In search of story


Connections: June 9.17

  As you know, dear reader, I am trying to ready my house for selling.

I’ve been packing, hauling, sweating, heaving, sorting, tossing,

stressed, sleepless, harried and hassled,

weary, bruised, and cross.

It’s been a long dark tunnel with a tiny light at the end.

My son called. Also a gardener.

They have so many plants left over from the plant sale —

he’s planted all he can —

would I take some?

If you are a gardener, you heard my gasp.

Wasted plants? All those cramped roots longing to stretch?

Gardeners are irrational

so I said sure.

I have so much to do and am so close to being ready to list

but I said sure.

And we had some perfect June days.

I sank my knuckles into the dirt

brushed up against the tomato leaves as much as possible

cooed over the poor cramped marigolds

fussed over the red onions

introduced the new jalapeno to old-timer daylily

pictured the banana peppers next the cherry tomatoes come August

basked in the brief respite from the world’s chaos

and my own

and now have the prettiest little kitchen garden you ever saw.


— go figure —

for someone else.









Connections: May 25.17

It’s a two-rabbit morning

the clover fresh and sweet

crisped by morning rain

the neighbors can’t compete.

My back yard’s never treated

as lawn, it’s a disgrace

but as alfresco salad

it’s a four-star eating place.

So I allow them peaceful dining

so grossly appetited

until they eye my garden

when they are promptly disinvited.



Connections: May 6.17

When onions and basil

tickle your nose

and geranium fire

crackles and glows

when dianthus and peppers

salad burnet

waft up a heavenly

eau de toilette,

when honey is jarred

from local clover

you’ll know this soggy dark

spring is over!

(It WILL be over some day, won’t it?)

Many more thanks to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives.