Seasons of Giving

Can you tell when a person has a need and you have just the gift for them?  As I pen this, your dwelling is quite possibly riddled with the aftermath of what some call the season of giving. A bit of ribbon here, a pile of broken down cardboard there, and perhaps a jumble of gifts headed to any destination other than to be used by you. 

Ah, the gift of giving.  It's a good feeling when we get it right, isn't it?  I have always loved to give to others.  A few years back, when cash flowed in and out of my pockets, I felt the best way to help others was to buy and give them things. I took pride in learning and knowing my friends and family, putting an intricate amount of thought into what I deemed just the right blend of practical and desired, and most certainly unduplicated by other gift givers in their life. I’m sure most of my gifts were thoughtful and appreciated, but as I have changed my lifestyle priorities, I have come to live with much less money, and therefore have little to spend on material gift giving. I had to make a conscious effort to buy less for others, telling myself that loved ones would have to understand and adapt to getting less from me.

My younger self was both a very needy and yet also very people pleasing person.  These two traits actually connected because my need to give tied more to my need to be wanted and seen- and not so much to fulfilling others’ needs with my giving and pleasing. Although there is always the rebounding effect of feeling good for another's happiness, I can honestly say that was not my main motivation for giving back then. A few years back, I came to realize how both unhealthy and unsatisfying it was to be so dependent on others’ approval and happiness, and resolved to change these traits in myself. 

Let me first tell you about a transition which began by being quite selfish- in the true sense of the word- that among other things led to finding a new way of giving. I started by one year setting a resolution to say no- if I did not want to do something and I felt it would do little but drain me, I would decline invitations to friends’ events or any other thing I would normally feel obligated to participate in or attend. I limited my access to friends that had become dependent on my help. My "no" resolve grew into resigning from a career path that had become more an ego-driven scramble for achievement and proving myself instead of truly pursuing my life's work. I changed careers with the goal of achieving passionate purpose rather than prove I could master the ladder rung race as my life's work. I had recognized by then that a typical career would never fully utilize my talents and did more to drain my soul than it ever did fill my bank account. 

But here’s the thing- I’m fairly certain if you ask a few of my friends, they’d say they’ve received more from me in the last two years than they ever did when I was giving out pricey gift boxes. Life has truly demonstrated to me that giving isn’t dependent on what is given, but more on the how and why. The cliché yet relevant phrase “it’s the thought that counts” is truly applicable in every day giving. I have come to believe that when you have less, and are preoccupied with less, you see and feel more, and in turn, that is where the less becomes more. It's not just a lofty line from philosophy but a genuine, every day full feeling I walk around with in my being. In feeling more for myself, I often find I can feel others better as well, and have found a way to still give gifts- these wrapped with nothing other than my arms and heart. What I have left to give is abundant, and I hope with each arm wrapping, to give what is relevant, needed, and fulfilling to loved ones.

I can point to one instance where this awareness paid off in giving what was truly needed. I met someone this summer that I was quite immediately drawn to, and felt a connection that pulled me closer. I sought through our meeting and first interactions to know him better, and as I listened, was drawn in even further. While taking this time to know him, I sensed a need- something I had that he could use. He needed touch. I could feel myself pulled to just press my arm against him as we sat next to one another- and I could feel the grateful reception of my touch. He later told me how special and desired that simple touch connection was, and how grateful he was that I gave it to him so freely.


It is a beautiful feeling to be able to sense energy reception. There are those I recoil from touching, those I approach cautiously yet knowing they need touch- and those I run to for a mutual exchange of loving and fulfilling touch energy. I had nothing material to give him, and honestly, had I been in my old habit of seeking something material to demonstrate my care, it would have, no doubt been received graciously, but have been altogether off the mark and unnecessary. Quite possibly a thing to collect dust and create a sense of obligation to be kept- despite being useless to the owner. That is no gift. 

