We live in the high desert. That doesn’t evoke thoughts of mountain streams, cool clear lakes or even hidden springs. But a guy can still dream, right?
As a lifelong fisherman, I’ve always had an affinity for the water. Moving or still, if it held fish (preferably trout), it was attractive. I always intended to live beside a river or a stream or, at the very least, a creek. So why, then, the high desert? I grew up here. 45 years it has held me. But the dream of a stream of my own persists.
I guess that’s why I built the water feature.
It only runs about seventy feet from top to bottom. It separates the near front yard from the far front yard, and on the lower portion, the far bank borders the wild brush of the undeveloped hill area. At the bottom there’s a pool. It’s not a very big pool, less than eight feet in diameter and only about three and a half feet deep, but it is home to more than two dozen gold fish. They overwinter just fine there. In fact, they’re the first lure to the great blue heron that visits each spring. I don’t mind if a few of them become a snack, since they reproduce on their own, but just a few, please. We enjoy our fish.
I tried to create a ‘natural’ look to the whole thing. Start with an artesian spring. Let the spring fill a pool. Have the outflow travel under a bridge and down the hill to a pond. Along the way, add in a couple of trickles to provide bathing places for the birds. Bring in real river rock for that water worn appearance. Make sure there’s a spot where the water tumbles over a shelf to add the sound effects.
At the very least, the flowing water brings a soothing sound to the garden ambiance .
Eventually it’s almost believable. Maybe not believable, but a guy can still dream, right?
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
The Stars Above
A high desert night has a glamour all its own. The crispness of the stars brings them to arm’s reach and the dry air pinpoints each and every one with an unusual clarity.
Tonight the early crescent moon was more an exclamation point than the scene-stealer that a full moon would have been. In fact, it seemed to cup the Pleiades in its arc and to showcase them as the phenomenon they are rather than pull the limelight to itself. Beside them, Orion strode proudly through the night. Across the heavens, the Bears claimed their own share of the glory.
As I stood in awe of the wonder that so nonchalantly played out above, I knew that most would not be out to enjoy this display simply because the day had so rapidly chilled into night. And nights on the desert cool so quickly that only the adventuresome (or foolhardy) willingly accept the toll the drop in temperature exacts.
Tonight was worth the cost.
A bright and glorious day that gifts you with a final act of such surpassing beauty deserves at least an audience of one, so I gratefully accepted the privilege of the role. The opportunities to be involved are many, our acceptances seem all too few.
I extend an invitation to all: come see, and be amazed!
Tonight the early crescent moon was more an exclamation point than the scene-stealer that a full moon would have been. In fact, it seemed to cup the Pleiades in its arc and to showcase them as the phenomenon they are rather than pull the limelight to itself. Beside them, Orion strode proudly through the night. Across the heavens, the Bears claimed their own share of the glory.
As I stood in awe of the wonder that so nonchalantly played out above, I knew that most would not be out to enjoy this display simply because the day had so rapidly chilled into night. And nights on the desert cool so quickly that only the adventuresome (or foolhardy) willingly accept the toll the drop in temperature exacts.
Tonight was worth the cost.
A bright and glorious day that gifts you with a final act of such surpassing beauty deserves at least an audience of one, so I gratefully accepted the privilege of the role. The opportunities to be involved are many, our acceptances seem all too few.
I extend an invitation to all: come see, and be amazed!
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Every Gardener Needs a Lackey
Coffee cup in hand, I wander out onto the patio to join the morning. My gardener has already been out and greeted all her new growth and is eager to share the morning’s surprises with me. We traipse over the wooden bridge and along the flowerbeds that line the paver patio. She shows me the tips of the daffodils that appeared overnight, the new leaves of the primroses, and the change in color of the forsythia branches. The warm sun seems to promise spring right around the corner, but I’m not deceived. This is the high desert after all, and though February may dangle the lure of spring through a few sunshiny days, winter hasn’t given up by any means. Still it’s a great time to peruse the property and plan this year’s ‘project’.
Every year seems to have its own ‘project’. The greenhouse, for instance. It was a recycled structure that we inherited from my brother. The pond and its subsequent enlargement was another. Initially, the pond got dug because we needed backfill around the house, and the cost of fill dirt was nearly the same as the excavation of the pond, but we were going to need an irrigation holding pond anyway, so two birds with one stone, you know? The pond enlargement provided the fill dirt that gave us a flat spot for the patio and the patio perimeter flowerbeds. The arched wooden bridge was needed to provide access from the house to the patio once the water feature divided the near front yard from the far front yard.
