Archives for category: gardening

I can remember my father mocking people who lacked “real skills” but who were also educated people with college degrees. He had no fondness for abstract intellectualism that could not get anything done in the world in a practical sense. It’s a fairly commonplace perspective, frequently held by practical minded working people, perhaps to secure a sense of achievement in spite of the lack of a degree. Memorized facts without comprehension aren’t particularly useful, generally. Applying knowledge in the real world can create change.

Books make great gifts!

Why do I mention it? I mean, it’s probably pretty obvious that “book learning” alone doesn’t amount to understanding a topic deeply or being able to make suitable use of the knowledge. I watched a video yesterday talking about the increasing lack of ability to read that seems to be developing in young cohorts of students (in the US). Book learning isn’t all there is to education, but g’damn reading is a pretty critical life skill, and if our youngsters receiving their education aren’t learning to read, we’ve got a real problem ahead. Traffic signs, price tags, menus, clocks, rental agreements, job offers…we need to read a lot of things, and recognizing shapes and colors is not an adequate substitute for reading comprehension.

Books can be filled with practical information.

Why learn to read when an LLM can read a summary aloud and save us the bother? (Why learn math when there’s a calculator always at hand?) I struggle with why these would be questions, but I remember teachers answering my own youthful “why learn math?” question by trying to give examples of the raw power and utility of having a basic understanding of math. One truth that is more important than any one example and might have been more persuasive; we need to learn math (and reading) to develop problem solving skills, and for depth and nuance in our understanding of the world. We need these skills to support our ability to think critically and recognize misinformation. If we lose our ability to read we become dependent on spoken opinion, and susceptible to marketing hype and outrageous lies by politicians and pundits.

Other books take us on an adventure.

I am fortunate to enjoy reading, myself. (It took me awhile to come around to the legitimate value in math, but eventually I got there, too.) I am happily reading The Stand, a gift from my Traveling Partner. I prefer to read the news rather than watch it. I can’t actually imagine not being able to read. If nothing else, the amount of paperwork required in life would be far less manageable if I couldn’t read the forms!

Thanks for being here, by the way. If you’re reading these words, now, I’m grateful that you are literate. (Not only because you’re reading what I wrote, but also because you can.) One day you may be considered to be among the elite intellectuals of the world, simply because you can read, at all.

Books are the software upgrades for our minds.

I sit at my halfway point on this trail, watching Venus setting slowly on the western horizon. I spotted it one morning some time ago and looked up what this very bright “star” might be. I read about it. Now I gaze upon Venus with even greater wonder and appreciation. I smile to myself, eagerly considering spending the day reading. Maybe I’ll pull a cookbook from my shelf and peruse the recipes and bake something? Seems a good day for it. I could spend more time writing, later – I hear snail mail is making a comeback as a hobby or lifestyle choice. Promising.

… I’m not pointing fingers or being critical of the shortcomings of other people. I’m quite human myself, and some of life’s critical skills fade with disuse. My handwriting (pen and ink on paper) has gotten pretty dreadful because I don’t often pick up a pen these days. Practice would be helpful. Letter writing has potential, with that in mind. I think fondly back to my great-grandmother, who lived well past 100 years. She wrote letters to friends every day. I used to write a lot of letters… until email and the Internet and the convenience of a keyboard intervened. Creeping incompetence – and I don’t have to succumb to it. I have choices and the freedom to choose change.

Anyway. Read a book. Don’t let that skill erode away completely! You definitely really need to be able to read. Reality can be unforgiving, and doesn’t accommodate ignorance in any gentle way.

Some books we fill with our own story.

I sigh to myself as Venus dips below the treetops. I breathe, exhale, and relax. I contemplate all the many books I’ve read, and the many more I have yet to read. The books on my reading list have guided me along my path. I doubt I could have come so far so quickly without them, and AI summaries would not have been enough to teach me what I needed to learn.

The first hint of daybreak touches the sky. Is it already time to begin again?

