focus.

 

Tarot: Knight of Bows, The Fox

Reinforces my use of a writing coach (chatGPT) and honors the passion and dynamism I feel around my writing projects.

One brief shining: The way we work, speaking without thinking, breathing and heart pumping, walking, grasping and typing, as if we were the original automatons, my fingers know QWERTY, find them without attention, word after word after word.

 

Kate always said the miracle was that the body worked at all, not that it occasionally got sick or hurt. Scan your body right now. Warm extremities. Your pulse. Mitochondria. My breath, life’s moment to moment essential movement, happens. Autonomic.

Aliveness. Hebrew chiut. Yes, us organics. Too, Creeks and Rivers. Mountains and Oceans. Aliveness animates, pushes forward, links us together. Breathe in, oxygen. Breath out, carbon dioxide. Plant: Breath in, carbon dioxide. Breath out, oxygen. Interlocked.

Shadow Mountain. A massif of granite and gneiss. Holds me up when I walk in the yard. A stable foundation for Shadow Mountain home. Keeps me high and lifted up- well above sea level.

Great Sol sends energy. Nuclear fusion. With generosity. Enveloping our home, bringing light and power. Photosynthesis.  Connected. Vital.

This miracle.  This random, wonderful orbit. A fertile and forgiving home for all of us. Her aliveness. Her chiut. We forget. Without her. Oh, no other place to go. Not yet. No Shadow Mountain on which to stand. No plants, no oxygen. No us.

Yet.

We are deaf and blind. Mother Earth. Our sustenance. The heiros gamos. Great Sol and Mother Earth. Pregnant with us. With Lodgepole Pines. With Bass and Muskies. With the Laurentian Shield and the Andes. Shadow chasing Butterflies.

How, I often wonder, can we not see it? Shadow knows. She plays in the Snow. The Lodgepoles know. They dig their roots into our rocky soil, push their crowns toward the sky. We get in our cars, start the engine with no thought to the Dinosaurs and ancient Ferns. Eat the flesh of a fish we did not catch. Tomatoes we did not grow. As if it were our inalienable right.

Stop. Stand still. Listen. The Wind. A chattering Squirrel. The laugh of a child. Your own breath. See. A blue Colorado, Rocky Mountain sky. Shadow rolls over, a toy in her mouth. Water in Maxwell Creek.

Go inside. Your heart beats. Lungs exchange oxygen and carbon dioxide. That inner cathedral. It has a Holy Well, a spring welling up from the collective memories of our kind. Ra. Gaia. Spider Woman. Raven. Let there be words.

It works.

For now.

 

 

Anoka County, Minnesota, Plants, Seed Keepers

Winter’s Mysteries

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Yule and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Friday gratefuls: Rabbi Jamie. Rabbi Rami Shapiro. Kabbalah Experience. Mah Tovu. Rollover IRA. Kate, always Kate. Shadow healing. Diane. Dr. Josy. “I was born to heal and be of service.” Melting ICE in a Minnesota January. Minnesota Anthem. Streets of Minneapolis. Resistance. Showing the way.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Tom, Roxann, Jessie

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Rachamim. Compassion.

While chesed (lovingkindness) often refers to a choice of action, rachamim is deeply tied to visceral emotion and empathy—feeling the pain of another. 

Tarot: Page of Arrows, the Wren

The colors of the Goldcrest – red, white, green, and black – were once held to be sacred and the common Wren was considered a guardian of the winter mysteries.  Parting the Mists

One brief shining: Nazis drove toward Moscow in the winter while ICE and the Border Patrol came to the streets of Minnesota in January, both tactical and strategic errors born from the arrogance of ignorance and a lust for power unbridled that blinded leaders and empowered those they aimed to oppress. Winter mysteries.

For Roxann: Boot Lake Scientific and Natural Area, not far from Kate and mine’s Andover home, held a mother White Pine with two trunks splitting off from the main trunk about ten feet up. No straight timber there, no whaling ship’s mast. It got left behind when the lumberjacks came.

