On my deck there are two artifacts together that are highlighted by the sunshine in the mornings. They are sort of like a shrine. The windchime is there to remind me of my cousin, Mark B.. The gazing ball is for remembering my Daddy who loved all things blue.
Memories in evening shade.
It has taken years to remember these two people without the sorrow that comes with loss. My world shifted and I carried on with the emptiness. Then once the pain faded, it has been like they are part of me and my surroundings. There seems to be a new kind of presence in their absence.
Two gazing balls? One is present, one is made with light.
I look at these two forms and see how the glass refracts the sun and metal blocks the sun to make a shadow.
Two windchimes? Only one is truly present. The other is made by an absence of light.
That’s how I feel about what is left. The object’s presence works with light to make the colors and shadows for the perception of second presence. There must be light for this to happen.
One ball, one chime, no light
It’s the light that makes this possible. My love for them and their lives made the missing and memories possible. I still perceive things differently because of my love for them. My reality has been changed. So in a way something of them is still here, because I still love them.
FLOWER
I wrote this for a dear friend and his two sons. Their dear Lisa is suffering no more, but her light is still here, because their love for her is still here.
I love vines and I love purple. I did not plan this combination. Nature planted the morning glories. The Passion Vine is a hybrid called ‘Blue Crown.’ A hybrid is a mix of two different strains.
Passion Vine and purple morning glory.
If you are a follower, you know how I feel about vines. I have learned life lessons from them due to their faith in reaching up and out and their grabbing hold for support when needed. They always strive to go higher. They inspire me.
I had wanted to live my life like a strong and magestic tree, but my fate was to live like a vine. I have struggled to accept my interdependence. Thankfully the vines keep modeling a different path in ascent.
Two ‘Blue Crown’ Passion blooms
I have watched vines grow amazingly high and strong when in the right location. I have also watched them crawling across the ground searching for support. Like the tomato vine that I had to step over to take these photos.
Wandering tomato vine.
I have had to guide some climbers that lost their way and grew up under structures to be trapped in darkness. Some even ended up enclosed in pots and under stoneshrooms and had to be rescued and rerouted.
Maybe you are a vine, too. I have some vine friends that I am entwined with. We support each other and end up the better for both of us. Win:win as twins!
Passion on the treehouse.
And about that purple? That color is regal. It does not have the boldness of red nor the dark hue of blue. It is a tween color. The red and blue join to make something beautiful together.
Wild purple morning glory
Sometimes it takes two different lives to achieve perfection in combination. Do not try to be everything all by yourself.
Great combo!
I no longer wish to be a tall and sturdy tree. I do admire their strength and grandeur. I have accepted my vineness and my purpleness. Others have different fates, but mine is as a vine.
I would be remiss if I left out the down side of entwined vines. Sometimes they reach for the sky and there is no support.
Reaching for the sky.
Then they bend back on themselves or twine so tightly together that they both droop and die.
Dead end, turn back
Sometimes interdependent becomes co- dependent. If you are a vine, you must be selective about what you connect with. Not all partnerships are beneficial for both.
Plants need to protect themslves. They cannot run away from danger. They have to survive where they are. This means some form of defense is needed.
Agave with weapons.
My century plants have claws. I have been scratched and stabbed by these over the years. The new claws are a lovely red, warning color.
I got both of these agaves from a charming plant store on Oakracoke Island years ago. That is where I first saw a Century Plant bloom close up. Wow, they are amazing.
My two babies are about big enough to put in the ground. I must be careful doing this. I will not worry about hungry enemies with teeth. A claw in the nose will do the trick.
Armed agaves
Then all I have to do is wait sixty years or do for it to bloom!
I did not dig these dahlias last fall. Nor did I remove their tomato cages that were placed for support. These are on a hill that I have fallen on many times when I had the legs of a mountain goat. I will not be doing much gardening here.
Site of last year’s fall and face-planting.
So the dahlias have been on their own for two seasons now. They seem to thrive on neglect, except they do need staking. I hate seeing flowers face-plant. Better them than me!
Falling Snow Country dahlia
It pains me to see Thomas Edison so down.
Thomas Edison with bowing blooms.
Snow Country is falling like snow. Firepot is a complete mess. All the dahlias need a good dead-heading, but since their care-giver has had two hip surgeries and one to go, they must hold their own another season.
Firepot needing some preening.
They may need tending, but I must say they look the healthiest I have seen them in years. That’s what I am working toward for myself. Healthy and strong despite the falling.
My dahlias may be down, but they are still thriving without any help from me. Hooray solitary survival!
Anything edible must be protected from the deer herd. I even dug and divided my collection and gave many away.
Autumn Joy was beheaded before the fencing
I am not sad about this. I love sharing plants. I do not love feeding wildlife. I am a biologist first and gardener second. Feeding wild creatures makes them lazy and dependent. They will keep coming back for more.
Pot out of reach of hungry mouthes.
I only break that rule during weather anomalies like droughts and extreme cold. Even then the assistance is sporadic and in different locations.
Sedum on the steps.
So the sedums you see here are isolated in strategicallylocated pots or inside fences. There is plenty of wild vegetation around for them to eat.
Bees love sedums.