I’m still down with this sickness, although I continue to improve. When I’m lounging, resting and watching videos to pass some time, I find myself drawn to relaxed videos of various aquarists and hobbyists building small aquariums for shrimp and small fish suited to peaceful planted freshwater aquariums. I miss my aquarium. Sometimes I miss it a lot. It was, for a time, very low maintenance and successful – a thriving ecosystem that required very little work to keep up. One move, then another, disrupted my stable little underwater paradise, and things got messy, chaotic, and required a lot more work. For awhile that overcame me, and I let the algae take over. Then, noticing a favorite fish was actually still thriving, my renewed interest and enthusiasm – and real regard for that fish – carried me through several restorative projects.

Taking a moment to watch fish swim.

We moved, at last, to this little house. Life feels more settled, but the aquariums (at that point I had three) had no ideally suitable location. Every place they could be placed was a compromise that reliably resulted in more work, more inconvenience, or… more algae. One tank got broken when a bookshelf being moved into place shifted and fell onto it. The fish were saved. The damage and water and mess were cleaned up. I retired the other small tank, and focused on my 29 gallon freshwater community. Peaceful and beautiful, and seemed to be thriving (although my betta persisted in leaping from the tank at odd hours, which was a pain in the ass and very stressful for us both, I’m sure). One day, as I happened to be standing nearby, the silicon seals simply failed. The front glass panel fell to the floor and water went everywhere. My Traveling Partner heard me cry out, and rushed to help me. The fish were saved – into a bucket, with what remained of the water from the tank. The small tank was pulled from retirement long enough to house the distressed fish. I couldn’t bring myself to keep on saving fish from the floor, and felt rather as if the circumstances were a clear sign that this location and this time in my life were not suited to keeping an aquarium. As I’ve done with other pets in my life, I allowed the circumstances to direct my decision-making. I don’t have an aquarium now. (Or, any other pets, actually, for various reasons and due to my thinking about such things changing over time.)

Over-reaching for a good metaphor…content to watch fish swim.

…But I’m home sick, trying to rest and get well, and I keep finding myself drawn to videos of aquarium setups suitable for small spaces, small fish, small creatures, and low maintenance practices. I sigh to myself as I sip my coffee. Do I really want an aquarium, or am I daydreaming and missing what once was? For the moment, the difference is too small to matter. I still don’t have a really good location for an aquarium, even a small one, in this house. I don’t have the time, the energy, or perhaps even the will to provide the care and maintenance even a small one would reliably require (and the small ones often need more attention more often than a big one does). I still love a beautiful aquarium, and there are so many kinds!! Aquascaping has a lot of variety. It’s a beautiful hobby. I even indulge myself, as I consider the matter, allowing myself the fun of planning out what I would need to do a small aquarium… Maybe just 6-10 gallons? Shrimp and snails? Maybe a betta? Some neon tetras? The exercise reminds me that this is not a “cheap hobby”. The tools and materials (long before livestock is considered) are somewhat costly, most especially if chosen with care based on best suited to the concept, well-respected brands, quality goods, and aesthetics. I quickly found myself looking at a “budget” that would require $200-$300 dollars, before I even started pricing livestock and plants. Yeesh. Do I want it that badly? Enough to deal with a compromise on location, the work involved, the potential for more work if there was a tank failure, and the possibility that this was merely a passing fancy stoked and amplified by sick day boredom? Enough to push it to the top of the list of things that need doing, for which there are limited resources? No, no, and no. I don’t actually want to build a new aquarium… I’m just missing my old one. Human primates are weird.

The day the tank arrived at a new place.

Do I need an aquarium? No, I don’t. Am I lacking something in my life that having one would truly fulfill? No, it would be an unnecessary luxury that comes at a significant cost. Do I even truly want one? No, I don’t think so; I just want to be well, and free from constraints on my comings and goings, and limitations on my energy. I just happen to be filling some portion of time with engaging videos about a topic I have a connection to, and take a lot of pleasure in considering.

