Pied Beauty
Glory be to God for dappled things—
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced—fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spáre, strange;
Whatever is fickle, frecklèd (who knows how?)
With swíft, slów; sweet, sóur; adázzle, dím;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is pást change:
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It seems so fitting to think of fathers, including The Father, when it comes to gardens. Today I found curled leaves on two of my tomato plants-- and yes, there were bugs underneath the curls. I whipped them off and into the waste bin. Yes, I will put the contents of the waste bin in the compost. I have no idea what happens to the aphids once they are in there. Maybe a picnic? It's all gone by next summer when I "mine" the compost for riches to add to the nice yellow sandy loam here in Newfield NJ.
My own father brought in stinky manure from the Pennsylvania horse barns to nourish his Victory Garden back in the 40's. I remember the carrots he helped me plant, and the lines of radishes, lettuce, corn stalks and the wonderful patch of asparagus that ended up being a dinnertime"groaner" during the hot months of June/July-- "asparagus AGAIN?" Dad used to sit on the back terrace with his 22 rifle and shoot at the gentle little rabbits who dared to sample his garden plants. He had me try it once. It was too much. I have not been interested in shooting living things since that one time.
My husband spent a time on the phone with his 93 year old father last night. He tested out ideas for Father's Day gifts that would be welcome. Nothing. But the good gift was telling his Dad about my current gardening-- the grapes forming and blueberries beginning to blue up; the plethora of lettuce from the first timid spring sowing. The one sunflower I saved just for the fun of it (volunteer from bird feed leftovers) which is towering over my side garden amongst the herbs and tomatoes and marigolds. Once it blooms I'll rip it out-- but it's a mighty thing. My own father would have liked it. It made happy conversation for my husband and his Dad.
Green Thumb
