a week today since the dog's passing.
remembered this morning all of the things i used to do to give him love, all the gestures i made towards him during my daily movements through the house: when i used to bend down and pat him when he asked for attention, scratch his back when he wasn't asking for it, bring him outside with us every time we went into the backyard, tap him with my foot whenever he was searching, blind and nearly deaf, through the house for me. all of these offerings that gave him love. they came to me all together this morning, and showed me that he was surrounded by our love, even if i can see a version in which he was alone and discarded.
i have been bringing him spirit plates this week, sharing our meals with him whenever i felt called to, and placing them on his grave, then in the compost when another was ready. felt strongly the drive to do this for several days, and entirely free of any concern for what others might think of me doing so. after a few days, the drive began to dissipate some, and i wondered how long i would do it, how long it needed to be done, how i would know. concurrent with this waning direction, i began to feel more self-conscious about what my neighbors and family out back were thinking; their judgments of me began to have sway over the time i spent at his grave, how freely i moved there.
today, a week since he left his body and us, i wanted to be out there, on the land where he died and where he now lies, in the afternoon when last week we were loving him and putting him to sleep. i lit a candle and a lantern, left the candle on the counter inside and brought the lantern out and placed it on his grave. the boy was attentive with the fire, showing me the "fire" sign with his hands, fingers waving and moving up, up. he and i moved about the yard, and i picked dandelions, violets, gil-o'er-the-ground, and other wildflowers while keeping the boy's adventures within arm's reach. laid the flowers on Fritz's grave and sat beside it in the grass. the last week of rain has made lush the grass where he was euthanized, made it long and tussled, no trace of where we sat, where he lay, the story all grown out of it.
it was good to sit there beside his grave. the boy sat beside me putting rocks into a bowl, adding grass, stirring it with his little hand, dumping it all out and starting over again. it felt companionable, not like Fritz needed me there, but as though we both appreciated the nearness, the intention to pass this time together. after some time, i suddenly was free of the anchor holding me there, and at the same time, the boy said "bye-bye", and walked away. i emptied what i felt clearly to be his last spirit bowl into the compost out back. we looped around the garden, gathering some johnny jump-ups, oregano, and sage, laid them on his grave as we passed by it on our way into the house, and i brought the lantern in with us. it burns now beside me with the candle, the only two lights in the house aside from the computer screen. they give the warm, rich, comforting glow of fire, unlike any electric light. i'll leave them burning until my husband comes home, and we will blow them out together.
the candle and lantern burn in the window that looks out over our back yard. high above them, at the top of the window, a paper decoration rocks and dances in the warmth they send up. two little flames alone in the world, and a dance they don't know they inspire.
a ritual of celebrating and letting go, coming from the direction and guidance i feel. i have always felt the tug of what steps i should take, though most of the time i shush it in order to continue to blend in with those around me. during my time with the cherokee and lakota people, they walked in this same way, and showed me that i have company, sisters and brothers. they reminded me how right it is, how it is the only way, to move as we are called, to move as Creator leads us.
Friday, May 8, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
pictures
here is a happy series of him in our garden three years ago, showing his energy and delight in life and in my love (and in fresh vegetables).
the pictures featuring him trail off once the boy comes into the spotlight, and most of the ones over the past year tell the story of what how we treated him - he appears only in the backgrounds with no focus on him, and mostly he is either alone on his bed or waiting at the foot of the action to be noticed. these are very painful for me.
when the boy sees the photos of him on the computer, he smiles and reaches to the screen, saying "touch" and "tickle." "tickle" is what he used to say when he patted Fritz.
looking at photos of him returns me momentarily to how it felt when he was living this life with us. a monumental distraction from his death that brings him back to me while i look at them. i continue to be jolted when i stop looking at the pictures, back into the reality that he is gone and that these things are just traces of when he lived. but they do soothe, they make his memory more alive, and help to keep him a part of my life.
i long for some thing to memorialize him. not a stone, not a locket with his fur, not a doll sewn from his old dog bed with his smell on it. the right idea has yet to present itself, and i wait to create it when it does.
the pictures featuring him trail off once the boy comes into the spotlight, and most of the ones over the past year tell the story of what how we treated him - he appears only in the backgrounds with no focus on him, and mostly he is either alone on his bed or waiting at the foot of the action to be noticed. these are very painful for me.