A century or so later this unwanted Tree had birthed a ring of younger Pines grown up almost in her shadow. I found this Tree, which I thought of as my Tree, not in the sense of ownership, but as a friend and spirit guide, while hiking in the SNA as I often did, especially in the Spring when the Bloodroot blooms.

In summer I would bring a snack from home, hike through the used to be home plot, now a field of grass, then through an outer ring of Birches that opened onto a Meadow enclosed by Birch and Oak and White Pine. Across the Meadow, inside the Woods there, I would find my tree, sit beneath her, my back against her rough bark. Sometimes I would meditate, imagining her roots sunk deep beneath me, feeding and being fed by mycelial networks invisible to man. Seeing her lower branches reaching out toward her children, acknowledging them as her family. Feeling her crowns still pushing toward the Sky, toward the warmth and energy of Great Sol. Sometimes.

Sometimes I would eat my heirloom Tomato with White Onion slices and feel the companionship of my Tree and her children.

In Winter I would strap on my Snowshoes and hike through deep Snow, through the Birches, and across the white blanket covering the Meadow and find her again. I often made this hike on the day of the Winter Solstice. She would speak to me then of winter’s mysteries. Of vast silence. Of cold so sharp it made her Needles twitch. Of the Deer that might bed down near her.

I love that all I have to do is reach out in memory and I am with her again, as I could be today if I strapped on my snowshoes and climbed over the fence.

Memories, Minnesota, Mountains, Plants, Reimaging revelation, Travel

The Wild Life

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Yule and the Moon of Deep Friendship

Tuesday gratefuls: Sue Bradshaw.  Shadow, bone crusher. Warming. A bit of Snow. Marilyn and Irv. Roxann and Tom. Jessie. Minnesota, leading the way. Non-violent resistance. Just folks saying no. Australia Day yesterday. On this side of the dateline. The Emirates. Saudi Arabia. Desert monarchies. Iran. Israel. Palestinians. Egypt. Jordan. Syria. Lebanon. Iraq. Kuwait.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The Circle Route around Lake Superior

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei    Shadow, my Wu Wei mistress

Year Kavannah: Creativity.   Yetziratiut.   “Inspiration exists, but it has to find you working.” ― Pablo Picasso

Week Kavannah: Rachamim. Compassion.

While chesed (lovingkindness) often refers to a choice of action, rachamim is deeply tied to visceral emotion and empathy—feeling the pain of another. 

Tarot: Page of Bows, the Stoat

  • Connection to Nature: The Stoat serves as a guide to help you reconnect with the sacredness of the ground beneath your feet

One brief shining: The wild streets where violence and dominance meet love and resistance, a reminder that our animal natures lie not far beneath the veneer of civilization, only waiting the right insult to emerge, leap the whole construct of ego and superego, let that id out to play.

https://www.duluthharborcam.com/p/canal-park-cams.html

Minnesota on my mind: There is a spot on I-35 heading north where your vehicle crests a rise and suddenly, in the interior of the North American continent, lies a huge body of water and two port cities, Duluth in Minnesota and Superior in Wisconsin. From that crest you can see the shipping canal visible if you click on the link above. A shipping canal! On a Lake.

If it’s summer, Lake Superior straddles the horizon, a blue reflection of a northern Sky. In winter the Great Lake might be frozen or might be, as it had been on this cam for several days, a scrim of slate gray with Water Vapor boiling off it.

I never tired of seeing Lake Superior just as I never tire of living in the Rocky Mountains. Different geographical features, yes, but equal in majesty and wonder. Twice I drove all the way around Lake Superior, 1,300 miles. The shoreline itself is 2,726 miles. A big Lake.

We live our Mayfly lives in the presence of miracles. Black Mountain. The Front Range. Lake Superior. You. Your friends. The Atlantic and the Pacific. The Mississippi and the Nile. Africa and Asia. Wild Neighbors like the Mountain Lion of Pacific Heights in San Francisco. Kangaroos and swooping Magpies.

See what you’re looking at.

