Month: September 2014

don't misinterpret the times

Don’t Misinterpret the Times


How to interpret the times of your life? This was my solution.

Last fall I made a decision not to work. My job is seasonal. I was agonizing over the upcoming winter: work, don’t work, work, don’t work, work, don’t work?

I don’t work from mid-December through mid-March. I was debating whether to find work for January and February or just take them off. I had a bit of savings I could use, and a lot of catching up to do in my personal life. It wasn’t a bad idea, really, but here’s the voice I heard in my head: “Are you insane? A savings is for emergencies. It is not for laying out of work so you can unpack your storage unit and catch up on your files.” It was a loud women’s voice, sort of screechy.

She had a point, though. So, round and round the voices in my head went. One voice wanted to take the winter to catch up. The other thought it was irresponsible and lazy. (That voice was a bit judgmental.)

So, how did I decide? I remembered Ecclesiastes 3, a time for everything. Here it is.

There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

2     a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
3     a time to kill and a time to heal,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
4     a time to weep and a time to laugh,
    a time to mourn and a time to dance,
5     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
6     a time to search and a time to give up,
    a time to keep and a time to throw away,
7     a time to tear and a time to mend,
    a time to be silent and a time to speak,
8     a time to love and a time to hate,
    a time for war and a time for peace

What a shame it didn’t say, a time to work, and a time to use your savings and not work. But, it gave me a place to start. I asked the Lord, what season am I in?

I decided I was #2 and #3.

The College Son and I had just uprooted ourselves (we moved). I had torn down the old house (metaphorically speaking), and gone through some killer emotional mess. I conclued I was moving into a time to plant, heal and build. I was busy building my career, but had totally neglected the home front, the personal stuff. My soul was weary and my house littered with moving boxes. I needed to get both in order.

Decision made. I took the time off.

I wasn’t big and brave about it, but I did know it was the right thing to do. Sometimes, you just know what you know, screaming voices inside your head not withstanding.

Here’s what I did with that time:

  1. I took a 2 week trip with a friend to the California coast to visit gardens, spent a week with my kids when my granddaughter, Sadie Jane, was born, and slept a lot (healing).
  2. I cleaned out storage units, unpacked boxes and bought some necessary furniture (building).
  3. I discovered my little town better–the local coffee shop, movie theater and other grocery store (planting).

Here’s what I learned:

  1. There are beautiful gardens in the world. Go see them.
  2. Nesting is necessary, as fundamental part of growth as working is.
  3. Sleeping late is good, healing and restorative for your body.
  4. Watching your granddaughter’s birth is joy. Don’t miss it.
  5. Nothing is a good word. We should use it more.
  6. Money really isn’t everything. There is a time to spend savings, and, of course, a time not too. Don’t make the mistake of misinterpreting the times.

Last fall I made a decision. I decided not to work.

Don’t get me wrong. Work is in my top five blessings, but I learned that there is a time to work and a time to not work. As a horticulturist, I know all about the seasons and the how plants respond to them. I know that after a growing season, plants need a break and go into dormancy. I’m just learning that in my own life.

 

 

 

In That Small Sunday Space


Today is Sunday. I woke up around 7, like always, but it was Sunday, so I willed myself back to sleep. My clients don’t call (well, most of the time). The store is closed. One day out of seven, I can do this. Covers over my head, bury myself beneath the dander of dog hair on my comforter (she’s not allowed but she’s good at cheating), and close my eyes tight. In this small space of Sunday morning, cravings that are ignored weekday-in-and-weekday-out are heard.

I need to mow the yard, write garden notes for three clients, get ready for an hour long seminar next Saturday, review notes on the client’s I’ll visit on Monday, weed the perennial bed, vacuum (remember the dog dander), buy groceries, walk the dog, fill out insurance papers, go to church. My church is 40 minutes away. Do I do the drive? (I hate it when things I love become chores.) Pay bills. Figure out where the darn ants are coming from. Vacuum again. These are not the cravings, if you’re wondering.

