This spring I came to the conclusion that my potted life needed to be less “Country Home” and more “Sunset Magazine”.  I’ve been shifting my sensibilities towards modern.  For some reason fuzzy light green plants with big leaves had to be in my palette.  Mix those with lots of orange,  succulents and brightly painted pots and there you have it.  Here are some shots of our July garden at the little cottage in the woods.

The point at which I had just about lost my patience with the suburbs was about the same time I reached for “Last Child in the Woods” by Richard Louv.  Starting to read the book and listening to Richard Louv speak could not have happened at a better time.

When we moved from the mountains to the suburbs I thought it would be fine.  I figured we would continue our routine of outdoor adventures; they would just be a little farther from our home.  Well, by the time Seth goes for three days of Mountain school, and mobile time with dad he is fairly adventured out.  When he spends time here at the house with me all he wants to do is relax, play and stay out of the car!

In the mean time I am suffering from severe nature deficit disorder (I only get to go to Mountain school one day a week .  When we lived in the mountains all I had to do was walk out the door for a healing breath of fresh air.  The solace of  forest and field was was readily available all the time.  In Mountain View (there is no view of mountains from our house) I walk out the door and am instantly bombarded with the roar of three different highways.  Not to mention the distinct traffic noise from the busy street that borders our fence.  The sky is smoggy, and although this lot is almost an acre of space, and there are some amazing old oaks and other trees in the yard, there is little sense of wilderness.

Since I am unable to get out and adventure with Seth as much as I’d like, I’ve had to find a compromise.  I had to find an outdoor destination in the yard that could pinch hit as “wilderness”.  We have several outdoor destinations in our yard, the first and most obvious being the “kid ghetto”.  This is the area of the yard that houses the play structure, sand box, playhouse and dirt pile, all littered in plastic toys and vehicles, in various states of decay.  The kids love it, but it looks like Target meets the dump covered in sidewalk chalk.  The second destination is the vegetable garden.  This is a magical place, but it is also a working place, a place where Seth is a caretaker, and like it or not is surrounded by thinking and “structure”.  There are several tween places that we use but don’t necessarily inhabit, like the fairy garden or the tree forts (adults are not allowed in the overgrown shrubs that serve as “base”).  However, there is one wild place in the yard that fit the bill to a t, that place is the Fairy Kitchen.

The Fairy Kitchen was aptly named by Lily.  After our egg hunt last spring Lily spent at least an hour playing by herself on a patch of Bermuda grass, a little spit of quazi lawn wedged between some Lamb’s Tongue and an abandoned rock garden.  Lily plopped down in perhaps the most interesting spot in the yard and started playing house.  When Geoff asked her what she was doing she explained that she was in “the Fairy Kitchen”.

Since it’s naming, the Fairy Kitchen has been a place, but not a destination.  I realized I had to change this, so I took an active role in playing there myself.  I set out little metal “kitchen” objects and began to set up house.  Seth soon caught on, and now we have Fairy Kitchen fever!  We go out there at least once a day.  At first it was me suggesting we spend time there, but now Seth initiates visits himself.  He seems to sense when I get fussy or distracted in the house and marches us out to the Fairy Kitchen.  If we are there and I am preoccupied with something else, he makes me stay in the kitchen and work it out.  He obviously senses that the Fairy Kitchen is a meditative place for me and that he should see to it that I self medicate wither I like it or not.

The thing I like about the Fairy Kitchen is that it always leads to something exciting.  After we both putz around in the kitchen for a while we get good ideas.  99% of the time the ideas are outdoor related.  It is almost as if spending time in the Fairy Kitchen is a “practice” of sorts.  Something that we do to connect to nature, gather our wits and focus on one another.  Rearing a child seems to involve lots of daily practice that fosters patience and reveals joy.  I’m sure it’s the same for Seth, because growing up is not an easy job.  My memories of growing up were always difficult between 4 walls and blissful without.

Richard Louv says that nature is a gift that if given to a child may allow the child to do something profound for the world in return.  It occurred to me early on in our Fairy Kitchen explorations that a gift of nature was given to me.  I was often left with my Grandmother Marge who lived on the loveliest hillside on the Stanford Campus.  My memories of these visits are full of wonder and magic.  She let me play anywhere I wanted in the meandering gardens.  She taught me how to suck nectar from the Vinca blossoms,  pick geranium flowers, entice a sleeping cat into play and differentiate between jays.  Grandma Marge was even kind enough to let me play house in her amazing succulent garden that lined the borders of the stairs to her front door.  She taught me how to pick just one leaf at a time and replant it somewhere else to make a new plant – such a simple action, but such a profound gift.

I’m sure I have returned her gift to the world at large, and will continue to do so for my entire life.  However, my job right now is to give the gift of intimacy with nature to my son.  We are spending time in The Fairy Kitchen to center ourselves, “checking in” with the earth every day.  Stopping and taking the time to make sense of our intentions for the day, the week and the rest of our lives.

