Putting the Garden to Bed.

I deliberately flushed it out into a two-day project this year.
In years past, I've participated in a neighborhood organic garden, as well as signing up for a plot or two at our local evangelical church that has farmland adjoining.  The neighborhood garden is no more:  the people who ran for the "leadership" positions were eager to get their title, and establish the opening meeting, and the early and late workdates, but sometimes these were not the people who actually deigned to show up and do the work taking down fencing, cleaning up after those who let their plots go to seed, and picking the final fruits of our seasonal labors.

I used to photograph my gardens too -- remember?  Because every year is unique -- this year, for example, we didn't need to add any water as what the heavens gave us was so bountiful...   But now, I put the camera away and just enjoy the intrinsic pleasures that come with being outside, in an open area, watching the ongoing growth, and decline.*

Plus, this was the first year I was away working in the Cities and too busy to properly prune and weed, and thus the weeds and seeds took over.  Which made for an enjoyable yesterday, amid the golden grasses, for which my own sun-speckled eyebrows have taken on a resemblance...  (wordy, but you hopefully get the picture.)

I like being outdoors for how it makes your face look:  peaceful, relaxed, natural.

I like hunting the final fruits:  broccoli, Brussels, even gleaning beans -- those still green, and those dried and gone to seed for next year's crop.  I like pulling up my tomato cages, wondering where they'll sink in next year.  Not so enjoyable is pulling up the black plastic, damp on one side and the reason I decided to let it dry in the air, with a rock atop, and come back Sunday to load everything up...

Some little things, I munched as I went.  Buddy ran around and sniffed, and rolled:  there are deer tracks and I know he found something strong he was hoping to emulate.  There didn't seem to be a cloud in the sky either day, and while sunny and layered, I was warm but rarely hot, even while picking up the final rocks to join my little collection from summers past, gardens grown, and pretty red things uncovered.  (I limit myself to the nicely shaped red ones.)

For me, it is a season of movement:  I will be officially crossing the bridge and staying this winter -- a Minnesota "mudduck", with a lease in Oakdale, 10 minutes from the park-and-ride for my express bus...

Yesterday, I packed up the garden, and continued boxing up the house.  This week, it's just an HHR-ful of possessions to move in and live with, before the moving van comes at the close of the month...

I'm kind of glad I can't put my hands on the little digital camera at the moment.  I've moved enough in my life to understand the importance of not just focusing on the visual, but to savor all of what the senses offer up:  the honking of migrating geese overhead, the smell of wood fires, leaves, and meat cooking outside still.  The smell of the dirt unearthed when you pull the summer plastic back, the sound of a light wind rustling through the dried corn stalks...

I'll miss my country sensations somewhat, but it just makes sense come winter to get closer to the work, the people, the fresh place for writing and efficiency, with only a good selection of my books coming with, and the rest in storage.

I can't see buying until I am ready to commit to a location, and sometimes your eyes open when you live and work and read about the happenings in this region or that.   Of course, that all adds to the sensations and the memories and the writing too.
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* The sage is still going strong, despite the less-than-killing frosts. I like to clip, dry and burn for scent as needed, in the stale indoor-air months.  (Too strong a seasoning on the meats for my taste.)


Make it another great week!
Progress indeed pays off, for all of us in our own ways...