when the boy sees the photos of him on the computer, he smiles and reaches to the screen, saying "touch" and "tickle." "tickle" is what he used to say when he patted Fritz.
looking at photos of him returns me momentarily to how it felt when he was living this life with us. a monumental distraction from his death that brings him back to me while i look at them. i continue to be jolted when i stop looking at the pictures, back into the reality that he is gone and that these things are just traces of when he lived. but they do soothe, they make his memory more alive, and help to keep him a part of my life.
i long for some thing to memorialize him. not a stone, not a locket with his fur, not a doll sewn from his old dog bed with his smell on it. the right idea has yet to present itself, and i wait to create it when it does.
walking with grief
i have been walking through Fritz's routines, asking to feel how the last year and half of his life were, the months that our arms were about him a little less tightly when the boy took his position of primary little one. i can feel the ache of loneliness, longing for activity, adventures outside of the house, longing for the affection and attention that surrounded him before the boy arrived. who would not retreat into sleep under these circumstances? the warm bed in the corner, the nooks where we folded blankets for him throughout the house. who would not follow the owner religiously, staying close by her heels, his heels, to know that they were near when one's eyes no longer see? who would not celebrate every arrival home with gusto, with singing, with dancing, even if one's celebration is ignored - or, worse, shoved and squashed - as they try to keep the boy asleep?
Friday, May 1, 2009
Fritz
we had to euthanize our dog today.
he woke from sleep with pain, and carried it throughout the day, through vet tests, during the long time in his cage there. it was lessened when they filled him with pain meds so i could drive him home and have him die here at home, though he still panted and tensed from it.
he was old, my little fritty.
he sniffed the air when i opened the door, smelling his home, the familiar scents. he'd wagged his tail when i came in to the vets to pick him up. i didn't greet him back, i was too intent on discussing things with the vet. i did hold his face and kiss him later, and convinced them to remove the muzzle.
he sat in the car a long time, peeing twice onto my favorite blanket that was made for my son, the one my mum so lovingly made for him, the one i wanted him to come home on because it meant a lot to me. his urine was dark from his body shutting down, so now the blanket is done.
my husband came home shortly, rescheduled his charges and coworkers to be here with us, here for Fritz. Fritz sniffed the air when my husband got out of his car next to us in our driveway, and perked up. my husband looked down at Fritz in the car, leaned his head on the roof, and cried. working all day with the knowledge of this coming, working with clients about their emotional and sexual abuse while carrying his grief and love for our dying dog in his heart. we both watched Fritz, patted him, talked to him, and cried. i brought him water, let him drink some, then took it away to keep him from overloading his system.
Fritz indicated after a long time of waiting that he wanted down, so i lifted him in his blanket, still anticipating the crying that the vets had reported upon lifting, but he was quite as i carried him to the back yard and set him down. he moved around a bit back there, going for the stairs to be inside, but we encouraged him gently to stay outside, for husband's discomfort with Fritz's death coming in our house. we gave him more water, still not as much as he wanted. the vet came with his assistant, a distant relative of my husband's who had been unkind to him in their younger years. the vet was gentle, giving us love, respecting Fritz, surrounding all of us with his caring. they sedated him before the anesthesia so they could put him down without the muzzle that the other vet had insisted on. we sat with him, patted him, waited and coached him through the movement towards sleep. they said the sedative make him less aware of the pain that had had him moaning now and then. we gave him the water again and he drank and drank. i offered another bowl when he's nearly emptied the first; he lapped at it once or twice, the gave us all a sad chuckled when he turned back towards the original bowl to finish. he lapped at it more and more slowly, his chin moving down into it, still slow laps, me tipping the bowl up on its side to accommodate him, still very slow laps, his chin in the water, taking it in. he stopped drinking and we moved the bowl away.
his head lowered slowly to the ground, then rested on the ground. we continued patting him gently, i glad for him and my husband that my husband was crouched by his head, as he always wanted my husband's love. i lay by his head, told him we loved him, looked into his sleepy, clouded eyes. my husband gave him love. we nodded to the vet, who gently put the anesthesia into the port on Fritz's leg. we patted him and loved him. i watched his breaths for a few seconds, then saw his head and shoulders relax fully down to the earth, and knew it had worked. it was as though he melted into the earth, all that was active in him, the "life" in him, sank down into the earth from which it had come. his eyes were opened a little, the blue, scarred corneas showing. my husband and i cried. the vet and the relative left, i gave her a daffodil from our yard that was just starting to open.