The more in tune with my own needs and fulfillment I become, the more I sense others needs- and give of my overflowing energy, to fulfill those needs. Many people long for touch, or to be heard and seen with warmth-  a bit of energy to re-start their own love journey, and I get so excited when simple touches, hugs, smiles, or handmade gifts can be the gift that fills those drained moments for others. It's the simplest, yet most heart warming gift- one with two recipients, and what is most beautiful is when one giver becomes two.

My son, probably my best teacher when it comes to giving through touch

Penning Passion

Today's writing began while I shaped a ball of shortbread dough in my hands and let my mind wander over this year's thoughts, experiences, conversations, and faces. For the traditional participant of Christmas, my window holds the perfect scene, branches laden with light bright snow and the air heavy with crystal flakes. My traditions of hiking, baking and writing will be interspersed with the more cultural norms of Christmas gatherings this year, and while still not a completely comfortable place, I find comfort in the faces that compel me to join them.

Between the last paragraph and this, I baked the batch of shortbread cookies and read through last year's Christmas Eve post. It's a beautiful thing to see yourself grow. One of the biggest compliments my ex-husband ever paid me was that despite his never quite understanding why or what I was off to accomplish next, he always saw me grow from each and every path I chose. Last year I was unsure what I would accomplish beyond my Gardening Service, yet I knew I was on the path to find it. Last year I celebrated new friendships that encouraged my courageous path, now, at the end of this year, I have multipled those friendships and found through them just what I can do for others with my writing.

Presently I am writing for two small farms, which I find both rewarding and challenging. I was discussing why this type of writing was challenging me with one of the farmers, who also is a dear friend, and he pointed out that perhaps it was that much of my blog writing is about feeling and emotion, where the content writing would focus more on action and description. While true to a degree, I think it is more about the responsibility I feel for correctly presenting another's passion. For I am not just writing the how and what, but more importantly, why they farm and what drove them to choose farming above all else.

I began a word study on passion this morning: I've often been called a passionate person, and find myself drawn to what I consider like-passioned people. But what is passion? The word passion is derived from the Latin pati which means to undergo or endure, and the Late Latin passionem for endurance and suffering. The word passion was first used as a term to describe the time of Jesus' life from The Last Supper through the crucifixion- often capitalized as 'The Passion.' Early in it's use, it was used as both a verb and noun; today, it is primarily used as a noun with a few different meanings centering around intense emotions, driving external forces, ardent affection and sexual desire, or an object of deep desire or interest.

 Looking over all of these definitions, I find that the closest definition of passion that resonates with me is emotion that spurs action. Passion's original subject was driven by love to an action that led to great suffering and death. One entomology article pointed out how unfortunate that a word that used to encompass so many different feelings now is mostly used for shallow pleasure and most do not understand the rich application of the word passion. Often, great emotions that drive us can lead us on paths of suffering, yet the action continues not for suffering, but despite it for the ardent affection that is passion, be it for a person, a way of life, or a belief.

Life driven by passion is precious, and I revere those who live by their passion. Here is the connection that I seek to make as I write for these farmers: properly depicting their ardent affection for their work- the emotion driven actions that demonstrate a true passion for farming. Here is where the writer and subject share the same drive, to live out what is born inside- living peacefully with nature, providing for family, building a community, and stewardship for the land, despite suffering, for the reward of living each day driven by passionate purpose.

Lens and Frame-

It has been some months since I have written a post- and while the lack of words might seem to imply I have little to say, this is not exactly the case. Recall my last post, where I wrote of a trip to New Hampshire- full of aspiring and beginning Veteran Farmers. Among them, while full of joy and purpose, I did not necessarily find the same calling- yet a complimentary one that combines my love of writing, farming, and most importantly, of discovering journeys that must be heard and told. It was there that I learned about the possibility of becoming a content writer, specifically for farmers who rediscovered their life's purpose though working with the land. Since that time, I have been letting this idea ruminate through the active months, where my hands were busy with creating, building, and planting my client's gardens.

