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.