Rhubarb people

No one is interested in heirloom rhubarb, if there is such a thing. Rhubarb is itself: Rhubarb. Those who like it: do. Those who don't: don't. It's a little like brussels sprouts... another thing the heirloom market has not caught on to. Good thing, I say.

I used to receive

Catalogs in the mail,

Now it is emails:

Heirloom seeds to grow:

Heirloom tomatoes

Miniature cucumbers

No one on my block

Has ever grown.

I have not planted a garden

In three years.

I leave it to the perennials

To show themselves

Or not;

The volunteer bee balm

That arrived

Last year.

The rhubarb comes up

Every year

Demands to be harvested,

Given away

To rhubarb people.

Rhubarb people

Are not easy to determine

They are the ones

Hidden under the rhubarb leaves.

When I harvest

There they are

Waiting.

Universal law

Run with the metaphor, see where it takes you.

She says,

In death,               

He practices

Universal Law.

It is unclear to me

Whether he is lawyer

Or judge

Or if the system

(Such as it is)

Is unlike anything

We have witnessed

Yet.

As with my clients

I run with the metaphor,

Find the truth

That resides there.

Universal Law

Seems a good thing,

A very good thing.

Even carried to its extreme.

Like those trees that grow

In the Garden,

Like those trees

Bearing fruit

Each leaf offered for healing.

Run with the metaphor.

There is truth there.

Universal Law

Hung on a tree

For the healing

Of nations

Figs

I am reminded of the The Ugly Duckling. Not a duck, but a swan.

Sometimes fig trees

Demand more attention

When they don’t produce

Than when they do.

Give it another year

The gardener says

Give it another year

I will offer it

My full attention,

Perhaps it will even offer

Something more than

Figs.

Perhaps it is not a fig tree

At all.

At this rate

The weather is odd all over. 50 degrees on February 20. The seed catalogs tell me it's time consider the garden. When to plant?

At this rate we may

Never know the exact right time

To plant the garden.

Day off

Although my work structure has changed into something more fluid, I well remember the "day off mode." 

On the days

He’s not supposed to be there

He parks on the street

And locks the door.

He does not dress

For work,

But works instead

In his gardening clothes.

We all play like this

As if God will not notice

Our transgressions,

Find out we are working

On our day off.

We all play like this

As if there is such a thing

As hiding from God,

As if God does not understand

Working

On Her day off;

As if God does not always work

In her Garden clothes;

Even on the Sabbath

She is available

In Her Garden clothes.

We forget sometimes.

We park on the street.

We lock the door.

In the midst of life

Today brought a gift of a sermon to my email box. 

http://inwardoutward.org/tag/lent-year-b/?utm_source=inward%2Foutward+email+subscribers&utm_campaign=cd4721c677-The+Story&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_791e8aa8ec-cd4721c677-70564269

A gift for my sixtieth birthday. Lovely.

In the midst of life,

We are in death.

In the midst of death

Life.

Palms strewn

Donkeys ridden

Crowds cheering

On the way

To the upper room

To the Garden

To beyond.

But that is for later.

In the midst of life,

I am in death.

In the midst of death,

Life.

Today my birthday

Holds hands

With both,

One on either side.

We intertwine our fingers.

All is as it must be.

Holding hope

So many things I might write today. This is what arrived.

The seeds arrived in the mail

Yesterday:

A butterfly garden to be sown

When the warm comes.

The robin searches out worms

In the backyard

Hop

Hop

Listen

Hop

Hop

Listen

He will feel that first hint

With his feet,

Hear the whisper

Of worms surfacing.

After all

Light is on the winning side

Today.

The worms must not be far behind.

The robin holds hope

Hop

Hop

Listen

The seeds are packaged

On the kitchen counter.

They hold the hope

Of butterflies.

Bee Balm

Yeah!  I knew there was a reason I let those vaguely familiar plants grow.  I originally thought they were successors to the Echinacea I planted three years ago.  Nope.  It seems the soil, that particular spot,  is perfect for bee balm, something I never planted to begin with.  Not my original idea, but perfect in its own right.  And the ID?  Thanks, Mom.

