This is what 20 degrees looks like….

Don’t know what to say about moon cloth. Waning? Lost in space?

and this…

and this….

plants under straw, covered with sheets. One more night of low temps. Tomorrow I’ll uncover everything and see where we are.

The Balancing Point.

Equinox.  A time of brief balance.  Equal lengths.  Day.  Night.  And just like that, imperceptible almost, we’ve already moved through it.  Towards longer days.  Towards warmth.  Growth.  New beginnings.

This cloth–honoring moon –reminder of waxing and waning.  Reminder of equinox.  Reminder that this is how we go.  Shifting gentling from side, to center, to side.  Back and forth. Gently passing over center with each swing.  The natural rhythm.  

On the right, beast emerging–a benevolent creature–readying itself for becoming more. Moving into spring.

These next few night–from tonight through Wednesday–will be a challenge. Cold nights. Several near 22. Thursday night’s temperature snuck up on me. 28 degrees. I waited as long as I could but finally went out with flashlight. And yes. The plants were frozen. A white rim of ice etched each leaf. The kale, the lettuce. Broccoli/spinach/cabbage. The tender kale was especially wounded.

So now I’m rounding up containers to cover as much as I can during these next colder nights. I’ve begged and borrowed sheets. Little plants will be covered then tucked in and hopefully will survive. But next year I will follow Mo’s suggestion and set out after the equinox.

And I can’t help but wonder why? Why didn’t I wait? And deep down I wonder if there’s a need for creating tension? Unrest? I could be hanging softly over the balance point right now–waiting for the weather to shift–but instead have swung out–my arc a curving trajectory pulled towards “worrying”– now about plants. At other times, other things. And I’m seeing this pattern through different lens this morning. So ready to be done with it.

The Vagaries of March

It’s March. I expect the unexpected. Yet I’m flying in the face of it. Last Friday–waxing moon–dirt devas helped set out broccoli, cabbage, spinach, lettuce, radicchio, arugula. Kale. Knowing that some cold nights–like below 30–were coming. The plants seemed impatient. Ready to get out of their paper sleeves. I doused them. Many times–“are you sure?” Yes, they were ready. And then yesterday and the day before– cold, cold 30 degree rain. Covered the lettuce–two sheets and a tarp. Woke during the night, listening for the furnace. It kicks on near freezing. Listened. Often. Usually the sound of furnace-on comforts me on some level. Last night the sound of “no-furnace” was even better.

I’m remembering now. The reasons why. Why I can’t help but raise–or try to raise–a garden. And I look at that premise–“to raise a garden.” Noticing the unspoken arrogance of the notion–that I am growing the garden. “Caring for” seems more on target. And this notion for some reason has reminded me of childbirth. What we say. What was said. I remember hearing, “He got here just in time to deliver your baby.” Remember thinking, “Really?” Thinking “caught” was more apt.

Noticing language. The tendency to over-inflate importance of self. I do this. I forget that I am not driving the bus. I forget that there is absolutely SO much that I do not control.

But yes, I do make certain decisions. And then live with the results.’ So for now, I think, the plants survived the night. There will be a few more close calls, no doubt. But if we–the plants and I–get through this cold snap, we’ll have a jump on it. The plants will have a chance to become strong and hearty BEFORE the advent of the cabbage moth. BEFORE slugs decide they’re warm enough to graze. And yes, timing is everything, so we shall see.

And this coming Friday, under a waning moon, we’ll plant potatoes. Seed potatoes and potatoes-from-under-the-sink that have sprouted. And we’ll plant turnips, beets and radishes. Planting root crops in the dark of the moon.

They’re scabbing over now–the potatoes–letting the air help form a leathery cover.

And tomatoes–Cherokee Purple. An heirloom tomato attributed to the natives of these mountains. I don’t know. Last year no one had success with tomatoes. Too much rain. I’m not growing many this year. El Nino and all that.
I’m almost finished recording these thoughts–but there’s more I need to remember. There was this, during the week. I wasn’t sure. Didn’t have my glasses on. Used the zoom on the camera to see better. And yes! It is! A bluebird. The box was mounted a few weeks ago. She’s shopping out the neighborhood.It’s blurry, yes, but it’s blue.

And finally, Hope-who-has-become-Hopi, is relaxing into her yoga practice.

This cloth is still feeling its way into being.

And I’m understanding it better now. Understanding where it’s coming from–what it’s saying. The moon. The waxing/waning of the moon. How influential in our lives, in such a quiet, non-demanding way. Yet the power it wields.

Not Much Cloth, but…

a lot of other stuff going on.

Hope is the same color as this wool Pendleton blanket. It was my mother’s. She washed/dried it once by mistake and it shrunk a lot. But still she used it for cover in her last years. The blanket was a gift from her best friend–a fine woman named Lucy.  I find the blanket all over the place. She travels with it. Like Linus. But never too far.

Seedlings are getting ready for the earth and I’m waffling back and forth–too early? too cold? go for it? We’re having a few nights this week in the mid 20’s. Maybe after that. The 10-day forecasts on weather.com help. But I wonder if it’s made me a bit less sensitive to the nuances that indicate how it might be. Sky color. Buds. Robins. Shadows. Birds. Worms.  Soil temp. Smells. Knee/shoulder aches?

Last week I experimented. Set out one each of very tender spinach, broccoli, lettuce, radicchio and kale. That night the temp was 24 degrees. They survived but have not recovered. And the rest–outside today, beginning the hardening off process:

Some amazing women are working the garden with me this year. “Dirt devas.” This is where we are now:
rows ready for seedlings–rich soil separated by straw and leaves. Soon–cabbage, broccoli, kale, collards, swiss chard, turnips and potatoes. This is 1/3 of the garden. Spring garden/fall garden. The rest of the space will house tomatoes, beans, cucumbers, beets, lettuce, radicchio, radishes and sweet potatoes.

and outside the fenced in garden–the start of an herb bed and a modified hugelkultur bed for winter squash.

This cloth I’m liking. Haven’t added much except rows of stitching and noticing the shift in my attention. From cloth to dirt. Looking for the common thread.