Ah, the dirt bath. You have to love the enthusiasm of a hot dog! Yes, we have the heat dome here set to break soon, a full moon on the way, and a celebration of pollinators and the Summer Solstice! What a fabulous week!
Personally, we are grateful and give thanks every single day to the small creatures who work tirelessly to help our planet. Just this spring, we decided to give beekeeping a try, and thus far, success! Our two hives, busy and hot, decided to cool off a bit by hanging outside at the apex of heat. It’s an intense scene of cooperation and survival.
Surprisingly, the newcomers are generous with their territory, an old fenced-in garden filling itself with prolific milkweed and invasive mugwort. Though people may curse mugwort, I’ve embraced that it’s here and definitely not going anywhere. I carefully clip it before it flowers, dry it out in my house, looking old fashioned and witchy, then burn it as incense or crush it and place inside my pillow to sleep soundly. Making use of it is my best bet as I can’t beat it. Besides, it’s a lovely scent.
Nevertheless! The bees! Sharing this sweet spot with the milkweeds, we discovered one of the most rewarding sights of all . . . Monarch caterpillars! I know how some people feel about milkweed because it can spread and spread and spread, but it’s important to separate fact from fiction in case you’re interested. There is a fabulous article from The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service highlighting myths vs the reality of this amazing plant. I highly recommend the read so you can teach your friends:) There are other links to informative articles as well! The pollinators know how to invest in their being in order to survive and thrive, a lesson we can learn from.
I’m excited for the summer and all the beauty it brings thanks to our hard work in the gardens. Recognizing the fragility of flower gardening, I experimented with moving over 50 native plants from various parts of the yard that spread over the last ten years. We made two new garden beds only to see that we struggled to find the right mix, overlooking our own dirt was perfectly fitting since that’s where they came from anyway. It’s an innocent mistake, and most of the plants continue to rebound, but what I did not exactly expect came as a surprise to myself in the smallest, but most significant way.
As spring went from rain to hot summer, the placement of plants that needed wetter conditions haunted me. In essence, I had literally nowhere to go and began to run out of time, knowing this summer approached and was not time for transplanting vulnerable fresh plants.
Haunted. I struggle to sleep, I pace, I peer endlessly at spots in our yard for refuge. I wander and worry, and all necessary for me to have that struggle to see what I was made of in the end.
With a heavy bucket of over 25 plants, filled with water and dirt, yes that became mud, I use my red wagon over the bumpy driveway and venture into the field, a walk I did hundreds of times with old dog. Then, as I arrive at the meadow, a grown in path awaits. There, the wagon, rendered powerless, cannot help me carry the load.
I tuck in my jeans, adjust my hat and sweaty hair, grab the bucket, and trek down the steep meadow to the edge of the pond. Wearing my garden clogs instead of trusty boots, I hear old dog whisper “told you so” while I slip, but I catch myself.
Minute after minute, wading through berry brambles and dead layers of goldenrod, I muster into a clearing and sink my hands into rich mud perfect for the agrimony desperate for moisture and away from a fast approaching and broiling sun. I work away at it, my brow furrows, talking out loud like always to the plants, knowing they care and hear. I imagine the madwoman look, mud slug across my forehead and cheeks, hair now in my face, low to the ground and crouching like Gollum looking for, well anything he looks for.
Yet, I finish. I did it. I actually save them.
No photos to share, but perhaps in my next post I’ll brave my way down there. In the meantime, I’m thankful for the struggle because that experience forced me to see what I could do at the fullest extent of my love for all things living and wild, and this lesson now applies to many areas of my being at this unique juncture of my life.
Grateful and blessed, I aim to use this drive for a new adventure, planting my own roots into something fresh, like the rich soil made over years of growth and decay, renewal awaits there, I know it. It whispers to me. Big news ahead! Happy Solstice:)
Be well!
