Sunday, December 30, 2018

The Under Garden Report

All the baby conifers emerged from the summer Lush a little bit bigger and looking to be in fine shape.

Then they got squashed with two rounds of heavy wet snow. Such is the way of training for any plant that wants to live way up here. I have a significant range of weather. They must adapt.

There was some bending. Some things more so than others, but plants know perfectly well which way is up. They will want to straighten and fluff up on their own. I will fondle them a little and let them do the rest of the work.

How do I get these evergreen conifers to survive in the Tall Flower Meadow that towers over their heads in the growing seasons? Skylights. I make them skylights and make sure the meadow plants don't sit on top of them. They have an opening to the air and sky above.

They would probably grow faster and be even more robust in a mulched bed in full sun without all the competition. That's not what I got. They have to make do. I think we have reached a good compromise.

The wet heavy snow bent the grasses too. There has been a feeble attempt by the unsnapped at standing back up. The rain and snow has been pretty relentless though and grasses are much perkier when dry. Some dry sure would be nice. These mountains are 100% saturated. I'm seeing running water in places I have never seen it before.

I'm kind of enjoying this new winter do of the grasses though. I've never seen this almost woven wave in it. It is most interesting. I'll let it be to do what it wants for now.

The Under Garden of winter so does not blend in with the natural surroundings anymore. It is really growing in to a bit of a spectacle. I blame it on Asheville.

Friday, December 28, 2018

Fully Emerged

The painting emerges fully as a distinct and separate garden of winter.
Brush strokes grow bolder by the season.
Skylights. I do it with skylights.

Now you are on your own to wander.

Tuesday, December 25, 2018

A Winter Garden Stroll

Some people may get tired of coming here and seeing the same garden all the time.
I never get tired of looking at the garden.
It is ever changing, very much alive.
In every season

By fate or good fortune
I was blessed with a Bird's Eye view.
There is a garden for winter.
I made it so.

A Walk in the Winter Garden

Monday, December 24, 2018

There's A Light

Imagine a big full moon with clear skies on fresh snow.

That has been happening. It's not a one night thing. It is a time thing.

It's my Christmas solstice show.

In the velvet darkness
Of the blackest night
Burning bright
There's a guiding star
No matter what or who you are

There's a light
A light
In the darkness of everybody's life.

Some plagiarism involved - RHPS

Saturday, December 22, 2018

Early The Next Morning

As expected I woke up to a winter wonderland. I got about five inches of sticky snow. We were low on proper cold again for fluffy snow. My baby evergreens are all bent over again, poor things.

This was very much a NW flow, high elevation Tennessee border snow. I called my spotter on the other side of the county and got the all clear. I shoveled my way out, went to work and scratched a garden off the list for the year, again. One down.

Now the question is, how much can I get done before the next storm rolls in at the end of the week?

Ho, ho, ho and fa la la, tis the season.

Friday, December 21, 2018

On The First Day Of Winter

The weather of late has been making the life of this peasant gardener a bit problematic. Just as the last big dump of snow was approaching full melt, a new bought of big rains and wet snow arrived cancelling two or three days of work.

I had only begun to address cleaning up the mess in the gardens I tend and checking back in on the gardens declared closed for the season. My schedule such as it is at this time of year is completely discombobulated.

Now you see it.

An hour later and soon you won't.

Eight hours later I am at three inches of more wet bending kind snow. At least this is a NW flow Tennessee border snow that could spare most of the gardens I tend on the other side of the county.

On the first day of winter there is more snow. I have had plenty of rest now and am contemplating sneaking out on Christmas day to gardens I know will be unattended just because it is looking like a warm enough, sunny and snow free day. Getting out of the house and moving around will be present enough. And to think, winter has only just begun.

Wednesday, December 19, 2018

A Living Canvas

Now that deer hunting season is over, all I can say is they missed a few.

This one looks like a yearling. I saw it with mama the other day. They don't seem the least bit concerned by me. That doesn't seem right. I was standing by my truck twenty five feet away. The dung piles have grown some tasty chickweed. I need to learn how to eat that. It's edible and nutritious.

The end of deer hunting season also means I have been out walking the entire three acres of the wild cultivated gardens when time, weather and the lack of snow allows. I get the bulk of the yard maid work done up here in the winter. So I patrol, pick up sticks, plot chores and look for fresh evidence of deer.

I must say the 'hope it bends' snow did a major knock down of all the herbaceous components of the meadow matrix of the gardens. I was most pleased. Things are quite different on the other side of the county. There is a significant amount of snapped kind damage that needs cleaning up. I need to revisit every garden I tend and still have two extra fall (ha) cleanups I said I would do.

Any winter rest I get is looking like it can only be caused by snow or too damn cold.

The Under Garden of winter I come home to is truly of a different sort and I like that.

It has reached a level of maturity and visibility that it is attracting a lot more notice and attention from the scenic byway above. There has been a lot of stop and go rubbernecking since the snow melted. It's not my front porch view. It is an interesting view none the less.

My garden is a living interactive canvas swirling with oddities. Somehow the notion entered my head to draw on the ground like the garden was a painting. You could say it was influenced by formal French parterre gardens or newer quilt gardens. Mine is the modernist or Folk Art version reaching back into deep time.

I blame it on Asheville and I like it. Let me state for the record here and now, someone should be around to remember, when the time comes, this is where my ashes go, sprinkled in to the eyes of Creation on a living interactive canvas. My teeth will already be there. Yes, you read that right. All my parts need to go in one place.

I have wandered all the way to the back forty, home of the future Turnip Fields several times recently. It is easier to contemplate what I might draw on the earth back here in the barren time when the view is unobstructed.

The main intended function is more food production closer to and with easier access to the retired Sisters house. That means sunlight. That means the forest has to go. It's a slow process.

I know what needs to be drawn here. Today I was imaging getting it done with some men with big machines in one fell swoop. That would take money I do not have. I was wondering if I have the energy left even for this slow approach. I need to retire.

So in the meantime I let my wood burning neighbor rummage through the future Turnip Fields. He had to take a break for the deer hunter's turn back there. I have to schedule them and me. The back forty is a happening place.

The deer hunter just called. Seems hunting season isn't quite over, not that it matters to me. He told me he and his sons got three so far. I let him know they missed a few, including the buck with the big rack he has been lusting over two seasons running. I'm thinking deer could be a problem in the future Turnip Fields when they aren't in the roadside vegetable garden that gets its protection from the scenic byway.

I really do need to get myself a bright orange knit hat. I have chores to do.