my husband wrapped his arms around Fritz, held him and cried for a long time. i was glad he had that, the pouring of his love into Fritz's little frame.
later, my husband suggested we bury him there, where we'd pass by him every day on our way into our backyard, our garden, up to our family in the houses behind. he suggested we plant a willow there; we've been discussing one for a while, this could be the spot, for Fritz. he asked would it have enough room? would it have enough room? between it and the house, just as he started to dig Fritz's grave. i looked up, pictured the willow in 20 years, and said it would.
the boy arrived with his nana as husband dug. he commented on husband's activity, then trotted over to fritz, squatted and toussled the fur between his ears familiarly.
i dug a little deeper, husband decided to wrap Fritz in his blanket, the one i'd saved after we brought my childhood dog home from the vet in it, the small soft blue one. he went in to fetch it, came out and wrapped him, asked me if i wanted to lower Fritz into the grave. i gently laid him in it, and he looked cozy and comfortably curled in it, and i said so. i took the shovel and dug compost from all three piles Fritz wanted to eat from all spring, and shifted it from the shovel onto Fritz's little body. i brought him an egg from the house, as we'd done for my childhood dog, and cracked it and placed it near him. i tore a lettuce leaf and placed it down with him. i poured milk over the compost. he'd loved milk and eggs and fresh lettuce and compost, and aside from the lettuce, he couldn't have them for the health problems they gave him. well, not the compost; we kept him from that because of many nights of getting up with him at 2 am to go outside and eat grass, and compost was on the list of suspects. so the eggs and milk were finally free for him. i also brought him some of the dirt from the driveway which he always wanted to eat and which i sometimes roughly pulled him back from, to keep him from possibly getting us up at night.
we began to sprinkle the soil over him, breaking up the soil and clay clumps in our hands as we came upon them. the boy dropped his collar in, we fetched it out, he dropped it in, we fetched it out, he dropped it in again and we both told each other that perhaps it was supposed to go into the earth with him. we lifted and shook more and more soil, clay from our hands. following my husband's lead, we filled his whole grave with the soil from our hands. so right, so slow, to fill a grave this way, the shovel having done its work in digging. as the level of the soil rose up to meet the ground level, we began to shift the surface of it around, to keep it evenly filled, and it was like toussling Fritz's fur. when the grave was filled and we came to the last of the soil, we raked the soil gently from the grass around the grave with our fingers, and we were running our fingers through Fritz's fur.
his little body lies curled, softly, in our earth tonight. we cry in our hearts, we cry out loud. we speak our misgivings about so many requests for love that Fritz gave us that went unmet. so many moments of thoughtlessness, withholding, that he experienced at our hands, and we grieve and hurt for him and for us.
i understand drugs tonight, i understand drinking, i understand constant distraction. this pain has nowhere to go, is accompanied by no thoughts to ease it. we could have given him a better life. now he is out of our hands, back to creation and wholeness, as i know, out to loneliness, as my husband feels tonight, and we cannot pat him, cannot play with him, cannot kiss him and make him feel beloved now. only grieve him and pray that he feels and knows, or remembers, our love. Fritz, you are loved and missed.
he woke from sleep with pain, and carried it throughout the day, through vet tests, during the long time in his cage there. it was lessened when they filled him with pain meds so i could drive him home and have him die here at home, though he still panted and tensed from it.
he was old, my little fritty.
he sniffed the air when i opened the door, smelling his home, the familiar scents. he'd wagged his tail when i came in to the vets to pick him up. i didn't greet him back, i was too intent on discussing things with the vet. i did hold his face and kiss him later, and convinced them to remove the muzzle.
he sat in the car a long time, peeing twice onto my favorite blanket that was made for my son, the one my mum so lovingly made for him, the one i wanted him to come home on because it meant a lot to me. his urine was dark from his body shutting down, so now the blanket is done.
my husband came home shortly, rescheduled his charges and coworkers to be here with us, here for Fritz. Fritz sniffed the air when my husband got out of his car next to us in our driveway, and perked up. my husband looked down at Fritz in the car, leaned his head on the roof, and cried. working all day with the knowledge of this coming, working with clients about their emotional and sexual abuse while carrying his grief and love for our dying dog in his heart. we both watched Fritz, patted him, talked to him, and cried. i brought him water, let him drink some, then took it away to keep him from overloading his system.