Now in the cold months, life slows to a steady, predictable pace with pockets of time in which to explore this writing venture. I am fortunate to live with a seasoned writer, and we have had several conversations on how I can become a conduit for the small farmer's journey. I've been given reading assignments to hone my skills and explore developing my writing style, and thus begins the winter writing project.

This blog has, up until now tracked my journey, and now I aim to steer it slightly to follow my path of sharing others' journeys. I have told a few friends about my desire to write, but as of yet do not have a definite subject on which to write. So you see, it is not so easy as my prior topics, where I could freely find content in my own experience. My thoughts and feelings, while in probability will shine through how I share, have much less importance than capturing and understanding another's thoughts and feelings. I must generate questions rather than answers. It is easy for me to speak my voice, but here, I will seek to be a voice for those who are more accustomed to speaking through actions. I in turn, shall give voice to these actions, and show these farmers for the poets of the land that they are. We indeed must speak the same language, but only one of us must find the words to describe the life.

I have always been told I have a good eye in the world of photography and design. I think this writing venture will be a similar undertaking. I must look at a thing from all sides, possibly find myself in the mud and brambles, and there, after training my eye on what perspective shows the greatest detail, I capture it in all it's own essence. Telling true stories, capturing the struggles, failures, epiphanies, and successes- the story already exists, I am but the lens and frame by which the world can see its development.

It is a difficult journey to finding your own voice, expressing your own thoughts and ideas succinctly and passionately. It is still even more of a challenge to be that voice for another, uncolored by anything other than enthusiasm and encouragement to make their story known to the world. This is what I seek to become as a content writer. Reading back over this piece I know I have skills that need sharpening, and a writing structure that will need developing for my subjects.

While rough-hewn and as yet unrealized, I know my passion for channeling the voice of the small farm will be a beauteous journey indeed. What to call this endeavor? I've started one of those brainstorming cloud bubbles on paper with words that resonate the mission- journey, farming, voice, purpose, and the like, but I am still working this new direction out, and would be interested in your thoughts. After all, from here forward, I am but the film on which others' stories develop-

Armed to Farm

 Two weeks ago, I had the privilege of attending a five day workshop to assist military Veterans who are aspiring or beginning farmers called Armed to Farm. I'm having difficulty condensing this experience into a single post, or even deciding from what angle to tell you about it. From an educational perspective, we were given a great deal of useful knowledge, from a seminar on land access opportunities, to classes on farm planning, a marketing panel, livestock and pasture management lectures, equipment recommendations and resources, and so much more.

Sarah capturing us with her
animated enthusiasm.

Then there were the farm field trips. We visited various farms in the Monadnock region of New Hampshire, learning about mechanized planting techniques, irrigation configurations, crop selection, mushroom growing, organic dairy production, poultry and pigs, Integrated Pest Management, beekeeping, and yes, loving on lambs. We participated in hands-on activities at several these farms, inoculating logs for mushroom production, replacing and repairing fence lines, and participating in truly hands-on pest control crushing insects on vegetable crops. The owners themselves took us on the tours, answering questions, and walking us through their journeys into farming. Our accommodations were amazing, and a farm experience in itself, for we stayed at The Inn at East Hill Farm, a working farm that provided a relaxing, farm-centered experience with farm to table meals, and an education on the agro-tourism industry.

JP and Alicia in the awesome herb
picking beds at Picadilly Farms

Our instructors were truly inspirational as well, having personal experience and education in various aspects of farming as well as a great knowledge of the region, giving us a great perspective on a successful farming community network.  I cannot say that one part of this experience was more important than the other- but the most gratifying, and the part that still brings me right back to that time, were the stories shared and fellowship we created in sharing our unique, yet often paralleling journeys.

