It got cold again in mid-Michigan. Not super cold, mind you, but cold enough that I’m glad I didn’t put away the sweaters yet.
I try very hard not to complain about the weather as it’s one of my favorite things about living in Michigan. I think I’d be terribly bored if it was always sunny or cloud-cover was predictable.
Still, even I can’t help but feel a little cheated that we’re back to 50-degree highs after last week’s absolutely beautiful 70s (and one eighty — that was a bit crazy). If it were still 60-70ish and rain I wouldn’t mind but, c’mon, 50 and sunny? That’s just a tease.
I won't complain though. Variety is the spice of life and every day is a tempting dish here in the mitten state.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Monday, April 28, 2008
How Does Your Garden Grow
There’s a special kind of magic that I am only now beginning to understand. It is a beautiful thing that affects all of us — whether practitioners or observers.
This spring, as my understanding of this craft grows, so does the joy I take in it.
The art of gardening has often eluded me despite how much I love the look of other people’s gardens. Flowers, trees, shrubs and resin figurines come together to create beauty in a sometimes ugly world and I want so to be a part of it.
I started small last year with the help of a friend, weeding and thinning out the garden I inherited when I bought my house. After removing much of the aggressive ground cover already there, I planted some annuals for instant color and some perennials that, in theory, would come to greet me every spring.
Throughout the summer I watched my garden, unable to stop myself from comparing it to the visions of loveliness and obvious hard work in those plots of beauty in the neighboring yards. By fall, I found my garden lacking and not entirely sure what it needed to be the happy space I so desired.
Then, in recent weeks, a wonderful thing happened. After clearing out the winter’s debris from my garden, little splashes of color began to emerge. It wasn’t much — three tulips — but it was enough to bring Spring to my heart. Next to these little rays of orange and red sunshine I could see the potential for more color as the days grow longer in the form of the various lilies (day and calla) and daisies planted last year.
I plan, again, to plant annuals for instant color and a few more perennials in my special space for even more joy and beauty next year but, for now, I feel that my garden is finally beginning to grow.
This spring, as my understanding of this craft grows, so does the joy I take in it.
The art of gardening has often eluded me despite how much I love the look of other people’s gardens. Flowers, trees, shrubs and resin figurines come together to create beauty in a sometimes ugly world and I want so to be a part of it.
I started small last year with the help of a friend, weeding and thinning out the garden I inherited when I bought my house. After removing much of the aggressive ground cover already there, I planted some annuals for instant color and some perennials that, in theory, would come to greet me every spring.
Throughout the summer I watched my garden, unable to stop myself from comparing it to the visions of loveliness and obvious hard work in those plots of beauty in the neighboring yards. By fall, I found my garden lacking and not entirely sure what it needed to be the happy space I so desired.
Then, in recent weeks, a wonderful thing happened. After clearing out the winter’s debris from my garden, little splashes of color began to emerge. It wasn’t much — three tulips — but it was enough to bring Spring to my heart. Next to these little rays of orange and red sunshine I could see the potential for more color as the days grow longer in the form of the various lilies (day and calla) and daisies planted last year.
I plan, again, to plant annuals for instant color and a few more perennials in my special space for even more joy and beauty next year but, for now, I feel that my garden is finally beginning to grow.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Gabbage Day
I realize yesterday was Earth Day and, as a lover of our Mother Earth, I should probably post something riveting about this special day for recognizing the things we can all do to take respectful care of the environment...but I’m green every day and Garbage Day only comes once a week.
Garbage Day, henceforth known as Gabbage Day because I’m kooky like that, was particularly important to me this week.
I don’t produce nearly enough waste to justify paying for a bin so any trash I do have ends up stored in the basement in city gabbage bags to be put out every other week. This isn’t usually a big deal unless, of course, I happen to clean out the refrigerator one weekend and then, because I’ve been insanely busy and a little hazy on mundane details like what day it is, I miss Gabbage Day.
As this is exactly what happened last week, I had to deal with an unwanted bag full of items already past their prime and just getting stinkier. In an effort to make its storage less offensive until the next gabbage pickup, I triple-bagged the waste and moved it out to the garage.
Of course, having contaminated the garage, my car had to stay in the driveway where she got sapped on and crapped on (by the maple tree and the birds, respectively — poor Hedwig).
This unfortunate chain of events was finally rectified this morning when I was able to put the refrigerator trash and its stench out on the curb with the season’s first batch of yard and other waste items.
There’s just something very nice about all of that stuff being taken away and my no longer having to deal with it. Very cleansing for the space and the soul, really. I know, I know, all that gabbage is going to a landfill somewhere and I do have an appropriate amount of guilt about that. I do. But there’s a part of me that’s just happy to have it gone.
Garbage Day, henceforth known as Gabbage Day because I’m kooky like that, was particularly important to me this week.
I don’t produce nearly enough waste to justify paying for a bin so any trash I do have ends up stored in the basement in city gabbage bags to be put out every other week. This isn’t usually a big deal unless, of course, I happen to clean out the refrigerator one weekend and then, because I’ve been insanely busy and a little hazy on mundane details like what day it is, I miss Gabbage Day.
As this is exactly what happened last week, I had to deal with an unwanted bag full of items already past their prime and just getting stinkier. In an effort to make its storage less offensive until the next gabbage pickup, I triple-bagged the waste and moved it out to the garage.
Of course, having contaminated the garage, my car had to stay in the driveway where she got sapped on and crapped on (by the maple tree and the birds, respectively — poor Hedwig).
This unfortunate chain of events was finally rectified this morning when I was able to put the refrigerator trash and its stench out on the curb with the season’s first batch of yard and other waste items.
There’s just something very nice about all of that stuff being taken away and my no longer having to deal with it. Very cleansing for the space and the soul, really. I know, I know, all that gabbage is going to a landfill somewhere and I do have an appropriate amount of guilt about that. I do. But there’s a part of me that’s just happy to have it gone.
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