The Spring and I

"And the more different colours and kind of plants with their varying arrangement you can enjoy, the happier you will be in pushing out your frontiers of experience.  Never stay still or you'll slip backwards.  Never stop experimenting.  It is important not to accept received ideas automatically."
       
     -- Christopher Lloyd in "Proud to Be Vulgar"
         24th September 1994
         In Notes from the Garden




Gardeners face all sorts of challenges. Mine include (but are not limited to) cat poop, slugs, lack of time, shade, heavy wind and rain, stony soil, and marauding pheasants. Some of these can be cast in a different light with the right attitude and solution; others are only annoying, like damage by slugs and snails.

Early this year I was roused and begin sowing seeds. I begin wandering with the aim of finding of rebirth out in the confines of our little patch of land. I was biting my lip and deciding where and what to plant, with the undying but often dashed hope for a fruitful summer. My gardening books refuse to stay shut.

The beginning of a rock garden, saxifrage in competition.

I reckon I am a sort of vampire, because I feed on others who are passionate. I am most inspired by people who encourage you to experiment with your planting, and to employ your own combination of expert advice and intuition. One of my favourite slivers of wisdom is to learn from the land, watch nature, use your senses and observe how and where things grow.

I too have an affinity for lists, and I like to browse those lists telling what to grow where: which plants like full shade, which ones fancy a little and those who need to bask in full sunlight. So many resources are available to the curious gardener, however I do find an opposing comfort in that fact that no rules are hard and fast. You are best learning lessons on your own, from your own experience.

This year I have planted multiple containers full of salad leaves underneath towering trees. I haven’t sought advice on whether this is a good idea, and in truth I assume lettuces do require more sun than I’m going to give them. However, in this instance I am going to find out for myself. I want to see how they cope with what I give them.

My more sunlit patches are going to be filled with onions, garlic, potatoes, carrots, peas, and chard, and perhaps a few other things that I throw in as and when.

My cold frame is currently housing dwarf sunflowers, spring onion "lilia", nasturtiums, borage, thyme and a sempervivum (houseleek) experiment.

In January I discovered that beets can survive the winter outside. Late last summer I planted a few and forgot about them, poor things. I found them slightly weary on top but firm on the bottom, and then earthy and sweet when boiled and eaten.

Up here on the Pennines there is no way to know what summer will bring. Four seasons can show up in one day. What better way to learn by doing, at the mercy of nature and accepting the unpredictable.

To be continued...

xxx Laura

Cheer Up January!

During the month of January I could not get away from the message that January was a miserable month. I heard it on the radio, from friends, on the tv. Is it any wonder that I felt a little uninspired and burnt out? At one point the radio commentators were arguing over which day in January was in indeed the most depressing day of the year! (a.k.a Blue Monday) Exactly what you need during the early morning commute!

So, on that bright note, I have decided to reflect on those things that I DID actually accomplish in January, to prove to myself that it was not a waste of a month. I want to give January its due.

North Carolina!

Ushering in the New Year with friends and family. Lexington BBQ. Mom's Blueberry Yum Yum. Daddy's smoked pork shoulder.

Hot Yoga

Finally! Whilst in NC Corrie Lynn and I attended a class in Charlotte at Yoga One on Central Avenue. Sore for days. The experience was invigorating, and complete with the overzealous yogi a few mats down, questioning our resolve. "Let me guess," he says. "Your New Year's resolution is to do more yoga." No, actually, it wasn't.

Committed to Running a Half Marathon

In theory, that is. David and I have entered the ballot for the Great North Run. We find out shortly whether we are officially in! I am not a runner, but here goes.

Finished a 784-page book

I still can't get enough of vampires. Complete overkill. My loved ones are starting to wonder. This time, however, my choice of vamp lit managed to incorporate an apocalyptic element as well. Thanks Justin Cronin, for The Passage.

Fish Stew

Our meals had become old hat, so whilst in search of new and relatively quick evening entrees, I stumbled on this beauty.

Two Burns’ Nights

On two Saturdays back to back we ate and drank in honor of the Scottish poet Robert or "Rabbie" Burns.

Lovely Thai, Mediocre Turkish

Definitely, and maybe.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

February, anyone?

When She Visits

Did I hear her right? I think she said the name but I’m not sure. It’s only Thursday. Two more days of being alone and then I’ve got my folks for a few days, and maybe... Just maybe... My best friend is coming. It kinda stinks in this room. Not sure why I follow Laura in every time she sits on the big white bowl but I just do. I don’t like being alone.

Actually, this time it’s not so bad. Nnhhhsnffff..snff... no, not so bad this time. Ok, let’s go downstairs. Wait she forgot her slippers. Ok go. I like to descend the stairs right beside her, my right side grazing her calves. I go on the left side – there isn’t a banister yet.