When I filled out my application for Armed to Farm, I wrote that my goals for the workshop were to learn about land access opportunities and to gain hands-on farm experience to solidify my plans for a small-scale berry and cut-flower farm and homestead. I have a rough idea of what I want to produce on my farm, but I have had difficulty writing the business plan for it without knowing where I would farm, and what size operation I could manage that would be productive. The last workshop I attended for Veteran Farmers left me feeling alone and on the other side of an overwhelming chasm from a group of farmers who were all successfully engaged in farming on their land. Their main concern was how to reach Veterans and get them into farming, not how to cross the hurdles themselves. This group, however, was a mix of Veterans; some were just beginning the journey, others still deciding if farming was the path for them, and a few with successful operations who were looking to grow and expand. Our instructors were farmers, and they used their successes- and failures- to demonstrate how we could find our place in the farming community.

Irrigation for vegetable prodution
Green Wagon Farms

Although all in different stages of the journey, we all shared a passion and joy for this lifestyle we were pursuing, and that atmosphere alone was enough to make my plans feel more solid and attainable. Some shared how farming was their therapy, how they had found farming looking for natural alternatives to remedy physical, mental, and spiritual conditions. We all agreed that whatever aspect of farming we were pursuing, it was more about the fulfillment of the lifestyle that we sought rather than viewing farming as a "career" choice. For us, this was a life path: growing, raising and caring for the earth gave us a purpose and energy that could not be found anywhere else. It was refreshing, and I believe gave each of us a certain validation in our pursuits to hear similar stories of others' journeys into farming. There was an over-arching belief in each other, and mutual encouragement that I believe left us all with the positive result of growth.

Holding a lamb at
Mayfair Farms

Before the trip, I could not see myself having any animals on my farm. I've often expressed that I am not a very big animal person, and other than chickens I did not feel I could handle raising any type of livestock. I did not grow up around animals and have always stuck to my love for plants as my main farm focus. But then I had a lamb placed in my arms at Mayfair Farms, and my whole perspective changed. I've often felt my dream of having my own greenhouse for a seedling production was too large for me, and had put that dream on pause for more "practical" pursuits; then I was given scale drawings and a lumber list for a small hoop house by one of the other attendees that transformed an overwhelming task into an affordable weekend project. Hours were spent discussing plans- past, present, and future- and sorting through similar goals of growing in and with the land. Our short time together, well spent sharing life stories: successes, failures, uncertainties, and inspirations.

More lamb love 

And the laughter- oh, but what would a gathering of Veterans be if it wasn't filled with the hilarity that ensues when we find ourselves among those that "get" us. My heart swelled to sit among all that fellowship and joy. Tearful moments- tears of realization, of being free to be where we are on this journey and to know that those that surround us do so with love, understanding, and a similar appreciation for the paths traveled to get here.  In those five days, I felt growth spurts within myself, as well as seeds of kinship that I know will last a lifetime. To call this journey life-changing would be remiss, for it did not change anything in my life, but rather helped bring my path into sharp, attainable focus. I am truly grateful for this experience; for the chance to learn about farming, community, and most importantly, for the shared journeys on our path to growth: in soil, logs, pastures, and life.

Walking Barefoot

'Tis the season for walking barefoot again. I started a few months back: as soon as I could hear the

spring peepers and little bits of green were appearing on the trees, my toes were in the dirt. It's a common point of discussion regarding my business name- and no, I don't walk barefoot in my client's gardens. The name speaks more to my philosophy of gardening as close to nature as possible, and so my touch to their gardens is as if I merely walked through barefoot, leaving barely a trace.

But at home, my feet are bare pretty much April through November. They are ugly things to behold in these months. Myself, I find feet ugly things to behold in any month, but in gardening season mine are dirty, cracked, hard, and happy. The last is all that matters, really. It's far from romantic walks on the beach either. I traipse through mud and puddles, deftly walk through gravel, and sink into warm prepared soil beds. 

