The view from my back door

Soggy, slick trails, mud in the garden. Weeds, weeds, weeds. And yet.

I looked out my back door this morning, ready to complain. No one would hear it, but I thought it my due. And then I looked more carefully. Part of my disappointment was about what I have and miss — at this time.

The table. How fine it is to sit there and eat the produce from the garden. And to feel the sweetness of the air. How fine it is that the garden is so very happy with this rain. The new yellow onions are six inches high! And the hill behind the garden that gives me my morning view from the bed. Thank you God for the day.

Reality is. Perception changes.

Walk well. God is love.

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Spring is not here. Over the next five day forecast, three days of rain are included. But. Living things out of doors are quickening. Growing. Ready for the light and the warmth. Life.

I am enjoying getting things ready for Elaine — for her kitchen and ease of maintenance. It is a sweet time.

And now I’m off for a walk on the ridgeline.

Walk well. God is love.

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And then.

I knew there would be a lot of people on the trail. Sunshine. Weekend. The sunniest day in weeks. People were so happy. And I could see that they had the anticipation that those they saw would be happy too. I hiked for three and a half hours. Following a bit of an epiphany. About food on the trail. I need to eat well when I hike. Everyone who has hiked with me has told me that. I just never heard it. Looking back, I don’t understand. But it is true. The last person to really emphasize it to me was Tailwinds when she saw me crash on the Mission Creek Trail.

Why? I am not certain. And I don’t know if I need to know. What I do know is that I need to eat well. And I thought about it this morning. I’m training. Selecting gear, test loading it, planning resupply places, walking now three hours a day. (How ’bout that!) So, I thought, “Why not train yourself to eat well?”

Surely you know by now how I love to tell a story. My cousin, Jay Corry, lived in France and North Africa for about twenty years. He knows and demands good food. Whenever we have hiked together, his pack might weigh in at 60 pounds, and he would carry steak, the most delicious olives, dates, cashews. So I imitated him a bit today: eating at least once an hour. I had dates and cashews for a snack. Oh my that was so very good. And for lunch at a spectacular overlook, I ate falafel and tahini. It made a difference. Oh. At one break I ate a pear instead of the nuts. It was so delicious I groaned with pleasure.

I crave pizza, especially after a hike. But that is an almost certain way for me to blow through my calorie allowance. So I rewarded myself with a beautiful steak. Potatoes and carrots from the garden.

Gardening, hiking, and eating well. A good day.

Walk well. God is love.

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We are having a lot of rain this month. And it looks as if it is going to continue. The hiker J J is tired of it. The gardener J J is pleased. Bifurcated J J.

Walk well. God is love.

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Many oranges are still on the tree

I am officially declaring today the first day of late winter on Coolidge Avenue. No rain. And I could weed. And did weed. I did not expect such joy from such a mundane task. Weeds a foot in diameter. Happy with my rich soil and the abundant moisture. Gone!

Ben came by and took out the pear tree and the mulberry tree. The mulberry is gone to make way for more sunshine. And the pear tree is gone to make way for a plum tree! Three years before plums. I can hardly wait.

It was so very good to spend hours in the garden. And inside, most of the tomato seedlings and all the brassicaceae have germinated. Little green things reaching for the light.

Walk well. God is love.

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The lettuce seedlings are growing quickly under the grow light and in the warm house temperatures. But. I’m about to put them into the ground. Where there are bugs, and snails, and slugs, and wind, and cold. If I were to take them straight from the house and plant them, they would be shocked. Would not grow as robustly. Some would likely be broken.

Lettuce seedlings hardening up

So. We harden up seedlings by placing them outside in a sunny place, partly protected from the wind. For a few hours. Then longer. Then with greater exposure. Their first day out, they have little strength with which to resist the wind. But the second day out, they are stronger. The trial of the first day has already made them stronger. The parallels are obvious, of course.

Walk well. God is love.

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Gloomy. The happiest man I know of right now is in the desert and on the way to Joshua Tree and just fell in love. None of those things are true for me. I’m looking at a gloomy sky. But. I just harvested vegetables for dinner.

I felt like a thief, having done little gardening for some time. But that feeling will go away at dinner. The harvest:

Walk well. God is love.

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I planted the third seedling batch today:

• Miner romaine
• Great Lakes iceberg
• Buttercrunch
• Grandpa admires
• Black seeded Simpson and
• Mascara

In a few days, just as soon as the cotyledons nudge above the soil, I’ll put the tray under a grow light and watch the seedlings stretch upwards. A recurring joy.

Walk well. God is love.

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And now? Not all that much has changed. Elaine smiles broadly, knowing she is bearing gifts, when she delivers my mail to me and there is a seed catalog in the stack. Especially a seed catalog named Totally Tomatoes.

Years go by quickly, and growing tomatoes requires significant planning and work. In my first year gardening, all I had to go by were catalog pictures and copy, much like when I was a boy. And a few comments from a neighbor who said (and still says) to never plant tomatoes before May. This year I planted in February and had a crop months before hers. But if there had been a late frost, she would have won the when-to-plant-tomatoes contest.

Now I have a few years experience. One of the most important bits of information is the memory of yearning. What did I really wish for as I went to the garden for lunch makings? The memory of a warm July day and the smell of tomato leaves. What did I most want? And what would I settle for if that were not there.

And. What does Elaine want? We agree about tomatoes. Competing for the choice pick off the best plants. Childishly and selfishly pretending to be considerate while hiding the big, juicy reward we have already picked and gently haggling over what remains. The solution to that is more. More of what I have learned we both want. And no cherry tomatoes. A waste of space. The last tomatoes picked.

All that is prologue. I must make a decision within a few weeks and order seed. I already know the tomatoes will go in bed 2 and will not plant anything there I wouldn’t be willing to pull out when it’s time to plant the tomato seedlings.

Meanwhile I’m reading everything I can find about growing tomatoes. It is that important. These should be the plants called “passion fruit”. And I only get one chance each year. And then it’s gone.

Walk well. God is love.

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Weeds tend to grow rapidly after a rain, so there is less work needed if I get it done before.

Tasks accomplished. The ivy and morning glory vines are off the back fence. I dug and amended bed 2. Planted chard, cabbage, and peas! Come on, rain!

Walk well. God is love.

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