MORE GARDEN THOUGHTS

I last posted here in June and wrote about my tendency to have incredibly clever ideas for writing while I was planting and weeding in my backyard garden. I lamented that as soon as I stepped inside, those ideas vanished before I could sit down at my laptop or even make a quick note on paper. Summer's drawing to a close and now I'm reaping tomatoes and argula and and summer squash and kale--and, of course, still weeding.

Tomatoes, fresh from my garden. 

I'm also reaping ideas while gardening, but they seem to be more remembrances than the creation of something new. I've just finished a massive revision of THE PRIVATE WARS OF G. P. CALLAHAN and so am on a writing furlough for the moment. My gardening thoughts have turned to memories of friends and loved ones. People dear to me, important to me, some of whom I haven't called or emailed for too long a time.

My garden thoughts fly away.

While pulling weeds, I remember the past and make a promise to myself that I'll drop an old friend a line, or email a sister-in-law, or give an elderly friend from church a call. But, like my writing ideas, those promises seem to fly away before I step inside my home.




Why does this happen? I'm not sure. Could be that the duties of my "inside" life crowd away any thoughts I had in the sunshine. Could be that my attention span is way too short. Or maybe my brain can't handle more than one thought at
a time. Surely it's not because I'm growing old!

I once told a friend that, although I hadn't called for a while, I often thought of her. She assured me that she believes that whenever we think of someone, it's a blessing for that person. It's as if we're offering a prayer for her, even though she may never know it. I find that comforting. This summer I've prayed for lots of people! Amen.

BLOGGING IN THE GARDEN

I wish could store ideas in this fanciful hat until I get to the computer.

I'm appalled to see how long it's been since I've posted anything here. It's not because I haven't composed any blogs. It's just that I seem to come up with ideas and their development while I'm digging or weeding or planting something in the garden. I'm full of meaningful thoughts and clever ways to embellish them when I'm outdoors, but they all seem to elude me once I'm inside, where phone calls and bills and unfinished manuscripts take me away from my garden thoughts.

It's as if my mind opens up when I'm down in the dirt. Ideas are planted and nourished. A blog thought blossoms into unbelievable beauty and depth. I smile as I weed, picturing readers who will be amazed at my clever turn of phrase or unusual take on a news item.

Then the wind of life blows across my garden plot and pulls me inside. All those ideas scatter like seeds not planted deeply enough and I can't retrieve them. Sigh!

Well, at least today I've managed to sit down and blog about not blogging. There are parallels I could draw here to the writing process, but I'll think about that tomorrow.

Flora and Fauna

The first time I read the phrase, "flora and fauna," it took me a while to realize that this simply meant the plants and wildlife of a given area. (I was a kid at the time.)

This summer has given me a whole new perspective on those two "f" words. Normally I concentrate on the flora part of my backyard area. Things starts out just fine. In May and June we enjoyed lettuce and other salad greens. Then, in July, the weather turned so dismal that I've been hard pressed to harvest more than three tiny tomatoes, some okra. Vegetation does not do well in desert conditions. Just ask my son and his wife who live in Abu Dhabi.

On the fauna side of things, the wildlife passing through our territory has flourished. We've been visited by foxes that came right up our deck to peer in the dining room as we had breakfast. They became daily visitors, and I learned yesterday that a neighbor has been feeding them because they "looked so forlorn." We've become used to raccoons and, of course, squirrels and have even spotted a bedraggled coyote one morning. Yesterday a Cooper's hawk posed on the edge of the birdbath, apparently hoping that the smaller birds would think he was a decorative sculpture and came by to take a drink or bath while he looked on--and then dined on.

Despite the heat and drought, the wildlife has done well by us. All in all, the flora has, much like the Royals, lost more games than they've won. And, like the Royals, I say, "Just wait until next year!"

Caladium Watch

Every spring, when the chance of frost is over, I plant caladium corms in the shade garden to the west of our house. Then I begin a daily watch for the first sign of a plant poking its way out of the soil. It takes a long time for that first tightly-curled leaf to appear and until it does, I'm riddled with uncertainly. Did I plant it too deep? Was the corm healthy and alive? Am I watering it too much? Too little? Does it need more sun or more shade? Just when I'm sure that a squirrel or other hungry critter must have burrowed into the earth and devoured every nascent plant, I spy a touch of color spiraling up from the dark ground.

A caladium corm is not a pretty sight. It looks like a clump of dirt:

It's hard to tell whether it's up or down or sideways, but the plants one little corm produces are spectacular:

Waiting for the caladium to appear is somewhat like waiting to hear from editors or agents. I send out queries and manuscripts that are, I know, more attractive than the dirt-colored corm. I have similar questions. Was my query lackluster? Too aggressive? Did I revise until I was sending my best work? Did I study the market enough to be sure I was sending my work to the best editor/agent/publisher? I wait and watch the mailbox and my inbox for replies that will produce attractive results...a magazine editor accepting an article or story...an agent agreeing to represent me and my work. Lately I've had good luck in the magazine world, but I keep hoping that one book-length manuscript will take root with an agent or publisher and produce spectacular results.