So this year it looks like there will be a new vegetable bed built against the south side of the shop. The location works on a number of levels: it’s convenient to the kitchen for fresh salad fixing’s (once true growth occurs, of course), there’s good sun most of the day, deer protection already exists on two sides, and perhaps most importantly, I won’t have to mow that area once its raised up as a garden bed.
Building the new structures for the garden is work. The payoff, though, is immense. Each time a new area gets added to the ‘garden’, it becomes the responsibility of the gardener – not the lackey! One time effort followed by…NO MORE EFFORT! Tear up a section of the grass and put a weed barrier around it? Why, of course (never need to mow there again)! Turn a portion of the front field into a wild flower meadow? Absolutely! (That one didn’t even require effort – just ignore it!)
Four plus acres is too big to expect that it will ever be entirely all landscaped garden area, but a lackey can hope, you know.
Every year seems to have its own ‘project’. The greenhouse, for instance. It was a recycled structure that we inherited from my brother. The pond and its subsequent enlargement was another. Initially, the pond got dug because we needed backfill around the house, and the cost of fill dirt was nearly the same as the excavation of the pond, but we were going to need an irrigation holding pond anyway, so two birds with one stone, you know? The pond enlargement provided the fill dirt that gave us a flat spot for the patio and the patio perimeter flowerbeds. The arched wooden bridge was needed to provide access from the house to the patio once the water feature divided the near front yard from the far front yard.
So this year it looks like there will be a new vegetable bed built against the south side of the shop. The location works on a number of levels: it’s convenient to the kitchen for fresh salad fixing’s (once true growth occurs, of course), there’s good sun most of the day, deer protection already exists on two sides, and perhaps most importantly, I won’t have to mow that area once its raised up as a garden bed.
Building the new structures for the garden is work. The payoff, though, is immense. Each time a new area gets added to the ‘garden’, it becomes the responsibility of the gardener – not the lackey! One time effort followed by…NO MORE EFFORT! Tear up a section of the grass and put a weed barrier around it? Why, of course (never need to mow there again)! Turn a portion of the front field into a wild flower meadow? Absolutely! (That one didn’t even require effort – just ignore it!)
Four plus acres is too big to expect that it will ever be entirely all landscaped garden area, but a lackey can hope, you know.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Do Trees Count?
I’m not a gardener. At least I don’t claim to be one. But sometimes I wonder where does the label start and end?
I plant trees.
A maple at the first house we rented as newlyweds. A whole grove of aspens at the first house we bought (there are still one or two left-patriarchs of the neighborhood, now). A Royal Maple, a Jacquemontii Birch (it should still count even though it died-the ground squirrels ate the roots back to the trunk), a Laurel Leaf Willow (that took over the front of the house), another Maple (brought home from school by our youngest child in a pint milk carton as an Arbor Day gift), a Curly Maple (salvaged from the table arrangements of our nephew’s [or was it our niece’s?] wedding) were all planted on the property of the first home we built for ourselves.
I also prune the trees.
I shape them, some whimsically, but most for health and aesthetics. A very few, such as my Mother’s and Mother-in-law’s get pruned for fruit production.
I like trees.
I think this comes from my childhood. I remember the very first tree that I climbed all on my own. I couldn’t have been more than five years old. My six year old sister insisted that I show her how to climb it, too. I did. I just neglected to show her how to climb down. None the less, I’ve been climbing trees ever since. The Columbus Day storm in 1962 was a heart breaker for me because my parents had a HUGE (of course it was huge-I was only 7) walnut tree that got lifted up out of the ground so that the roots were showing all around and Dad would no longer let us climb it. He said it was too dangerous.
Two houses later, my parents moved us into a neighborhood with trees with houses in them, and I fell in love. With tree houses! Okay, none of them were particularly elaborate. They were fortunate to have solid floors let alone walls or roofs, but to me they were adventure personified! I couldn’t have articulated that thought. All I knew was that I wanted my very own tree house. I would have been satisfied with a single platform. Walls and roofs , let alone access stairs, ladders or ropes were inconsequential. It was all about being up above in a space of my own free of those cares affecting the pedestrians tied to the ground below.
I fell in love with tree houses as soon as I saw my first one. Not any particular tree house-all of them! But it wasn’t until my first nephew reached climbing age that I actually built a tree house on my own of my own design. There were two offset platforms with rails accessed by rungs up the trunk. But it was his not mine. As my own children grew to the climbing age, I ended up designing a fourteen foot two story tower with a hanging bridge, trap door, beam walk, rope slide, and detached platform because I had no trees that were capable of being built into, onto or around. I’m sure they enjoyed the play structure, but it wasn’t really a tree house.