Do fish get headaches?

I finish my coffee, thinking about what a useful reminder this is that chasing some momentary yearning is a very human thing, but it can easily get out of hand, taking me down a path I didn’t plan to walk, and without real benefit from that detour along my journey (maybe). Do I love a beautiful planted freshwater aquarium? I definitely do. I remember my Dad’s aquariums when I was a kid, with great fondness. I remember mine, and what a haven it was for me in a difficult time (it was originally undertaken as a means of providing healthy background noise that would reduce my nightmares, and it worked well for that purpose for the years that I needed it most). The stress (and lasting responsibility) over the safe healthy lives of the inhabitants and the terror and panic when something went wrong (whether a power outage or a tank failure) are not so welcome in my life. I still miss my aquarium. I miss the fish and the lush green plants moving gently in whatever current there might be. I don’t miss the work or the stress or the worry when I’m away. I won’t be getting a new aquarium any time soon, because I don’t really want one. I definitely don’t “need” one.

Human primates are wired to go after what they want: food, sleep, money and love, and endless things in between. It makes sense to pause and give some new yearning a moment of real thought and reflection. We only have so much time to spend, and only so much available in spendable resources to acquire some new thing. Our yearnings are not necessarily tied to our actual needs in any practical way. Good thing we have minds and critical thinking skills – ideally we put those to good use.

Are you hearing me on this? It’s a metaphor. When yearning overtakes me, I pull my focus to other things, I seek out a sense of sufficiency. I examine the thing I think I am yearning for with great care looking for what may be driving that (it’s rarely the thing I’m yearning for, itself, which nearly always masks some identifiable practical need or another than can be more effectively addressed quite differently). I breathe, exhale, and relax. I enjoy this moment here, as it is, quiet and calm and pleasant (in spite of lingering flu symptoms). This is enough. No aquarium required. 😉

I smile and think about Spring. Soon enough, the weather will be warming up, and it’ll be time to get out into the garden. There are plenty of creatures there to watch and wonder at, and all manner of lovely plants and flowers to tend. My effort will be well-spent there. It’s enough. Soon, I can begin again in the garden I have.

G’damn life feels too busy. Appointments. Meetings. Calls to make. Errands. Laundry. Household upkeep. Caregiving. Working for a living. Self-care. Sometimes doing the needful feels like an unreasonable amount of work, and this year I’ve rarely found myself able to make time for painting, gardening, reading, or writing (aside from this one sliver of my day early in the morning, when I can indulge myself in solitude and write these few words). I’m exhausted at the end of most days, barely able to stand by the time I take those last steps down the hall to bed.

… I feel like I’m working three or four full-time jobs…

Each morning I get up and do it again. Each day, I get my ass to work. Each day I tackle the errands on my list. Each day I give as much of myself as I can to caregiving tasks, and housekeeping chores. Each day I compromise on some detail of my self-care – because I just can’t do everything, and something has to be put aside for another day.  I’m grateful to enjoy the life I do. I’m grateful to have such a strong and loving partnership. I’m annoyed with myself for griping about how much work life is, when I’ve got it so good, generally speaking. For sure there are people who have it far worse and would happily trade places with me.

I’m tired, I guess. I’ve sustained this for too long. I do make attempts to treat myself a bit better than I often do, but it’s not uncommon to return from a camping trip, or a day spent in solitary meditation, to a whole new list of errands to run, or chores that need doing. I almost immediately use up any reserves I may have built. It seems neverending… because it mostly is. It’s life, and there’s a lot to do.

… It’s only Tuesday…

I sigh quietly to myself, sitting at the halfway point on my morning trek around a favorite local trail. It’s still dark. I don’t mind. Is it my preference to walk in the dark? No. It’s the time I have, though, so it is the time I walk. I feel fortunate to still have my legs under me, and that I can still walk these trails on my own. That’s something worth a moment of appreciation and gratitude; it wasn’t a given that things would turn out so well after I broke my back in the early 80’s. There was a real chance I’d never walk again, at all. I’m deeply grateful my surgeries turned out so well. I keep walking.