I have keep wild spots in and around my yards. This encourages nature to stay in balance.
Bees even sleep on the blooms.
The bees love my sedums but love my weeds equally well. Nature should win. It’s been growing things a lot longer than we have.
It’s the time of year when pumpkins are everywhere. All sizes, colors and textures are available. When I was kid, all pumpkins were orange. There were no colorful, bumpy designer hybrids.
Picking the perfect pumpkin was easier back then. There was one color, orange. There was one texture, smooth. There was one shape, round. So the choice was limited to the perfect size.
Traditional pumpkins and a ghosty goard.
Our home was controlled chaos back then. Mama taught middle school. My sis and I were in the marching band. There would be no pumpkin carving and lighting. A little pumpkin would do.
Too big!
There was no time or need to peruse a pumpkin patch. We just grabbed our little, round, smooth, orange pumpkin from the produce section of the grocery store.
So many choices!
The perfect pumpkin was about the size of a person’s head. We put it on the mantle for our Halloween decore. It looked great there, so we left it through the fall. Then Thanksgiving arrived. Our band marched in several parades as well as at most football games. We left the pumpkin on the mantle through that holiday.
The mantle with the pumpkin stain.
Some time before the Christmas holidays the perfect pumpkin started slumping. This new pumpkin posture went unnoticed for a while. Eventually its squatting was spotted.
We lifted the poor pumpkin out of its puddle of goo. We cleaned the wooden mantle as best we could, but a round, discolored mark remained.
That mark is still there on the left side of the mantle. That discoloration is a treasured sign of a home that was lived in. A busy family hurrying through the holidays ignored the pumpkin until it demanded attention by rotting.
There are lessons here. I hope one of the Enwood neighbors will pass this story along to the new owner, Zach.
He can hold his little girl up to see the spot and tell her the story of two little girls that grew up in that house long ago.
And the lessons? That is for him to puzzle. To pay attention to time passing. To know that perfection does not last. To enjoy things while they are fresh. To know when its time to make a change. Whatever suits.
First comes the walkers. Just to keep them steady and vertical. Carting two walkers around is better than a fall or not going at all.
Mom and Daddy with training wheels.
My dad had rheumatoid arthritis for decades. He hobbled around determined to keep going. He finally ended up with a bright red rollator, so he could keep moving, and cart things around.
Racy red rollator
We only used a wheelchair when necessary. It was during one of those times that I felt the pain of inaccessibility.
Daddy in his chair.
We planned an important outing with friends. There was not a close parking space available. The rest of the group went down the steps. I wheeled Daddy back and forth along the back of the parking spaces. I was literally running by the third pass with tears of fury in my eyes. I saw no break in the curbing to get up to the sidewalk. I finally saw that someone had parked in the space between the two handicapped spaces.
A car was parked in the marked out space between the two handicap spaces blocking the ramp.
I pushed his chair up to the curb. He lifted himself out of the chair by holding on to a car. I popped the heavy chair up over the curb and helped him settle back in.
It is such a small barrier, but is too big for a wheelchair.
Then we went down a looooooong, steeeeeep ramp to get to our destination and rejoin the group.
Looooong, steeeeep sidewalk. A worker helped me get him back up the hill. Grateful.
Wheels help, but it is still a hardship
Mama got weaker and needed wheels. Her rollator was smaller and blue. Sometimes she would be confused and push it with one hand and have her walkingstick in the other. Later she used Daddy’s red one.
Mama with Daddy’s wheels.
We would walk up and down her street. She was still in charge of the world then. She would lock the house and put the keys in her pocket. Sometimes the cordless phone from the house went in there with her cell phone.
Mama and her wheels
We would put Mama in daddy’s wheelchair for outings. One of our favorite places had a dirt walking path. We had to carefully navigate the twists and turns on a slope to get down to the flat path. There were trenches from washing in the curves. My sis and I had to strain to keep mama’s chair from flipping. Sometimes strangers would help us. Mama would shriek when she was scared. We were quite a spectacle on those outings.
Better access for strollers and wheelchairs
Wheels help, but it’s still a hardship.
I caught myself wishing for my own wheels last weekend. Each step is painful. My hip surgery is six weeks away. I wanted to go to an art show. I knew by the time I parked and walked there, I would be in too much pain to enjoy it. The same thing occurred with an outdoor concert two weeks ago. There will be other events after I am fixed. I will get to go places then. My problem is temporary. I can console myself with thoughts of a more mobile future.
Safe access is crucial.
BUT what if that wasn’t the case? What if this is as good as it gets? What if wheels were my new normal…forever?
What if loooong, steeeeep ramps and washed out curves, and curbs remained obstacles and barriers for the rest of my life? That would be challenging sometimes and impossible other times. No art shows, no tours, no concerts, no picnics…
Accessibilty matters.
Not being able to go to places you love and do things you have always done is disheartening. Others must go and do without you. It is isolating and lonely.
The new sidewalk to the walking path.
Wheels help, but it is still a hardship.
Please, respect the signs.They are not there for convenience. They are necessary, so that someone with wheels and their loved ones can keep living their lives together.
And do not be shy about stepping in and preventing some fools from tossing their elderly mama into a ditch, on a hill, in a curve near a lake.
floweralley 