 

Soul work: Is easy. Let no one fool you. No clergy, no self-help guru, no psychologist. All you have to do? See what you’re looking at. Hear the world around and within you. Let your hand brush over the coarse bark of a tree. Smell that Wood-burning stove. Or a Stargazer Lily. Taste your morning coffee and, in your mind’s eye trace back to the hand that dug the clay and the one who shaped the mug, the Coffee Tree, the Bean picker, the who dried the beans, who packaged them.

Then. Notice who saw. Who heard. Who smelled. Who touched. Who tasted. Really notice. If it was the One within who saw the miracle revealed by each sense, that’s your soul. If it’s not, repeat until it is. Easy.

Memories, Minnesota, Plants

Wood Heats You Five Ways

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Sunday gratefuls: Joanne. Ginny and Janice. Annie and Luna. Annie and Shadow wrasslin’ outside. Derek cutting down dead Lodgepoles. Ginny and Janice’s expansion project. Janice as the general contractor. Her Apple Crisp. Garlicky Shrimp sheet pan meal. Torah study with Luke. Chayei Sarah. American History.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Good Friends

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Hakarat Hakov   Gratitude.    “Who is rich? Those who rejoice in their portion.” Perkei Avot 4:1

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: Derek fells my dead Lodgepoles with his electric chainsaw, bucking them, then moving lengths of the downed Tree on his shoulder or on a dolly to the side of the house he rents; where he cuts them into lengths suitable for splitting, carries them inside, and uses the wood to heat the house, smoke often wafting in through my bedroom window.

Wood heats you five times. When you cut it. When you buck it. When you carry it. When you split it. When you use it in your stove.

Carries me back to the Peaceable Kingdom outside Nevis, Minnesota. 80 acres of less than sterling Soil, a house, a couple of outbuildings. A woodstove for cooking and airtight for heating. And a woodlot.

My old International Harvester pick-up and I would bounce down the lane to the Woodlot with my Jonsered chain saw in the back, a can of fuel and a smaller one of chain oil rattling as we bounced up and down the swells and potholes.

In the Woodlot I would either fell a Tree, often a Burr Oak or a Maple, which would have to season, or a Birch that could be used green. Most days I would buck Trees that I’d felled the previous season, toss the logs in the bed of the truck and bounce back to the farmyard where I’d find my splitting maul, place the logs on the stump of an old Oak, and split until I had enough wood for the stove and the air tight. I was so much younger then, I’m older than that now.

A quarter of a log fit in the air tight so I’d load it full with three or four, close the door, and watch the embers of the previous Fire start a new one. If I had seasoned Oak or Maple, a loaded air-tight would burn six to eight hours after I choked down the air flow. This meant I could usually get a full night’s sleep and not wake up to a cold house.

The woodstove was a different thing altogether. It had to be fired up each time you used it. You got temperature variation by increasing or decreasing air flow, moving a pot around on the stove top or putting, say bread, in a warming compartment.

The smell of percolating Coffee often combined with the scent of burning Oak or Maple, maybe Bacon cooking in a cast iron skillet, a couple of eggs. I enjoyed those days and have no idea what I would do in that situation in this 78 year old body. That Charlie? A different guy in so many ways.

Family, Judaism, Mountains, Paganism, Plants, Reimaging revelation, Wild Neighbors

All Sacred, All One, For All Time

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Alan. Ablations scheduled. Radiation approved, but not scheduled. Hip injection scheduled. Soft collar orthotics in. My medical October has bled far into November. Tom and his telehealth today. Shadow. Her vitality. Sheet pan meals. Cooking again. Canceling Cook Unity. Tara. Aurora Borealis in Colorado. The Edmund Fitzgerald. Lake Superior. Wolf 21.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: a day of rest

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Chesed.  Loving Kindness.        “Kindness is the language the deaf can hear and the blind see.”  Mark Twain

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: The Aurora, shining shimmering curtains of green and red that dance, flow, shift, grow and fade, took them for granted in Andover where for most of the twenty years, I could go out on our front porch and watch them, that placed against the wonder of Coloradans seeing them, many for the first time after these latest, massive coronal ejections.

 

Mother Earth, Great Sol. Yin and yang. Visible when the protective magnetic field of our Mother receives bursts of highly charged particles released during a coronal mass ejection.