The plants

Were vaguely familiar

So I let them grow.

Secretly I hoped

For Echinacea

Purple coneflowers.

When they bloomed

They said

Look us up

It will be worth your while

To let us grow.

I knew I*d seen the flowers

Somewhere.

Somewhere in my head

The word Monarda bloomed.

I think my mother has returned

To help the garden along.

She aids the burgeoning bee balm,

Gives it the proper Latin name

In my head

So I can look it up

On Google.

Possibility as the guest of honor

When I went to bed last night I realized that my vision for the morning had Possibility and me holding Disappointment*s hands.  I hadn*t realized Disappointment was a little girl.  She is.  I wonder what she will look like... all grown up.  I imagine she will still be late for breakfast, and prefer cocoa in her bunny mug,  Maybe I can teach her how to weed.  Then again, maybe not.

As I lay in bed

Last night

I went over the guest list

And plans

For the morning.

I realized I had invited

Possibility

As the guest of honor.

She wears her silver hair

In a practical bob.

Sure enough

She arrived wearing blue jeans,

Hiking boots,

A workshirt.

She brought her garden tools

With her,

Ready to do some weeding with me

After breakfast.

When Disappointment arrives

As she surely will

(Truly

She is most always

Late)

We will feed her eggs and toast

Find her special bunny mug

With two handles,

One on either side,

Pour her

Steaming hot cocoa.

Disappointment looks

Like she always has:

Very young.

Pigtails.

A pinafore.

She has never

Gotten any older.

She does not know how to distinguish

A weed

From anything.

After breakfast

Possibility and I

Will take Disappointment for a walk

Under the flowering trees.

We will each

Take a hand.

We may point out an occasional weed

But most of all

We will help Disappointment look up,

Notice the blossom-laden trees.

Possibility and I

Will predict the fruit.

Clipping back

In addition to clipping back the clematis, I am clearing out the closet of clothes someone else may be able to wear.  I have a big box almost filled.  Often things must be cleared out before the new can even be considered.  This applies to a whole range of things, houses and gardens, even lives.  

Today I clip back

The old clematis vine

Next to the front porch.

It will be ready for new growth

When the time comes,

Enough days of warm and light

It will grow green and eventual purple.

Sometimes the old must be clipped

To make way for the new,

Even me (I admit)

If I consider it

From the angle where the sun shines

Just right,

The warm hits the top

Of my head.

I hold the garden clippers.

I consider

Even I

Even I deserve some trimming back

So the new growth

May find its way.

Elephant ears

There are at least two ways to go with gardens...bigger or smaller.  I*m thinking bigger.

The rhubarb is a patch

Of elephant ears,

African elephant ears,

At one end of

What used to be

The garden bed

Until the boards rotted away.

Now it slides to lawn.

The ears flap

I can hear the elephants

Trumpet a call

For containment.

The boards come twelve feet long

At Home Depot.

I think a garden six by twelve

Might work to contain

The elephant ears,

The elderberry and more.

It might give all of us room

To play.

It is entirely possible

Ministers used to paid in chickens and whatever people had.  While I work to build a therapy practice I consider what it means to see God in everything and be a therapist available to a wide range of people.  I begin volunteering next week with the DuPage Community Clinic.  I am excited at the prospect.  I have good training and good perspective.  I have an abundance of experience in an abundance of things.  I am well worth those chickens, that bushel of zucchini, and the heirloom tomatoes, just picked.

It is entirely possible

I will be paid in chickens

Or perhaps zucchini

When that time comes

In August

And gardens overflow

With summer squash.

It is entirely possible

I will never make a living

The way others consider

A living

But still

I will be more alive

Than I have ever been before.

I will live on zucchini bread

And vegetables fresh

From the garden.

I may even be paid

In heirloom tomatoes.

The sessions will be ripe

And ripening,

Tied to more

Than I ever could have imagined.

It is entirely possible.

