Peas with a mind of their own

 "Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it."

I love edible-pod peas, but have had mixed success in growing them. They don't like the heat, and usually die out about the time everything else starts waking up. And they don't come in bush varieties, which I would prefer because it makes harvesting easier.

This year, I planted them in one of the shadier spots in our backyard, just outside the dripline of a mature lemon tree on the east side of our lot. For the first time, we tried giving them a flexible net trellis to climb. We laid drip tubing along the base of the trellis, planted a couple of pea seeds under each hole, and added a border of lettuce in front of the peas  (The nasturtiums you see in the picture came up all on their own)

You would think the peas would have been quite happy with this setup, which I thought would be ideal for them. However, it has been a constant battle to keep them on the trellis and off the ground. Instead of wrapping their tendrils around the netting and reaching for the sky as I'd planned, they seem to prefer latching onto nasturtiums and/or each other and sprawling all over the ground. Even if I managed to convince some of them to attach to the trellis, they'd wind up being blown off whenever the wind came up. Replacing them on the trellis worked fairly well when the vines were small, although I found it rather troublesome. However, as they grew, no matter how gently I tried to disentangle them and re-place them on the trellis, I'd wind up breaking or bruising the delicate vines.

This morning I noticed something interesting when I went out to pick peas. I found many more peas than I anticipated, for the ones hiding in the tangled masses of vines weren't easily visible. I think I found more peas on these vines with a mind of their own than on the vines that behaved themselves and grew up the trellis as (I thought) they ought to do. And as sometimes happens when I am working in the garden, my mind turned to philosophical thoughts.

The common understanding of the proverb above is that if parents will put enough effort into parenting correctly, their children will grow up to be exactly what they expect them to be. From observation and experience, I don't think that understanding is correct. And looking at it from a pea vine's point of view, I don't think that it's necessarily even a desirable outcome. After all, the pea vine's purpose in life is not to provide tasty peas for my enjoyment, but to grow in the way it was designed to grow (by God or natural selection, take your pick) and to reproduce.

The proverb is true in that children need boundaries in order to grow into responsible adult human beings. I wouldn't expect good results if I just tossed a handful of peas into my backyard and hoped for the best. I went to a good deal of trouble to provide them with a good growing location, a reliable source of water, and I tried to keep weeds at bay. But on the other hand, once children grow into adults they may take a different path than the one their parents envisioned. Try to force peas or people into a design of your own making, and you may bruise or break them. Offer support, but allow them to find their own path, and the positive results may surprise you- if you have the eyes to look for them.

My Lenten garden

February 12, 2016

  It is obvious what kind of life develops out of trying to get your own way all the time: repetitive, loveless, cheap sex; a stinking accumulation of mental and emotional garbage; frenzied and joyless grabs for happiness; trinket gods; magic-show religion; paranoid loneliness; cutthroat competition; all-consuming-yet-never-satisfied wants; a brutal temper; an impotence to love or be loved; divided homes and divided lives; small-minded and lopsided pursuits; the vicious habit of depersonalizing everyone into a rival; uncontrolled and uncontrollable addictions; ugly parodies of community. I could go on. This isn’t the first time I have warned you, you know. If you use your freedom this way, you will not inherit God’s kingdom. But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people. We find ourselves involved in loyal commitments, not needing to force our way in life, able to marshal and direct our energies wisely. -Galatians 5 19-22, The Message

Lent usually arrives about the time our garden begins to wake up. The roses we cut back in January are beginning to leaf out, the fruit trees are beginning to bud and blossom, hollyhock and larkspur seedlings are emerging, and the temperatures are generally in that sweet spot between the chill of the winter and the blast furnace of the summer. We usually aim to plant tomato transplants and other warm-weather crops by Valentine's Day, so that they will have a decent start before it gets too hot for them to prosper. Today I put out transplants of Roma, Early Girl, Mr. Stripey, and Pink Brandywine tomatoes, Armenian cucumber, zucchini and acorn squashes, along with a couple of pony packs of petunias. In the next week, I'll plant seeds of Roma II bush beans,Red Burgandy okra, yellow squash, and basil. By Easter time, the current barren brownness of the raised beds should be alive with tasty and beautiful growing things.

