Tag Archives: farming

the prayer in me

float-flitting about and about again
back-forth-backing
the small bird seen from loft window
as morning makes itself
the i.d. book tells me is a gnatcatcher
_______
my only wish if it were my birthday today
i say on the way to harvest the last of the  peas to baigz whose birthday it actually is
would be for rain
_______
the particular plunk of blueberries
(the diameter of a nickel)
as we drop them into plastic buckets celebrating
first bloobs of the season

_______
tyler in the kitchen letting out a whoop
at the first drops of rain and from the lab,
i yell out a yeyyyyeeeeeessssssssssssss!
and from somewhere down the way
I can hear baigz cheering too
_______
how the first crack of thunder
(after a flash of bright so brilliant it is visible even
in the daylight)
splits everything around me in half
including myself
so holy there is no difference
between the prayer in it and the prayer
in me
_______
the tineiest of tiny elderberry flowers
i pluck from the tree for identifying – 
turns out they are indeed elderberry
and later gift them to baigz
birthday elderberry! i proclaim while giving it to him
(and later, i pick up hail – birhtday hail! – and gift him one
and put two in my apple cider and fizzy water drink)
_______
the bright red of unripe berries and the 
deep purple of the ripe ones
found several yards outside my door
a delicious walk
_______
the something like opera that comes out of my mouth
when i encounter a raccoon about four feet from me
at face level
in the beam of my headlamp
and after the opera
how i tell raccoon loud as i can
to go away
_______
how some nights (like tonight) are oil lamp nights
even though the electricity isn’t out
it’s the lightning and rain that made me do it

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don’t get precious about it

in the absolute dark sometime between last night’s sunset and this morning’s dawn
i get up to pee and guess the time (3:21)
before tucking myself back in again
and hit indiglo on my watch to see the time and the numbers astoundingly read 3:21
_______

7:20 a.m. cynthia cruising past on the tractor 
hauling water to the sorghum starts 
performing part deux of the emergency watering/salvation
_______

8:30 a.m. out on the frisbee field and it’s already blazing hot
as we warm up – tossing those discs back and forth
before we have even begun running up/down and up/down that field
______
i”m not afraid to put stuff out there –
i don’t get precious about it  says sterlin harjo, a filmmaker,
when talking about his process in an interview on the broken boxes podcast
and later, the host (whose name i don’t know) says
as an artist, you have people that follow you – lead them well

_______

the western sky streaked with copper
against gray-lavender
while i walk the hose up/down the tomato and tomatillo beds
offering a quenching
with the slow steady flowing hose
in my hand

_______

10something p.m.
with all five windows open in the cedar room, the cool night air drifts in
and it is like being
on a screened-in porch

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the almost

the almost iridescent indigo
of the first larkspurs flowering
on the edge of the herb garden
_______
abundance in the color red:
stainless steel bowl filled with strawberry harvest and
several buckets of cherries awaiting pitting
in the walk-in (and fruits still dangling
off the trees)
_______
how the rare sound of a helicopter overhead
most likley means someone is being airlifted
so when the chopper hums past today
i send wishes along with it
to whoever is aboard
and their dear ones
_______
only four pages into braiding sweetgrass and already
it is a good good book
_______
multiple encounters with the groundhogs
who live under my room
including standing a mere foot from a baby
before it startles off towards cover
and also including many shrieks/whistles
and scampering to shelter and also
several stare downs
and how this is one of the things writing is all about
(meaning: half of the writing
is looking/listening/watching and being curious)
_______
sound of the tractor rolling back in around sunset
from an emergency sorghum watering/rescue
and how the least i could do was clean up dinner
as a way to say thank you for caring
for the little planties
_______
how i leave the phone and ringer on
at night like an emergency hotline
so i can be there
just in case
_______
the lightning bug morse coding
with the on-off of its green LED-like light
as it crawls along the pane
of the cedar room’s north-facing window