Seth and I were unable to see each other on the actual Harvest Moon, but we started our own harvest on Monday afternoon.  We hitched a ride with Martina to our class field trip at Rodoni Farm Pumpkin Patch in Santa Cruz County.  This year Aydin and Seth were all about “the haul”.  They set about piling as many pumpkins as possible into their wagon.  Needless to say we purchased an entirely different set of pumpkins that were selected for their edible qualities.  The boys found ornamental crook neck squash that looked like guns, and Seth was able to pay for those with a dollar from my wallet.  I’m not sure how he purchased the ammo.  I love the energy at the pumpkin patch, the sun is brilliant, the sky is clear and the pacific reflects the children’s joy a thousand times over.

On Tuesday Seth was eager to harvest at his own home.  Seth and his cousins had taken care of “harvesting” most of the pumpkins and squash from our garden (see below).  This fact did not deter Seth, he marched straight to the beans and got started with his harvest.  At a certain point in the late summer beans just become too much to keep up with.  Ours had definitely gone by, and Seth spent a good half hour picking the seeds from the pods and collecting them in a jar.  He told me we were going to save them for planting next year, however I saw them getting hauled around in a Playskool marine mammal rescue truck after dinner so we’ll see.  We were not the only creatures harvesting.  Lots of little birds were busy eating seeds from the sunflowers.  We had to take long breaks from harvesting to watch them chow down.

Our garden has graciously yielded so much his summer, we are truly thankful.  In all it’s glory we managed to miss all sorts of little treasures.  Tuesday was all about treasure hunting.  We found a few more peppers, a passel of little eggplants and basil galore.  I stayed up late on Tuesday night and made tons of pumpkin seed pesto to hold us till Christmas.  Our week of Mommy Seth Harvesting ended on a perfect note.  Daddy Jim picked Seth up on Wednesday and we all talked for a long time.  Jim harvested all the straggling tomatoes which he carted off in a bike helmet for cooking.  I said goodbye to my loved ones for a few days, and goodbye to this garden for the summer.  It is time to layer compost these beds, and let them dream the winter away till we meet again in the spring.

“Can I keep that picture forever? Cuz I lost those bugs.” – Lily

On Tuesday we hosted the ALS Association Bay Area Chapter fund raising luncheon.  This event sort of snuck up on our little household.  We only collectively realized this was actually happening a week before.  The fairy garden was awash in dry Bishop’s Lace and the “lawn” was a bit frayed around the edges.  The party was a good excuse for us to overhaul the untended spots.  Mattie forked up the dough, and we bedecked the fairy garden in brand new perennials; Chocolate Cosmos, Dianthus and Coreopsis,  to name a few.  Even the abandoned succulent garden got a face lift.

I thought before hand that I would be fine with this event.  Seth unearthed his hoard, and bedecked the garden in fairy stones.  He wore his shirt that I painted with Grandma Belle when I was six.  We both gave our little speech about how mom was an artist, and her legacy lives on in us.  However, when it was time to leave for the park I felt relieved.

I don’t seem to relate my mother’s ALS experience and death with her.  I remember and cherish all my memories of her, but when forced to confront ALS I skirt the issue.  I can’t even get my brain to concentrate on it.  When you tell people that you mother died of ALS, you might as well have turned a search light on a deer.  ALS is currently an incurable disease with only one outcome.  As humans we survive by not dwelling on the unpleasant and unfixable.  It is easy to be a cheerleader for cancer because lots of people survive it.  No one survives ALS.  That said, I really admire the staff of the ALS Association.  I think they have one of the hardest jobs/life experiences, yet they were all so confident and professional.

Although the event was filled with faces and people, I couldn’t help but notice the empty chairs.  Every time I noticed an empty chair I envisioned my mother sitting in it.  I saw her reading, cutting with scissors, dialing a telephone.  I saw her doing all the subtle quiet activities that make up most of our lives.  The nature of ALS is subtle.  Although each transitional stage of ALS has it’s drama, the disease forces subtlety on everyone.  Days become slow and quiet, and those giving care are forced to listen more closely for the slightest movement that signals a need of their loved one.

Our garden rejuvenation, although cheery reminded me nothing of ALS.  I left feeling that our efforts had no connection to the event.  I have no regrets, I’m sure that everyone thought it looked lovely.  However, next year I will have a much better idea of how to reconnect with my experience of ALS.

Parenting is selfless.  For days, weeks, years on end we shed all manner of introspection to nurture and raise our offspring.  I had a little time to myself this weekend to paint and putz and do what ever I darn well pleased.  It occurred to me that perhaps it was high time to take a self portrait.  As soon as I woke up this morning I made Ryder go out to the garden and take photos of me.  I wanted to capture “me” at my least self conscious.  My early morning visit to the garden is the place where my self comes out.  It is a time and place where I am unhindered by a day of thoughts, interactions and expectations.  I am my biological self here, the me that can’t separate itself from petals, chlorophyll and dew.