These are. I want to shop for my daughter-in-law’s birthday, which is this month. She is a fall girl. I want to pamper her with gifts that smell like fall. I want her day to be joyful. I want to look at the picture of the ultra-sound she texted me yesterday–a new grandchild due in May. I want to lie still and listen to the nothingness of Sunday morning. I love the Body of Christ, but I don’t want to drive anywhere today. I want no place to go. I want to cook something nourishing, because it is 58 degrees outside and suddenly a crock pot full of food is so tempting. I want the house simmering with the smell of it. I want to write. I want to take the dog on a long walk and snap pictures of gardens. I want to go to McDonalds and get black coffee and sit on my screen porch, on my glider, sipping it to the sounds of the birds chirping away. I want to organize my pictures. They’re all digital, ugh. I want to FaceTime my granddaughters. I want to hear their silly laughs, and Miss Priss say, “YaYa, do you want to play with me?” I want to talk, really talk to my children. I do want to vacuum because the pet dander can only be stood for so long. I want to finish reading the book, And I Shall Have Some Peace There, because if she found it, surely I can too. I want to plant the fall flowers I bought for my community spot in my little town, to make me happy, to make others happy. i want to garden. I want to create.

In my small space on Sunday morning, all these cravings, unheard over the drone of the workday week, present themselves. Head down, tucked under the covers, I am torn. It’s not as easy as it seems. Take the day, and rest, Cinthia. Just rest. The Sabbath for you, Jesus said. Created for man. Created for our refreshment. Take the day.

My clients are side work, done on my days off. If notes aren’t written today, then it’s an automatic behind for the week ahead. I don’t have another day off until next Sunday, and this week’s evenings will be spent preparing the fall clean-up seminar. The insurance man would probably like his papers filled out so he can clear his desk of my file. The bathroom needs a cleaning that no amount of candles or diffusers will disguise. If I want lunch at work this week, then groceries are a must. I could possibly do the crock pot, but I will miss the dog’s walk, because a day is only 16 hours. I have no idea when I last paid bills, but I am grateful for all this work, because I can pay them. Don’t read this as griping about work. I am thankful for the blessing of work. .

But sometimes, it seems the pursuit of creativity/personal care/relationships/life is overshadowed by the pursuit of money. How much is enough? My boss often says you can tell who is hungry and who is not by how they work. I am evidently quite hungry.

Fun Fact for some of you: Did you know that if you start taking 4% out of your retirement account right now, it will not deplete in your lifetime? (But does 4% pay the bills?) My financial planner is full of these little nuggets of wisdom.

The time ticks away with my head still buried under the blankets. I swear I hear the sound of the digital clock, and this small space of Sunday is almost gone. This moment when the world is quiet and a day could possibly be spent in creating (cooking? writing? gardening? photography? long walks for inspiration?) a possibility. I know that when my feet touch the ground, and the shower head starts to steam the bathroom, that these Sunday dreams will cease, and I will end the day wondering, what was it I wanted to do today?

 

 

The First Job of the Roots is to Anchor the Plant


When I instruct clients on how to plant, I tell them, the first job of the root system is to anchor the plant. Then I go on to explain amendments and changing the soil structure and so forth. They always look surprised. They thought the roots were just there to take water up to the rest of the plant. (I’ll be honest, some don’t even know a plant needs water. And, I never know how to respond to that, except to remind myself that my financial planner has seen that seem blank look on my face.)

“Yes,” I say, “the roots do that, too. But, if the plant isn’t anchored, it doesn’t matter. All you have is a dead plant.”

When I moved into my quaint little rental, the trees needed pruning (badly), the path by the picket fence needed finishing, the weeds needed pulling, the grass mowing, the clematis freed, the landscape fabric pulled up, the bluebells separated, and so, that is what I did. I climbed trees and pruned. I dug bulbs and separated. I found irises buried under years of mulch. I weeded and uncovered azaleas. I dug out 24 Firepower Nandinas and gave them away. (What? Was there a sale?) I pulled out old, over grown and shaded abelias, and weedy Rose of Sharon. I mulched, weeded, planted and transplanted. I have neighbors on four sides. They watched from their porches with a sigh of satisfaction and a load of curiosity. Who was the wild woman weeding at night with a giant flashlight by her side?

Me. That’s who.

After the roots get established, then they can be about the business of absorbing nutrients and minerals, transporting water, storing food and helping with erosion control. Then the plant can grow. But, it takes time.

The first job for people isn’t much different than the first job for roots. We’ve got to establish ourselves before we begin expanding. Or maybe I must. Maybe you’re good with the gypsy life. That’s what the madness of cleaning up the yard was about. Putting down roots. Establishing myself. I wasn’t ready to look beyond my boundaries. I wan’t ready to grow.

