Apothecary Rose

The connection between American publishing and the English houses that supported them were as clear as day to me, as a young apprentice at St. Martin's Press. Editors went on annual buying trips "across the pond" to partake in the comfy literary markets of murder mysteries and tearoom gardens that are so quintessentially British. Excepting for some technical difficulties present in the differences between printing processes, our repackaged series were the house staples we could all rely on. Murder mystery readers are overwhelmingly female, and surprisingly devoted to their fictional, crime-solving heroes; a pat, easy formula that's the perfect armchair read on a chilly autumn night, served with a warm cuppa on the side.

Until a certain female protagonist caught my attention. Because I produced the advance reader copies sent out to reviewers, I usually knew the manuscript well enough to talk about it, and because of the lulls in my work, I actually read most of them, too. We did a bunch of medieval murder mysteries that sought to capitalize on the commercial success of Umberto Eco's "The Name of the Rose". This one began similarly, but with a twist: the prime suspect was also the chief investigator. She was a female apothecary working as a laywoman within abbey walls, tending to the same medicinal garden that produced the deadly herbal used as the murder weapon, found on her shelves. Neat plot twist, right?

I was reminded of my own botanist mother who'd cried foul play over my child's bouquet, picked to cheer her up during one of her many "moods". "Agh!" She dramatically cried out when I presented my flowers to her, at her bedside. "That's 'deadly' nightshade!" Oh? Pretty purple flowers. "Are you trying to poison me?!" Uh, no...but, thanks for the tip. End scene, cut, aaannnd...fade out.

Aside from the theater of her daily undoing, I learned a lot about the power of plants from her. She often knew their Latin names by heart, and if we couldn't readily identify the wildflowers we found, we'd look them up. She knew the trees around us by the shape of their leaves, and the colors they changed in the fall. It was a beauty and magic to me that lengthened into homesickness for the forests of my northern woods. Never would I forget the shape of sunlight slanting through the trees, or the happy yellow of a early spring daffodil.

It's become grounding to me with every move I've made, a steadying process that keeps me down-to-earth in a sea of change; collecting specimens, looking them up, and then pressing them between the pages of books. That is the strength of our collective gifts as a mother and daughter: a knowledge that is straight and true. 
And so very beautiful.

http://www.catholicherald.co.uk/news/2017/09/14/england-to-be-re-dedicated-as-dowry-of-mary/

Fertile Crescent

This past weekend at the grocery store, I tried (as usual) to find local fruits and berries, especially since California is all dried up, which is also typical and annually occurring. Thirsty berries from a huge conglomerate in Watsonville, California that also bought land in Mexico for an artificially induced, year-round growing season? WHY?! 

Because the system is crooked, that's why. And here I was, looking for them new strawberries designed by Rutgers University (http://news.rutgers.edu/news/better-tasting-strawberry-developed-rutgers-makes-its-debut/20150510#.VYgkFvAYFV4), which will be commercially available next year. (Note: Jersey, y'all can grab them at a nearby farm stand NOW, you lucky "sumthin'-or-othas"). Yeah, that accent's "phresh". Keep it! It'll keep 'em on point about who you are.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes: the futility of growing in a semi-arid climate and calling it "climate change", which is up there with spending billions of dollars to tunnel underneath Lake Mead, so them crazy-asses in Vegas (never the most legit town, but when are desert outposts square with the rest of society, right?) can drain it like a bathtub: http://www.reviewjournal.com/news/water-environment/they-re-getting-ready-pull-the-plug-the-bottom-lake-mead-photos. 

It's so fucked up, I don't know how to address the basics behind such rottenly bad and obviously corrupt thinking, but here it goes:

1) Growing is better near available and replenishable fresh water: http://www.tenshadesofgreen.org/shade2.html

2) Deserts do not grow as well as fertile river valleys, because....

3) ....life grows in valleys. See also: "The Seat of All Mankind" (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fertile_Crescent) and Chapter One of The Holy Bible (http://biblehub.com/genesis/2-14.htm).

I really can't make it more simple than that, so if you don't get it, go take yet another class "Special Ed". No! I'm done with your tired ass. NOW, GO!

Christ on a....I will NOT tolerate another Great Depression or Dust Bowl from your dumb ass. I really can't this century. I CAN'T.

Your homework is posted here down below, and yes, you need to click on the link to see the information provided, so DO SOMETHING:

http://journals.ametsoc.org/doi/abs/10.1175/EI168.1 and http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/19955191, and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rainmaking, 
and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dust_Bowl.

I love you, and I want you to GROW: bit.ly/1N8G6ds

Spring Flowers (Easter 2015)

A small, star-shaped, five-point Campanula.

I saw my first spring flower this week: a tiny pale purple Campanula revealed by my neighbor's patient, gentle gardening hand. 

It was so exciting to see, particularly when our spring calendar days are full of temperature "ups-and-downs". Sometimes we lose sight of the bigger picture that warmer days are ahead, but they certainly are.

Bright yellow star! A crocus finally blooms.

Then a bright yellow Crocus appeared, so bright that at first I thought it was a fake flower fallen off an Easter wreath from someone's door, blown by the strong winds to land in the yard beneath my apartment. 

It was shockingly yellow, beyond what you remember about nature after winters' color palette. After that first yellow flower, they broke out in small patches throughout the lawn the next day and all around town. It's official. Spring has arrived.

 Happy Easter, 2015.

A bunch of cheerful, wildly purple Crocuses.

Two perfect blooms of the native Crocus flower.

Aha! Spring is afoot!

Crocuses are here, there, everywhere! Enjoy the sights and scents of Spring.

Cornfield to Nowhere

Huh. That's an odd juxtaposition.

