a series of garden tour posts and a poem by wendell berry, "The Satisfactions of the Mad Farmer," dedicated to my friend C.R. as an apology and to D.Z.B. as a love letter.



"Growing weather, enough rain;
the cow's udder tight with milk;
the peach tree bent with its yield;
honey golden in the white comb;



the pastures deep in clover and grass,
enough, and more than enough;

the ground, new worked, moist
and yielding underfoot, the feet
comfortable in it as roots;



the early garden: potatoes, onions,
peas, lettuce, spinach, cabbage, carrots,
radishes, marking their straight rows
with green, before the trees are leafed;



raspberries ripe and heavy amid their foliage,
currants shining red in clusters amid their foliage,
strawberries red ripe with the white
flowers still on the vines -- picked
with the dew on them, before breakfast;



grape clusters heavy under broad leaves,
powdery bloom on fruit black with sweetness
-- an ancient delight, delighting;

the bodies of children, joyful
without dread of their spending,
surprised at nightfall to be weary;

the bodies of women in loose cotton,
cool and closed in the evenings
of summer, like contented houses;



the bodies of men, able and in the heat
and sweat and weight and length
of the day's work, eager in their spending,
attending to nightfall, the bodies of women;



sleep after love, dreaming
white lilies blooming
coolly out of the flesh;

after sleep, enablement
to go on with work, morning a clear gift;

the maidenhood of the day;
cobwebs unbroken in the dewy grass;



the work of feeding and clothing and housing,
done with more than enough knowledge
and with more than enough love,
by those who do not have to be told;



any building well built, the rafters
firm to the walls, the walls firm,
the joists without give,
the proportions clear,
the fitting exact, even unseen,
bolts and hinges that turn home
without a jiggle;



any work worthy
of the day's maidenhood;

any man whose words lead precisely to what exists,
who never stoops to persuasion;

"the talk of friends, lightened and cleared
by all that can be assumed;

deer tracks in the wet path,
the deer sprung from them, gone on;

live streams, live shiftings
of the sun in the summer woods;



the great hollow-trunked beech,
a landmark I loved to return to,
its leaves gold-lit on the silver
branches in the fall: blown down
after a hundred years of standing,
a footbridge over the stream;



the quiet in the woods of a summer morning,
the voice of a peewee passing through it
like a tight silver wire;



a little clearing among cedars,
white clover and wild strawberries
beneath an opening to the sky
-- heavenly, I thought it,
so perfect; had i forseen it
I would have desired it
no less than it deserves;



fox tracks in snow, the impact
of lightness upon lightness,
unendingly silent.



What I know of spirit is astir
in the world. The god I have always expected
to appear at the woods' edge, beckoning,
I have always expected to be
a great relisher of this world, its good
grown immortal in his mind."

the mysteries of pittsburgh.



man has symbols. those are our clues. that is our gift the parting glass from home elsewhere everywhere. pigment alphabet dream all symbol for some small part of something else so great and full of love that there is never anywhere it isnt. tune language stone our cells vibrating we are constantly trying to throw clothes on the emperor to give him a shape we can identify.



pittsburgh was greenspace and forward thinking, remarkable urban quiet and cooperation, community identity. humanity, connection, culture.



tides of life-change realization laughter, all happy and unexpected.



to begin again sweetly gently unearthed from rubble, what we waited for, birthing pains and numbness, all good things revived and set out in the sunlight to the beat of blood in a grateful heart. together and apart there is more of us, a stronger spirit a renewed sense of ourselves together and apart looking forward toward the same gentle stars. blessed be.

1. the light according to palms, 2. A Wild Baby Rabbit, 3. Cloud Shadow Canyon, 4. X Underwater portrait, 5. synchro-stretching, 6. Laughing Puppies!, 7. Inuksuk in the snow, 8. beuys bunny, 9. panther, 10. Three is a charm, 11. Mabon 2006, 12. Fairy Treats for a Cloudy Afternoon, 13. Call of the Raven (formerly Nature's Special Effects), 14. In Memory of a Beautiful Soul, Mauricio Saravia, 15. Sparkling dewdrops, 16. Greetings, Plejaren (part 2), 17. Old woman with dog, 18. backroad, 19. goodnight moon, 20. the cloud that distills a mirror, 21. Caladium, 22. Mt. Auburn Cemetery in autumn, 23. Only For You, 24. Scotch mist!, 25. bubble dance II, 26. Dammit The Amazing Wonder Dog, 27. yodell ♫ lay-od-lay-od-lay-he-hoo, ♫ lay-od-lay-od-low yodellay, ♫ yodallay, yodal-low… ♫ and they fly low supreme! ♫ little egrets from bali- egretta garzetta ♫, 28. self portrait: two seconds of a summer evening, 29. Colors of Africa, 30. Faith regained, 31. Winter Puddle, 32. Patience...., 33. natural sparkler, 34. Alien's farewell to St. Patty's Day celebrations_1411, 35. You are me!!! / Vous êtes moi!!!, 36. Taking the Plunge

couldnt sleep. no words. washed dishes and as they dried wrote a poem with pictures.

liminal
return
reborn
to be
laughing
black caribou
black panther
shaman
artemis
hecate
mother mary
the good folk
call the circle
silver branch
well lit path
dog woman
raven woman
hedgewitch
the comfort of books
a garden
a long walk
sleep in a white bed
letting it slide
dancing light
blue heeler
of honey
a certain week
away when
the words spill over
puddles reflecting
love rising
soul inspired
so ready to live
my hearts truth
my lifetime.

i spoke too soon, it seems. the cowboys back sooner than never, a papery chrysalis shell rolling away on the road home.