None of the trees I’ve planted have yet matured to house building stature. Maybe none ever will while I’m alive to see them. I still haven’t found the tree of my dreams in which to build my sanctuary. I’ll keep looking and I’ll keep planting trees, but I still don’t think that makes me a gardener.
I plant trees.
A maple at the first house we rented as newlyweds. A whole grove of aspens at the first house we bought (there are still one or two left-patriarchs of the neighborhood, now). A Royal Maple, a Jacquemontii Birch (it should still count even though it died-the ground squirrels ate the roots back to the trunk), a Laurel Leaf Willow (that took over the front of the house), another Maple (brought home from school by our youngest child in a pint milk carton as an Arbor Day gift), a Curly Maple (salvaged from the table arrangements of our nephew’s [or was it our niece’s?] wedding) were all planted on the property of the first home we built for ourselves.
I also prune the trees.
I shape them, some whimsically, but most for health and aesthetics. A very few, such as my Mother’s and Mother-in-law’s get pruned for fruit production.
I like trees.
I think this comes from my childhood. I remember the very first tree that I climbed all on my own. I couldn’t have been more than five years old. My six year old sister insisted that I show her how to climb it, too. I did. I just neglected to show her how to climb down. None the less, I’ve been climbing trees ever since. The Columbus Day storm in 1962 was a heart breaker for me because my parents had a HUGE (of course it was huge-I was only 7) walnut tree that got lifted up out of the ground so that the roots were showing all around and Dad would no longer let us climb it. He said it was too dangerous.
Two houses later, my parents moved us into a neighborhood with trees with houses in them, and I fell in love. With tree houses! Okay, none of them were particularly elaborate. They were fortunate to have solid floors let alone walls or roofs, but to me they were adventure personified! I couldn’t have articulated that thought. All I knew was that I wanted my very own tree house. I would have been satisfied with a single platform. Walls and roofs , let alone access stairs, ladders or ropes were inconsequential. It was all about being up above in a space of my own free of those cares affecting the pedestrians tied to the ground below.
I fell in love with tree houses as soon as I saw my first one. Not any particular tree house-all of them! But it wasn’t until my first nephew reached climbing age that I actually built a tree house on my own of my own design. There were two offset platforms with rails accessed by rungs up the trunk. But it was his not mine. As my own children grew to the climbing age, I ended up designing a fourteen foot two story tower with a hanging bridge, trap door, beam walk, rope slide, and detached platform because I had no trees that were capable of being built into, onto or around. I’m sure they enjoyed the play structure, but it wasn’t really a tree house.
None of the trees I’ve planted have yet matured to house building stature. Maybe none ever will while I’m alive to see them. I still haven’t found the tree of my dreams in which to build my sanctuary. I’ll keep looking and I’ll keep planting trees, but I still don’t think that makes me a gardener.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
This is Supposed to be FUN?
It’s a beautiful morning as I get up and look out the window. A clear blue sky shines above the hill beyond the domesticated area of yard. The wild brush growing up the hill stands calm in the morning sunshine. A perfect day. A brand new canvas on which to chart my day.
My gardener, who’s been up for, if not hours, at least since shortly after sunrise, joins me at the window. “You know,” she says, “ this is a perfect day for spending some time doing some cleanup together in the yard. It’ll be fun.”
I translate: there’s work that needs to be done and this is the first good day that we’ve had to do it in a long time, so don’t go planning to race off to go fishing. “Sure, Honey, I say.”
Breakfast eaten and cleared up, we head outside, coffee in hand (and gloves and clippers and trowels and…)
The first hour flies by as we prune the trees and take the branches to the burn pile. Next we trim up the bushes, clip the dead remains from last year’s growth, lightly rake the leaves out of the flower bed and take it all to the compost pile. As we begin the edge trimming along the walks and patios, my gardener disappears into the house. A few minutes later she reappears with cool drinks. A welcome break! It’s not a Mai Tai, a Margarita, or a Mojito,; it’s not even a cerveza (a nice cool Negra Modelo would so hit the spot!), but the cool iced fruit juice is perfect. I wipe the sweat off my brow before I accept my drink. A long cool sip is followed by a full back stretch to relieve the aches and kinks. I take off my gloves and shake the tension out of my hands; this was work!
As we sit in our patio chairs at the table under the umbrella, opened for the first time this year, I contemplate our accomplishment. My gardener smiles over at me and says, “We did well today. I had fun. Didn’t you?”
Fun, I think. Fun? Yes, there’s a sense of accomplishment. I truly enjoyed spending a morning in activity with my special gardener. And I recognize the value of the work we did in the enjoyment we’re going to get out of our personal space for so many days to come. But fun?
My gardener, who’s been up for, if not hours, at least since shortly after sunrise, joins me at the window. “You know,” she says, “ this is a perfect day for spending some time doing some cleanup together in the yard. It’ll be fun.”