Being barefoot makes me feel connected to whatever task I'm doing; it helps me fully absorb the day and all the elements I touch. While it may hurt at times, it helps me feel my way and know the ground I'm dealing with. My feet become accustomed to some degree, but there's always an element of pain that reminds me where I am. To walk carefully. To walk with purpose. To walk with intention and be sensitive to all that I can harm with my weight and to what could be of harm to me. Sometimes, I misjudge on both counts, crushing a tender plant or catching my toes on sharp rocks. It's all a part of walking barefoot. 

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you've seen my tendencies to take the gardens and apply them to my life. I'd like to think that in my walk on this earth, I tread barefoot as much as I can with no damage inflicted or received. It is my aim to be as open to all the elements I touch in life- be they harmful or helpful- and while this may seem risky without an element of protection, I am forced to be more aware of everything I touch. It can make interactions more painful, and at times I find I need to walk alone, on soft ground, to regain feeling after stumbling over rocky ground. It's painful, yet it's telling, and for me, a necessary way to travel this time on earth. I make connections faster, I sense danger sooner, and I can know when to turn my feet to a more sure path. 

There was a time I would continue walking barefoot through the warning pricks, telling myself that the contact was necessary, I was helping another whose path was rough, yet I have found that sometimes when I joined someone on these journeys, I fell victim to the same sharp rocks, and rather than guiding us both to softer paths, I aided their walk onto harsher roads and only caused more suffering for us both. I learned that I needed to take care to my feet, and the path on which I chose to set them. I could provide company, solace, and thoughts for a time, but in the end, he path I chose had to be all mine. 

We choose our paths, and while we do not necessarily choose the pain that crosses them at times, we can choose to continue to inflict ourselves or strike a new path. The way to the new path might be caught with brambles, but what seems to be a more difficult course is but a swift break through the scrub onto softer ground. 

I must choose my paths carefully, with care to what my feet might strike and what might also wound me in turn. I can for a time walk with others and partake the roads they travel, and they also, mine- but just for a time. We can share in the learning, encourage each others' journeys, and warn of hazards that cross our path. However, each step taken is a commitment to the path on which I chose to set my feet. Some paths are pleasant, some paths are treacherous. Some necessary, for a time; but there are a few that once trod I will take utmost care to keep my feet from at all costs. Yet I will always choose to walk these paths barefoot.

Will you be On Time?

It's not worth your time-

What a waste of time!

I don't have any time....

I'm running out of time-

Take your time.

I want to spend my time-

Would you give your time...?

What a wonderful time! 

I'll never forget that time-

Lifetime

I'm sitting here thinking of my least favorite state of being- we all have one, or more than one I suppose for some- for me, it's being busy. Now let me clarify: I always enjoy having purpose, goals, and work to do; but to me this is not the same as being busy. Time spent in a whirlwind of activity is to me a waste of the very thing we are racing to beat- time. 

The most valuable asset that can't be bought, extended, or even value totaled until it's ended is something I believe I must use with care, intent, and moments of steady breathing. These past few days I could feel my own life gathering into a dust cloud of busy. Looking ahead, with warmer weather and my profession, the dust cloud will naturally grow into a tornado of busy, if left unchecked. 

Now perhaps some think that they have so much to do, that it is impossible not to be busy. In truth, if we all sat down and thought through our lives, and listed all the places we go and things we do, we'd find that life doesn't necessarily hold a lot of "have-to's" to be lived. There's the proverbial wants versus needs, followed by scrutinizing the wants: do they enrich life or merely clutter up corners with unfulfilling "busy"? 

A few years ago I learned to appreciate the absence of everything- time spent slowly- and how living this time out made me more productive in all things. There were places, things, jobs, and yes even people that had to be removed from the list of have-to and recognized as not even things on which I wanted to spend my time. Perhaps I appeared a recluse, selfish, and maybe a tad crazy for what I gave up. But it was a trade, I assure you for the better, for my time. 