On the one hand, it seems incongruous that Lent, that traditional time of introspection, repentance, and self-denial, should occur just when the circle of life is reinventing itself in our back yard. On the other hand, it makes total sense. The garden has to be prepared in order for desirable plants to grow. That includes a lot of digging in order to remove Bermuda grass, Mexican primrose, clover, and assorted weeds which will take over the garden if ignored, and crowd out the vegetables and flowers I want to have. It includes adding fertilizer, compost, and other soil amendments to nurture the growing plants, and making sure the drip irrigation system works so they will get enough water. If I don't do these things, the garden won't be what I want it to be.

And so I think it is with life. Lent isn't about giving up something for a prescribed number of days. It's a time for taking stock:  thinking about what kind of person I want to be, of acknowledging the many ways I fall short of being all I could or should be, and of making the changes needed to start anew in the right direction. Sometimes that means digging up weeds, and sometimes that means adding fertilizer.

Blossoms on the peach tree

Peas at last

Taking the narrow road

Snap peas and nasturtiums

The snap peas are about three to four inches high now, and are in some danger of being distracted from their trellis by nasturtiums. Attractive as I know the nasturtiums will be when blooming, I probably need to go and remove them from the pea-growing area. Otherwise the peas will follow the path of least resistance and snake their tendrils around the nasturtiums instead of climbing the trellis as I intended. The result will be a tangled mess, and I'll wind up breaking the delicate pea vines at harvest time.

As sometimes happens when I'm wandering in the garden, my thoughts turn philosophical. Isn't that how life often works? Taking the easy way...the path of least resistance... often seems very attractive, yet it can lead to consequences that are not so attractive.

I think the key is thinking ahead. What is it I want to happen? If I want a harvest of peas, the nasturtiums (not to mention the hollyhocks) that sprouted here are going to have to go.

The peas can't think for themselves, or plan ahead. But I can. And sometimes I need to do things not because they are easy or attractive, but because they are right.

Fruitfulness

Zinnias (and beans, tomatoes, squash, eggplant, even if they aren't obvious)

"The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, kindness, gentleness, and self-control"

I've been thinking about this verse as I watch beautiful and delicious things grow in my garden. It's always been one of my favorites, but my understanding of it has changed over the years. I used to think of it as a checklist of qualities I was supposed to have, and berate myself when I felt depressed, anxious, or otherwise lacking in any of them.

But as I've watched my garden grow, and as I've grown older, I've come to the realization that I can no more will myself to bear spiritual fruit than the flowers, fruits, and vegetables in my garden can will themselves into being. A tomato plant creates tomatoes because it is a tomato plant, not because it decides to do so. Given the right amount of sunlight, warmth, water, and nutrients from the soil, it has no choice but to produce tomatoes. It is true that I planted some of the things growing in our backyard, but others have come up entirely on their own, from seeds scattered by the wind or birds, or from vegetable scraps I threw out for compost.

I think "the fruit of the Spirit" manifests itself in us like the fruits in a garden. It's not something we strive to achieve, but something that grows out of our relationship with God. As we nurture that relationship in whatever ways we've found work best, the "fruits of the Spirit" can't help but grow in our lives.

Tomatoes

Artichoke

Fig

Green beans

Strawberrie

Yellow squast

Peaches

Red potatoes

A time for every thing

Now that the photographer has come and gone, we're enjoying this (probably the last for a while) cool spell by working on some garden projects that we've been putting off. I also find my garden time more relaxing since I don't feel the need to keep it "company ready" at all times. Here are a few overview photos taken from different angles.

We've wondered if the photographer came out at exactly the optimum time. The roses were past their peak and fading fast, and the hollyhocks and coreopsis weren't blooming yet, although I think he got some nice pictures of larkpur, nasturtiums, and Mexican petunias in bloom. The vegetables have grown quite a bit, and I picked the first squash and green beans yesterday, along with the last of the broccoli and asparagus.

