Little do my seedlings know, the time is drawing near that their safe, moist, lit, well fed existence in the confines of my basement is going bye bye. That's right, I'm going to unplug them from the matrix and thrust them into the harsh reality that is 'the real'. Which is to say, planting season is upon us!
My LFD is April 15th and I am ready. Well, except that I don't have the frames for my raised beds made, or the dirt layers that will go in them, or really any layout planning completed.... Whatever! Let's do this thing! To say I have bitten off more than I can chew is perhaps an understatement (yet a pun, which I do enjoy). Thus far my total harvest to date has consisted of three cucumbers and three baby carrots. Not much of a meal, I will admit. However, this year I have three things going for me that I did not have last year: 1. A gardening guru buddy. 2. A small clue as to how this thing is supposed to work. 3. Six new gardening books which, while they assume the reader knows a little too much in my opinion (my clue is very small), have at least gotten me off to a strong start. I have my schedule, which I've mostly followed, my seedlings to transplant, my seeds to direct sow, and blind determination. You know, that beautiful naive faith that comes only to someone who has yet to discover just how much can go wrong when you start big without the slightest idea of what's going to happen? Ahh, like a warm blanket (which we hopefully won't need much longer - frost is not good for my green babies) ignorance wraps me with the coziness of confidence, anticipation and imagined future triumph. Oh and one other thing my seedlings don't know: half of them will be murdered before they even see the light of day. That's right, it's premeditated. The guru tells me I am to eliminate the weakest link in each pot so that only one is left standing. It is one of gardening's dichotomies: so that one may live, others must perish. Or, put a nicer way, "thinning" is a necessary part of (green) life. Well, as Col. Mustard says, "You can't make an omelet without breaking an egg. Any good cook will tell you that..." Yesterday I took my children to my cousin's photography studio, where she photographed each of them holding one or more of the above animals. Now I recognize that as a mother, there should be an instinctual response of some sort which would prohibit me from enjoying a scenario in which my child is actively upset. Turns out, this is not the case.
There was my toddler, substantially larger than the harmless little yellow chick placed next to him, petrified. Now it's not like it was charging him, mind you, the fuzzy thing was literally standing still, blinking; with an occasional ironic "peep". I don't know, maybe he thought it would out-cute him. It was like watching the Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The visual just has such perfect 'recall with a chuckle' longevity. And judging from the glimpses of the shots I got to see, Jacki was able to capture the situation, comedy in tow. You better believe I'm going to buy those prints (he had a similar reaction to a duckling). My son will be a teenager one day and evidence he was once terrified of baby farm animals is like mommy gold. For the record, my older two children had the response you would expect from exposure to such high levels of adorableness. When the animals were given to them their eyes danced and sparkled in pure bliss, coupled with intermittent uncontrollable giggling. Truth be told my youngest was able to enjoy the little fuzzies too, at a safe distance. I think this is the reaction parents are looking for when they buy their children chicks or bunnies for Easter; that magic moment of seeing their children enthralled by children of another species. And after that's over, guess who's stuck dealing with all the ensuing poop? Nope, we'll savor the moment through images and memories, traumatizing as they may be, and leave the future chickens, rabbits and ducks to the farmers so that we may one day enjoy them again... in another way. My band of loyal customers seems to be up in arms that I have changed my studio's name with the launch of my website to Shuker Pottery. Really, I think it all comes down to a sign. For several years now I have been using the name LedgeRock Pottery. A few years back my husband designed, and my father-in-law created, a sign for me as a Christmas present that says LedgeRock Pottery with a teapot on it. (Pottery geeks like me believe teapots represent the ultimate amalgam of a potter's skills.) The sign ranks in the top ten best gifts I've ever received. Not only does it look great, upon receipt it was dripping with the thoughtfulness of both men.
Unfortunately, the name has already been taken in cyberspace which means I can't have it. Much as I'd like to contact the Minnesotans who comprise the existing Ledgerock Pottery and fight (whine) for my right to keep the name, I don't think the "but I already have a sign" defense is going to hold much weight. It's funny, my family seems to be having a harder time accepting this loss than I am; or my husband, who masterminded the sign in the first place. (I have yet to discuss the matter with my FIL, something tells me he'll still be able to sleep at night.) Well, folks, hang tight. We'll get through this together. While this appears to be a new blog, it doesn't feel like it because I've already been blogging here. Sporadically, sure, but nonetheless it feels like an ongoing conversation with the world to me, so that is where you can find any missing back story. The blog I was using was created by my sister as a means for our family to keep in touch. It turned out to be me keeping in touch with the vast emptiness of cyberspace so I don't really feel that bad leaving it behind. I just wish I could figure out how to use spell check here and I'll be in business.
So I may have prematurely called a few people to let them know I have a site. Sure it's not ready, but it's exciting! And perhaps, during slow pauses throughout my day, I went to my own site and gazed lovingly at my own name. My sister understood immediately. Her initial reaction, "I want a website." Well of course you do. Your own little plot of real estate out in cyberspace. Who cares if no one ever comes to visit; never bothered Thoreau. Gives you time to sit back and ponder things in cybersolitude. Like a retreat.
I visited a good friend today who is pregnant. There is something about being around expectant women that feels like magic. I recently heard a comedian talking about how he couldn't compete with what his pregnant wife was doing on a given day. As in, he took out the trash, she made some lungs. I wonder why more ancient cultures didn't revere pregnant women. Probably the hormones; does us all in. |
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February 2024
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