revival: part IV
Yesterday we had the Sebastians over for playing and lunch:
with garden salad (using our red leaf lettuce, red amaranth leaves & lots of purslane),
homemade pizza, and homemade cheesecake with the garden plum sauce.
And a watermelon from one of the plants the Sebastians had given us.
They hadn’t been over in a few months and were curious as to our progress;
which continues to be slow yet steady. It’s really nice to have friends nearby.
They were most impressed by the plantings in the old compost bin,
the sweet corn is now surpassing the wooden structure,
everything is vibrant and lush, and the melon plants are gigantic.
Afterwards, it flipped over to Flower time.
And next to the tomatillo, the sesame and quinoa seeds have sprouted!
I got up early this morning to plant more calendula and sunflower seeds.
And transplant four more lupine seedlings into the flower garden,
and the tarragon into the garden, and a few of our houseplants.
And we dismantled the cold frame to clear a place for the rosemary
to enter the earth, with some purslane to keep it company.
The morning glories are spiraling around the bamboo fence,
bringing a once-neglected part of our yard to life.
It’s also amazing how our roses have revived:
three opened blooms and two more buds forming.
For this last installment of the revival entries,
I wanted to talk about the lesson I’ve learned:
don’t give up, on anything.
Seeds that didn’t at first sprout grew some of the best plants once given a second chance,
trees that at first seemed dead have branched out new shoots and leaves and fruits,
the artichokes and tomatillos and everything else have made such a comeback,
with a little food and water, and lots of tender loving care.
So maybe that’s the key…
A year ago, we were stuffed into a car and trailer,
heading southwest on a long and arduous journey,
to an unknown destination and an unknown future.
So much has happened,
all teaching me that there is no limit
to how much can grow,
how much can be learned,
and how much love we can share.
Marmalade continues to astound me,
with her abilities to adapt to our new situation,
and her comprehension of new languages and cultures,
and her unending creativity;
she has been home from kindergarten for a month now,
back to being our youngest artist-in-residence,
resuming her full-time status while her school is on summer holiday.
And her energy and output are unsurpassed!
She has resumed her self-portrait series on my iPad,
and begun a new new series of mixed media drawings,
and has been working intently on a collection of collaborations with the moonfarmers.
Our parents have shown continued support for our less-than-traditional lifestyle,
perhaps silently wondering why we chose to live as moonfarmers,
but outwardly offering suggestions and help to make this reality.
And we’ve been so happy to be on Hiatus,
sharing our adventures and being a part of this community.
I feel I could easily extend for another year, or two,
as my priorities are to work on transforming this place,
(creating the here and now & planting for the future)
instead of re-entering the rat-race of the contemporary art world.
But mostly, I enjoy life here, and the light here,
the way the sunset affects the colors of the blooms;
the incredible smells of the freshly watered garden,
and the raspberry-scented roses that are again in bloom.
And the noises of night, glowing under the moonlight.
I hope that our next year brings about the renovation of the ruin,
as a collaboration with the eco-architects,
since I want to retain the original taipa earthen walls
and embed colored glass bottles into the walls to enliven the space,
as a magical get-away for artists, scientists, and other creatives
who need to stop and smell the roses.
Don’t give up, on anything, and anyone.
Life might just surprise you.