 I've also noticed this week, that while I thought of several ideas for blog posts about the thoughts that came to me while I was gardening, those posts never came to be. I'd think of an idea and tell myself I'd do it later, when I finished whatever gardening task I was doing when I thought of it. Then I'd find something else to do and promptly forget about it!

Ideas, like gardens and much else in life, are fleeting things, and sometimes it's best to act on them right away. However, I think there's something to be said for delayed gratification as well. "Seize the day", if acted on continuously, becomes "Look, a squirrel!" and nothing gets done. There needs to be a balance.

Although the photographer missed prime time for some things, I think he found plenty of things worth photographing. The nature of a garden, like that of the human mind, is growth and change. Like life, not everything in my garden is beautiful at the same time, and there is no such thing as a perfect moment. Roses give way to larkspur and larkspur gives way to coreopsis. Lettuce and peas will be replaced by squash, tomatoes, and beans, and those will in turn give way to eggplant, peppers, and melon. So it is with ideas, and with life in general.

"To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven."

"He has made all things beautiful in his time."

A harvest of fallen corn

 

Today I decided to pick corn. I wasn't expecting much, because the germination rate of the seeds I planted was so poor. For a few days, I attempted to compensate by hand-pollinating, but then we got hit by a windstorm that flattened most of the stalks. I unsuccessfully tried propping them back up with upside down tomato cages before giving up and leaving them to fend for themselves.

I have not had much success with corn in the past; I'm lucky to see a dozen kernels on one ear.  They usually look more like the ear on the far right than the one on the left. That's because corn is wind-pollinated and each silk must meet up with a pollen grain to grow into a kernel.  That's hard to do with only a few plants; you really need a larger block of plants than is practical in a backyard garden. Although I wasn't anticipating any more in the way of edible results this year, I thought I'd try using the stalks as supports for the snap peas I planned to plant later. The windstorm put an end to that idea. I resigned myself to using the cornstalks for outdoor fall decorating purposes.

When I pulled up the cornstalks today so that they'd have time to dry out before Halloween, I was surprised to find the most filled-out ears of corn my garden has ever produced, and it seemed that some of the fullest ears were the ones lying on the ground! How did that happen? I can only guess that when the pollen fell from the tassels, it wound up in a higher-than-normal concentration near the ground where the embryonic ears now lay.

Then, as I sometimes do, I started thinking about what life lesson I could learn from these plants. Sometimes the ill winds that beat us down actually serve to make us better human beings. Sometimes people who have suffered the most are the kindest, and sometimes the people who have the least are the most giving.

It's an upside-down world sometimes, and not just for corn plants after a windstorm. And sometimes being upside-down is a good thing.

Practicing what I preach

I was probably pushing 50 before I really bought into the idea of tackling housekeeping tasks a few minutes at a time each day, rather than letting things pile up until I reached my breaking point and embarked on a cleaning marathon. I credit Flylady for my epiphany. Although I admit I don't follow her system 100%, I have found the principle of doing a little bit at a time over a long period of time both effective and liberating.

Having routines and doing a little bit at a time works well for me in my garden, too. I am rather sensitive to both heat and bright light, so in the heat of the summer the mantra "you can do anything for 15 minutes" becomes more like 5 minutes at a time for me. You'd be surprised how many weeds you can pull in 5 minutes. Often I just take a stroll around the garden, observing what's new and what needs to be done. I may pull a few weeds, give a thirsty plant a bucket of pond water, or pick ripening vegetables. Then I go inside and cool off. I do not spend hours at a time working in our garden. It is a garden built by minutes snatched here and there over the past 12 years.