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to the skyclouds

in the dream, i was visiting the bay area
and the streets were filled with rage and fire
and i didn’t quite know my place (out there or indoors)
and so i spent time on the porch
welcoming the swell and receeding
of street protestors and neighbors and friends
washing in and washing out
_______
the smallest massage of 
ashby’s cat paws walking on me
(upper back) before he 
_______
alline pouring fabric scraps out onto the table
saying it’s criminal, how long it’s been since she’s made a quilt

_______
a collapsable box we joke on the phone
about how to survive
how about a coffin  she says
not quite what i was thinking, but, you say tomato and i… i reply
and in many ways it doesn’t even matter
what the joke is it just feels good
to laugh
 _______
it is a long and warm day in the field
with the tractors and the sorghum/tobacco transplanter
and the mishaps and troubleshooting that comes with the territory of the ancient equipment
but as we’re walking out of the field
i point to the sky/clouds out to baigels just before
cynthia points the sky out to me
and all that deep skyblue with all that bright white shaped against it
is enough to take away the headache and  the sense of defeat
and make it feel worth it

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they say mountain lion

working my way down the spinach and pea bed
while trish works her way down the salad mix bed
the morning dew dampening our feet and shoes
reminding me of sauvie island farm mornings
where we woke with the sun
and went out to the greens
so that we could get to washing them before noon
_______
the wildcat sighting tyler reports 
seen on the gravel road on his way to town:
a bigger cat like creature and her young
from the size of it, he was guessing bobcat
(and later, emory and althea go out to inspect the tracks and scat
and, looking at the tracking book, they say mountain lion)
did you measure the tracks with your hand  i ask
_______
you are rich, i like having rich friends darien says
rich in kindness

_______
smudge of sunset
a short walk between meditation and calling it a night
light hues already disappearing into the beyond:
peach pinks and dusty purples
evaporating from horizon

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a work of art that does not concern itself with light

after the weather-based sabbatical
from running i squeeze in a quck-ish one this morning
in the momentary reprieve from
the rains, 
the brisk cold (in the 40’s) invigorates me
into making the best time
(of all runs tracked on my smarty pants phone) yet for my 1-3 mile runs
 _______
the deep green leaves
of the young-young brassicas:
broccoli, cabbage, collards, & kale
reaching up from their hay mulch nests
after these days of wet and wind and coolness
thriving
_______

the smooth ovals (with a point at one end) of cucumber seed i drop
into soil block after soil block
in the greenhouse in the pre-afternoon chunk of day
that happens to have some sun in it
_______
the magnificent
chocolate-chip-to-baked-good ratio
of the round glass pan of blondies
left to cool on the butcher block
_______
on the menu i say
as i introduce tonight’s dinner
brought to us by the color green
and those in the streets for mayday:
spinach salad with tahini and preserved lime dressing,
square biscuits (instead of my usual round biscuits),
parsley/cilantro cashew sundried sungold ‘pesto’ spread
green soup (cooked and blended kale, spinach, quinoa),
and to put on top:
tamari toasted seeds
and tamari sauteed garbanzos
_____
the bright sparks of stars
against the dark of night sky
(moon headed horizon-wards)
glimpsed from porch in the overhead spots
not blocked by the newly-leaved trees
_______

a work of art that does not concern itself with light
has no right to exist
says the woman on st. louis public radio
quoting an italian sculptor who worked with bronze (and other materials 
whose name i didn’t catch but i wondre
if you search that quote
you might find him

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from dayness to nightness

the styrafoam flats
filled with shiny flecks of vermiculite plus peatmoss
we spend the morning dropping three seeds each of sorghum 
into each cell of the `12×24 (or is it 30) rows
_______

soft iris scent
whose thinner-than-paper petals
glow white with a trace of purple

_______
how the head of the beagle puppy
(who just two weeks ago galloped across the highway with its littermate
towards cynthia and i as we picked up trash on teh highway clean)
just hangs as trish picks the still irresistably cute pooch
off the highway
and place in our trunk to bring to the neighbors
we don’t know who hit the dog
or how long ago it died
but we do know to move the creature off the road
so that all the damage that has been done
will be the only damage that has been done
_______

the light pinks and purple grays
of the sky as it changes
from dayness to nightness
as i walk the back gravel road
trailed by a semi feral cat

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