Rain

It's been raining and fairly cold (as Phoenix goes) for the past few days, so I haven't gotten much accomplished. The grass in the pathways is dormant and brown and more of the yard is in shadow more of the day. Some of the beans appear to be frost-nipped, although it hasn't actually gotten below freezing. Most of the deciduous fruit trees have dropped their leaves, the asparagus fronds are yellowing, and the tomatoes I planted in large pots as an experiment...well, let's just say they are surviving and leave it at that. I only planted one pony pack of broccoli this year, and I picked that (and enjoyed eating it my favorite way, roasted with a little olive oil and a squeeze of fresh lemon)

We like rain in the desert, and will take all we can get whenever we can get it. It's better for the plants; our tap water here is very hard and salt damage is a major problem in the summer because we have to rely mostly on irrigation. A good rain helps leach all that stuff away from the plant's roots. This time of year, it's also fun to go out and see all the different wildflowers that have begun sprouting. It is not so fun to see all the different weeds that also prefer to germinate in cool, moist soil.

The circle of life (botanical edition)

I always think of my mother-in-law's garden when I see marigolds. She had an abundance of them which arose spontaneously each year, and I can remember my then-two-year-old son being fascinated by them. I haven't done so well with them here...this was the only plant that survived the summer out of what was intended to be a border of them. I've been collecting the seeds as the flowers dry up, and sprinkling them on the drip emitter lines in different places. Quite a few have sprouted, and I hope to have better luck with them this year.  You can also see nasturtiums coming up, which is what we had along the border prior to the marigolds. Now that the weather has cooled, they are coming up all over the place. So are weeds, unfortunately. You can see one of those in the picture, too. I didn't plant the nasturtiums, or the weeds for that matter; they came from seeds dropped last spring.

So far, we've been pleased with the new drip system. In most beds, we've laid it out in a grid with lines about a foot apart, and each line has a 1 gph drip emitters spaced a foot apart. We plant seeds right under the emitters in a variation of  the "square foot gardening" method. This seems to be more efficient and effective in getting water to the plants where they need it than the minisprayers we had previously. In some of the raised beds where I want a flower border, we have also run 1/2 gph drip lines with 6 inch spacing along the edges.
 

Zinnias in the cleft of the rock

"He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock"

Most of the zinnias are gone, but this one, nestled up against the boulders that make up a rock waterfall next to our pool, is still healthy and blooming. It made me think of an old hymn with the line "He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock" that my grandfather used to sing.

When I think of "hiding in the cleft of the rock" I think about shade in a desert climate, or perhaps a refuge from predators. In this case I think the rocks heat up during the day, and radiate that stored heat back at night, making this tiny spot a more hospitable microclimate for the zinnia plant at this time of year.

What not to do with basil

"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

This picture shows what you are not supposed to do to basil, or for that matter, most herbs. You're supposed to snip off the flower tops, because letting it go to seed will diminish the quality and flavor of the leaves. I was reminded of that this morning when I read this article on storing and preserving herbs. Fortunately, we typically won't get basil-killing freezing weather in the Phoenix for several more weeks, so if I cut them off now, there's still time for new leaves to sprout.

In our church, we recite the Lord's Prayer each week before communion. Perhaps that's why this thought came to me this morning while I was giving this basil a haircut. Gardens are more forgiving than we as people tend to be. That's fortunate for me, because I make lots of mistakes in gardening.

"All flesh is grass"

A voice says, "Cry out." And I said, "What shall I cry?" "All men are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field.

I pulled the last of the zinnias up and chopped them up into small pieces. Rather than putting them in the compost bin, I put them in a bare area where I think zinnias would look nice, and I'm hoping their seeds will sprout in the spring.

As I was cutting them up (I just use rose pruners for this task; it's time consuming but effective) I thought about how transitory human life is. I learned this week that a friend from our seminary days had died, a victim of pancreatic cancer, which had also killed her father before her. I thought of her beautiful voice, which was like an angel's, and I imagine her now singing with them.We lost another friend several years ago, and a former coworker who retired at the same time as I did  is currently battling this disease, These beautiful souls were/are about my age, healthy and active, and now two are gone and another is fighting a battle I cannot begin to imagine. Then I thought about all the other people who I once knew and loved who are also gone.

We really are like the flowers of the field...here today and gone tomorrow. May the time we have be as beautiful as the zinnias were this summer, and after our time has gone, may we what we leave behind produce something beautiful for future generations.