This picture shows the northwest corner of our backyard. The north wall, behind the gazebo, is a common wall we share with the HOA-maintained entrance to our development. I do not like looking at bare block walls, so we planted honeysuckle on the west wall and snail vine on the north wall. However, the HOA does not share my esthetic preferences, and we have to be vigilant in keeping the vines on our side of the fence. Today I noticed them creeping over the wall into HOA territory, so we trimmed them back. That task should have taken only 5 minutes, but it was an effort to worm ourselves into the back corner due to the fact that I had been ignoring the honeysuckle vine's stealthy creep up into the pear tree for several months. It really was a jungle in there...hot, sweaty, and overgrown by vines. If I had snipped them  back as soon as they sent their first tentative tendrils into the tips of the tree branches, I would have spared myself considerable effort and discomfort.

I will survive

In the process of digging holes for the pergola supports, Mike dug up this basil plant and it languished uprooted all night. It was already suffering from some kind of unexplained chlorosis, and was limp and wilted when I found it the following morning. I put it in a pot with holes in the bottom, added potting soil, and stuck it in the streambed. It has perked up considerably since then.

It amazes me what some plants...and people...can go through, and survive while others, who have more advantages and fewer challenges, don't do so well. I think this basil plant is a survivor.

Of zinnias and Eden

"And God planted a garden eastward in Eden; and there he put the man whom he had formed... And out of the ground God made to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight, and good for food...And God took the man, and put him into the garden of Eden to dress it and to keep it."

As larkspur, nasturtiums, and hollyhocks begin to set seed and die, zinnias are beginning to come into bloom. I didn't plant these zinnias (or the larkspur, hollyhocks, and most of the nasturtiums either for that matter). Flowers from seasons past dropped seeds that lay dormant until the instructions encoded in their DNA told them that conditions were right for them to germinate. The time of year they show up varies somewhat, but zinnias like warmer temperatures and longer days.The main thing I've had to do in this bed is pull out zinnias in places where they were crowding out the beans and squash I did plant. There are also a lot of tomatoes I didn't plant mixed in with the zinnias, and in some cases I've had to pull them out too.

In the story of the biblical Garden of Eden, God planted the garden and Adam and Eve were supposed to take care of it. God did all the heavy digging, so to speak, but from the way I read the story, humans were supposed to tend the garden. The work wasn't meant to be burdensome, but enjoyable and creative. That's how I like to think of our garden. I like to let nature take its course as much as possible, making adjustments as I see fit.

That means I let plants nearing the end of their functional lives get a little straggly as they set seed and provide food for birds and insects. My HOA probably would object to this were the plants in our front yard, because their emphasis is on maintaining appearances. It means I probably don't get the maximum yield in terms of fruits and vegetable production, because I like to leave room for flowers in my vegetable beds. I also allow birds to eat some of our excess peaches and other fruit, because I like to watch birds. Farmers might see this as wasteful, because their emphasis is on growing enough to make a profit.

 I like a garden that is both pleasant to the sight, and good for food, not only for me, but for other living creatures. It provides enough fresh fruits and vegetables for us to enjoy and some to share. And it's not burdensome to take care of it, but enjoyable and creative.

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and tomatoes

Tomatoes are coming up in unusual places all over the yard, most likely due to my propensity to toss inedible fruits and vegetables directly into the raised beds. This one sprouted in the middle of a parsley plant. There's another one coming up in the rocks lining the streambed.

I just never know what I'm going to find, or where. That's part of the fun. If you're interested in such things, here's an article on "The Gospel of the Garden" that I really liked.

Onion fail

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28

So far, I've had to pull up two of these red onions because they bolted, and the bulbs aren't much bigger than when I originally planted them in February. I wasn't sure when I should try to harvest them, so I researched it via my ever-helpful friend Google, and learned that they should be ready when the tops fall over, but must be harvested immediately if they begin to bolt. Once they send up flower spikes, the bulb begins to be consumed to nourish the bloom so it can do what plants naturally do...set seed and die.

At this point I'd consider my onion experiment mostly a failure. I didn't get the large bulbs I anticipated, but green onions are also tasty and have many culinary uses. Next year I think I'll try planting them in the fall instead of the spring, so they will have a longer time in the ground before the lengthening days encourage them to flower.