I want my loved ones to have all of me during our time together, my profession requires my entire heart and mind to be executed as I expect of myself, and lastly, but truly in life, firstly- I require all of me in each and every moment I live. Totally immersed in my gardens, in writing this piece and reminding myself why, for this writing is as much for my own learning as for your enjoyment. Having the time to give my whole mind and whole heart to the present activity- or lack thereof.

Lifetime: to spend my time taking my time for the time I'm given in this life. 

Fly High, Fly Low

This post is a bit different than my others, a bit more personal, a bit more nostalgic, and more about

My favorite of my mother

people than plants. But it does concern itself with a very important B in my life- one that has been there before all the others came to be. The woman who made B- my mother- Barbara. My mother is an artist, a writer- and a deep, quiet thinker. I'd like to think I have been graced with some of her talents, and as I look back on photographs, hopefully some of her graceful beauty. This weekend was a very exciting one for me- new business opportunities, marketing myself and a friend's company, and the general busyness that Spring brings to the life of a horticulturist. But as I walked booths at an industry trade show, I was feverishly searching for a book for my mother. I'd been looking for several weeks, and had found many possibilities, but none were the book. It needed to be just right; I hoped I'd know it when I saw it, and it had a lot to hold. She had offered to write me a memory book- to capture all the times she kept as treasured memories, and maybe even reflections on the darker times that wove their way through our lives.

Mom and Joey for his birthday

In my thirty five years of life- my mother and I have gone through many a time together and apart- and for several years- far too many now that they are behind us- times of complete silence. No, silence is the wrong word, for we were both screaming for the other to hear, yet neither could catch a word of understanding. These years of distance were created from a wall built (mostly by me) of misunderstandings, unasked questions, and perceptions that were never challenged. There was a time, not very long ago, that I had determined that no real relationship would ever exist for my mother and me. The chasm was too far to cross, and I was determined to move forward, I told myself- not back. I am so grateful to her for her quiet patience, waiting for her stubborn daughter to question these perceptions, knock down the wall of misunderstanding, and re-learn each other as mother and daughter. I am also so thankful I am writing these words now, while she is alive, and can read them herself, than penning them in anguish and regret after she leaves this earth. I don't want to be comforted by those all too often spoken condolences of- "she knew you loved her" I want to tell her now, and know she knows how grateful I am to have a mother such as her. 

The cover of the journal

As I walked among booths of tempting flowers and garden treasures, I came upon a booth of what looked to be old books. I love old books; I have to crack them open and smell them, look for the loving inscriptions, and find to what page the book's cracked binding sends me. But these were not just old books- they were journals made from the covers and pages of old books- to give the writer inspiration, or a theme- or just add a little whimsy to their personal pages. Here is where I found the book- a children's book- Fly High Fly Low- I knew it the moment I saw the cover- with a seagull soaring above a harbor- this was the book to capture our life memories. 

I don't have the best memory of my childhood or teenage years- there are some years I have absolutely no memory of at all- but I do remember my mother's love for a character named Jonathan Seagull. I grew up near the ocean, and I have memories of my mother and I walking the beaches, riding the train along the shoreline, exploring Mystic Seaport together- the ocean holds our memories. Then there's the title- Fly High, Fly Low. It is a  bittersweet story, of a gull whose wings are entangled in wire and just wants to be free- fleeing from every hand that reaches for it- to finally rest by itself in quiet pain. A boy follows the gull through the story, and after gentle presence- is able to get close enough to free the bird. In any case- while not parallel to us- it was the perfect book for our story. 

Blank pages with the book interspersed

You see, my mother has always believed in my wings, their strength, their purpose, and never lost hope- even though for a time I needed to stay entangled in wire- she was a steady presence- whether I acknowledged her or not. Now, I can feel my wings strengthening with each day, my direction clearing with each mile I travel, and I know I owe the woman of quiet strength, beauty, and patience for the wingspan that lets me fly high, fly low- and have her love and support wherever I go. I look forward to the memories she will capture in this book, things I may have only one view on, or have completely forgotten; I will get to read them through her eyes. Life is getting busy, exciting- there's a great unknown to where all this will take me. But I will make time for quiet moments with this book, to remember just how my wings were made, strengthened, believed in, and freed- and so grateful for her who was there to let me fly. 