Fritz indicated after a long time of waiting that he wanted down, so i lifted him in his blanket, still anticipating the crying that the vets had reported upon lifting, but he was quite as i carried him to the back yard and set him down. he moved around a bit back there, going for the stairs to be inside, but we encouraged him gently to stay outside, for husband's discomfort with Fritz's death coming in our house. we gave him more water, still not as much as he wanted. the vet came with his assistant, a distant relative of my husband's who had been unkind to him in their younger years. the vet was gentle, giving us love, respecting Fritz, surrounding all of us with his caring. they sedated him before the anesthesia so they could put him down without the muzzle that the other vet had insisted on. we sat with him, patted him, waited and coached him through the movement towards sleep. they said the sedative make him less aware of the pain that had had him moaning now and then. we gave him the water again and he drank and drank. i offered another bowl when he's nearly emptied the first; he lapped at it once or twice, the gave us all a sad chuckled when he turned back towards the original bowl to finish. he lapped at it more and more slowly, his chin moving down into it, still slow laps, me tipping the bowl up on its side to accommodate him, still very slow laps, his chin in the water, taking it in. he stopped drinking and we moved the bowl away.
his head lowered slowly to the ground, then rested on the ground. we continued patting him gently, i glad for him and my husband that my husband was crouched by his head, as he always wanted my husband's love. i lay by his head, told him we loved him, looked into his sleepy, clouded eyes. my husband gave him love. we nodded to the vet, who gently put the anesthesia into the port on Fritz's leg. we patted him and loved him. i watched his breaths for a few seconds, then saw his head and shoulders relax fully down to the earth, and knew it had worked. it was as though he melted into the earth, all that was active in him, the "life" in him, sank down into the earth from which it had come. his eyes were opened a little, the blue, scarred corneas showing. my husband and i cried. the vet and the relative left, i gave her a daffodil from our yard that was just starting to open.
my husband wrapped his arms around Fritz, held him and cried for a long time. i was glad he had that, the pouring of his love into Fritz's little frame.
later, my husband suggested we bury him there, where we'd pass by him every day on our way into our backyard, our garden, up to our family in the houses behind. he suggested we plant a willow there; we've been discussing one for a while, this could be the spot, for Fritz. he asked would it have enough room? would it have enough room? between it and the house, just as he started to dig Fritz's grave. i looked up, pictured the willow in 20 years, and said it would.
the boy arrived with his nana as husband dug. he commented on husband's activity, then trotted over to fritz, squatted and toussled the fur between his ears familiarly.
i dug a little deeper, husband decided to wrap Fritz in his blanket, the one i'd saved after we brought my childhood dog home from the vet in it, the small soft blue one. he went in to fetch it, came out and wrapped him, asked me if i wanted to lower Fritz into the grave. i gently laid him in it, and he looked cozy and comfortably curled in it, and i said so. i took the shovel and dug compost from all three piles Fritz wanted to eat from all spring, and shifted it from the shovel onto Fritz's little body. i brought him an egg from the house, as we'd done for my childhood dog, and cracked it and placed it near him. i tore a lettuce leaf and placed it down with him. i poured milk over the compost. he'd loved milk and eggs and fresh lettuce and compost, and aside from the lettuce, he couldn't have them for the health problems they gave him. well, not the compost; we kept him from that because of many nights of getting up with him at 2 am to go outside and eat grass, and compost was on the list of suspects. so the eggs and milk were finally free for him. i also brought him some of the dirt from the driveway which he always wanted to eat and which i sometimes roughly pulled him back from, to keep him from possibly getting us up at night.
we began to sprinkle the soil over him, breaking up the soil and clay clumps in our hands as we came upon them. the boy dropped his collar in, we fetched it out, he dropped it in, we fetched it out, he dropped it in again and we both told each other that perhaps it was supposed to go into the earth with him. we lifted and shook more and more soil, clay from our hands. following my husband's lead, we filled his whole grave with the soil from our hands. so right, so slow, to fill a grave this way, the shovel having done its work in digging. as the level of the soil rose up to meet the ground level, we began to shift the surface of it around, to keep it evenly filled, and it was like toussling Fritz's fur. when the grave was filled and we came to the last of the soil, we raked the soil gently from the grass around the grave with our fingers, and we were running our fingers through Fritz's fur.