I generally tell clients to give their new plants an entire growing season to get established before they forget about watering, especially during a drought. Common sense prevails. A growing season is defined as spring to fall, or the time that temperatures are warm enough and rainfall often enough to allow plants to settle in and grow.

The tree isn’t going to provide you with much shade if it’s so stressed the leaves are falling off. 

As for me, the growing season isn’t so easily defined, though I am taking my cues from the shifting of the light that moves me into a different season. Are my roots established? If you’re wondering how you’re shrub is doing, give it a tug. It shouldn’t have a lot of give. Today, I pulled up a yew (densiforma) with nothing more than a slight jerk. It looked healthy. It seemed fine. But, a gentle nudge and it was sideways on the ground. Is my life so easily disturbed? 

Stability isn’t guaranteed, though. Sometimes, winds are so harsh that no root system holds and giant oaks fall. The same with life. Who knows where I’ll be this time next year. Transplanted again? Maybe. But for now, it seems my roots are pretty well established, and so growth can begin. One step at a time.

Garden Bloggers Bloom Day


September 15, 2014 and it’s pouring rain outside in my zone 7b rain forest garden. Honestly, despite being a rain forest, we need the rain. This year looks a lot like last. We had a cool August. I went to work most days in long sleeves, and stayed in long sleeves all day. But come September the heat turned up and rain dried up.

Still, a few things remain in bloom. The dahlias are giving a great show late into the season.

Firepot Dahlia

Firepot Dahlia

The marigolds at the NC Arboretum look amazing, as does my granddaughter, Miss Priss.

photo (9)

Marigolds in the Quilt Garden at Arboretum

This pretty little morning glory says hello each morning. (Wish I could remember the name. But, I do know the grower, if anyone just has to know!)

Variag

Variegated Morning Glory

My new favorite, Henry Eilers. Love the way it peeks out at you.

Rudebeckia Henry Eilers

Rudebeckia Henry Eilers

Coreopsis ‘Enchanted Eve’ is still blooming like mad, and looks great in my containers. It stays 12″ tall, so perfect for fall containers. Part of the Little Bang series. Lots of fun.

Coreopsis 'Enchanted Eve'

Coreopsis ‘Enchanted Eve’

Our hydrangeas at the store still look incredible–here’s the hilltop view (BB Barns Garden Center, Asheville, NC).

Hilltop view of Hydrangeas

Hilltop view of Hydrangeas at store

Hibiscus is still flowering next to my picket fence. This is Midnight Marvel.

Midnight Marvle

Midnight Marvel

Toad Lilies!!

photo (4)

 

This digiplexis is just too dang pretty for words. It is in my employer’s garden and I will have it next year or die for want, even though it is an annual for us (zone 8 plant).

photo (12)

Digiplexis

And finally, Erica does our grounds at work. I couldn’t resist this last shot of fall on the way. The solidago, grass, and mums reminding me that despite the heat, fall is coming.

Fall is coming.

Fall is coming.

So what’s blooming in your garden? Get out the camera and show me, or participate in the Garden Blogger’s Bloom Day done through www.maydreams.com.

Withering on the Grape Vine of Life in Cedar Cove


I watch Hallmark’s tv series, Cedar Cove. I download it on my Kindle after Hallmark has aired it on Saturday night. Nothing bad  happens in Cedar Cove. The worst conundrum is a love triangle, and I mean of the platonic kind. Who will love who? The characters are all gorgeous and smart, the scenery worth the hour viewing time, and the town idyllic. Right after mom died, I curled up in my bed, under her blanket, and watched 6 episodes. Soothing my brain with 6 hours of daily life in Cedar Cove where the climatic question hanging over the Pacific Coast rock outcroppings was if Grace would mess up her relationship with Cliff (it seems rather inevitable).

One thing strikes me, though, about Cedar Cove. There is always this pull toward Seattle, a ferry ride away. Job offers, girlfriends, ex-wives, children, all are a boat’s journey across the water. Often the characters must decide whether to stay put in Cedar Cove, or answer the call of money and possible fame in the big city. Making the sacrifice to stay in Cedar Cove requires they give up their sure success, their big dreams, the one thing that has always propelled them, be it career or great love. No big fish, big pond for them if they stay. In Cedar Cove all the fish are pretty much equal. And, that seems to be the charm of the series–everyone is included–and no one is regarded as less than or more than anyone else, with the exception of the few antagonists.