I sit with my thoughts awhile. I can remember how difficult it was to understand how fortunate I really am. Understanding my relative privilege and general good fortune in life was hard – complicated by a deeply subjective perspective on life that focused on the trauma, the chaos and damage, the lifetime of hurt and anger. For a long time I was “trapped in the mire“. Resetting my own expectations was a complicated journey of its own. I keep working at it. It’s too easy to resent how much fucking work life requires for that to be “the right answer” (or even a right answer). I breathe, exhale, and relax. I’m grateful for this simple practice (meditation) that does so much to give me the calm and resilience to just keep at it, day after day after day. It’s not “everything”, and life still needs a lot of real work to “run smoothly”, but… it’s something, and mostly it’s enough.

The sky has lightened a bit. It is a deep charcoal gray, barely lighter than the darkness of night, but now I see the treeline silhouetted, where moments ago was only darkness. Meditation and self-reflection work that way for me; slowly illuminating my way, over time. Worthwhile, reliably restorative practices that bring a sense of balance and perspective are few – and worth the effort to cultivate them.

I sit watching the horizon. Daybreak soon. It’s almost time to begin again.

I slept in. I got to the trailhead after daybreak. No colorful sunrise, the morning is misty and gray, and a little chilly. Fog obscures the meadow on the other side of the highway, as I park.

Not much of a view this morning.

I head down the trail contentedly, feeling rested and ready for the day ahead. It is the weekend. I walk with my thoughts, and the sounds of distant traffic and geese on the marsh. The meadow is brown and waiting for the autumn rain to come.

I get to my halfway point and take a seat on a nearby fence rail looking out over meadow and marsh, enjoying the stillness and the misty morning. I breathe, exhale, and relax, taking time for meditation and reflection, and making room for a moment of gratitude. There’s real joy (for me) in the simple pleasure of a moment of contentment and quiet. I savor it. The world being the place it presently is, it doesn’t do to waste a moment of contentment and joy by overlooking it.

I’ve got a project today, that fits into the needs of hearth and home, and also the garden. I am planning to tidy the garden shed, which is crowded with this and that, and no longer the convenient solution it was intended to be. I won’t need to work around the oppressive summer heat, it is a cool day, making me glad I delayed this project a couple weekends. I may even be looking forward to it.

Perspective on a moment.

From my pleasant vantage point, I sit with my thoughts a little while, reflecting on the day ahead. I feel fortunate to enjoy such moments. Grateful. I breathe the morning air deeply, filling my lungs with fresh air, and my heart with fond appreciation and gratitude. The mist begins to thicken and envelope me. I watch the trees around me beginning to fade into the mist with child-like wonder. As the mist becomes a proper dense fog, the sounds of distant traffic are muffled and begin to be lost in the din of my tinnitus.

Grocery shopping, first, then my project and time spent hanging out with my Traveling Partner. Tomorrow, all the usual housekeeping stuff, preparing for a new week. My anxiety about being laid off, and then of being in a new job, has died away completely. Things feel pretty routine and ordinary. It’s a good feeling.

I sigh contentedly, and get ready to begin again.

In spite of the heat I spent some time in the garden yesterday (before it got too hot, in the cooler morning hours). I happily watered and weeded, and reflected on the chaos that has arisen over weeks of hot weather, busy work days, and other shit that just had to get done. Time is a limited resource, and so is the energy I’ve got available to get things done with.

I found myself doing what I tend to do when I observe chaos creeping further into my day-to-day experience; I made a list. I took some notes. I contemplated the varying levels of urgency and the considerations driving that.

The chaos in my garden.