My onion failure caused me to think about failure in general. There are many things in life that don't work out the way we predict or would prefer, but generally I think very few things that happen can be classified as total failures. Usually something positive can be salvaged from most disappointments, even if it is only that we learn something that may help us or someone else be more successful in the future.

Doing what I can

God, give me grace to accept with serenity

the things that cannot be changed,

Courage to change the things

which should be changed,

and the Wisdom to distinguish

the one from the other.

Living one day at a time,

Enjoying one moment at a time,

Accepting hardship as a pathway to peace,

Taking, as Jesus did,

This sinful world as it is,

Not as I would have it,

Trusting that You will make all things right,

If I surrender to Your will,

So that I may be reasonably happy in this life,

And supremely happy with You forever in the next.

-Reinhold Niebuhr

I was too obsessed yesterday with trying to figure out what might be wrong with the apple tree to either enjoy or do anything constructive in the garden. Today I think I will make better use of my time by digging out the Bermuda grass that is threatening to infest this raised bed and choke out these snapbeans.

I've done what I can about the apple tree. I've gone through three separate disease keys from the Cooperative Extension services in several Western states, and although I'm not 100% certain, I think it is likely some kind of crown or root rot brought on by our archenemy of poorly draining clay soil, and there's not much I can do about that. Mike reminded me that before we planted the apple tree, we dug down about three feet in an attempt to improve the drainage, and amended the native soil with compost. That was the general wisdom ten years ago, but since then recommendations have changed. One of the results of backfilling with heavily amended soil is that the area will sink over time as the compost decays, resulting in a sunken area. The sunken area is really obvious now that the grass is gone, meaning that when we water, it pools right next to the trunk and stays there, opening the roots up to various infections.

The first lines of the "Serenity Prayer" above are well known, probably because of their adaptation by Alcoholics Anonymous and other 12-step programs, but the last part isn't as familiar to most people. For some reason, I was reminded of the thoughts behind this prayer today. If I'm going to be a successful gardener, I have to work with my backyard as it is, heavy clay soil, extreme heat and all. I'd rather have better soil and more moderate temperatures, but this is what I have to work with. Trees may die, but there are other things in our garden to enjoy, and perhaps the difficulty of coaxing beauty from a less-than-ideal situation adds to its appreciation.

Morning has broken

Morning has broken, like the first morning. 

Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird. 

Praise for the singing, praise for the morning, 

Praise for them springing fresh from the Word. 

Sweet the rain's new fall, sunlight from heaven. 

Like the first dewfall, on the first grass. 

Praise for the sweetnes of the wet garden, 

Sprung in completeness where His feet pass. 

Mine is the sunlight, mine is the morning. 

Born of the one light Eden saw play. 

Praise with elation, praise every morning; 

God's recreation of the new day. 

No further words are necessary.

Thinning, weeding, and planting: a Lenten meditation

Our Desert Gold peach tree has set fruit, not so much this year as some years, but it still needs to be thinned in order to yield tasty, reasonably sized fruit. As I've been working on that today, I also notice that some of the branches have died, so I will also do some pruning to remove the deadwood.

The recent rain has caused weeds to grow along with the vegetables and fruits in our garden. This time of year it is a daily battle to keep them under control. They seem to sprout up and grow a foot high overnight, and I try to get them out before they become fruitful and multiply. At least the moist soil makes them easier to pull out.

We planted two more fruit trees yesterday, Minnie Lee and Royal Lee cherries. Cherries are one thing that historically haven't been possible to grow here, because they require more chilling hours than we usually get. These are new cultivars that have only recently been appearing in nurseries, and they supposedly only require 200-300 chilling hours, which is about what we get. You need both varieties for cross-pollination; they aren't self-fruitful. We're also using them to experiment with a new growing method, high-density planting, in which you plant two similar trees in the same planting hole.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent on the Christian calendar. I didn't grow up in a liturgical church, so my take on this season is probably a little different. I don't think so much of "what should I give up for Lent?" as I think of thinning, weeding, and planting.