A Time for Seed Leaves

Gardening teaches many lessons, some might argue it is the best metaphor for any life lesson, and I would not disagree. As a child I was taught many things through our gardens; and when I want to examine my life, I often envision myself as a plant. Sometimes I'm a budding iris, and I think about the swift, magnificent beauty of special times, that though short, are so special that they hold through the months of steady green and dormant rhizome. Other times I see myself as the whole garden, and carefully weed through overgrown thoughts and habits that if left untended, would choke out what good things I should be cultivating- love, patience, kindness, knowledge.

  One lesson that I feel I am constantly being given re-tests on in life is patience, and there is no better place to learn patience than in the garden. My biggest passion in all things plants is the seed starting, and I try to challenge myself with new seed material every year. People ask me what my methods are; and to be honest, there is only one thing I have been consistently successful with, and that is time and attention. I spend hours upon hours babying and re-potting plants, treating sick seedlings, talking (yes, alright and singing) to them, and just spending my time with them. When life becomes busy and all I can offer is a quick water and cursory glance, my plants fade- no matter the fancy lights and mats or soil mix.

Lavender seedlings

In the past few weeks, my little lavender seedlings have all started to develop healthy true leaves. Lavender is a very slow plant through germination and development. This year's seeds took two weeks to germinate, and over a month before true leaves began to develop. Now the seed leaves, or cotyledons - those first leaves to emerge- often look nothing like the true leaves, and once the seedling establishes itself, they often yellow and fall off, their work complete. You see, these leaves are inside the seed- formed before the plant emerges- and their purpose is to provide stored food for the plant- until more leaves develop and the plant can produce it's own food through photosynthesis. I guess I am going through the trouble of spelling this out because I have spent so much time and energy with my little lavender babies, and I began to see a lesson with them for myself.  Sure, I could go buy a fully developed lavender plant for about ten dollars- and it would take quite nicely with little effort or time spent by me. But I don't grow plants for the end product. I don't put in gardens just for the fruit. If I did, and we looked at the harvest versus the inputs, I might be deemed the worst producer ever.

So back to the seed leaves and my fixation on them. I find it interesting that the older I get, the more comfortable I need to become with not knowing or understanding what lies ahead. My seed has broken open- that's often a metaphor for life change- but the next part is equally as important, and if we were to examine a newly germinated plant by it's seed leaves, we might pass it over as insignificant- just two indistinct leaves that as yet can't really tell us much about the plant to come. In life, I feel I am in the seed leaf stage- I am growing- I know I look nothing like where I will one day be- but I am growing and that's all that matters.

This time, this stage, may be temporary and look rather humble compared to where I aim to be, yet it is arguably the most important growing I have to do. If a little tomato of a plant, my true leaves will show quite soon, and all will know that shiny red fruits are on their way. Yet, if I be that little lavender, someday to develop into a strong herb with beautiful flowers and woody fragrant branches and leaves, I may as yet be in my humble seed leaves a bit longer, and feed a bit slower on my seed leaf reserves. And when my true leaves emerge, whatever shape they be, may I have spent the time and attention to growth to produce a strong, well established, defined- leaf, bud, root, and fruit.

My geranium says it's Springtime!

One year lavender in the pot next to two month old seedlings

It's a Spring Thing

Yes, yes, I know, it's only  February, but my Spring fever has been burning strong since January 2nd, and in the seed starting world, spring begins when your seeds need to sprout! This winter I researched plants that had the longest growing season, just to be able to get my growing on as early as possible. I started with artichokes, that have a 180 day growing season, and asparagus, both on the first of February. The asparagus are a perennial crop, and will not be harvest-able for three years. Right now, my tables are crowding in with red and yellow onion seedlings, lavender babies, artichokes, asparagus, and a lettuce bowl, along with other various oddities that I am keeping alive through the grey winter days. This coming week I will be starting celery seeds (that's them soaking in the clay pot base), amaranth, and a few varieties of peppers.

