Garden

Hold on?

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I have this preference for plants
that prefer to be ignored;
I’ve found the worst thing I can do to them
is to bring them indoors.
They’re sort of like people
in their own way I suppose,
though I’ve heard it said
from the supposedly better bred
that a rose is a rose is a rose.
It’s my experience,
though your’s may not be the same,
that people and other beings held too tightly
tend to resist those reins.
What is held too near
may lack the atmosphere
conducive to proper growth,
and what’s good for one
when all is said and done
may not be good for most.

Spider, Please Step Forward

You put your right foot in, and the other one, and the other one, and the other one,
and the other one, and the other one, and the other one, and the other one.
You put your right foot out, and the other one, and the other one, and the other one,
and the other one, and the other one, and the other one, and the other one.
You do the hokey pokey and you weave another web,
that’s what it’s all about.

Will the following spider please step forward.

You weave your webs
to little fanfare
blinged out with dew
in the chill morning air
but they’re the ones I see,
for invisible in space,
are the ones I walk smack into
strung all across my face.

I’d like to be…

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i’d like to be
as strong as a tree
that grows stronger
with the wind
turning over new leaves
while learning to breath
tasting news of where the wind’s been.
my roots would wind
down
toward the earth’s middle
halting before they burned
with so deep a grasp I’d survive
though swiftly the planet might turn
then after thousands of years
and lightning and wars and men’s tears
with one limb left green
teachers would take little ones to me
to wonder
and marvel
and dream

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Yes, you May.

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Even though the first day of May isn’t for a few hours yet, it’s May somewhere. Here’s a poem in honor of the month.

Some folks celebrate May Day, there’s Cinco de Mayo, and don’t forget Mother’s day, but I think we should celebrate the whole month in honor of what its name signifies: permission.

Take a stroll on a sunny, windy day?
You May.
Stay up late before you hit the hay?
You May.
Pluck petulant pansy petals so more will have their way?
You May.
Get deep into Spring cleaning to get ready for Summer days?
You May.
May’s the month with a built in okay for every good thing.
It’s the correct word for misapplied cans. It’s a great time
for early sunning at the beach, be you any age woman or man.
It’s a month for pushing Winter out the door,
and putting Spring flowers to bed.
You might have your own favorite month, it’s true,
but my fave
is that month after April
and right before June
called May.

Food Impostors

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I’ve come to the conclusion
after how many years has it been,
that the stuff I’ve been ingesting
with the very tiny print
and the multi-syllabic words
that read so scientific
might not be so good for me.

Sure there’re pretty pictures on the package
smiling folks living the life,
so I’m led to believe
they must eat a lot of this stuff,
makes ’em feel better than alive.

Farmers replaced by marketers;
what have they caused us to imbibe?
Why do we do this to ourselves?
Do you think they’re concerned with your insides?
Do you really want to be fed by cookie elves?

It’s years of habits I’m breaking,
no mistaking
the work it would be taking
to put good foods together
instead of relying on my buddy
monosodafoodasortaglutsamated.
But no doubt the things I won’t miss
are being tired
and constipated.

Lord knows we can’t predict
when we might go.
He’s the only one who can say when
we’ll reap what we’ve sown.
But out of respect for the vessel
He’s made,
I’m intent on running it better
before it finds the grave.

Bribing Spring

23494_104526786236628_100000379204555_114172_2028252_nDear Spring,
On behalf of myself and all those who eagerly await your arrival, please consider this official request.
Okay, I know you must be rolling your eyes.
I know.
I know.
Here’s this guy who lives near the coast in the north of California. He spends most of his time in a marine climate that sees little in the way of extremes. Mostly what he has to worry about are earthquakes. A warm jacket when outdoors and a little extra caution while driving take care of things, pretty much. Now, you could understand the distress of those living in the grip of winter’s wrath, the mountains of snow, the inches of ice, the difficulty of… just doing anything outside. But this guy? With HIS cozy little micro-climate? Not so much.

Alright, Spring. Guilty as charged.

But hey, Spring?

I love you.

i love…
little buds peeking out on branches all over
before exploding in colorful blooms
i love the way our world fills with hues
until it seems there could be no more room
to hold so much grandeur and majesty and joy
unseen since the dawning of earth
nature fairly weeps for sights so exquisite
as the ecstatic ground gives birth

Now Spring, I can see you have blushed. If need be, I apologize for making you rush. It’s just I can’t wait for your start. Please accept this bribe of words. They’re all straight from my heart.

Sincerely, Joel

How are your weeds?

