A new peace to my mind has been completed and awaiting final installation details.
The Whatever the F*ck Season Is This? has arrived in full splendor. My 3 year old garden beds are showing, finally. I was beginning to think that my life time of knowledge gleaned watching and helping my Great Depression era grandparents grow a successful garden and carefully can the offerings and then my mother doing the same, was gone. Stolen away by memory loss and climate change.
And Gaia is startlingly adaptable; except for the vegetables. I would have thought that just one year of mostly zero tomato success is on me, but two? Something is happening to the season as I’ve known it. The process has changed. The formulas are different. It may be subtle to most and welcome by more than a few but the zone I’m in just ain’t the same.
It’s a delightfully rainy day. A very gentle, cooling mist floats over the modesty rail as I sit here on my front porch listening to the birds sing and the earth sigh. Gaia will be fine without her failed custodians.
And then my mind goes back to my studio where the scream comes from and resistance lives. And I say, “Break over, gotta go back. These F*ckers can’t win. For. SO. Many. Reasons.”
swansroost 