My preferred grain of choice.
Davin drew this chalk pastel of a nasturtium blossom on a piece of discarded Polaroid paper while I took Polaroids of tomatoes.
I saved this basket from a recent market purchase and have been using it to collect the harvest at my community garden plot. I like the look of it.
Inside the basket is the harvest collected last Saturday evening: ‘Mojito Mint’, a zinnia, two kinds of sage, zucchini flowers, Mexican Sour Gherkins, ‘Crookneck’ squash, a green pepper, and some basil. I was going to pull out a bunch of garlic but I had run over to the garden in the spare minutes while waiting for the rice to cook and had to get back quickly or risk burning dinner.
Yep. That’s the just the kind of craziness I get up to on a Saturday night.
I found an entire tree laying flat across the street garden this morning. Just, you know, laying there. How it got there or why is beyond me.
Okay. Here’s the thing: The garden’s a mess. I have barely touched it since the last big incident. I just haven’t had it in me. Call in the garden police. Seriously, the way I have been neglecting that garden makes me feel like a total fraud. And yet whether I garden or don’t garden the weirdness continues. All sorts of interesting Happenings have occurred since the last incident. Things I haven’t bother to write about here because that would mean crawling out of the nice soft and fuzzy blanket of denial I’ve been slowly sinking into as a way to put all of this nonsense out of my mind.
Garden? What garden? I walk by the remains of each new occurrence shaking my head in disbelief and then turn away to look in the other direction and pretend the whole thing isn’t even there. I did deal with the used potting soil someone threw on top of the plants. The plume poppies that were trampled down to make a path to the back wall. And the dead squirrel someone tossed from off the road. At least I did that much.
Sometimes I think about the garden late at night while laying in bed waiting to fall asleep. I make plans to pull out the weeds, rebuild the broken fence, and throw out the slowly accumulating collection of big beer cans and giant Freezie wrappers. But then I wake up in the morning and focus my attention on the roof garden, my sanctuary in the sky that only the raccoons and squirrels can have their way with. They drive me nuts but at least their behaviour follows some kind of logic.
But this on the other hand is just ridiculous. Is this some kind of joke? Performance art? We looked up and down the street a block but couldn’t see a single ripped out sidewalk tree. Which means someone actually dragged this one from a fair distance and then heaved it onto the iris bed. When I try to imagine the rational behind this act the only thing that comes to mind is, “Back to the source.”
It’s as if the person thought, “Man, I sure am getting tired of hauling this small tree down the street. I wonder where I can ditch it? How about with this other plant matter?”
I suppose it only stands to reason. Like belongs with like. Or something like that.
I think it’s about time the street garden had it’s own internet website. That and a web cam. And then once it’s making some money it can pay for all the wasted therapy sessions I’ve had to put towards working out its issues.