This is the story we get

There are stories regarding what Jesus must have been doing on this Holy Saturday, while he waited.  I rather like the one about harrowing hell, if only for the wonderful word harrowing.  We like always to imagine Jesus busy about his Father*s work, in this case, emptying hell.  There*s work to be done after all.  There are a couple verses in the Bible which speak to this.  We have the line in the Apostles* Creed (He descended into Hell).  If nothing else, we can keep our imaginations busy while we color Easter eggs and wait.  Wherever Jesus is, we wait in our houses, in our gardens, with the trees, for tonight.  This is the story we get.

Sure Elijah or Moses or even

God could have come

To take Jesus down,

Alive and kicking,

From the cross

Before he died.

God could have even

Sent him Home,

Brought him Home,

By a different way

Like the wise men.

Sure

God could have done it

Differently,

Really all of it,

Differently.

Instead

This is the story we get.

Blood and gore and pain,

Curtain torn,

Ground heaved up to meet

The heavens rent.

Friends to carry the body.

Stones to set in place.

This is the story we get.

We wait in the garden,

The same garden that echoes

The first one,

Even the trees wait there

For his return.

Knowledge and Life wait,

Rooted in holy ground

For his return.

This is the story we get.

It all connects underground,

Above the ground,

Ground heaved up to meet

The heavens rent.

This is the story we get.

Redbud No. 2

There is a small redbud outside my office window.  My window is level with the sidewalk.  If it were an apartment, it would be a garden apartment.   I have decided it is a garden office.  There is no need for a container garden in my window well.  No.  I have a redbud!  It is better than any container garden I might plant.

I was welcomed home

By the redbud on Sunday.

When I got to the office today

I noticed a small redbud

Out my window.

Better than any container garden,

I have a redbud here as well.

Better than any garden apartment,

I have a garden office:

A window that opens and shuts,

Child voices in the hall,

A redbud in full bloom.

It is better

Than anything I could plant

Myself.

Dish garden

March 14 and it feels like summer.  It is so early for so warm: I*m not quite sure how to take it.  While I hold thoughts that it is too good to be true, I look at my window well, watch a barefoot child, and dream of dish gardens blooming outside my window.

It is oddly spring.

Already it feels summer.

People lay bets on how it will all

Play out.

Is this really it?

It is not too late for a final snow.

The insects have barely begun.

I wonder about who or what pollinates

The crocus,

Whether the space

In my window well

Will hold a dish garden

Or perhaps an amaryllis.

A small blonde girl

Walks barefoot through the grass.

She giggles.

Already it feels

Like summer.

I think a dish garden

Will do the trick.

Perhaps next week

A dish garden.

Elderberry

The name of the bush did not resonate with me until I got it home and opened the trunk of the car (Yes, I*m Still Driving!).(Thank you for asking).  It is named Black Lace and it has intense purple-black foliage, finely-cut, similar to a Japanese Maple.  It can be pruned in a formal way, or used as a privacy hedge.  See? What did I tell you?   Elder and Graceful and Elegant.  And saucy enough to grab me by the ankle, and make me take it home.

The last elderberry bush

In the whole nursery

Leapt and grabbed my ankle

Tripped me to the ground.

I had to buy it.

Now I need to find

Where it will live

In the yard.

I think its name

Is no surprise:

The elder part.

All the same it is graceful

And elegant,

Two things I have always

Wanted to be.

Despite appearances

I have coveted grace

And elegance

While not being willing

To give up comfortable shoes

And garden dirt

Under my nails.

I have desired boundless grace

Effortless elegance.

I will plant the bush

Where it will bloom pink

Provide fruit for the birds

In full sight

Of the dining room window.

Grace and elegance are good things

To witness daily.

Reminders

Erik and Naomi visited for Jeff*s birthday (way too brief a visit), so I walked the yard and gathered whatever was blooming: false indigo in sprays, a purple and white clematis blossom, deep pink roses from the rose bush in the yard, pink peonies from back behind the garage.  Placed them in the vase brother Lane gave me years ago because it looks exactly like a giant black pitted olive (my favorite food of all).  Every time I see it, I smile.  The flowers on the front table remind me to keep looking for what blooms next.  Soon I*ll figure out where to plant the sunflowers.

