Spring \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Bee Hiving Moon<\/p>\n
There. \u00a0Got out and did my first garden task of the new season. \u00a0Cut down all the raspberry canes. \u00a0That means no harvest mid-summer, but a more bountiful one in the early fall. Getting out there, just standing in the garden, healed a part of me that gets wounded in early winter. \u00a0It’s the part of me that’s glad the garden is done for the season.<\/p>\n
And that’s true. \u00a0I am glad when the last berry is frozen and the last tomato is canned. \u00a0At the same time the finish of the garden closes up a part of my soul, starves it for nourishment and that becomes a wound, often unnoticed until its healing can be accomplished. \u00a0With the least good garden pruners, an early brand purchased before I discovered Felco, I cut into the canes, cut them all down to the ground. Now that wound has suddenly healed and I am again the Greenman.<\/p>\n
Next I’ll plant those cool season crops before we leave for Denver.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Spring \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0Bee Hiving Moon There. \u00a0Got out and did my first garden task of the new season. \u00a0Cut down all the raspberry canes. \u00a0That means no harvest mid-summer, but … Continue reading A Wound<\/span>