Victoria's Real Secret

I confess. I have a reoccurring fantasy. Like all good English teachers, the fantasy is mythological in nature. It concerns a heroine, a hero, and an impossible task. My Herculean task was to create a working garden fountain for under ten dollars. Having acquired a plastic liner,an entire box load of spaghetti like tubing,two ancient pumps and some colander looking items at a garage sale for exactly ten dollars, I set out to create the magic water feature. Guess what? Forty years dealing with the power and the glory of the semi-colon in no way prepared me for assembling a workable water feature. Enter, the HERO, and not just any hero, but my favorite nature author Bill Belleville, writer of River of Lakes, the lyrical volume that gave me a new vision of the St. Johns River. Bill sat down on the hot pavement, went through the spaghetti mass of tubes and isolated the only working pump. Not my average morning.

Just as the Patience Gives Out

According to assorted gurus, gardening is supposed to inculcate many of the skills needed for success in real ( not reel) life: careful attention, flexibility, patience etc. Just as my patience became as cracked as my stepping stone because of Tropical Storm Debbie's depredations, Mother Nature provides a gift. Actually, not Mother Nature, but a neighbor wearing a battered Gator hat and chain smoking Marlboros.The gift was a garage sale pond liner, four pumps, pond netting, a blue piece of brain coral AND a plastic castle. Total cost $10. Tomorrow at dawn, I shall sink the liner which I have already tested for water tightness and create my pond. The four pumps are a little off putting for someone whose pump wisdom relates only to breasts, but I have confidence that I can figure it out. Maybe??

Seeding is Believing

According to author Angeles Arrien, June is the halfway month, the month of maximum light. It is the month we can see the flowering of seeds we've planted in the earth and in our souls. My earth seeds are fairly recognizable---deer tongue lettuce, Wild Fred tomatoes, Japanese eggplant. My soul seeds are more mysterious, less accessible to me anyway. Perhaps reading Arrien, Merton , Nataraja and David Reynolds will help me identify some of the psychic seedlings. Yesterday was an amazing bird day. Thanks to the happy invitation of some friends, I stood under one of my oak trees and looked up into the eyes of an owl family--four small owls, one big owl. Of course, the big owl was only the size of a Bud Light can. I stared up; they stared down. Then, I flew away. Back at HOCS, a snowy egret the size of a Great Dane posed for a photo op framed by the garden arch. I, of course, did not have my camera. Perhaps the seedling message was that I need to practice really seeing rather than recording for future viewing. Interesting thought!

Goodbye Beloved Bottini

The beautiful map of the St. Johns River was smashed to smithereens by Beryl the Beast. I have tried to reassemble it but parts are missing. All things change. I know that. I hate that. At least sometimes I do.

How to Create Balance in an Unbalanced Life

When the garden day is done,let’s strip off the gloves, put down the trowel, and go plop on the garden stones or the back steps.Let's sip a little cool water, crank up the Stones or Carlos Naikai, and let the afternoon's steam recede into the live oaks. When the pale moon peeks out, we can watch and feel the earth itself breathe in relief exhaling its perfume of rosemary,jasmine,and Cecile Bruner roses. Let's find ourselves lost in Rabbi Abraham Heschel's "radical amazement." For just a moment let's be deep in celebration of what actually is, not in anticipation of what might be if we just could work harder, longer or smarter. For just a moment let's banish those culturally approved adjectives of illusion. ( N.B.This idea is from Pastor T.Hershey. I changed some of the words to fit N.Florida)

Goodbye Prince Charles

Running a business in a 100+ year old house is like sailing the high seas in an ancient wooden sailboat. The boat leaks at times. The engines whine on occasion. One hopes that some crew member will have the expertise to stop leaks and fix engines, or the boat will take on water from the storms of life and sink. For the past two years, the person who has stopped the leaks and fixed the engines at the House on Cherry B&B was Charles Bradford Faughn, a dear neighbor. Brad was a man who could negotiate the best price with tradesmen and do a superb job on almost anything himself, a person who read interesting books and was eager to share them, a good cook, a devoted mate and a fine gardener. He built the micro greens garden, hauled hundred of pounds of organic dirt, brokered the hex stones that created the beach and fixed the garden’s bulkhead. He marveled at the miracle of seed and sun and soil much the same way I have always done. He died this morning. I feel blessed to have known him.

It's Not Gift of the Nile, Folks!

Judging from some comments, many of my well educated friends have read too many geography texts and see too many You Tube videos in which there are descriptions of the Nile " flowing gleefully over the Egyptians fields,adding rich soil to the alluvial plain." The St. Johns is NOT the Nile. My damage assessment is still going on. When it flowed over my fields via Beryl's breath, it salt burned my vegetation, and left a pyramid of dock planks, 105 Sprite cans and tons of Styrofoam peanuts.( Which should be banned from the earth.) On a brighter note,once again my garden has exhibited its Etch-A-Sketch side. Now, what new designs will appear?