It's Sunday morning, Paul Simon sounding on the radio, flies buzzing about in the sunshine, Flai asleep in his cave under the fig tree, oatmeal granola bars baking in the oven. I haven't written in a long time here, but this morning struck me as a good enough time as any to return.
I don't think I've even written about where we are now. Life has taken another turn in the last few months, adding to what seems like an endless curvy road of the past couple years. Remember that winter solstice party with the vegetarian group in December? Well, one of the members gave us a call a month later to offer us a caretaking job with his family's house. We jumped. And now we're here. Just south of Barcelona, snuggled up against the mountain looking out at the sea.
The first two months have flown by. Land cleaned and cleared, raised garden rows dug, chicken coop built and weaved, greenhouse frames assembled, escaped dogs found, baby chicks grown, house repaired, mountains wandered, bicycles moved.
From no leaves, to almond and then cherry and plum blossoms. Next came the leaf out. Now the figs are just waking up. The buds that looked like they would be closed forever finally burst open. Even the persimmons are starting to wear their coat of green. The olives who have foliage all year round are beginning to bloom - the promise of olives are in sight!
The seeds we planted inside and ferried out into the sunlight every morning and snuggled back in the house at night have all been planted in the Earth. Hard compact soil that suggests we should be potters rather than gardeners. And yet, with a few adventures to the horse farm near by and mining for "gemstones" under the chicken roost hopefully it will be enough natural fertilizer for something to grow. It's quite a practice of faith, this gardening business. Trusting the seed will germinate even though you can't see it. Anxiously hoping the transplants won't wither and die but instead take firm root and take off with reckless abandon. In the beginning it always seems as though we are throwing ourselves into the realm of sure disappointment only to be met with the steady magical science that the plants always grow despite the anxious worries. Some don't, but most do, enough to want to plant again the next year anyway.
Well, the sun is high in the sky and I have this lovely dog Flai cuddled by my side with his pleading face to take him for an adventure somewhere. Time to go....or otherwise he'll find somewhere to escape and I'll spend the next two hours looking for him.
I don't think I've even written about where we are now. Life has taken another turn in the last few months, adding to what seems like an endless curvy road of the past couple years. Remember that winter solstice party with the vegetarian group in December? Well, one of the members gave us a call a month later to offer us a caretaking job with his family's house. We jumped. And now we're here. Just south of Barcelona, snuggled up against the mountain looking out at the sea.
The first two months have flown by. Land cleaned and cleared, raised garden rows dug, chicken coop built and weaved, greenhouse frames assembled, escaped dogs found, baby chicks grown, house repaired, mountains wandered, bicycles moved.
From no leaves, to almond and then cherry and plum blossoms. Next came the leaf out. Now the figs are just waking up. The buds that looked like they would be closed forever finally burst open. Even the persimmons are starting to wear their coat of green. The olives who have foliage all year round are beginning to bloom - the promise of olives are in sight!
The seeds we planted inside and ferried out into the sunlight every morning and snuggled back in the house at night have all been planted in the Earth. Hard compact soil that suggests we should be potters rather than gardeners. And yet, with a few adventures to the horse farm near by and mining for "gemstones" under the chicken roost hopefully it will be enough natural fertilizer for something to grow. It's quite a practice of faith, this gardening business. Trusting the seed will germinate even though you can't see it. Anxiously hoping the transplants won't wither and die but instead take firm root and take off with reckless abandon. In the beginning it always seems as though we are throwing ourselves into the realm of sure disappointment only to be met with the steady magical science that the plants always grow despite the anxious worries. Some don't, but most do, enough to want to plant again the next year anyway.
Well, the sun is high in the sky and I have this lovely dog Flai cuddled by my side with his pleading face to take him for an adventure somewhere. Time to go....or otherwise he'll find somewhere to escape and I'll spend the next two hours looking for him.
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