In a previous post I noted that I love seeing things grow. Even though I’m not a terribly proficient gardener, I’ve never lost that childlike fascination with seeing a freshly tilled and planted garden bed develop. Even though the final product is my favorite part of the process, I enjoy all of it: the blank slate, the first shoots coming through the earth, the mature plant with whatever colors God has imbued it with.

Something every gardener knows, of course, is that no matter what you’re growing, you’re going to have to contend with weeds. Now, there are weeds and there are weeds. In fact, there are plants we grow on purpose that a lot of people would consider weeds. Sometimes we let particular weeds proliferate if we happen to like them. Weeds generally don’t ask permission to enter our gardens, they just rush right in, with barely a nod to the guy at the door checking his list. Sometimes, when a plant is in its early stages, I’m not sure if I should pull it or if it might be something I put there on purpose. Sooner or later, I’m able to make a more informed decision. Some weeds are easy to get rid of, as long as you don’t let them get out of hand. Other weeds have especially deep roots and resist removal with tremendous determination. If I didn’t dislike them so much, I might admire their tenacity. The real difficulty for the gardener here is that if left unchecked and unweeded, our garden will eventually succumb to whatever chooses to fill the empty space in between the flowers. Then, because they are the bullies of the yard, the weeds will take over the whole plot. Nature really does abhor a vacuum.

Christian lives illustrate the weed principal well, as with one of Jesus’ teaching stories, “The Parable of the Weeds.” Matthew 13:24-30
24 Jesus told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seed in his field. 25 But while everyone was sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and went away. 26 When the wheat sprouted and formed heads, then the weeds also appeared.
27 “The owner’s servants came to him and said, ‘Sir, didn’t you sow good seed in your field? Where then did the weeds come from?’
28 “‘An enemy did this,’ he replied.
“The servants asked him, ‘Do you want us to go and pull them up?’
29 “‘No,’ he answered, ‘because while you are pulling the weeds, you may uproot the wheat with them. 30 Let both grow together until the harvest. At that time I will tell the harvesters: First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles to be burned; then gather the wheat and bring it into my barn.’”

I believe one of the challenges every Christian must face daily is identifying the weeds in their lives. It isn’t an easy struggle, but one every believer must endure.

Lord, you know where my weeds are.
You know where the flowers are, the vegetables and fruit.
You know when I’m tending to lies,
you know when I’m watering truth.
Help me see with your eyes, Father,
so the harvest will be worthy.
Let your will be my will
as I continue on this journey.

Trowel and Error

I’ll come clean and admit I’m not nearly the gardener either of my parents were.They managed to put together a yard that Better Homes and Gardens would be proud of. My dad built all sorts of garden structures and learned how to grow bonsais. My mom could tell you what everything was and what kind of fertilizer it liked. I suspect orchids liked her as much as she liked them.

Me? Mostly I like to play in the dirt and try to make the yard look nice. I am fascinated though, by what springs from the earth after I plant it. I am beside myself with pleasure when, despite my lack of knowledge regarding growing technique and Latin or even common names for plants, something blooms and thrives. I’ll drag my wife and daughter outside and show them what has dared pop out of the earth in my flower bed. I’ll exclaim, “Look at that, isn’t it pretty?” They’ll ask me what it is and I’ll say, “I have no idea!” Truth be told, I sometimes suspect that when I achieve success in the garden it means one of two things: either absolutely anyone with the ability to dig in the dirt can grow it, or I’ve chosen a plant which would more appropriately be sold as a “Pretty Pest” and will take over my neighbors yard after first making mine its mother ship.

I’ve read books on garden design and climate and micro-climate and soil type and yada yada yada. Due either to stubbornness, laziness, or a diabolical combination of both, I’ve settled on a strategy that sort of works (for me). My strategy is it either lives or it dies, but even if it thrives, I may dig it up and replace it anyway. I’ll probably stick with that, but I still wish I could remember what the bush with the funny looking pink flowers is called.

Robin

i wonder if the robin who has landed in my yard
thinks the best worms are to be found here
thinks you know their bouquet is rarely excelled
not even by the ones in the big field with the oak
i wonder if he cocks his head and briefly looks at his
reflection in a cold glistening rain drop
hanging just barely from an extra tall blade of grass
does he hop up into the little dogwood and survey
the lawn from his lofty perch of four feet
and wonder if he should top off the worms with a few
miscellaneous bugs before he wings into
the big tree across the street and puts his beak into the wind
whistling through the bare winter branches
wonders if any of the other robins know it’s his yard
it doesn’t matter
he does