The Greatest Exercise: Gardening

Want to lose weight and get in shape? Garden. You burn 272 calories per hour doing it, and there’s always plenty to be done.

After gardening for six hours yesterday, removing the transient grass that invaded my front planter, every muscle in my body ached. Do you want to feel the burn--grab a rake and shovel!

My son was helping me, and as we shoveled, hauled, ripped and raked, we talked about the miracle that is grass: you can hardly grow it where you want, but try to keep it out of a planter and it thrives! Do you think grass, like humans, can benefit from reverse psychology?

The Grass so little has to do –
A Sphere of simple Green –
With only Butterflies to brood
And Bees to entertain –

And stir all day to pretty Tunes
The Breezes fetch along –
And hold the Sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything –

And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls –
And make itself so fine
A Duchess were too common
For such a noticing –

And even when it dies – to pass
In Odors so divine –
Like Lowly spices, lain to sleep –
Or Spikenards, perishing –

And then, in Sovereign Barns to dwell –
And dream the Days away,
The Grass so little has to do
I wish I were a Hay –

The pictures above are the “after” shots from yesterday’s work. That’s after four tractor buckets full of sod and weed were removed. There are other ways to kill grass, other than digging it up and transplanting the sod, as we did. Some people use Round-up to kill it. You have to wait for a windless day to spray, however, because any errant poison will kill your flowers. One way of killing grass with this method, near your darlings, is to use a paint brush to paint it on the blade strategically. We opted for au natural. We lost a few things in the digging–a small rose bush for one. I tried to save it last year when the grasses grew up around it, but it only allowed for the grass to take over more of my planter. I couldn’t dissect it from the sod yesterday, so it had to be sacrificed for the overall good of the garden.

Here are some pictures of next weekend’s project–the back garden–which will give you a little idea of what the front garden used to look like.

Back Garden

Dear Lord, my back aches just looking at it!

I-yi-yi.

Ouch!

Double ouch!

The brick you see in the picture was taken up when we built the sun room–a project which wasn’t finished until this weekend. While my son and I were working in the front garden, my husband was finishing up the paint and caulking on the room. It will actually be a weekend’s work to replace the brick because it will have to be releveled and bricks cut to the new size.

I didn’t mention before, but I planted my dahlias last week–about 24 plants–and some new lilies–blood red. (Insert excitement!)

Emily Dickinson & Bees

One of the first flowers I photographed this year was the crocus. And low and behold, there was a little friend climbing in and out of it. A sure sign spring had arrived.

Bees are Black, with Gilt Surcingles –
Buccaneers of Buzz.
Ride abroad in ostentation
And subsist on Fuzz. ……

Fuzz ordained – not Fuzz contingent –
Marrows of the Hill.
Jugs – a Universe’s fracture
Could not jar or spill.

(Emily Dickinson J #1405 1877)

And on a recent trip out of town to Gig Harbor, I caught this little one gathering pollen.

One of my blog visitors, Emily Heath, has a fabulous blog of her own devoted to bees, “My beekeeping bumbles”, as the title says, it’s Adventures in Bee Land. She has captured some amazing pictures of bees doing their work and returning to their hives. It’s a treasure trove of information as she undertakes the journey of a beekeeper in Ealing, West London.

In an April 5, 2012 article in my small local paper–The Cheney Free Press, a beekeeping family was highlighted. I hope to go out and get some of their honey today and to attend some of their public education field trips. Here are a few excerpts from the article and you can follow the link above to read the whole thing.

Martin and Marcia Davis left California several years ago and landed in the Cheney area looking for a new adventure. They had bees and chickens in mind.

Martin is working on an entomology degree. He said, “All honey bees come from Europe in a box.” The queen bee has her very own boudoir, a three room apartment (think child’s little pinky) with a cork stuffed with marshmallow on each end. The worker bees gradually chew through the passageway as the queen bee gets used to them and they to her. Now accustomed to the hive the queen then makes her own place for the cone she lays her eggs in.

Martin Davis said, “A bee has a double stomach. One part is for feeding himself and the other part is the honey stomach.” We all know the expression ‘busy as a bee’. Davis said, “A bee makes a million trips to make a pint of honey.” I’d say we ought to appreciate that hard-working little fellow with a gold medal of some sort.
Honey isn’t the only thing a bee provides. He specializes in diversity. Bee venom from the stinger is used by pharmacies. Bee wax can be used for its antibacterial, antiseptic or anti fungal properties. In earlier years bee wax was applied to a bandage before antibiotics became available. You will find bee wax in cosmetics and furniture polish.