"Welcome to mah jungle!"

I've walked past this oddly cultivated batch of corn and other assorted plants for awhile now, and I have no idea what it's doing behind a gas station or next to a bus stop, but I really don't care. I like the idea of some wacky station owner or old county farmer refusing to sell out to developers by obstinately retaining this weird garden patch in the middle of nowhere. 

Why an arrangement of corn rows densely interspersed with lawn hedges? Dear readers, I went in for a closer look, and I still have no fucking clue what this crazy redneck is thinking of, but whoever he (or she) is, they're my kind of rebel. Raise your freak flag high and grow some vegetables, you damn Yankee. Hat's off to you!

A little bit of rust and car exhaust never hurt no one.

Fill 'er up, dump off old clothes, pick some corn, or take two shrubs. Huh?

Boat and rocks. Lots and lots of rocks.

An exceptionally dense Yankee thicket.

Corn AND ornamental shrubs. Oh my!

And corn. And actual ear of corn can grow here.

Why ram a truck into it, or park two trailers, a boat, and a pile of rocks?

Because he's a rebel redneck Yankee and you're not. That's why!

Jeebus...real corn with cobs and all.

Squash patches and car oil.

Why here?! Whose is it?

You caught my attention with your strange garden patch. Grow on!

Redneck flower pot=discarded tire.

You beautiful weirdo. Kudos.

My man, St. Francis! What's up?!

A spot I hadn't noticed that before.

I took up the practice of Roman Catholicism again several years ago, after leaving the faith of my youth for many years. After my parents divorced (a huge "no-no" for strict Catholics), my mother asked me to continue with my religious studies until Confirmation, the rite of passage that marks our early teens, after which I would decide for myself whether or not I wanted to continue with church and religious practice. I didn't continue, for a bunch of reasons. I was a teen, I needed a parent to drive me, and during that time, both of my parents were uneven, sporadic churchgoers at best.

What is that? A statue?

But it had always been my intention to fold it back into my life later on: after school, work, and travel, I would return home and settle down, at which time I would become reacquainted with my faith, in order to practice it alongside my future husband and children. Despite a brief marriage that was not my choice by design, I've held on to that life plan. I hadn't really considered getting married until 40, long after I'd seen the world as an artist, and so it has come to pass.

Yep, it is. Lemme guess, who could it be?

I wanted to reintroduce myself to Catholicism, so I could discuss and lead the conversation with my family, building a common base of values, ethics, culture, traditions, and practices that would continue long after I was gone, and so that will be, too. We are in the year two thousand and fourteen, in reflection of that very same practice amongst our followers. Because our faith is among the strictest branches of religious practice, it was something I deferred picking up until later, which I did at a parish in Brooklyn, named after a saint in the tradition of my man Francis.

Yep, it's my main man St. Francis as a birdbath, ever tending to animals.

It is more than a series of "rules", though to an uneducated outsider I could see why it seems so restrictive. It is an intellectual tradition. We attend school during the day through the state, and after hours, we attend parochial schooling: that's double than the American average, something I forget until I start conversing with someone who lacks the discipline and foundation that comes with a rigid and difficult educational background. Now that I practice it again, it's no surprise to me that these deeply held values have re-emerged in my life to manifest my commitment anew: I've been abstinent and celibate for years, a sort of baptism back into my faith, where once the doors were closed to my college partying and city lifestyle. Some coincidence.

Compassion, beauty, nature, gardens, a love for the outdoors. Yep, that's me.

Since then, I've had more of these supposed "coincidences" come into my life, like finding an almost hidden devotional garden tucked into a development near me that I hadn't seen for many months, even though I walk past the apartment complex almost every day. Usually I cross the street at a certain point, but one day I didn't, and then I saw it: a garden with a statue, tucked under some pine trees in a courtyard with table and chairs.

Hey! I bet whoever made this is like me!

So here he is, the leader of our Franciscan tradition, a movement so powerful, we continue to uphold his principles today: serving to love and protect the animals that reside within this garden that is our planet Earth, refashioned for us to reflect on as a birdbath. It's something me and my main man, the patron saint of animals, would do anyway; we'd provide a welcoming environment for all G-d's creatures to dwell in. It has affected every aspect of my life, even when I don't actively look for it. That's the power of mythology, the pull of a story so strong, it endures until it becomes an almost human type of forever.

You ain't gonna top that, honey, so don't even try it with me. Someone's got my back, big time: http://franciscantradition.org/about.

Moss and Wall

A moss-covered stone wall becomes a lesson about 

man and nature living together in perfect harmony.

Small Town: Spring

 

Trees explode into leafy green.

I've collected a bunch of shots from around town for awhile, culminating in a group of scenes that define what the classic, small town experience is in springtime, especially warm, wet, wild ones, like the kind we have here in the Hudson Valley. 

Enjoy the perfect summer weather we're having right now New Yorkers, (not too hot, not too cold, with lots of sun and puffy white clouds), before the real heat and humidity sets in. Have a great week.

Shoots spring up overnight.

Ivy begins creeping up the sides of buildings.

Wild berries burst out in profusion.

Gardens grow with abundance.

Trees and Bushes and Flowers

The Lilac bush.

A bush grows up a fence.

The Three Bushes.

Mushroom Bridge.

A mossy covering.

The hidden shed.

A thicket among the trees.

The lone tree.

Undergrowth.

Stand of trees, and bushes.

A Hudson Valley sunset, and silhouetted trees.

Around Town: Bryant Park

I was in town on business recently (and early, as usual), so I took a walk, choosing to go once around Bryant Park, killing time before my appointment, catching the cheerful site of gardeners doing some early springtime gardening. It's such a great time of year. Enjoy the sites!