his little body lies curled, softly, in our earth tonight. we cry in our hearts, we cry out loud. we speak our misgivings about so many requests for love that Fritz gave us that went unmet. so many moments of thoughtlessness, withholding, that he experienced at our hands, and we grieve and hurt for him and for us.
i understand drugs tonight, i understand drinking, i understand constant distraction. this pain has nowhere to go, is accompanied by no thoughts to ease it. we could have given him a better life. now he is out of our hands, back to creation and wholeness, as i know, out to loneliness, as my husband feels tonight, and we cannot pat him, cannot play with him, cannot kiss him and make him feel beloved now. only grieve him and pray that he feels and knows, or remembers, our love. Fritz, you are loved and missed.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Sapling
sporadic visits to this site, though i author posts in my head many times a week.
today is called "earth day", and marks the anniversary of the day last year when so many of the trees in our yard were cut down.
i've come to appreciate the open sky, the perspective from seeing so much horizon, the sense of community i feel in watching my in-laws in their yards behind us.
a dear friend visited today - the same one, coincidentally, having visited last year as the trees were being cut down. the boy delighted in her company, asking her to pick him up, leaning his head against her chest as she held him. behaviors he's only shown to me, his father, and his nana until now he freely offered to her, having met her only a few times.
we walked outside, shared talk of the flowers, the birds. my friend pointed out that the violets under the forsythia are blooming from yesterday's rain (the first in two weeks). i dug up a birch sapling and a small silky dogwood from our vegetable garden, seeded there by the forest that was cut down last year. we set them in the ground beside the new road, in the drainage ditch that replaces our marshy forest.
tonight, a peeper calls from the drainage ditch, or perhaps from the puddle that extends permanently from it out into our yard. it comes to me that the marsh is still there. it's been levelled, much has been covered over, and there has been an attempt to grow grass there, but the water of the marsh remains nonetheless. i will reclaim it by bringing in the plants that were removed: dogwoods, birches, perhaps introducing speckled alders from other swamps, native species who will contribute to the ecosystem. i can bring in plants that will thrive in the water and who will offer to the chickadees, peepers, all of its previous inhabitants the same shelters and nourishment provided by the original swamp.
i heard on the radio today that there is a burgeoning movement in our country to provide rights to nature and ecosystems such that even though one might have ownership of a parcel of land, the ecosytems on that land would be provided some measure of protection. (i wanted to provide a link here to this movement, but haven't been able to find it on the web.)
today is called "earth day", and marks the anniversary of the day last year when so many of the trees in our yard were cut down.
i've come to appreciate the open sky, the perspective from seeing so much horizon, the sense of community i feel in watching my in-laws in their yards behind us.
a dear friend visited today - the same one, coincidentally, having visited last year as the trees were being cut down. the boy delighted in her company, asking her to pick him up, leaning his head against her chest as she held him. behaviors he's only shown to me, his father, and his nana until now he freely offered to her, having met her only a few times.
we walked outside, shared talk of the flowers, the birds. my friend pointed out that the violets under the forsythia are blooming from yesterday's rain (the first in two weeks). i dug up a birch sapling and a small silky dogwood from our vegetable garden, seeded there by the forest that was cut down last year. we set them in the ground beside the new road, in the drainage ditch that replaces our marshy forest.
tonight, a peeper calls from the drainage ditch, or perhaps from the puddle that extends permanently from it out into our yard. it comes to me that the marsh is still there. it's been levelled, much has been covered over, and there has been an attempt to grow grass there, but the water of the marsh remains nonetheless. i will reclaim it by bringing in the plants that were removed: dogwoods, birches, perhaps introducing speckled alders from other swamps, native species who will contribute to the ecosystem. i can bring in plants that will thrive in the water and who will offer to the chickadees, peepers, all of its previous inhabitants the same shelters and nourishment provided by the original swamp.
i heard on the radio today that there is a burgeoning movement in our country to provide rights to nature and ecosystems such that even though one might have ownership of a parcel of land, the ecosytems on that land would be provided some measure of protection. (i wanted to provide a link here to this movement, but haven't been able to find it on the web.)