 Are there things in my life that need to be thinned? Many things that are desirable and good are best enjoyed in moderation. Trying to do too many good things at once may result in none of the things being done well, or even burnout.

Are there things in my life that need to be weeded? There are some things that don't belong in the garden of my life, and they deprive the things I want to see growing of water, nutrients, and sunshine. Ignore them too long, and they will spread and become more difficult to remove.

Are there things in my life that I want to plant? I've always found Lent a pretty good time to try out a new spiritual practice. If I try something and find that it brings me closer to God, then I try to make it a permanent part of my life. If not, I don't feel the need to continue it for an arbitrary period of time. Sometimes my gardening experiments don't work so well, either.

March overview and a look back

Most of the fruit trees have begun budding and blooming, as have the hollyhocks, larkspur, and bachelor's button that have appeared in various places after reseeding themselves. It's always fun to go out and see the garden surprise of the day- what has come up and where, what's budding, what's blooming or fruiting. (although sadly, sometimes the surprise is what has died!)

Day to day changes in anything are often so subtle that we don't realize change is taking place. Here's a photo looking toward the same corner of the yard, taken in 2002 when we began this adventure.

.A lot has changed since 2002, and not just in our backyard garden. Some of the changes have been good and some bad and some I can't tell yet. I think it's best to think of change like a garden- something one is actively involved in shaping. There are things I can't control, like our hot, dry climate and our alkaline, poorly draining soil, but there's plenty of work for me to do dealing with the things I can control. I also try to remember that change is not usually an instantaneous event, but something that happens gradually over time.

Weeding my own garden

Peaches, nasturtium, and larkspur are beginning to bloom, but so are spring weeds. They seem to sprout up full grown overnight, and I don't know where they are finding the moisture to grow like this because the soil was pretty dry. (Better check the drip lines before the really hot weather sets in) It's not possible to get rid of this particular spring rite of passage, because the seeds blow in from all over the neighborhood, but I try to get rid of them before they flower and dump the bulk of their seeds where they stand.

As I sometimes do, I started thinking while I was weeding. One of my pet peeves is the tendency of some people to point out the failings of others.  I find it particularly egregious when religious people feel it is their duty to warn others they are sinning in some particular way, usually a sin that they themselves aren't tempted to commit. I can speak only from my own faith perspective and study of the Bible, but from what I understand from the teachings of Jesus, I've got enough to do weeding my own garden. I think that if one reads the Bible and finds things to apply to other people, he or she is reading it the wrong way.

Matthew 7 quotes Jesus as saying, "Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother's eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, 'Let me take the speck out of your eye,' and behold, the log is in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye". That seems pretty clear to me.

 I'll never get all the weeds out of my garden, or out of my life, so I'd better concentrate on weeding my own garden and making it into something beautiful. If someone admires my garden and wants to know how I did it, I'll be glad to tell them.

How do you like your peas?

These were supposed to be bush sugar peas, and I planted them under each emitter on the drip grid last fall. By the time I figured out they were actually climbing peas, it was too late to trellis them without breaking the vines, so I stuck tomato cages into the tangled mass. We're getting lots of tasty peas from them now.

Lots of things in life don't turn out the way you think, or plan, but can still be enjoyable. "Monitor and adjust", a teaching mantra that has gone out of fashion, is still valid.

October surprise

I found this watermelon growing from a vine that came up as a volunteer. I knew the vine was hiding beneath the zinnia jungle, but it didn't do much until we cleared out some of the zinnias and the watermelon vine had access to sunlight.

I don't know that it will reach an edible stage this late in the year, but it made me wonder. What kinds of hidden treasures might we find in our lives if we look closely, clear away some of the overwhelming busyness, and give overlooked possibilities an opportunity to flourish?

A quail family sets up housekeeping in our garden

One of the unexpected benefits of backyard gardening is that it provides an attractive habitat for wildlife. Once, a hummingbird built its nest about five feet from the ground in an orange tree, and we watched the eggs hatch and two tiny babies grow up and fly away. Many times when I go outside in the evening, a particular one will fly right up to me as if to say hello, and I imagine it is one of those babies I watched grow up.

