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    Grandma Rose’s Philodendron

    ByElizabeth

    The other day, when I was in NY visiting,  I told my mother about the blog entry on Robert’s dendrobium. (Being physically present and discussing the blog entries is the low-tech way of getting comments).  She pointed to the philodendron and some cuttings she was rooting from it and said, “that philodendron was your grandmother Rose’s; it must be 70 years old.”   It might not be 70 years old, but it is at least 40 or 50, as my grandmother left her body in 1977, and I remember her having houseplants.  It is possible, even, that the plant originally came from a cutting from my other grandmother, as that was how we obtained and grew most of the family houseplants.

    My mother offered the plant for me to take home.  I declined, but thought about taking a cutting.  By the next morning, I had forgotten, but I will take a cutting one day.  I did not need the cutting to enjoy thinking about bringing home a bit of life that had been living in my grandmother’s apartment and remembering both my grandmother and a space that I had loved.  That was delightful enough.

    (ps — one of the many reasons for the name “rose garden yoga” is in honor of my grandmothers — for my grandmother Rose’s name and for the love of gardening I learned from my grandmother Ann).

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    State of the Garden (and Samtulana)

    ByElizabeth

    The grapes are not nearly as bountiful as last year.  The first 90F week was too early and sudden, which blasted dozens of newly formed grapes.  And then it was too wet and cool.  The few figs dried before ripening.  But it was a great spring for kale and chard, and the cherry tomatoes are pretty happy.  That the weather makes some things happier and some less happy is a tangible reminder why mono-cultures are so risky a venture.  One of the greatest gifts I get from the “failures” in my edible garden is gratitude.  I am reminded of how fortunate I am that the only repercussions of something not growing or producing well is that I have to buy more produce at the farm market or the grocery store.

    The rains and now the heat are  wondrous lovely for the mosquitoes.  Here’s me dressing for a morning’s work in the garden. You might laugh, but I only got two bites in over three hours in the garden, which included watering.  It likely would have been at least a dozen in loose trousers or shorts and a t-shirt.  This is also the outfit of choice when hiking in the woods filled with deer and mice and lyme-disease bearing ticks.

    garden 1a

    garden 1b

     

     

     

     

    I picked the marigolds yesterday to put on the altar.  The puja card of the day was “balance” or “samtulana.”  It was a perfect concept to meditate on for the day because little brings me back into balance better than spending a few hours gardening, and I’ve been feeling off-kilter.

    garden 1c

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Uma, of course, was there to lend moral support.

    garden 1d

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    The “before” picture gives some idea of how simultaneously overgrown from the rains and heat-blasted from the past week everything was.

    garden 1e

     

     

     

    The “after” picture doesn’t reflect as much as I would like how much of a difference three and a half hours of weeding, deadheading, clipping, rearranging, harvesting, feeding, and watering made.  When I got hungry, I just picked sun-warmed, just ripened grapes and then got back to work.  Lunch, of course, emphasized contributions from the garden.

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