Monday, March 23, 2009
Thanks
i have begun again to give thanks before i eat and drink, pausing a moment to hold in my awareness all of the beings who worked and gave so that i can be fed. thanks to the animals and plants who give their bodies, milk, eggs, fruit for our food. thanks to the insects who pollinate the plants. thanks to the earth, who holds and nourishes the plants, animals, all of us. thanks to the sun, whose light feeds the plants who feed us all. thanks to water, which feeds the plants, animals, us. thanks to all of the humans who worked with the food, who carried it over miles, so that it could be here for me.
i haven't given thanks in a long time in this way. living without others who give thanks when they eat, at least in a visible way, i have slowly shied away from it, opting over time to take the quieter route, to not stand out. as i return again to this more full version of myself, as i again pay respects to my inner calling by paying respect to those things that let me live, i return to myself in a profound way.
i haven't given thanks in a long time in this way. living without others who give thanks when they eat, at least in a visible way, i have slowly shied away from it, opting over time to take the quieter route, to not stand out. as i return again to this more full version of myself, as i again pay respects to my inner calling by paying respect to those things that let me live, i return to myself in a profound way.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Equinox
welcome spring.
today i bought a swing for the boy. hung it in the apple tree in our backyard, sat him in it just as husband was getting home from work. we both laughed to see how he loved it. initially the boy laughed and laughed, looking at us both, pouring his love of it out to us. then, eyes still gleaming, he slipped into a swing-trance, lids lowering, and just sang "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" for entire breaths as he swung forward and back, forward and back, a reverie of pleasure.
later on, indoors, i touched my husband's head, ran my fingers through his hair as he worked at the computer, then cradled the boy's head in my hand while he nursed to sleep in his sling. my two beloved men, safe in our home. how blessed we are, to live in this land in a time of peace. how heartbreaking, so many families living their lives in places of war.
a crow hopped about in the low branches of our red maple the other day. curious, as i rarely seen one so low in a tree. then i saw the twig in its mouth - gathering material for a nest!
saw my first daffodil leaves of the season extending upward today, tucked against a building. straight green stalks of leaves, like sea grass, floating entirely toward the sky.
pruned the forsythia this week, cutting out many of the old central stalks, as the book says, to encourage more flowers on the newer stalks. had to cut several of the new stalks in order to reach the old ones. prayed as i worked that i may cut away some of my old growth, my old habits and behaviors that no longer serve me well, to open up room within myself for flowers, for lightness. that i may accept the pain and discomfort of letting these patterns go in the interest of the new growth.
planning to prune our grand old apple trees again this month, as well as our new little plums, peach, and cherry. once the snow is all cleared and the garden soil a little dried, in with the lettuce! hoping to set up the greenhouse i bought two years ago under the guidance of my friend rick, to shelter and encourage the lettuce.
today i bought a swing for the boy. hung it in the apple tree in our backyard, sat him in it just as husband was getting home from work. we both laughed to see how he loved it. initially the boy laughed and laughed, looking at us both, pouring his love of it out to us. then, eyes still gleaming, he slipped into a swing-trance, lids lowering, and just sang "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" for entire breaths as he swung forward and back, forward and back, a reverie of pleasure.
later on, indoors, i touched my husband's head, ran my fingers through his hair as he worked at the computer, then cradled the boy's head in my hand while he nursed to sleep in his sling. my two beloved men, safe in our home. how blessed we are, to live in this land in a time of peace. how heartbreaking, so many families living their lives in places of war.
a crow hopped about in the low branches of our red maple the other day. curious, as i rarely seen one so low in a tree. then i saw the twig in its mouth - gathering material for a nest!
saw my first daffodil leaves of the season extending upward today, tucked against a building. straight green stalks of leaves, like sea grass, floating entirely toward the sky.
pruned the forsythia this week, cutting out many of the old central stalks, as the book says, to encourage more flowers on the newer stalks. had to cut several of the new stalks in order to reach the old ones. prayed as i worked that i may cut away some of my old growth, my old habits and behaviors that no longer serve me well, to open up room within myself for flowers, for lightness. that i may accept the pain and discomfort of letting these patterns go in the interest of the new growth.
planning to prune our grand old apple trees again this month, as well as our new little plums, peach, and cherry. once the snow is all cleared and the garden soil a little dried, in with the lettuce! hoping to set up the greenhouse i bought two years ago under the guidance of my friend rick, to shelter and encourage the lettuce.
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