 Today when I walked outside to pick peppers and tomatoes, I heard high-pitched baby bird sounds followed by an urgent, lower-pitched parental warning. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a mama quail leading her babies, which appeared to be quite young, to safety beneath some asparagus ferns in one of our raised beds. You can see Papa Quail keeping watch in the picture above on some tree stakes that used to hold an orchid tree in place. (The orchid tree was killed to the ground in last winter's frost, but that's another story)

The picture below shows both parents in another part of the yard. They've been diligent in their efforts to distract me from where their babies are hidden, and they're hidden well enough that I haven't been able to get a picture yet. When I walked out to the gazebo to prune back the snail vine which was daring to creep over the block wall into HOA territory, I ran into the entire quail family. I think maybe the parents had taken their babies to the streambed for a drink. Mama Quail quickly hustled her brood into the dense growth at the bottom of the honeysuckle vines, and then both parents started loudly vocalizing in attempts to lead me away from where the babies were hiding. The babies were very quiet, and the parents very determined.

Sometimes I think human beings could take lessons in family living from creatures like these. I like the way Mama and Papa Quail work together to nurture and protect their brood, and the parents seem to put their parenting duties ahead of other priorities, even their own safety. Not to mention the fact that the babies apparently do what their parents tell them to do, or not do....

More listening to flowers

There is a time for everything,

    and a season for every activity under the heavens:

     a time to be born and a time to die,

    a time to plant and a time to uproot,

     a time to kill and a time to heal,

    a time to tear down and a time to build,

    a time to weep and a time to laugh,

    a time to mourn and a time to dance,

     a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,

    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,

     a time to search and a time to give up,

    a time to keep and a time to throw away,

    a time to tear and a time to mend,

    a time to be silent and a time to speak,

     a time to love and a time to hate,

    a time for war and a time for peace.

I have a love/hate relationship with social media. Most of the time I really enjoy Facebook; it allows me to keep up with friends old and new in ways that were never possible in the past. Among my Facebook friends, I have classmates I haven't seen since elementary school, friends (and a few former enemies) from high school, people I knew in college and seminary, former coworkers and church members, long-lost relatives, and many of my former students. It's usually fun to celebrate joys and sorrows with people I've known over the years; it's fun to see where life has led and is leading them; and it's interesting to be updated on their thoughts and what is important to them.

But some of the time, I'm saddened and bothered by what I read. People change, and grow apart, and sometimes you never really knew someone you thought you knew. I know some things about some of my Facebook friends that I wish I didn't know. (To be fair, some of them probably think the same about me!) When I see posts that are illogical,  intolerant, deliberately inflammatory, and/or designed to invoke fear and loathing of "the other", that's something I wish I didn't know about the person posting it. So, as I often do, I decided to walk away from the computer and work in our garden.

I started out deadheading coreopsis. Coreopsis is a large plant that thrives in our heat, and each plant has dozens of vibrantly yellow flowers on long stalks. Even after the flowers have faded and gone to seed, they're not unattractive, but I cut them off in order to extend the blooming period. I also throw the cutoff blossoms in places where I'd like for new plants to come up next spring. Since I hadn't deadheaded for several days, there was a lot of it to do, and as I cut back the stalks to a leafy part of the stem, I wondered if it would be a good idea to deadhead my Facebook friends list. There are people who I once knew who no longer bring joy to my life, and perhaps it is time to remove them.

Then I was surprised to see this yellow water lily. Possibly because of the aggressive way we went after the cattails that had taken over the pond, we haven't seen nearly as many blooms this year. Part of the reason we tried to remove the cattails was that the water lilies were being crowded out. However, since the cattail roots and the waterlily roots were intertwined, it was impossible to remove the cattails without disturbing the waterlily rhizomes. We've seen a few white blooms, but no pink, magenta, or yellow ones, and I wondered if those varieties were still alive. In the case of the waterlilies, the correct gardening technique as just to "let things lie".

Deadhead or let it be? That's always the question. There is a time for all things.