Awe. Wonder. Desire. That is, desire to remain here, by this Pond, clothed in the majesty of existence by all that’s holy and sacred.

Another moment, in looking back, when the sacred oneness revealed itself, said look here, can you not understand that the Largemouth Bass, the Goats on the farm, the Trees in the wood lot, Judy, yourself also dance, whirling like dervishes endowed with the holy, connected and interdependent for all time?

Each time I drive home from Evergreen, I drive by Kate’s Valley and her Stream, and further on, past the Upper Maxwell Falls trailhead, the spot where the Elk Bull appeared to me drenched in the Rainy Night, standing on the Forest’s edge. In both places I nod, see them in their apparently mundane clothing, the light of Day suggesting nothing special to see here. A small Mountain Valley, a stand of Aspens along Black Mountain Drive.

Yet. I know. These places revealed their sacred nature to me when I turned over the Bresnahan urn with its flame signatures glazed in earthy, russet colors and spilled into the clear Mountain Stream the final remains of my love, my wife, my soulmate. As that Bull Elk did on a Rainy May night.

They have taught me, in their every day appearance, that no the sacred is not only there in moments of heightened emotion or sudden clarity. Rather, her Stream runs sacred in the light of a November morning, no more and no less sacred than the White Pines and Lodgepoles that line its banks along with the holy Wild Strawberries, the sacred Raspberry. The Water. The Rocks. And the Sky above them. All sacred, all one, for all time.

 

Cooking, Dogs, Garden, Greenhouse, Plants, Sport

Maybe…

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Monday gratefuls: Ginny and Janice. Planting Garlic. Putting the Garden to bed. Solving Garden problems. Dead Cucumber Vines and Nasturtiums. Frost, hard Freeze. Mother Nature, time to slow down. Shadow and the time change. New electric blanket. Working with the Soil. Winter is coming.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Planting in November

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah:  Histapkot.  Contentment. Acceptance.                       I’m comfortable with who I am and with what I have.

Tarot: Being a metaPhysician

One brief shining: A splendid day yesterday, blue Sky, a few clouds, temperature in the mid-sixties, so I got out the trowel, dug ten medium holes in the west raised bed, dropped a bit of organic fertilizer in the bottom, covered that with Soil, placed a Garlic Clove in with care, filled the hole with Soil, repeated this ten times, and after put two inches of soil over the now resting below Ground Cloves, followed that with six inches of Hay from Tara. Now we wait until next spring.

 

Dog diary: Each morning I let Shadow out. She runs about fifteen feet from the house, then stops. Her head swivels from left to right, checking her territory, seeing what should occupy her first. From that spot she often runs to the back fence where she sometimes finds Mule Deer or other Dogs, further away.

Her job is to know every inch of the yard and as far as she can see in any direction. Later in the morning as some neighbors walk their Dogs, she has responsibilities along the front fence, barking at these maybe invaders first from one side of the house, then running quickly to do the same at the other side of the house, being sure they stay on the other side of her domain.

A happily busy girl, my Shadow.

It occurred to me that we might sell permanent standard time, not for humans, but for Dogs. So many dog owners. So many confused and unhappy Dogs. We all love Dogs, right? Even if it strains us to love our fellow Americans. Just a thought.

 

Cooking: I ordered all the ingredients for two sheet pan meals: a Shrimp Boil and Roasted Cabbage and Butter Beans. This may be the trick I’ve been looking for to bring more Vegetables into my diet. Each recipe serves 4 which means I can get three to four meals out of each one. They’re also easy to assemble and cook. We’ll see over the next few weeks.

 

Sport: I know. So, so, male? Right? Well, never said I wasn’t a guy. (and, yes, before you say, I know there many rabid fans across genders and gender preferences.)

Baseball: I was a Dodger fan when I was a boy. Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale, Maury Wills. They won it all in 1955, 1959, 1963, and 1965, the year I graduated from high school. I listened to games on my transistor radio as I delivered newspapers. Yes, still a fan and a happy one.