With the temperature extremes

The rain

The ups and downs

The rosebush budded in one day

Woke up in deep pink blooms

This noon

After the rain.

The clematis promises to do the same,

If I remember right,

In dark purple:

Maybe tomorrow

Maybe Saturday

There*s no actual predicting

Such things.

That*s the joy:

To see what comes.

And when.

I cut stems from the garden.

Arranged loosely In the black olive vase (pitted),

They remind me

To keep looking

Even behind the garage

Where the peonies

Unfurl.

Considering sunflowers

This will be a gardening summer.  The yard has needed attention for a long while.  Sure the grass is cut regularly, but this year it*s time to notice what*s already there (lilies of the valley, violets, peonies, the stray columbine which the hummingbird finds even when it*s tucked away behind a bush).  And it*s time to plant.  The heirloom sunflower seeds are in the mail.

I consider the place in the yard

The sun shines

The most,

Prepare the dirt

For sunflowers.

I flew into Fargo once

Late summer

To visit my love.

The plane landed over a field of open sunflowers

Gold and yellow, shining;

The time of day when everything

Looks golden

Late afternoon, early evening light.

Before then I*d seen sunflowers

In ones and twos and threes.

The field began to glow as we came in low

To land.

The sunflowers watched,

Attentive faces.

We could almost pick them out

Individually.

I consider the yard

The best spot for a sunflower mix

Viewed from the ground,           

A family of sunflowers which will show golden

Late afternoon

Early evening

Even as it*s followed the sun

All day.

They will

Watch us land.

The perfect example

We sometimes dream of living on acres in the country.  Truth be told we can scarcely manage the 1/4 acre we have now.  There is so much to watch here.  There are the plants we think we have organized, and those which will always be volunteers from past years.  Every year it is a surprise to find what returns and what is new.  And yes, TruGreen stops by two, three times a year, sure that we must be unhappy.  We*re not.

It is amazing what full out sun

Does for the spirit

And plants.

The clematis on the last pillar

Will definitely survive

Now that its octopus feet

Are covered,

The two short vines

Trellised.

I sing to it in the morning

When no is listening

Patient growing songs.

The lilies of the valley

connected as one

underground

Have crept to fill the empty spaces

Behind the garage.

The chemical lawn people

Declare our yard a disaster area

Every year.

Every year we answer the door

To the TruGreen man

With a chart.

He outlines all they could do

To bring back an even smooth

One shade of green lawn.

A person could use it

For a putting green,

Nothing with a broad leaf

In sight.

I like the peonies and lilies of the valley,

They tryst behind the garage.

There is something low and green with little purple flowers

Under the crabapple.

It too is probably invasive,

Has its own checkbox on the TruGreen chart.

There is still forsythia visible

Behind the crabapple, but barely now.

The redbud in front has begun

Its purple burst through the bark.

Our yard is the perfect example

Of the TruGreen nightmare.

We think it might be Eden.

Framing

It seems a good time of year: Spring, walking into Holy Week, with Good Friday, then the Resurrection on the horizon, a good time to think about edging and framing.  What needs to be bigger, what needs to be smaller?  Sometimes doing something concrete, digging in the dirt, building a garden bed, gets a person thinking.  I like the idea of opening the gates, making the garden larger.  How would you frame it?

When I edge the garden bed,

I will add a foot on each side,

Attach the cedar planks

To the two by twos

With brass screws

Like before.

It lasted more than ten years,

Not a bad frame of time,

Really a good frame

As such things go.

I will leave the rhubarb

Where it is,

Firmly established.

With the yard gates open on three sides,

The animals wander through,

A small version of a Walt Disney movie

Except ours has a hawk on occasion,

He waits for bunnies

To hop through.

It is spring.

We reestablish

Where the edges are;

Which gates need to be open,

Which closed;

What is allowed to wander through.

Of course the birds and squirrels

Know no boundaries.

Where can we think to keep it private,

Our own garden

With the sick crabapple in back?

In the name of all that lives,

I will edge the garden bed

Bigger this year,

Leave the gates open.

Not a bad way to frame it,

Really

Not a bad way.