Oddments

In search of story


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Connections: November 28.17

When you’ve decked your deck with autumn hues

of scarlet, gold and light chartreuse

you don’t expect what can appear

when summer leaves a souvenir.

Nobody planted it but itself

no phantom gnome or garden elf

it had to see, after hearing the tout,

what Thanksgiving and Christmas were all about.

 

 

Thanks again to the S.W. Berg Photo Archives

and D.J. Berg’s green (and yellow and red) thumb.

 

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Connections: August 25.17

I’ve never grown pear tomatoes

but I hope I will do it again

there’s something jolly about them

though I’m not sure I quite comprehend.

Is it the belfry they bring to the garden

their curly jester hat

or is it they look like shmoos

or first cousin to squatty kumquat?

Or maybe the candle flame

they glowingly bring to mind?

Or happily all the above

conglomerately citrined.

 

 

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4 Comments

Connections: August 15.17

Rejoice with me, dear reader,

and witness victory:

I’ve grown actual tomatoes

I’m chuffed and filled with glee!

When I walk through a nursery

the tomatoes run and hide

they know my reputation

for black-thumbed tomatocide.

An occasional single fruit

a miser’s salad plate

was the most I’ve ever gleaned

or could anticipate.

But, lo, a red ripe miracle

such glories on the vines!

I’ve danced the gardener’s jig

and changed my name to Heinz.

 

 

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Connections: August 13.17

My family’s in the garden

the past grows ever green

my mom is in the phlox

most surely, though unseen

her dad in the tomatoes

my green-thumbed Grandpa Mauck

son of North Carolina

whose hills rolled in his talk

Grandma O’Hern in moss roses

her summer’s tried-and-true

her son, my dad, in marigold

(the only flower he knew!)

the dill for an unknown

its air a bit of mystery

but I know it figures somewhere

in my leafy family history

I don’t come (as they say) from money

I come more from dirt

so it’s good to feel them back

in horticultural concert.

 

 

 

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