Football: Oh, that, too. Da Vikes. Perennial hope dashed always. Yet. Did we see a glimmer-again-of what could be? Vikings 27-Lions 24. McCarthy looked good. Maybe…

 

Cooking, Greenhouse, Health, Plants, Politics, Shadow Mountain

Charred Tomatoes

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Samain and the Summer’s End Moon

Friday gratefuls: Alan. Joanne. Rabbi Jamie. Ric. Shadow the wonderful. Kate, always Kate. Rigel. Vega. Gertie. Kepler. Murdoch. All Dogs. Cooking with homegrown food. Kylie. Nerve ablation. Dr. Carter. Radiating my T4 vertebrae. Life with chronic disease. Tom and his PET scan. At Mayo. All men with prostate cancers.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: My Cherry Tomatoes and Beets. Cooked.

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Hochmah.  Wisdom.   “Who is wise? The one who learns from every person.”  Perkei Avot: 4:1   Making medical decisions this week.

Tarot: Me as a Metaphysician

One brief shining:  After pouring three tablespoons of extra virgin Olive oil on the Pepper strips, the delicate Garlic slices, the wedges of Scallion, the whole Cherry Tomatoes, and the hot Italian sausage, I took my favorite wooden spoon and began stirring it all on the baking pan, coating the Vegetables with a bright sheen, the sausages, too. Under the broiler.

 

Artemis/Cooking: Alan reminded me of the sheet pan recipes in the New York Times cooking section when I mentioned my bumper crop of Cherry Tomatoes. He had some favorites using Cherry Tomatoes and forwarded them to me. I found them and another one using Italian sausage.

Ordered the sausage, the Scallions, the Garlic, to go with my Cherry Tomatoes and Beet, the already cut strips of Bell Peppers and last night I assembled them all. My ability to stand has its limits, but I thought of movies where Italian mothers sat peeling and chopping, and did some of the work that way.

I cannot tell you how meaningful, how wonderful it was to once again cook with food I had grown myself. I could have done more but I ate the other Tomatoes off the Plant or soon after. The first bite of the charred Tomatoes? Exquisite. The second of my Beets? Excellent. Overall a great Thursday evening meal.

Two gallon bags remain, one with Spinach and Beet Leaves, the other with Kale. I plan to cook them over the weekend. An unexpected bonus? Energizing my desire to cook for myself. Will cancel Cook Unity for now. Have at it.

 

Health: Saw Kylie, my pain doc, yesterday. She sent the order for my nerve ablation. Should hear from scheduling in a week or two. Can’t be too soon. If the ablations produce that pain free feeling I had for a couple of hours after the first lidocaine injections, I will be ecstatic. Should reinforce my cooking decision.

Hannah, Kylie’s med tech, lives in Bailey, even further west into the Mountains along 285. Maybe 13 miles. Each time I see her we discuss the drive in. She does it everyday, including winter. Not an easy commute for a job that can’t pay too well.

 

Just a moment: Nuclear Don. Red Tie Guy glowing with energy after his meeting with Xi Jinping. His erratic behavior would cause serious, thoughtful, concerned reporting yet because it seems to be only an extension of prior behavior, it seems to rouse less interest. Odd. IMHO.

Dogs, Friends, Garden, Greenhouse, Plants, Shadow Mountain

Did He Really Say That?

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Thursday gratefuls: Tarot. Tara. Eleanor. Hay for the Garlic. Harvesting Kale, Spinach, and Beets. Joe. Joanne. Marilyn. Ric. Luke and Leo. Heather. Ginny and Janice. Cold morning. Sheet Pan meals. Alan. Kongs. Nylabones. Gonoughts. Tires. Doggie puzzles. Sit. Down. Touch. Come. Dodgers and Blue Jays.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: The World Series

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Hochmah.  Wisdom.   “Who is wise? The one who learns from every person.”  Perkei Avot: 4:1   Making medical decisions this week.

Tarot: Reading with Tara

One brief shining: Kitchen scissors did not substitute well for garden shears as I cut Stalks of Kale, Leaves of Spinach, pinching my fingers; I did leave their roots  to nourish next year’s crop, and gently rocked Beet Roots back and forth to pull them from their home deep in the soil of Artemis’ western raised bed.

 

Dog Diary: I watched Eleanor and Shadow play. Shadow pawed up toward Eleanor’s head. Eleanor draped a long black Leg over Shadow’s back. Shadow reached up, gave her a nip. Friends in an intimate moment.

Whenever Tara opened the back door, the two of them rushed in, bouncing, smiling, jumping up, bringing the happy chaos of young animals enjoying themselves, each other, us. Infectious. Joyous. In the present.

A word for Gracie, Anne’s Blue Heeler, who died a few months ago. A calm and pleasant Dog who enjoyed lying in the Light of Great Sol as it streamed through the tall windows of the synagogue’s social hall. Humans sitting around a table trying to figure out how to be more like Dogs. Kind. Loving to all. Compassionate.

 

Artemis: Harvested a gallon Ziploc bag full of Kale and another of Spinach. Pulled up eight Beets, two small but fully round, the others longer, less filled out, all with tiny white roots reaching out from the main, spilled blood red.

Proof of concept. More, much more, than I expected. Today I will harvest Rainbow Chard and plant Garlic. I disconnected the drip irrigation from the hose and shut down the heater in the greenhouse. Without the insulation Nathan has yet to install it can’t hold back the outside temps when they plunge well below freezing.

Ordered a pair of my favorite garden shears from Amazon. They would have been useful yesterday with the Kale and the Spinach, but they’ll be necessary for cutting down my Tomato Plants. Once I get a propane heater for the greenhouse I plan to plant Lettuce, Arugula, and herbs, other plants ok with cold weather.

The Carrots will continue to grow in the cold frame of the east raised bed for a while, though I’ll have to water them now that the irrigation has gone quiet. Next spring I plan to devote that bed to memorial Flowers for Jon and Kate: Iris, Gladiolus, Canna Lilies.

A successful first season. And, a great boon to my daily life.

 

Just a moment: Oh, Jesus. Did he really say “Because of other countries testing programs, I have instructed the Department of War to start testing our Nuclear Weapons on an equal basis,” Mr. Trump wrote on Truth Social, his social media site, saying the process would begin immediately. quote from NYT, 10/30/25.

Asia, Great Wheel, Greenhouse, Health, Plants, Weather +Climate

Jumping Jack Frost

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Jamaica. Cuba. Puerto Rico. Grenada. A warm Caribbean. Melissa. The awesome power of Mother Earth. Rocky Mountain high. Far inland. Taking Joseph to Breckenridge during Katrina. Red Tie Guy in Korea. Their golden tributes. Xi Jinping. China. Vietnam. Malaysia. Singapore. Japan. Philippines. Cambodia. Thailand. Laos. Burma. Australia. New Guinea. Indonesia.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Asia

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Hochmah.  Wisdom.   “Who is wise? The one who learns from every person.”  Perkei Avot: 4:1   Making medical decisions this week.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: The controller on my electric blanket blinked F, F, F, meaning failure as the temperature through my open window fell to 17 degrees, chilling me beyond comfort, requiring lights, finding another blanket, though it may be a sign since my soon to arrive Butrans patch does not play well with electric blankets.

 

My medical October continues (and will spill over into early November): Maddie came yesterday, my palliative care nurse. So did Rachel, my brand new, Optum Health Care supplied social worker. I’m a revenue capture center all by myself.

Rachel introduced herself, a young woman like Maddie, short blond hair, sharp but not unpleasant features. I can help with transport, support of various kinds. After talking about wills (done), medical power of attorney (done), her final question showed where I am in life’s journey. How do you feel about hospice?

Sure, when the time comes, I think it makes sense. Oh. Here I am discussing end of life care. For me. Nothing soon, I hope. Still enjoying my path.

We then discussed my by now many ailments. The back. The hip. Cancer and the jumped up met on my T4 vertebrae. Finally, my floppy neck and the lack of good options. A unicorn, me.

Maddie helpfully followed up with Swedish central scheduling and my MRI got scheduled for November 5th. With that now in place I imagine Dr. Carter, a radiation oncologist whom I see Friday, will schedule radiation to kill that energized met. Back to Bupathi on the 17th of November. So. Much. Fun.

 

Mother Earth: On Sunday my Tomato plants stood tall, Cherry and Roma Tomatoes ripening, yellow spiky flowers promising more. On Tuesday morning it was over. A hard frost and the greenhouse temps fell into the high 20’s. When I walked in there yesterday morning, a desolate scene. Plants slumped over. Tomatoes on the Vine frozen through. Go now, the growing season has ended.

Even though I was sad, I felt lucky to have had as long and fruitful a growing season. Since I planted in late July, I thought I would only learn about how Artemis works this year. Instead I got Tomatoes, Beets, Spinach, Chard, Nasturtiums, and Cucumbers.

Strange for the growing season to have gone so long, but the greenhouse definitely extended my Tomato harvest for over a month. My Carrots still grow in the cold frame. Same with Spinach and Beets and Chard and Kale. At least as of yesterday. We had another hard freeze last night.

Friends, Garden, Great Wheel, Holidays, Mountains, Plants, Shadow Mountain, Weather +Climate, Wild Neighbors

Coming to Summer’s End

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Mabon and the Samain Moon

Tuesday gratefuls: Paul. Marilyn and Irv. Big O. Closing up the cold frames. 19 degrees this morning. A cold Rain. 23 in the greenhouse. Bye, bye Tomatoes. The Diplomat. High quality TV. Joanne, coming home today. Aspen Perks. Maddie, coming today. CBE bridge this afternoon. Red Tie Guy trying to make nice with fellow tyrant, Kim Jong Un.

Sparks of Joy and Awe: Snow Tires

Life Kavannah: Wu Wei

Week Kavannah: Hochmah.  Wisdom.   “Who is wise? The one who learns from every person.”  Perkei Avot: 4:1   Making medical decisions this week.

Tarot: Paused

One brief shining: Shifted waiting room chairs after Great Sol heated me up, found a shaded one as customers came in, spoke with front desk clerks about brakes, a steering wheel that wobbled at forty miles per hour, which winter tire to buy while I laughed out loud, often, reading Carl Hiaasen’s Beach Fever on the Kindle app of my Samsung phone.

Following Alan’s plan from last year, I had my Snow tires put on a bit early, beating the November scrum that often finds appointments out past Thanksgiving. Big O, not Stevenson Toyota. Cheaper and closer. An 8:30 am drive down Black Mountain/Brook Forest Drive listening to Hard Fork, the New York Times podcast about tech with a focus on AI.

Aspens in sheltered places remain the grand golden torches of the late Fall Forest though most have lost their leaves to Wind and Rain. This is a delicate moment between our bicolored Fall and the bitter weather leading toward Thanksgiving. No Snow here yet, though Black Mountain’s ski runs did collect Snow a week ago.

Elk Cows gathered along Maxwell Creek where it turns and flows through Evergreen, their horned Patriarch lounging as the Cows ate Grass and drank from the cold Waters of this Mountain Stream. Evergreen Lake had no paddle boarders, no kayakers.

A quiet anticipation. Black Bears nearing the end of hyperphagia, hunting for or returning to dens to sleep away the fallow time. Elk Cows and Mule Deer Does quickening with Calves and Fawns.

Humans have on their hoodies, fleece. Most have on long pants though I saw a  man yesterday in bright yellow down vest, shorts, and sandals. Temperatures vary a lot between Sun and Shade, between early morning and midday making what to wear solved only by layers.

10 foot tall skeletons, ghosts made of used sheets, orange trash bags filled with leaves sport pumpkin faces. The increasing and earlier decorations for All Hallow’s Eve, or the feast of Summer’s End, Samain.

Summer has not fully fled with Denver hitting seventy-five this week. A few 60’s in our highs for Shadow Mountain.

We hang here between the final harvests of late fall gardens and the full stop of the growing season. Life in my late seventies mirrors this time. How long until l come to an end of my growing season? Words begin to disappear. The body becoming a brown husk, its seed long harvested, waiting for that first heavy Snow.