When you encounter a honey bee treat him gently and send him on his way. Your reward will be extra sweet.

Emily had a few things to say about bees in her poetry, too.

Like Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush
I hear the level Bee-
A Jar across the Flowers goes,
Their Velvet Masonry

Withstands until the sweet Assault
Their Chivalry consumes,
While He, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other Blooms.

(J 1224)

His Feet are shod with Gauze,
His Helmet is of Gold;
His Breast, a Single Onyx
With Chrysophrase, inlaid.

His Labor is a Chant,
His Idleness-a Tune-
Oh, for a Bee’s experience
Of Clovers, and of Noon!

(J 916)

When Mabel Loomis Todd and TW Higginson published Emily’s poetry after her death, they edited many of her poems. These two poems were placed together as one and titled, The Bee. Here it is, as edited.

Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.
His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee’s experience
Of clovers and of noon!

A few less capital letters, I’d say, and a mysterious absence of dashes.

Here are some more from Johnson’s collection:

#676

Least Bee that brew –
A Honey’s Weight
The Summer multiply –
Content Her smallest fraction help
The Amber Quantity –

(1863)

#230

We – Bee and I – live by the quaffing –
‘Tisn’t all Hock – with us –
Life has its Ale –
But it’s many a lay of the Dim Burgundy –
We chant – for cheer – when the Wines – fail –

Do we “get drunk”?
Ask the jolly Clovers!
Do we “beat” our “Wife”?
I – never wed –
Bee – pledges his – in minute flagons –
Dainty – as the tress – on her deft Head –

While runs the Rhine –
He and I -revel –
First – at the vat – and latest at the Vine –
Noon – our last Cup –
“Found dead” – “of Nectar” –
By a humming Coroner –
In a By-Thyme!

(1861)

#1035

Bee! I’m expecting you!
Was saying Yesterday
To Somebody you know
That you were due-

The Frogs got Home last Week –
Are settled, and at work –
Birds, mostly back –
The Clover warm and thick –

You’ll get my Letter by
The seventeeth; Reply
Or better, be with me –
Yours, Fly.

(1865)

1220

Of Nature I shall have enough
When I have entered these
Entitled to a Bumble bee’s
Familiarities.

(1872)

#1343

A single Clover Plank
Was all that saved a Bee
A Bee I personally knew
From sinking in the sky-

‘Twixt Firmament above
And Firmament below
The Billows of Circumference
Were sweeping him away –

The idly swaying Plank
Responsible to nought
A sudden Freight of Wind assumed
And Bumble Bee was not –

This harrowing event
Transpiring in the Grass
Did not so much as wring from him
A wandering “Alas” –

(1875)

#1526

His oriental heresies
Exhilarate the Bee,
And filling all the Earth and Air
With gay apostasy

Fatigued at last, a Clover plain
Allures his jaded eye
That lowly Breast where Butterflies
Have felt it meet to die –

(1881)

#1627

The pedigree of Honey
Does not concern the Bee,
Nor lineage of Ecstasy
Delay the Butterfly
On spangled journeys to the peak
Of some perceiveless thing –
The right of way to Tripoli
A more essential thing.

(1884)

Another version

The Pedigree of Honey
Does not concern the Bee-
A Clover, any time, to him,
Is Aristocracy –

#1755–I find it interesting that one of her last poems (they end in Johnson’s collection at 1775 poems) is about bees and clover.

To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee,
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.

(1896)

Now, let’s all go out and find and celebrate the bees!

The Winter Is Past

“Arise, my darling,
my beautiful one, come with me.
See! The winter is past;
the rains are over and gone.
Flowers appear on the earth;
the season of singing has come,
the cooing of doves
is heard in our land.
The fig tree forms its early fruit;
the blossoming vines spread their fragrance.
Arise, come, my darling;
my beautiful one, come with me.”

Song of Solomon

Magnetic Poetry Board

In designing my new office–a place where I can store all my beloved books and house my piano and music, a place to sit and write, or think, or relax, or look out the window at our horses–I decided I also wanted a magnetic poetry board. I had this blank space right above my desk that was just perfect for it. I love words–what better art than word art?

I told my husband my idea and, as always, he was right there with me. He understood it and was excited to help me make it.

So, off to Home Depot–a place where we spend a lot of our time, but reap the rewards of sun rooms, decks, barns, fences…and on and on. We LOVE to create, build and dream together, and Home Depot is OUR store.

Here are some of the tools laid out for the job. My space is long and narrow, 20″x48″, so we cut the paneling as a back, the metal flashing (for roofs) to go over it, and then the molding strips (minus the 2.5 inches for the rosettes at each corner).

Next, we used liquid nails to adhere the metal to the wood backing and the molding and rosettes to the metal.

We placed a number of heavy objects on it to hold it down, then left it to dry for 24 hours.

Something not seen here is my mistake. I used a wood primer on the metal, but found out quickly it scratched right off. I removed it all with a plastic scraper and used automotive spray paint instead–two coats of primer and two coats of the burgundy color and I let that dry in the sun for a day.

When installing it, my husband used dry wall anchors on four spots. He had to recess the screws into the wood and I came back and painted them black when he was finished. It’s now very, very sturdy.

And all of us have begun composing poetry!

My happy spring picture
see through concrete breathe thunder
listen window mouth
between goddess & woman blossom
soul petals yummy admonition
she explores morning mushrooms reveals eternity

It may not make sense, but it sure is fun.

Now my office is complete. It’s me. It’s perfect for me. It beckons me in. (It beckons everyone in.)

Who Are Your Countrymen?

My Old Friends: From Hyacinth to Birch

Hyacinth

From Poetry of Flowers (A book Emily may have referenced), “Grief: According to mytholgists, this flower sprang from the blood of Hyacinthus, who was killed by a quoit, through the agency of Zephyr, who blew it fom its course as it passed from the hand of Apollo, and smote the unfortunate youth on the head.”

“I wish I could show you the hyacinths that embarrass us by their loveliness.” Emily’s letter to James D Clark.

Hyacinth

I am in love with him
To whom a hyacinth is dearer
Than I shall ever be dear.

On nights when the field-mice
Are abroad, he cannot sleep.
He hears their narrow teeth
At the bulbs of his hyacinths.

But the gnawing at my heart…
He does not hear.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

There are so many things to which you could compare a garden, not the least of which is friendship. Each year it comes back, sometimes a little worse for wear, but you have a history–an investment in one another.

The pictures I’m sharing today are from my garden–it’s some of my dear old friends emerging from winter in mid-April 2012. They’re bursting out and embracing the day! Some of them are thriving, some are fighting for their lives.

Royal Star Magnolia (struggling)

Rock Daphne

Leopard’s Bane

Hosta

Forsythia

Daffodils

“Elsa’s Rock” Daffodils to commemorate her death two years ago. What I realized during that time, a great epiphany for me, was that even when we want to hold onto our memories of lost loved ones–and Elsa was very dear to me having been raised from a puppy and sharing my trials and tribulations–our minds let them slip. I was horrified of that. Two weeks after her death, as I stood outside and tried to imagine her, it was hard. Then, a day passed without me thinking of her at all. This rock was placed there, over her burial spot, to remind me to think of her…and to give me a spot to sit while doing that under the Weeping Willow. I planted the daffodils because she died when they were in bloom. Every year they come up, they remind me of my loss–and my loss reminds me of my great gain–having her for thirteen years on this earth.

Daisies–Emily’s nickname was “Daisy”, and she refers to herself as such in the “Master Letters.”

Oh – did I offend it –
Didn’t it want me
to tell it the truth
Daisy – Daisy – offend it – who
bends her smaller life to
his, it’s meeker lower every day –
who only ask – a task –
something to do for
love of it – some little way
she cannot guess to make
that master glad –
A love so big it scares
her, rushing among her small
heart – pushing aside the
blood – and leaving her
faint and white in the
gusts’s arm –
Daisy – who never flinched
thro’ that awful parting –
but held her life so tight
he should not see the
wound – who would have
sheltered him in her
childish Heart – only it was’nt
big eno for a Guest so large –

(Letter 2 1861–Emily to “Master”–actual person is a mystery which stays unsolved.—Word choice changes were chosen by me. Example: bosom/Heart and other ommissions.)

Climbing Hydrangea

Chives

Birch & Pine

The Lovely Grace of Roses

The rose did caper on her cheek,
Her bodice rose and fell,
Her pretty speech, like drunken men,
Did stagger pitiful.

Her fingers fumbled at her work,–
Her needle would not go;
What ailed so smart a little maid
It puzzled me to know,

Till opposite I spied a cheek
That bore another rose;
Just opposite, another speech
That like the drunkard goes;

A vest that, like the bodice, danced
To the immortal tune,–
Till those two troubled little clocks
Ticked softly into one.

Emily Dickinson (J 208)

This love poem of Emily’s tells of two people thrilled to be in the same room together and, somehow, merging into oneness.

It’s hard to believe, but there was a time I didn’t care much for receiving roses. I think I commented to that effect enough that everyone near me caught on and never bought me any.

Then, in 2001, personal tragedies struck and while I waited to hear if my melanoma, recently caught, had spread, and how I would rebuild my life in the wake of sudden changes, they took on powerful new meaning.

I remember, during that time, a trip to the grocery store, stopping at the floral department, enjoying the rose bouquets and purchasing a dozen yellow roses for myself.

I’ll never forget that bouquet, how happy it made me, and how it changed my whole perception of flowers.

In that moment they were grace.

Eleven years later, in a happier place, they are love.

We should all celebrate flowers.

(Photos–my birthday bouquet 2012)

A Week With Flowers

Flowers, flowers, everywhere! The gardener at Emily Dickinson’s Garden on WordPress is thrilled with the second week of April.

First, my husband picked me up from the airport with these beautiful roses buckled into my seat.

It was my birthday, so this was a wonderful present for the location. Had we been home, rather than traveling, the author of this blog would have much preferred a rose bush to plant in my garden…but this sweet bouquet was a nice compromise: though away from home, I still had flowers to enjoy.

Next, I was whisked away to my birthday dinner, but out in front of the restaurant, my attention was stolen by all the gorgeous heather blooming in the most unusual, but appropriate places. Really, is there a better use of heather than to beautify a fire hydrant?

The next morning, out in front of a grocery store…..

Now to the wild woods of Thousand Acres…

I robbed the Woods–
The trusting Woods–
The unsuspecting Trees
Brought out their Burs and mosses
My fantasy to please–
I scanned their trinkets curious–
I grasped – I bore away–
What will the solemn Hemlock–
What will the Oak tree say?

(Emily, F 57a)

A nature walk with my dear B & B hostess–a lover of forests and wildflowers. She was kind enough to stop along our way and let me take photos with my seriously inferior phone camera (my other had no battery power) and to provide me with their names.

A Grove of Red Alder Trees: (If you click on this picture and look closely, you may see my “dog away from home”, spiriting himself through the grove.)

I was wondering how you can tell a birch from an alder–so I looked it up online. They say the main difference is the bark–the birch is papery and grows horizontal–the alder is rough barked and grows vertical. The leaves are also quite different.

PLANTING THE ALDER

For the bark, dulled argent, roundly wrapped
And pigeon-collared.

For the splitter-splatter, guttering
Rain-flirt leaves.

For the snub and clot of the first green cones,
Smelted emerald, chlorophyll.

For the scut and scat of cones in winter,
So rattle-skinned, so fossil-brittle.

For the alder wood, flame-red when torn
Branch from branch.

But mostly for the swinging locks
Of yellow catkins.

Plant it, plant it,
Streel-head in the rain.

Seamus Heaney

My host said this is Forget-Me-Not, pre-bloom.

A wild bleeding-heart.

A banana slug.

Sala, Shallon leaf. I loved the skeletal, papery remnants.

Western Red Huckleberry flowers.

Beautiful floral arrangement using Western Red Huckleberry.

Salmonberry.

Trillium Ovatum, “Western Wake Robin”–usually, she says, the forest is dense with trillium, but not so this year. I wonder why. In some states it is illegal to pick trillium because it needs its leaf-like bracts to reproduce. (Its true leaves are underground.) Everything you see above ground are called scapes.

Trillium Erectum (pg 7 of Emily Dickinson’s Herbarium) What Emily would refer to as “wood-lily”–since it’s sometimes referred to as part of the lily (Liliaceae) family.

“Emily’s brother Austin was linked with the trillium or wood lily: “The Woods lend Austin Trilliums” (L823). This plant has three leaves (even as there were three Dickinson children), and it signified rank and authority in most floral dictionaries. Austin, an only son and his father’s heir, could be imagined as the trillium’s single large flower, standing solitary among the low-lying greens.”

(The Gardens of Emily Dickinson, by Judith Farr, p. 55).

The Bed-and-Breakfast.

This has been my home-away-from-home for the last four months. A magical place in the woods, near the harbor, replete with owl-sound, chitter-chattering-chirping birds, scuffling squirrels, and families of deer who move as quietly as fairy wings outside our door.

Rhododendrun grow like crazy in Western Washington.

Her face be rounder than the Moon
And ruddier than the gown
Of Orchis in the Pasture–
Or Rhododendron–worn–

(Emily, F 642)

When a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? I don’t know, but at this B & B, a fallen tree does get used for landscaping the trails.

Labyrinth among cedars.

And the mountain of the gods which hovers over this Eden–Mt. Ranier.

The Conservatory, Emily Dickinson’s Herbarium, & A New Office

I thought today it would be fun to take a little tour. The last time I shared pictures of the sunroom/conservatory, it was being finished, but not lived in. Now it’s been worn in a little–geraniums, having survived the winter inside, are flowering and peeking out the windows–I want to play outside, I want to play outside–they’re like little kids. My favorite reading chair with the fur I cuddle up in. Our cigars, pipe tobacco, and books. And the heater that kept it toasty all through the bitter cold days of winter. It is an absolutely lovely creative space that has refreshed my soul through the “darkest” days. Now, things are starting to green and grow in the back garden–tulips and hyacinth making their way up slowly.

And THE book, Emily Dickinson’s Herbarium (detailed post later)–I find it ironic that in the era of the Kindle and cheap books, My wish list contains a hand full that equal about $1,000 combined.  But you know, if they’re all like this one, they’re worth every penny.

And last, a few days ago my son asked to have the old maple desk taken out of his room so he’d have more space.  We brought it upstairs while we decided its fate.  My husband said, Get rid of it!  But I thought differently.  I decided to sand it, paint it black, then distress it to match my piano.  Essentially, I made my music room into an office.  I can’t tell you how much I love the change.  All my favorite reference books, my piano, my piano books, and my favorite stained glass window (you may remember it from a few years ago).  It inspires me.

Now I’m going to find or make a short but long book shelf to go on the other side of the room and house all my favorite reading books.  Here are some pictures of the room and desk (finished yesterday).

Did you know Emily Dickinson played piano?

 

If We Knew How Deep the Crocus Lay

Indeed, this world is short, and I wish, until I tremble, to touch the ones I love before the hills are red — are gray — are white — are ‘born again’! If we knew how deep the crocus lay, we never should let her go. Still, crocuses stud many mounds whose gardeners till in anguish some tiny, vanished bulb.

Emily in a letter to Dr. and Mrs. J.G. Holland

I have a new item on my wishlist–Franklin’s edition of Emily’s work in variorum. Why isn’t anything cheap? I’m waiting for the UPS man today–to deliver my birthday present–Emily Dickinson’s Herbarium. I would also love to have the manuscripts of her poems, but that will have to wait, too. And the letters? Don’t get me started! I want it all.

Harvard library did get back to me, and they will not issue a guest pin to view the manuscripts of poems and letters online. Only students, faculty members, and “researchers.” I wonder what constitutes a “researcher” in their minds.

I have a problem with this policy: Emily Dickinson’s poems and letters belong to all of us. I assume they were donated to the Harvard Library in order that they could be preserved, protected and available to students and lovers of ED’s work. We have a hand full of national poets and writers here in the U.S who really represent our unique American culture–isn’t it in all our interest to make their work available to everyone? Since it’s digital now, it wouldn’t harm the originals. They have made her Herbarium available; I hope they decide to open up the poetry and letters as well.

The New York Public Library is spending a million dollars to convert their archive holdings to a digital format so that they can be viewed by ALL. I realize they’re a public library, but I think it would benefit the institution and, certainly, Emily Dickinson studies around the world to follow suit.

If there’s another reason for holding them back, I would like to know. I plan to write the museum and ask directly.

My Herbarium did arrive. It’s an amazing book. I’ll share pictures in coming posts.