It’s been a week since my trees got cut down. After participating in a good old fashioned Flip My Shit Cleanse, I’ve recovered. I didn’t commit murder or arson, so I’m considering that a win. I didn’t even utter many regrettable words. I just threw a shoe, wailed and bawled, and took a bottle of wine (sans glass) to bed. And whatever parts to which my sons were unfortunate witnesses will perhaps help prepare them for adulthood, assuming they may marry women who have loud, strong hearts.
On Sunday I finished up the garden prep and seeding for fall. A few weeks ago I was questioning whether I could or wanted to do all the ripping and soil prep needed, but I ended up getting some plowing help from my guys and I’m very pleased with the results:
I moved all the plants I could outside of the fence. There are now beds alongside the fence, three down the middle, and row connecting them on top. I have yet to transplant my (dwindling) brussels sprouts and broccoli (which will occupy the top connector and the widest center column, respectively) but everything else has been planted. In the garden lying in wait for possibility to crack them open, are:
- snow peas
- baby bok choy
- curly kale
- black magic kale
- carrots: orange, purple & red
- and two herby things that my dad sent me
Silas specifically wanted purple carrots because he saw them in a community garden on PBS kids (does my heart good). The carrots did really great in the single bag we grew earlier in the year, so we just did that again, but now we have five! The carrots were the only way I could bribe that child to come out in the heat with me and when they were gone from the garden, so was he.
Back to the trees
The once majestic sycamore, lightning-struck and subsequently rendered a stump, offered up this sweet little glimmer of hope.
When I took this picture, it seemed like a very sad futility. Just one more piece to kill in a week or two when the stumps come out. But some time later an idea came to me: Can you clone a tree from a cutting? Turns out, you definitely can. By the time I have to harvest this little guy, he won’t be woody enough to be an ideal candidate. He has very little chance of becoming a tree actually. But maybe with very good conditions and a little magic, the sycamore could survive. So I will try.
Sometimes things look black to me. It’s in my blood and I’m probably too old to truly change that. Sometimes when things are at their worst in my mind I actually see a sort of kaleidoscope of thick blackness hovering around my bed at night. But you know what? Morning always comes and there are always glimmers ready to be seen if I’m ready to look. I have hope. I’m actually relentlessly hopeful.
Me and my tree.