My second agenda was to document the skirt.  I’d seen this daisy fabric quite some time ago and really wanted a gardeny, vintagy wrap skirt made out of it.  I mean what gardener doesn’t want to wear her garden all the time?  The skirt was supposed to be simple to sew, but it turned out to be tricky.  Bertie was kind enough to help me with it and I can’t thank her enough for more or less sewing it for me!   Aside from the daisy and squash blossom vibe of the fabric, I had hoped that the 50’s shape would play down my length and feminize me a bit.  While I am wearing it I feel very swishy and Alice in Wonderland.  However, when I saw the photos I realized that I simply am what I am.  Perhaps I should be less self conscious of my wingspan and consider myself lucky that I have arms which can retrieve almost anything that might be hiding just out of reach in the summer garden.

Just a little photo essay showing some of the activity at our home farm.  Enjoy!  Love A

On Easter Sunday I had a household gardening agenda.  However, I could not seem to rally.  Seth said, “mommy we need to shuck corn”.  I had to surrender to this agenda, because I admit, I am a seed hoarder.  Mattie had been hinting that I “recycle” my collection of indian corn that was getting dusty and taking up valuable space in the porch.  I was having a hard time letting go of the insanely beautiful cobs, harvested at the Ardenwood Farm.  The day we harvested the corn was ideal, I felt hopeful that day.  It was and will remain one of the happiest days of my life.  So I’ve clung to the cobs, wanting to save that clear October day despite everything.  However, Seth forced me to let go.  He sat me down for two hours and helped me remove every last kernel.  Sometimes when we can’t do something for ourselves someone else wiser has to step in.  Some of the seeds have been planted in the “corn spiral”.  Some of the seeds are in the “play cycle”.  The remaining seeds are in a bottle for me to hoard.  This time they are behind glass that can be dusted off and reflected upon.  The rest are in a bottle that we gave to Jim.  Perhaps he has planted them in his garden.

FAIRIES & PIXIES

THE HUNT

HAPPY SPRING!

PS Don’t forget to tie your shoe laces for the big ressurection party tomorrow!

I have until midnight to get nostalgic about this delicious month.  The best yield thus far has come from the beets, but the cauliflower wins the prize for dramatic impersonations of Godzilla or your Japanese monster of choice.  I simply walked by one day a few weeks ago, looked down and there was this huge head of cauliflower peeking out at me.  Either I had not been in the garden enough, or this plant simply flowers overnight.  It’s hard to miss a flower head that is two feet across!  OK I exaggerate, but they are prodigious, and heavy.  Seth could barely lift the thing, and this is saying a lot.  Seth is one of the strongest humans I know.

Seth took this photo of me.  I like this photo because I look like one of the early 20th century ancestors I have been archiving photos of.  The overexposed mid day sun look is so common in the old photos.  The distant gaze is also indicative of the era.  I like to think all those people were gazing fondly at a child or the family dog.

Seth likes to dig in this funny corner behind the potted bergamot trees.  It’s very dusty back there and home to an unfortunately dry green man and other expired plant life.  It is an unappealing spot to an adult gardener, but to a child it is digging heaven.  It’s Seth’s equivalent to the secret garden.  He calls it his “private digging place”.  He has a lot of digging places, but only one “private one”.  It is poorly named because although a bit secret from the side it is definitely not so secret from above.

The other day Francis told me that he calls the little picket fenced area beyond the big fence “the secret garden of the world”.  I thought this was an apt description.  You access it from an almost invisible gate in the fence.  There is no gate out of the picket fence that surrounds the persimmon tree.  Yet everyone can see you playing and you can watch the world go by.  Kids love spaces like this.  I always find the kids playing joyfully in “the secret garden of the world”, because after all who wants to be cooped up behind fences all day?  We are social creatures and what’s not to love about watching people frequenting the corner store, observing the officer handing out stop-sign-running tickets and hanging out with the young man selling strawberries.  All of this “secret” outside world experience bathed in the yellow and orange of happy calendulas.

Daily Seth takes a handful of calendula petals tosses them in the air and yells, “celebration”.  Last week he picked a pint of petals for our class picnic salad.  All we needed was a few flowers worth, but Seth took it upon himself to stock up a whole party’s worth.  Calendulas are something you can never have enough of, especially with kids around.

Today Seth was eating snap peas that Martina gave him.  On the way home he asked me if these were the type of peas we are growing in our garden.  Oh how my heart soared.  I explained that we were growing edible peas and sweet peas together.  I explained that the colored sweet peas we cut for flowers, yet we leave the white snap peas so that pods can form.  When we got home he saw a white flower on the vines, but refrained from picking it.  Every bit of planting, growing and harvesting knowledge he digests is a miracle to me.  Learning to provide for his own body and soul is a mother’s hope fulfilled.