We moved into our Olympia house four years ago in late November, too late to do anything about yard or garden. The first spring brought recognition that we were the proud owners of an awful lot of false dandelion, burdock, and a layer of clay, none of which was particularly conducive to the kind of vegetable gardening and naturescaping that I hoped to do.
That meant a year of gardening in pots (tomatoes and herbs) and using my Grampa's Weed Puller weekend after weekend. I plugged the holes with a bit of compost and clover seed, seeking to add some health to the soil and habitat for pollinators when it bloomed. On the side of the property that gets the best sunlight we began laying plans for gardening in raised beds. My sweetheart worked to level the ground for a terraced set-up that will eventually hold six beds. We put in two raised metal bins on another side of the property suitable for growing greens.
Fast forward and I have three of the planned six beds on that sunny side. The raspberries and tayberries we put in next to the house are thriving; the raspberries I didn't prune last fall even gifted me a second late crop of some big, beautiful jewels. The elderberry bush put on so many berries this year that unfortunately the sheer weight broke off a major branch, but the bush has already propagated a little neighboring bush. The nectaplum (a nectarine and plum hybrid), hazelnut, and almond trees are well established and will start producing sometime in the next few years.
As I start each morning with poetry, naturally I find poems that celebrate the earthy abundance of gardening. Before this year's harvest of vegetables and herbs ends, I'll share this harvest of poems.
"Believe This"
Richard Levine
....All morning,
muscling my will against that of the wild,
to claim a place in the bounty of earth,
seed, root, sun and rain, I offered my labor
as a kind of grace,
"Tender"
Jose Antonio Rodriguez
But about the strength and will to cradle the plants
Outside—the pruning, the watering, the sheltering
In found tarps and twine against the coldest nights.
To lean into the day’s hard edge,
And still find that reserve of tenderness
For the bougainvillea, the hibiscus, the blue morning.
"Patriotism"
Ellie Schoenfeld
My country is this dirt
that gathers under my fingernails
when I am in the garden.
The quiet bacteria and fungi,
all the little insects and bugs
are my compatriots.
"Gardening as a Form of Worship"
Bruce Taylor
To bring us to our knees.
To bring us back to quiet.
Inclined as we are
to this labor and attention.
"Vegetable Love in Texas"
Carol Coffee Reposa
Farmers say
There are two things
Money can't buy:
Love and homegrown tomatoes.
"A Warm Summer in San Francisco"
Carolyn Miller
Although I watched and waited for it every day,
somehow I missed it, the moment when everything reached
the peak of ripeness.
"Slower"
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
They are beautiful, the Japanese eggplant,
dangling beneath wide fringed leaves.
"Therapy from the Garden"
Glenn Morazzini
From the lettuce there is common sense for narcissism:
acceptance as side dish, garnish for a meaty sandwich.
If that leaf isn’t the dose, there’s always the soil
people shovel and level, rake and make wishful with seed,
"An Observation"
May Sarton
True gardeners cannot bear a glove
Between the sure touch and the tender root,
Must let their hands grow knotted as they move
With a rough sensitivity about
Under the earth, between the rock and shoot,
Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.
"The Seven of Pentacles"
Marge Piercy
as things grow in the real world, slowly enough.
If you tend them properly, if you mulch, if you water,
if you provide birds that eat insects a home and winter food,
if the sun shines and you pick off caterpillars,
"Towel and Basin"
Michael Escoubas
This morning I plodded in pajamas
and bare toes toting my full water pitcher,
prepared as an offering for my
hanging blue Fan plant. The tall
grass washed my feet as Jesus might.
"Practice"
Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
I plunge my hands into the soil
and tug on the long white bindweed roots
that cling to the cool damp dark.
Never once have I pulled the whole plant.
Always, the bindweed comes back.
"More"
James Crews
I know it’s summer when we wade out
into the field and pick these crisp wonders,
tiny cucumbers bleached of their green
as if they’ve already seen too much
of this dazzling light, and can take no more.
"Planting the Sand Cherry"
Ann Struthers
It is important for me to be down on my knees,
my fingers sifting the black earth,
making those things grow which will grow.
Joan Mazza