Who says you can't grow donut holes?

My seed collection is out of control, and try as I might, I can't not add to it every year. This year's focus is going to be on vegetables I can preserve and can (which, I suppose, is pretty much everything if you visit some of these great homesteading group pages on Facebook), and a cutting garden. My sunflower bed brought me so much happiness last year that I just have to keep that going, adding sturdy flowers for bouquets such as zinnias, stock, cosmos, snapdragon, calendula, amaranth, and heliotrope. Anyone who knows me well knows I am a sentimental sap, and while browsing Baker Creek's seed catalog I came across an older heirloom flower called Kiss Me Over the Garden Gate. The flower looks like a bright pink lavender spray, and I am excited to add such a lovely, whimsical flower to my cutting garden this year!

Growth is so important, body, mind, soul, and of course seed. Last year was such a transformative year for me, and this year is proving to be more of the same! Perhaps not so much transforming, but putting down roots into all the endeavors I began last year. I am currently studying to take my Certified Nursery and Landscape Professional (CNLP) exam in two weeks, gearing up to begin my position as a staff horticulturist at Graycliff, continuing my gardening service business, and of course, starting as many seeds as my seed room will hold. I am using both grow lights and heat mats this year, with the lights on approximately 16 hours a day. I have noticed much more uniform germination overall as opposed to last year using only the heat mats. I have several seed packets that are years old, and those I am trying the soak method with to be ale to track which seeds germinate rather than waste soil and container space. Plus, it's so much fun to open the baggies and see the seeds breaking free and starting their growing journey.

Studying Woody Plant ID for CNLP

Don't worry, baking is still very much alive as well- I have found a new eager set of taste tester's in my Lowe's co-workers, and I will be conquering more recipes for their taste buds to approve. This spring I will also be getting back to my bees. As some of you may know, after losing my hives two years ago, I took a break to concentrate on other (less expensive) endeavors, but my empty hives are calling! I will be ordering two nucs to install this spring.
I have to tell you, one of my favorite things about the off-season job I took in the lumber department of Lowe's is the interesting people I meet. I took the job to learn about a skill-set I had little experience in, so any chance I get to ask contractors, farmers, or just savvy DIY'ers questions is a treat for me. I met a local beekeeper who was building a barn for his bees- he had decided that in the winter, rather than trying to cover, wind break and protect around the hives, he would bring the hives in for shelter during the cold months. We got to talking about the year I lost my bees, and I told him how I was still uncertain, but carrying guilt for not properly caring for them and, in turn, losing them.

The beekeeper told me of a national study (don't ask me for a reference, I was helping him load 2 x 4's at the time) that connected the severe loss in winter of 2016 to the drought the region experienced the summer prior. The study concluded that due to the drought's high stress on plants, the pollen that was produced lacked sufficient protein for the bees. This in turn caused the bees to produce brood that lived shorter lifespans than would normally be produced for winter. You see, most of the loss for that year occurred the week after Christmas. If you can think back (I have trouble remembering last week, so don't hurt yourself!) we had a particularly warm and wet winter- with a day or two in the 60's early January. That is when I discovered my bees had died. Actually, that is when most of the bee loss was for that year, and scientists found it just too coincidental that a major loss would happen across a region all around the same week. It was still a devastating loss, but interesting to learn the chain of seasonal events that most likely caused their demise. Such is the life of a beekeeper- and a gardener for that matter! We plant, we nurture, we watch, we hope, and although we may not always reap what we sow, we always end up with net growth, even if it's just a lesson for next year.

Soaking celery seed and starting alyssum, heliotrope, and viola.

Seed starting circa mid February!

Ferning asparagus with artichokes in the background