Back to the matter at paw... Lesley. Did she say her name? Only when Lesley comes do I get all my needs looked after, 85% eye contact, head constantly patted, ears silky from stroking. Laura is ok, but she’s not Lesley. She isn’t my best friend. The one that opens my cabinet whenever I ask. The one that replenishes the stock of canine chocolate and biscuits shaped like bones. Why do they do that? They don’t taste any different. They must think we’re idiots.

Then again, I do ask myself if I am an idiot after a sheep poop snack. What a horrible aftertaste! But it tastes so good at the time… I admit, I lack self control. I can’t resist the urge to chase my tail. Often it seems amusing to others, especially people I’ve just met. The urge that never dies. My oldest addiction. Perhaps a vice, but it has provided me with many hours of enjoyment. And also a way to deal with social anxiety!

I should write an autobiography like those celebrities – “My Life So Far” – except, most of the book would include details of tail chasing and attempts at copulation (several times painful) with my cushion. I think that might be good enough for chart success these days.

I’m good at swaying off subject. So. If Lesley comes, I will be happy. Simple as that. I will wait for her by the gate on Saturday, and when she arrives, I will be on her like white on rice. First I will piddle on her shoes, because I just can’t help it (she forgives me, unlike some) and then for a week my life is complete. I had her at first bark.

This dog’s best friend is on her way. I hope. I’m sure I heard her name.

I’ll just sit by the window.

Becoming Mrs. American Pie

My August ended with quite a production. I have a tendency to dabble and feel that my difficulty with completion is one of my most frustrating flaws. This summer, however, I did complete something and the question is now – what next?

Basically I signed up to have a stand at the St. John’s Chapel Agricultural Show, and to this end I became Mrs. American Pie, selling American-style sweet pies by the slice, with cookies as the supporting act. For me this was an accomplishment for several reasons.

First, I often feel my creativity gets left on the back burner, because like many I need a paying job to earn money with which to pay bills - student loans, and so on. I don’t work in a particularly creative environment, which leaves part of me to wilt.

Second, the idea of selling pies in my corner of England came to me following a series of moments in one 24-hour period. These were moments that, if examined independently, wouldn't amount to much, but as a sequence became fruitful! 1. A tearful conversation with my dear sister about fears of not living up to my full potential. 2. An issue of Our State magazine (our state being North Carolina) with a feature on food in every county. 3. A midnight sit-up-straight-eyes-wide-open epiphany. Pies! Why not? The British love them, albeit in a slightly different fashion.

Laura the Dabbler decided (with help) not to let this one go, for better or worse.

I spent the summer months preparing. I tried recipes, tasted, chucked out (a local way of saying, threw it in the trash), and developed the pies I wanted to sell. At one point I nearly cost my mother-in-law her teeth with my attempt at Lemon Shaker Pie. I ended up with three – Dark Chocolate & Pecan, Key Lime Pie and Mississippi Mud. I figured these choices were distinct when alongside each other and especially recognizable as American.

As the day approached, I became organized and increasingly nervous. Despite the fact that this was not one of the bigger country shows, poor weather was posing a threat and turnout was questionable – I had stage fright! This was my pie debut! What the heck did I know? No formal culinary training. Had I missed something? Would I poison someone? My stall would look amateur and uninviting. What if I don’t sell one slice? Laura with Sense kept saying, however, it doesn’t matter if you succeed or fail. The important thing is that you are putting yourself out there.

So I did. And it went pretty well.

I sold most of my pies. I had around 120 slices to sell and had less than 15 left at the end of the day. Only one person walked away tutting at my prices. I did have samples to charm people and I suppose charm is what they did! (Thanks David for prodding). I even had a few enquiries about selling them in stores and an invitation to be interviewed for a local newspaper.

When I got home that evening I was wearing a smile, I had a profit and by George did it feel wonderful to sit down.

My next gig is in November, and this time, we’ll see how the Brits respond to pumpkin.


Fancy a slice?

xx Laura

A Few Frames From the Garden

"I wonder if a wild tree planted in the middle of an ordered landscape can make the reverse happen, can unstring this taut garden, I mean, and allow the cultivated plants all around it to sound the clear note of their own inborn wildness, now muffled. There can be no civilisation without wildness, such a tree would remind us, no sweetness absent its astringent opposite."

--Michael Pollan, The Botany of Desire: A Plant's-Eye View of the World

This week, instead of reading more about the phone hacking scandal, debt ceilings and the Greek bailout I fell into my garden. My tended area was beckoning -- a despatch at dusk.

