Every year I do a species inventory of my garden. I make note of which plants are growing where, and how well they tolerate the level of sun, the soil, and their neighboring plants. Sometimes I discover that plants fail to thrive in our clay soil; such is the case with our blueberry and
If we look around us, we can see evidence of environmental degradation. We might see a stand of trees that has been chopped down. We might have friends or relatives who have lost their homes or towns to a wildfire. Perhaps we hear about the extinction of a species we know and love. Now
For many years I waged war in my garden. I dug dandelions out of my lawn, using a tool called Grandpa’s Weeder, and I made huge piles of wilting Sheep’s Sorrel, which slowly dried up in a distant corner by the big pine tree. Every summer my back complained, and every spring the weeds returned
I’ve always had trouble sleeping, but in recent years it’s gotten much worse. I used to stay up deriving formulas on my ceiling before a calculus exam, or running through a piece of viola music in my head, to see if I had it memorized. Perhaps I was anxious, and rather than count sheep
Lace leafed Elderflower This year we’ve had an unusual amount of rain, which is heavenly after the years of intense heat and drought we’ve had recently. The plants are ecstatic, growing rampant, rioting all over the yard. Early in the morning, I stand in the still humid air and breathe deeply, reveling in