There are peas dry on the vines ready to harvest for next year’s planting. There are carrots ready to harvest, and favorite salad greens that bolted in the heat (may as well harvest those seeds, too). The deer were haphazard with their “helpful” pruning of tomatoes, but I’ve still got a few tomatoes ripening, hidden in the greenery. Thirsty roses want deeper watering, and need a bit of pruning. There is so much weeding to do. Work had gotten busy, and I had gotten tired with other every day tasks on top of that, and I fell behind on several of the things the garden needs to thrive and be beautiful and productive. Our choices have consequences. Now I’m faced with those; I put my attention on work (for a job that I won’t be doing any longer) and let the garden go a bit wild, and the weeds remind me that my own choices allowed them to thrive.

I’m neither mad nor frustrated. The garden manages to be lovely regardless, and I enjoy my time spent there, even on a muggy summer morning before the heat of the day sets in. There are roses blooming at the edge of the lawn (at least one of which does not know the meaning of “winter” and will likely bloom all year) and it delights me to pause along the walk to see them there in the sunshine, drops of water glittering on the edges of colorful petals after morning watering.

“Baby Love”, blooming in the summer heat.

I spent the day contentedly creating order from chaos. I find it a useful practice for reducing background anxiety and stress. Chaos in my environment tends to result in chaos in my thinking. Tidying things up, clearing out clutter, and working down a list of tasks that need doing has proven to be a really good practice for managing my stress and anxiety. When those tasks are specific to supporting my own needs as an individual, it also feels like self-care. Conveniently enough, there nearly always seems to be something to do that meets those needs. lol Laundry. Dishes. Hanging up the various pairs of earrings that have managed to find some random resting place here or there in the house. Putting books away. Filing paperwork that has stacked, waiting to be filed. Dusting. Pulling weeds in the garden and from the flower beds as I pass by on my way to some other task or destination. It quickly becomes a form of meditation, when I stay engaged with the task and present in the moment, and don’t allow myself to “wander off” in my own head.

All along the way, task by task, hour by hour, there are moments of wonder, delight, and beauty that turn up to be savored and enjoyed. A colorful display of flowers. A lingering romantic hug with my Traveling Partner. A beautiful blue sky. I make a point of really enjoying these (and so much more) whenever they occur. Another sweet way to reduce stress and anxiety; really being present for moments of joy and beauty and savoring them. It matters so much to allow myself to be delighted, even for an instant.

A colorful display of flowers in the summer sun, at the grocery store.

I am never too busy to enjoy something beautiful. (I find myself wondering when I’ll next be in the city… maybe I can work in a trip to the art museum?)

Change can feel so incredibly chaotic. The loss of familiar routines feels disruptive. Managing the stress and the anxiety that can come with change can feel overwhelming – until I break things down into smaller pieces, and create order from the chaos one task at a time. Breathe, exhale, relax – like any practice, there are steps, and I’ve got to do the work myself to experience the results (otherwise, we’re just having a conversation about it, eh?).

I sip my coffee as the sun rises. I won’t be watching that from this office window much longer… Change is. Jobs end. We are mortal creatures, and however tightly we cling to some experience, or person, or moment, we will face the reality of impermanence sooner or later. The plan is not the experience. The map is not the world. Reality will be what it is without regard to our thoughts or feelings about it. Practicing non-attachment has tended to make me more practical about change – and chaos, and I no longer take such things so personally. I’ll take a new breath, and I’ll begin again. Really, what else is there to do?

For now, I sit with the quiet, and this good cup of coffee, and I look over what needs to get done today. I make a plan. I smile when the thought of my beloved Traveling Partner crosses my mind for no particular reason; he is a steady presence in my life whether we’re in the same room or not, and I am grateful to be so loved and supported. I reach out to a friend via email wondering if they have time to get together for a coffee sometime soon? It’s the relationships that matter most, in work and in life.

A hazy dawn, a row of birds gathered on a powerline.

I sigh to myself, feeling this contentment and practicality like a firm foundation beneath my feet. I’m okay right now, for nearly all values of okay, and that’s enough. The future is unwritten, and I can’t see where this path leads… but this feels like a good place to begin, again.