I’ve been monitoring a poppy that I didn’t plant. It has grown nearly as tall as me and is now forming seed heads. This drifter found it’s way to me through the wind and now I’m going to collect what it has to offer. It has bloomed into deep pink and purple and next year I plan to help it put down roots and stay for a little longer. This one’s brother has come up about ten feet away but must not have inherited the height gene. (I can relate).

My feline housemates seem to think the garden has been planted for their pleasure. My beloved Foo is fascinated by many things – a full bath, bullying, cameras, toilets flushing and here the Green Fennel. He appears to have mistaken it for catnip!

I get strange looks at work when I describe my peas as beautiful. I am checking on them daily for signs of fattening.

Here are some marigolds that have grown from seeds self-scattered and sown after flowering last year. I was tempted to intervene in their life-cycle by pulling them up but resisted. I let the seeds put on their show for me.

All this gardening means the housekeeping is neglected. I always say that if I were to win the lottery I would hire a housekeeper. You can imagine my excitement when my friend gave me this one!

Although I can't even have five minutes of peace on Sunday while this cleaner is busy...

Laura

Spread-thin Sentimentality

[Musings upon taking job #2, getting swallowed into an MFA program (!!!), and preparing (again) to forward my mail.]

Something happens when you pull a plant from its roots. Soil scatters; what once securely clung to familiar earth and worms is now dangling in clear sight: we spot the underbelly of what's grown. And can't look away.

I'm a bit like that dangling plant as I dismantle my life in Raleigh into boxes. First the books I know I won't touch in a month's time, then the winter clothes: the scarves with stale Chanel perfume buried deep in their weave, the unraveling hat that I've put off fixing. I keep meaning to grab some gray yarn. The little things we sweat for up and down stairs into trailers and trucks to carry into vacancy.

At work, I open my desk drawer. A bag of vitamins I never swallowed. (Sorry, mom.) A Lilly's pizza menu. A 2009 Calendar. Great pens I never used. Oh, what we could've had if only I would've looked deeper into the drawer for you. Seashells. Rocks collected from the North Sea shore. I remember that long walk in May, my dear sister.

It's easy to get romantic. I'll be writing poems amongst great poets and writers in a town conducive to doing so. I'll be hot with only an air-conditioning unit. I'll walk most places. Eat simple food. When we paint our dreams, how often do we expect them to pop from the page?

Meanwhile, I'm knitting a washcloth I've been knitting for a month. You just can't do it all.

Love,

Corrie Lynn

Love and The Waitress

After five years of marriage and six of living together, it sometimes seems that David and I can sit in the same room and read each others’ thoughts. This can of course be advantageous. It can even save face when one of us needs to be reminded not to mention that thing! You must know what I’m talking about. It isn’t always as effective as a swift kick under the table however.

Anyway.

The other night I watched a film called The Waitress, starring Keri Russell and written and directed by the late Adrienne Shelly. A friend lent it to me after I shared with her my musings of selling pies at the farmers market. From the cover I thought I had it pegged – cute girl in waitress uniform meets dishy guy who walks into her life exactly when she requires and he falls for her irresistible pie-making prowess and blah blah blah...happily ever after. So many times a version of this has been sold to us, this postcard love story.

(This is why I mentioned that I can read David’s mind)

Laura inserts DVD into player. David’s mouth is shut, however this does not betray what seeps into the air.

“I know what you’re thinking”

“I haven’t said anything!”

For those who want to see it, too bad, I am telling you now that she does NOT end up with that cute guy on cover and thank GOD for that. I will not rave about this movie, but I will walk away from it satisfied that someone has told us a story with a greater resemblance to real life, in that way at least. Why do we fall for the people we do? We can spend our lives trying to build a narrative for the decisions we make (and we do) but at the root of it all is something we cannot grasp. For some this might be worrying but examined from a different angle it can be beautiful.

Experience reveals the complexity of human relations.

At the behest of romantic comedies I spent my teenage years packing relationships into neat boxes. I expected all arguments to end with haste and hugs. Days of marriage would ooze with cuddles, agreement and endless understanding. Families lived together like they did in Full House and every other sitcom packaged into a 30-minute blissful resolution.

HA!

Love (or the love I have in my life) is powerful, but like the waves of the ocean love it has peaks and troughs. You wade through difficult periods and then something awakens inside and you once again realize why and how much you do (indeed!), love this person in front of you, beside you, behind you and with you.

And yet it is never that simple.

So thank you, Adrienne Shelly for giving us a quirky piece of art that reminds us that life, relationships and we humans are imperfect, and the best we can do is march uphill towards our dreams and love the ones around us while we go.

Tragically, Adrienne Shelly was murdered in 2006. Her husband, Andrew Ostroy established a foundation in her memory.

http://www.adrienneshellyfoundation.org/