Ink & Penstemon

Christmas wreath 2022. Grand, Noble, and Fraser fir with fruits from a Malus ssp. and Honeylocust pods for accents.

#digitalselfportrait

Asclepias asperula.

Bloom where you got dumped and ignored.

Sandy Hook and Uvalde.

I don’t know what a war zone looks like, or feels like. But I do know what a classroom looks like. And I know what the faces of children look like. And I know what it feels like as a parent, in a moment to face the possibility your child may be dead.

My garden is a place of escape for these times.

Evening homily.

For the first time in a long time, I felt joy today from rain. Depression and sadness has had a hold on me for a long time, as well as anxiety. But I think a corner has been turned. Can’t say why as there is a lot to be worried about in the world right now, but seeing this Molly-the-Witch Peony covered in rain this morning fills me with peace. It has been a long time, and I am grateful for my garden.

Been a minute, so here’s some springy things.

Christmas wreath 2021 edition. Abies frasera, Pinus sylvestris, and cones from Cedrus deodara. Simple, to the point.

Time is circular. Been here before, will be here again. But every time it’s different. The apple from this espaliered tree is unique. It won’t exist again, even though there will be many more autumns and many more apples.

I’ve felt more and more how circular life is. Moments seem to blend into each other so that it seems like time is passing so quickly, as is life. I look around the garden with vague recollections of past efforts, searching for plants I carefully grew and then allowed to languish or just lost to time. Some are old friends that mark the hours with me.

Annual chores aren’t so burdensome but important markers on this temporal Highway. I don’t view them as a burden as much as I do a centering, or a homecoming. I would consider it a great thing to know that landscapes outlast me with a life of their own.

Reddening tips on this Yucca baccata for autumn color.

Populus tremuloides are aflame in the Uintas.

Hope is with you when you believe

The earth is not a dream but living flesh,

That sight, touch, and hearing do not lie,

That all things you have ever seen here

Are like a garden looked at from a gate.

You cannot enter. But you’re sure it’s there.

Could we but look more clearly and wisely

We might discover somewhere in the garden

A strange new flower and an unnamed star.

Some people say we should not trust our eyes,

That there is nothing, just a seeming,

These are the ones who have no hope.

They think that the moment we turn away,

The world, behind our backs, ceases to exist,

As if snatched up by the hands of thieves.

–Czeslaw Miłosz, ‘New and Collected Poems 1931-2001’ / Ecco Press

“Dearer to me than a host of base truths is the illusion that exalts.” A. Pushkin

If only Puschkinia scilloides had a literary taxonomic heritage.

This Galanthus is supposed to be S Arnott. But you, snowdrop, are not.