"Sometimes she would take breadcrumbs or seeds out to the birdfeeder tray and wait for the jays, standing quiet as a tree, or she would pull weeds in the garden; but on some days she would simply vanish, walk off by herself into the forest...she was either ten thousand years behind the rest or fifty years ahead of them."



immunity. possession. sabotage. always wrestling the angel. the light gets brighter, stronger, but its easier to see by. the scene shifts. dark crystal, mirrormask, harry potter for heavens sake. im the prophet the sponsor the buddha, dead on the road.



getting your fix scratching your itch your cozy hole they dug you.



love and forgive them, bless them and walk out of the grim skin they grafted you. you are love and you are free and your life is a gift and you deny it on the doorstep fruit rots in a box. my garden grows in rows she said, her hands a chute. i see you on the other side, there is less and less of you to see. dont be afraid. dont be afraid. who are you believing? dont believe me im a traveller just like you. but do you believe the one that has no reflection, gives off no light?



but its your life, or not. im up ahead, in a shower of sunlight, and its alright. come see.

so infinitely grateful to have this land to love. to tend to, breathe in, eat from. its like a beautiful dream this land where i am. i wake and i am a butterfly, a mockingbird, a chestnut tree by a stone fence old barn red geraniums. i wake and i am possibility love gratitude equanimity something i read she said i am a sparkling portion of the universe self reflecting.



in the cool of the morning im eating down the row of peas and into the bramble hedge like a spring bear. the earth is gentle under my feet, the breeze upon my face, the sun on my skin my life fortified by this land i love through all my human senses and the gift of spirit awareness not ego consciousness. toward together not apart.



i decided to stay and am glad for it. there was a leap made there, a shift of seasons in our togetherness an after and before. closer to everything i am coming, including my true nature boundless light.



everything deserves our gentleness. there were so many things in the box that i gave her for going away and it all meant love one another, learn patience compassion togetherness not soul blindness intolerance ego separation illusion. it connects her to everything else the art i made of a woman and an orange on the subway and a poem shard from Naomi Shihab Nye she said



"Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend."

i have dreams of water like this. but technically speaking, this is not a tsunami.



PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUCEMENT:

1. please make your own hummingbird food. boil water and add sugar (parts four to one), boil a few minutes longer, cool and serve. the red food coloring added in otc hummingbird food is harmful to the birds. buy a red feeder. clean the feeder and change food often.

2. feverfew and lambs ear are invasive ground covers.

3. if you would like to make good on my offer to send you a crafted gift, please email me at blackcaribou at live dot com with your address.

4. "Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with anyone I love, or sleep in the bed at night with anyone I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--the ships with the men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?"

5. the merriam-webster collegiate dictionary has officially added these words to its latest volume: frenemy, locavore and staycation.

6. some happy crafter love. domo arigato.

7. a beautiful idea (bless you).

thank you, and have a nice day.

it rains for weeks. the naked wood of our home is saturated and breathing there is a monsoon quality to our lives, the crucible of damp humanity. it rains. nightshade sisters lush and light craving long grass goddess in palisades of blessing the rhubarb is lazarus the earthworms sacrosanct and phenomenal.



rain and then clear heat, brightness buffeted by fronts moving toward greater water.



heat and light and everything learning its name. we give up our pure energy for a chance to be alive. we are stranded grateful cast-out wincing at the walls that pinch or fall away in a world of million mirrors rock of ego black and steady sucking out the lights. cold morning pond fog blackflies on the back way lightning bugs late at night good folk signal and the mythological velvet nightcloak worn thin at points of star. summer.

ive been away.



shifts, ends, beginnings, summer, revolution, reconfiguration.



digging, weeding, walking, for weeks it rained.



getting older, growing into my skin, finally believing in my own happiness.



reading, tea from a huge ceramic mug, live music, small chocolate.



stretching, breathing, crafting, talking, laughing, here now.

34 of 365:

1. the white noise of rain
2. red wine
3. dogs
4. getting along
5. npr
6. storytellers
7. ive let go of the latest perseveration
8. sleep
9. books
10. health

“In other words, pray to catch the bus, then run as fast you can.”



33 of 365.



1. weekends.
2. christmas lights.
3. night.
4. the urge to clean.



5. edward abbey.
6. jessi colter.
7. honeybush tea.



8. pulling over to write a thought down.
9. fireflies.
10. liking myself.

now that i have batteries for the camera.



32 of 365:

1. reading the monkey wrench gang.
2. drinking ty-phoo tea.



3. digging, planting, mowing.
4. soymilk and buckwheat honey.



5. the boys bring me dames rocket, #4 always pointing out the color variations.
6. money for groceries.



7. weleda calendula and some fancy geranium soap, cruelty free.
8. early to bed, early to rise.



9. lots of garden greens and watermelon.
10. chocolate.