I have a huge desire to escape to Cedar Cove (and I mean literally, not just on my Kindle), but I am forced to consider if I haven’t already found it in my quaint life. How closely does my life resemble that of the characters of Cedar Cove? Pretty darn. My scenery is no less stunning. I am surrounded by mountains, and trees. I live in a rain forest and the county I live in is called the Land of the Waterfalls. Beautiful sunsets and sunrises accompany me on my drive to work. I walk everywhere I need to go–the grocery store, the coffee shop, the movies, restaurants, clothing stores, church. It has a wonderful sense of community and privacy. Not to mention, aside from an outrageous water bill, the cost of living is low. The downside? So far, I haven’t met the Cliffs or the Jacks of Cedar Cove, but let’s be honest, sitting at home doing jigsaw puzzles or playing rounds of SET alone, isn’t exactly trying. But, who knows? Maybe my town is overrun with good looking single guys with tortured pasts. In the words of the kid from Angels in the Outfield, “It could happen.” .

My point, in all this estrogen run-on sentence structuring is this: Perhaps my Cedar Cove is right where I am. Perhaps your’s is too. Cliche obviously, but cliches are cliches for a reason. They’re often true.

Recently, a man who is a pretty big deal in the horticulture world stumbled across my blog and contacted me. I suppose finding his name in a garden post inspired him to say hello. It was unexpected, and a nice surprise. I admire his work. He is the big fish in the big pond. To use the metaphor, he’s in Seattle. His email caused me to wonder if Seattle wasn’t the place for me too. If I am, to quote an old friend’s mother, “withering on the grape vine of life?” (She used that little cliche when we were hitting 30 and still not married.)  As for the characters of Cedar Cove, the lure of Seattle is there for me too. Am I missing something by staying put in this small place of plants and mountains?

 

My two years in Brevard have allowed me ample time to get to know the dog care lady, the bakery owner, the coffee shop owner, my neighbor with the hot dog truck (Aggie introduced us!), the priest of the Episcopal church and his wife, the owner of the two women’s clothing stores in town (of course), and the owner of the real estate company, and two restaurants. I know the town architect, most of my neighbors and the all the local cats and dogs. I am also well acquainted with our neighborhood pet bunny rabbit  (that I am desperately trying to get a picture of). I placed my fall mums on the porch today (Cascade orange, if you’re wondering). I am headed after the pumpkins next week. My neighbors notice when I am gone. They know Evil Kitty and Aggie (the pets). They know what time my College Son comes home (long after I’m asleep). And they know when my grandchildren are here I am unavailable. .

My boss thinks I’d be happier if I moved back to Asheville (our Seattle), a good 45 minute drive over a mountain and through a valley from me. But, he’s an extrovert, and his social calendar (of which I have happily been a part) is forever full. But, for this INFJ girl (www.16personalities.com) the solitude and the personal connections that are forming in my mountain town are compelling. Heck, my landlady is my best friend in this sleepy place, and in case you’re interested, the neighbor behind me is having a time of it with her oldest son. (We discuss this situation while I water my containers in the evenings, both of us convinced he went off to Seattle when he should have stayed in Cedar Cove. She’s a fan too. Knowing thyself is forewarned and forearmed.)

I circle back around after traveling in my mind’s eye over the mountains to the place where I’m told success lies. I find I am compelled to stay put. The connections that are forming in the shadow of mountains and waterfalls hold more interest for me than whatever it is a place like Seattle can claim.  All my life, I did think I wanted Seattle, but I have discovered I really wanted Cedar Cove. How lovely to have ended up here while on my way to the Big City/Big Lights.

Since, it’s been a post of cliches, I’ll throw out another one. Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans. Thank the Lord for traveling mercies.

Transplanted in Cedar Cove


I watch Hallmark’s tv series, Cedar Cove. I download it on my Kindle after Hallmark has aired it on Saturday night. Nothing bad  happens in Cedar Cove. The worst conundrum is a love triangle, and I mean of the platonic kind. Who will love who? The characters are all gorgeous and smart, the scenery worth the hour viewing time, and the town idyllic. Right after mom died, I curled up in my bed, under her blanket, and watched 6 episodes. Soothing my brain with 6 hours of daily life in Cedar Cove where the climatic question hanging over the Pacific Coast rock outcroppings was if Grace would mess up her relationship with Cliff (it seems rather inevitable) was the necessary medicine of the day.

