Thursday, July 7, 2011


I've been thinking a lot lately about how people connect and how that connectedness is both sweet and painful. My daughter visited for the first time in about a year and despite the time, I was struck by how connected she and my other daughter still are, how connected my five-year-old granddaughter feels to her, how we always become a family. A couple of weeks later my oldest brother visited.  I have three brothers but one is dead and the other removed himself from the family years ago.  The oldest one is the only one with whom I feel connected. And he is ill, very ill. 

Connections.  They mean so much.  So it is with gardening.  In the fall through spring we do a knitting group with the women here.  In it I get to know the residents - all of whom are suffering from some disability or mental health disorder.  Once I know them and they know me I can identify which ones might like the garden.  We have some turnover here, so getting someone to help in the garden can be iffy.  Two who had virtually taken over from me are now much less help: one is gone and one is working full-time. So I need to find someone else but I'm no longer connected to these newer residents.

The garden needs weeding and I have three beds I need to replant.  The corn is looking good and we've had bunches of cukes but despite my best efforts, the zucchini succumbed to the vine borer yet again.  I have had more success with the tomatoes, thanks to spraying with neem oil and peppermint soap.  But the garden needs more tending than I alone have time for.  I need to cultivate some gardeners.  I need to connect.   

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