I translate: there’s work that needs to be done and this is the first good day that we’ve had to do it in a long time, so don’t go planning to race off to go fishing. “Sure, Honey, I say.”
Breakfast eaten and cleared up, we head outside, coffee in hand (and gloves and clippers and trowels and…)
The first hour flies by as we prune the trees and take the branches to the burn pile. Next we trim up the bushes, clip the dead remains from last year’s growth, lightly rake the leaves out of the flower bed and take it all to the compost pile. As we begin the edge trimming along the walks and patios, my gardener disappears into the house. A few minutes later she reappears with cool drinks. A welcome break! It’s not a Mai Tai, a Margarita, or a Mojito,; it’s not even a cerveza (a nice cool Negra Modelo would so hit the spot!), but the cool iced fruit juice is perfect. I wipe the sweat off my brow before I accept my drink. A long cool sip is followed by a full back stretch to relieve the aches and kinks. I take off my gloves and shake the tension out of my hands; this was work!
As we sit in our patio chairs at the table under the umbrella, opened for the first time this year, I contemplate our accomplishment. My gardener smiles over at me and says, “We did well today. I had fun. Didn’t you?”
Fun, I think. Fun? Yes, there’s a sense of accomplishment. I truly enjoyed spending a morning in activity with my special gardener. And I recognize the value of the work we did in the enjoyment we’re going to get out of our personal space for so many days to come. But fun?
Friday, February 12, 2010
The Gardener's Husband
Let me start by saying I’m not a gardener myself. But I have been around a real gardener for over thirty years, and you can’t (I can’t) be around someone for that length of time without picking up some, sometimes a lot, of their knowledge, philosophies, and attitudes.
For instance: from my Dad I learned preparedness for the unexpected; from my Mom I learned independence and self confidence; from my children I (re)learned idealism. But along with each of those I found I needed to learn additional skills and attitudes and philosophies. Besides preparedness, I needed to learn organization and situational assessment. Along with self confidence and independence, I needed to learn interdependence. And I had to learn how to temper idealism with truth and reality.
So, what does this have to do with gardening? I’ve already gotten somewhat far afield, so I’ll bring this home.
One of the most profound (for me) things that I’ve learned as the gardener’s husband is that the garden is a living thing. No, I don’t mean that the flowers and bushes and trees are alive. Of course they’re alive (unless they’re left too long in my care). I mean that the Idea of the Garden is alive. And that Idea is NOT those same plants we see; it is, instead, a concept in the mind of the Gardener.
And because that idea is alive, it grows and changes and takes on new form continually. What perhaps has been one of my hardest lessons is applying the living garden concept to my own life. The difficulty is not in the growing and changing – that comes every day with or without our conscious awareness. The true difficulty is in directing that growth and change to achieve the result that I want. The pruning, the replacing of the plants, the reordering of the layout, these are only the outward evidences of the idea that the gardener carries in the mind. When they don’t work out as planned, they need to be pruned, planted elsewhere, or, sometimes, ruthlessly uprooted and thrown away. The same applies to our habits, our attitudes even our philosophies.
Thank you to my personal gardener for this tremendous insight.
For instance: from my Dad I learned preparedness for the unexpected; from my Mom I learned independence and self confidence; from my children I (re)learned idealism. But along with each of those I found I needed to learn additional skills and attitudes and philosophies. Besides preparedness, I needed to learn organization and situational assessment. Along with self confidence and independence, I needed to learn interdependence. And I had to learn how to temper idealism with truth and reality.
So, what does this have to do with gardening? I’ve already gotten somewhat far afield, so I’ll bring this home.
One of the most profound (for me) things that I’ve learned as the gardener’s husband is that the garden is a living thing. No, I don’t mean that the flowers and bushes and trees are alive. Of course they’re alive (unless they’re left too long in my care). I mean that the Idea of the Garden is alive. And that Idea is NOT those same plants we see; it is, instead, a concept in the mind of the Gardener.
And because that idea is alive, it grows and changes and takes on new form continually. What perhaps has been one of my hardest lessons is applying the living garden concept to my own life. The difficulty is not in the growing and changing – that comes every day with or without our conscious awareness. The true difficulty is in directing that growth and change to achieve the result that I want. The pruning, the replacing of the plants, the reordering of the layout, these are only the outward evidences of the idea that the gardener carries in the mind. When they don’t work out as planned, they need to be pruned, planted elsewhere, or, sometimes, ruthlessly uprooted and thrown away. The same applies to our habits, our attitudes even our philosophies.
Thank you to my personal gardener for this tremendous insight.
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