One thing strikes me, though, about Cedar Cove. There is always this pull toward Seattle, a ferry ride away. Job offers, girlfriends, ex-wives, children, all are a boat’s journey across the water. Often the characters must decide whether to stay put in Cedar Cove, or answer the call of money and possible fame in the big city. Making the sacrifice to stay in Cedar Cove requires they give up their sure success, their big dreams, the one thing that has always propelled them, be it career or great love. No big fish, big pond for them if they stay. In Cedar Cove all the fish are pretty much equal. And, that seems to be the charm of the series–everyone is included–and no one is regarded as less than or more than anyone else, with the exception of the few antagonists.

I have a huge desire to escape to Cedar Cove (and I mean literally, not just on my Kindle), but I am forced to consider if I haven’t already found it in my quaint life. How closely does my life resemble that of the characters of Cedar Cove? Pretty darn. My scenery is no less stunning. I am surrounded by mountains, and trees. I live in a rain forest and the county I live in is called the Land of the Waterfalls. Beautiful sunsets and sunrises accompany me on my drive to work and back.I walk everywhere I need to go–the grocery store, the coffee shop, the movies, restaurants, clothing stores, church. It has a wonderful sense of community and privacy. Not to mention, aside from an outrageous water bill, the cost of living is low. The downside? So far, I haven’t met the Cliffs or the Jacks of Cedar Cove, but let’s be honest, sitting at home doing jigsaw puzzles or playing rounds of SET alone, isn’t exactly trying. But, who knows? Maybe my town is overrun with good looking single guys with tortured pasts. In the words of the kid from Angels in the Outfield, “It could happen.” .

My point, in all this estrogen run-on sentence structuring is this: Perhaps my Cedar Cove is right where I am. Perhaps your’s is too. Cliche obviously, but cliches are cliches for a reason. They’re often true.

Recently, a man who is a pretty big deal in the horticulture world stumbled across my blog and contacted me. I suppose finding his name in a garden post inspired him to say hello. It was unexpected, and a nice surprise. I admire his work. He is the big fish in the big pond. To use the metaphor, he’s in Seattle. His email caused me to wonder if Seattle wasn’t the place for me too. If I am, to quote an old friend’s mother, “withering on the grape vine of life?” (She used that little cliche when we were hitting 30 and still not married.)  As for the characters of Cedar Cove, the lure of Seattle is there for me too. Am I missing something by staying put in this small place of plants and mountains?

My two years in Brevard have allowed me ample time to get to know the dog care lady, the bakery owner, the coffee shop owner, my neighbor with the hot dog truck (Aggie introduced us!), the priest of the Episcopal church and his wife, the owner of the two women’s clothing stores in town (of course), and the owner of the real estate company, and two restaurants. I know the town architect, most of my neighbors and the all the local cats and dogs. I am also well acquainted with our neighborhood pet bunny rabbit  (that I am desperately trying to get a picture of). I placed my fall mums on the porch today (Cascade orange, if you’re wondering). I am headed after the pumpkins next week. My neighbors notice when I am gone. They know Evil Kitty and Aggie (the pets). They know what time my College Son comes home (long after I’m asleep). And they know when my grandchildren are here I am unavailable. .

My boss thinks I’d be happier if I moved back to Asheville (our Seattle), a good 45 minute drive over a mountain and through a valley from me. But, he’s an extrovert, and his social calendar (of which I have happily been a part) is forever full. But, for this INFJ girl (www.16personalities.com) the solitude and the personal connections that are forming in my mountain town are compelling. Heck, my landlady is my best friend in this sleepy place, and in case you’re interested, the neighbor behind me is having a time of it with her oldest son. (We discuss this situation while I water my containers in the evenings, both of us convinced he went off to Seattle when he should have stayed in Cedar Cove. She’s a fan too. Knowing thyself is forewarned and forearmed.)

I circle back around after traveling in my mind’s eye over the mountains to the place where I’m told success lies. I find I am compelled to stay put. The connections that are forming in the shadow of mountains and waterfalls hold more interest for me than whatever it is a place like Seattle can claim.  All my life, I did think I wanted Seattle, but I have discovered I really wanted Cedar Cove. How lovely to have ended up here while on my way to the Big City/Big Lights.

Since, it’s been a post of cliches, I’ll throw out another one. Life is what happens when you’re busy making plans. Thank the Lord for traveling mercies.