A Change of Plans

I would be planning what to pack take to New York next week on a spring break trip to visit my son.  I was to rendezvous with my granddaughter in Oakland, and we would travel together on the long airplane ride to the east coast. 
Just a few weeks ago we were discussing airlines and flight times.  Now, I am sending him care packages by mail with homeopathic immunity boosters, emotionally fortifying chocolate chip cookies, and spiritually inspirational zen poetry.  My almost 16 year old granddaughter must be constantly distracted from counting the days when she can get out of her very small world of tele-school, walking the dog and on line games with her friends.  Is it over yet?

I am blessed to have a half acre garden to roam around in.  I have enough plants and pots and tools and a big load of flagstone to divert me from the frequent onslaught of intrepidation about this unique crises.  It has, however, been raining for days and days, and expected to rain for days and days more.  So I am looking out of the windows every few minutes hoping the scene will change and I can do more than take a walk with an umbrella and wonder if the sugar snap peas are going to come up.

The Perfect Distraction

I cancelled my garden help today.  It's raining. We rescheduled for next Friday.  Something to look forward to.  I really can't afford to have him come every week, but right now, knowing someone is coming to work outside is quite a comfort.  I plan my limited energy to work out there too on less strenuous tasks so that at the end of the day I feel a huge sense of accomplishment.

Last week, he cut and moved a big mossy log into my fern stumpery beds. In addition to the many ferns awaiting their new home, I'm looking forward to dividing a lovely little pink primula given to me by a friend that is now a substantial clump.

I will intermingle the divisions with small ferns and trillium that are already thriving there. On the other side of the path, planted out last Fall, are many varieties of dryopteris, adiantum, polystichum, pyrrosia, and few small rhodies and paeonia interspersed with Japanese maple specimens. Log and stump remnants and woodwardia unigemmata planted up in a huge Chinese pot mounted on an old cypress stump dominating the scene.

Taken last Fall

Jesse also cleared out a huge lonicera nitida 'Baggesen's Gold' that had overwhelmed the path leading to the little woodland courtyard and the stumpery.  I watched it grow from a 4" little darling to a looming behemoth in about 7 years. It's many offspring have been planted in much better territory to take advantage of its vigor.  Now I can see the length of the 60 ft x 20ft newly planted stumpery addition from the top of the flagstone stair. The view will be spectacular when the ferns and companion plants bulk up a bit.

 Rainy days are harder to navigate. I don't wander outside as much to get away from the constant wondering...are my people safe?  They are scattered across six states, both my children and my grandchild in the most volatile areas of the country. I know sooner or later I will pull on my hat and gloves and field jacket regardless, to get lost in the revelry of spring, if only for a while.

Comfort Cooking

My friends and family (and me too!) are posting lots of goofy pictures and videos and cartoons to make us laugh while we are so freaked out by the covid-19 virus. I just posted a clip of baby elephants sliding down muddy hillsides and dogs leaping into leaf mountains) helps relieve the unending tension of a very scary time indeed.

Those of us that garden are also posting lots of pictures to Instagram and Facebook of our flowers and plants as they unfold for spring (ironic that the most beautiful season of growth is also the most prolific for the spread of viruses!).

Being a good cook, and having my repertoire of family favorites, and well as my own personal list of comfort foods, is making it way to my everyday discussions as well.  I grabbed a box of Cherrios while on a mission in Walgreens, for heaven sake, with the sudden remembrance of how much I loved my Cherrios and milk as a kid.  Haven't had Cherrios in many years, having moved on to "healthy" alternatives like granola and yogurt with fruit. Damn those Cherrios tasted good this morning!  It's kind of the mode that "this-may-be-your-last-bowl-of-Cherrios-for-the-rest-of-your-life" moment.  I have struggled all my life with food issues, thanks to growing up in a culture that values hefty portions of delicious complex foods to reward everything from good grades to mourning the dead.
I find myself cooking all sorts of stuff, from an amazing bread recipe from a long ago friend, favorite cookies for my sister-in-law who is on the other side of the country, to very slow cooking savory dishes that I now have time to give all the attention they deserve (three days from roasted bones to perfect vegetable beef soup or pho!).
The really nice thing is that I have combined my love of gardening and cooking for most of my gardening years, and I can now step outside and snip or gather all manner of wonderful ingredients.  Bay leaves, rosemary, thyme, parsley, scallions and savory are available almost all of the time. Kale, cabbage, garlic, leeks and rhubarb are very long season and I can store or freeze them too. The summer bounty of fruit and warm weather veg are enjoyed for 4-5 months, then they are dried or frozen or preserved.
My granddaughter asked me to send her the recipe for my pralines that I made last Christmas. After a couple of years of trying, I finally turned out several good batches (lots of prompting from a friend in New Orleans notorious for his luscious "secret" recipe).  She planned to make some and send them to her host family in Japan she lived with last summer.  I like that.  We can share our comfort foods across the miles...virtually or by mail.
I for one am going to try not to cook too much.  My freezer is nearly full and I doubt if the cats will eat my outstanding Mexican chicken soup...

A Haven in the Storm

While all of us are trying to figure out what tomorrow will bring, I gaze out of my window and see the sunshine warming the earth and illuminating the plants with light.  I hear the birds chattering and bickering around the feeder as they begin the mating dance and the nest-building work. Everyday there are new buds and blossoms and shoots swelling before my eyes as they respond to the message of the season: grow.  Where is our spontaneous response to life?

We have been so completely captured by our schedules and our meetings and our formats, we have lost track of our magic. 

Now that the driving mindless surge of commerce has ground to a halt, we feel rudderless, lost, terrified.   We need not disappear in a morass of fear.  We need only to find our heartbeats again.

Many things will change.  Many things must change. Yes, we need intelligent leadership and well-informed action, but the way to get the ship moving smoothly is to have each oar working its individual labor as one. Shooting arrows at the laggards will not right the boat. Teaching will. We have an amazing amount of data out there.  We have the time to inform ourselves as never before, and not rely on the spontaneous ill-advised blatherings of frightened people. As Obi Wan Kenobi said, "Who is more foolish, the fool or the fool who follows him?".

Getting ourselves in a mental space to receive science-based truth is critical. Wading through the headlines embellished with provocative "optics" to get to the facts should not accompany one's search for information and direction.

We have an exciting opportunity to relate to the world in a wholly different way.  Mother Nature has pushed the reset button. How expediently can we realign our priorities to insure a harmonious future with Her?