Last week, my employer, the owner of a very upscale garden center in North Metro Atlanta, gave me several flats of vegetable seedlings to take home. The plants had been too long in their small containers and were pot bound and liable to produce inferior results. Since they were mostly leafy greens and cool weather crops like Brussel sprouts and collards, our recent spate of high 80′s daytime temps made them obsolete before they even had a chance to touch the ground. I would not waste my time and effort planting them in the garden but would not let them go untasted. I have the Chicken Ladies Garden Club right in my own back yard and these are Ladies who live to Lunch. They will slowly gather, chatting amiably about this subject or that, expressing ire with a burst of outrage when some especially pushy old dame decides to muscle her way to the head of the crowd. Barney, the very officious new Maitre d, who dominates by sheer Presence alone, spent his time correcting and guiding the these Red Hat Girls closer to the new Salad Bar. I say Red Hat Girls, of course none of these well-padded females with their matronly waddles really qualify age-wise for admission to this famous group, they are all light years too young, even though their well-modulated speaking voices and sedate conversations would have you believe they are well-seasoned veterans of the luncheon crowd. They do, however, sport lovely red hats, smilingly called “combs”, tilted rakishly over the brow, and the more elaborate the comb, why, the more admired is the possessor. While they milled aimlessly around the Lobby area, casting the occasional eye on the Sun to catch the time, I quickly made my preparations and soon a delicious array of salads appeared just past the Pasta island. Noting impatience in the diners and the rising tone from murmurs to moans and mumbles, I gave the salad bar a last flourish with a low-cal spritz of dressing from the water hose and waved the diners in. Oh, where were the well-behaved ladies now!?! Did they quietly form a line, serving to the left, did they motion their companion to proceed them to the baby spinach and mustards? Did they stand aside to respectfully let the Oldest Member pass to the head of the line? I am sorry to say that they behaved as socially deprived working gals do on Girls Night Out, and at Chippendales at that. With the all the grace of walrus seals, they heaved their over-weight selves to the top of the bar and tables in a shocking display of bad mannered greed. Pushing, shoving, pecking and screeching they fought viciously to gain dominance on the Field of Greens, It was a hockey game going terribly right, every body got a piece of the action. Positions were soon sorted and assigned and as they settled down to the mere voraciousness of 17-year locusts, I backed soundlessly away, afraid to disturb them at their feeding, lest they turn on me and bite the hand that fed them. We can say that after a winter diet, heavy in carbs and rough protiens that the new, lighter salad bar addition was a roaring success and we can expect repeat business through out the Spring season. And of course, a good time was enjoyed by all.
Ladies Who Lunch
April 18, 2010 at 4:48 am (Fine dining in Metro-Atlanta)
I Love My Job!
April 10, 2010 at 4:37 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: Work
This is a day that has been custom-made for the joy of all who care to share in it. An endless, deep blue sky, the enticing yet elusive scents of spring float through the air, leading me deeper away into garden, instead of preparing for work. I could lose myself in the dozens of tiny chores and tasks that a day like today can bring to my attention. A handful of new weeds here, a branch sticking out to catch my hair that could be pruned, the grass looks a bit ragged over there, leaves that could have been moved in the fall…..on and on until I look up and behold! The morning is gone and I have got to go with it. My work as a custom designer at retail garden center leaves me wearied at the end of the day, but only because I pour so much of myself into it. I am that odd person who truly loves her work and is blessed to have it close to home. The Farm where I spend my Time is only six miles from my house through country roads, bordered by pastures and woodlands, bursting alive with the pastels of Spring. The cattle and horses that occupy the pastures are in deep, lush grass that a mere week or so ago lay flat and brown on the surface, sheep, goats and llamas are too busy munching to look up as I pass. It’s all humming and buzzing with the chorus of New Life, especially as I cross the small bridge over Lewis Creek, the froggies are a-courting, uh-huh. I am grateful to the Master of the Universe for allowing me the privilege of enjoying His Domain as I pass through the Farm Gates to enjoy another day of work.
Spring-cleaning
April 9, 2010 at 4:58 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: Nature, Uncategorized
Springtime in the South is always a little edgy, like Springtime everywhere it is a time of wild planning and and Spring fever. Just as you want to jump up and tackle a new project, another will catch your fancy and you’re off on a different course. A hundred things begging to be done and only me to do them. The garden, the flower beds, the pruning, the mulching, the Chicken Condo, all looking for attention. It makes me want to take a nap just thinking about it. A good Spring Cleaning is what the Doctor ordered and exactly what we got. For days moving on into weeks the Metro Atlanta area has been choking under sulfur-yellow clouds of pollen, that by-product of our beautiful flowering trees. We’ve always had an inordinate pride in our tree canopy, in the city itself it is unlawful to cut any tree without permission. We have in North Georgia a wonderful mix of oaks, hickories, sweetgums and the ubiquitous Southern Yellow pine. The stars of the Southern Landscape however, are our Dogwoods and Redbuds, those lovely beings that along with the azaleas and quince brighten our woodlands and roadsides. Pear, peach, plum, apple, blackberry all bursting and exploding with color and joy of living. And pollen, tons of pollen. Clouds, waves, drifts and tsunami of pollen. Everything sporting a bloom is throwing it’s special come-hither fragrance and pheromone to the wind, hoping to entice and seduce the bees and other pollinators to stay and visit for a spell. A little booty-shaking by the bee and the job is done, all set for the year and Mother is pleased. This still leaves the pollen to cling to everything, grass, pets, clothes, vehicles, porches. Porches! When I swept mine the other morning, such clouds rose with each pass of the broom that I went back inside leaving the broom outside. That day the pollen count was 5,733. Our record is right at 6,000. News helicopters flying over the city showed thick clouds of yellow “fog”, barring from view the streets and houses below.
Once again, heart felt prayers were answered, and we got rain. Such a wonderful rain. No hail. No high winds, no tornadoes. Just a sweet soaking rain that swept the sky blue again, the streets and houses clean of yellow dust and the air to crystal purity. This is the sort of Spring morning that makes the little calves kick up their heels, the baby colts frisk about, the Rooster in the pen to prance and preen, taking credit for it all. Like allergy suffers through out the area, I am over-joyed at the feel, the taste and the scent of Spring in the air. The Sparkle of Sunshine on freshly washed new leaves, still decked in their pastel greens and pinks, the glitter of broken light flashing from puddles of rainwater, the riot of birdsong carried on the breeze have me popping with energy this morning. And, Lord knows, there is plenty to do.
Rolling Up My Sleeves
April 2, 2010 at 5:28 am (Uncategorized)
Tags: New beginnings, Uncategorized
Spring has come with a mighty rush to the red clay hills of North Georgia. Last week we were still living with the ragged remains of a seemingly endless Winter, this week we are basking under benevolent Southern Skies. The Crabapples and Plum trees are in full foam and the Dogwoods and Redbuds are not far behind. These are our glorious assurances that the cold time has receded for another year, we may see a few recurrences of frost and even a flurry or two. We’re good with that, the tipping point has been reached, there is no going back. It’s time to take the garden tools from the shed, wheel them to the old, battered Winter garden and stand and gaze. It’s not the weeds rampaging over sunken beds and tired winter crops of collards, kale and turnips we see. But new, freshly made raised beds, neat rows of rich, bright red soil, shining leaves of vigorous, healthy plants and the bright sun striking sparks from the dew-drops that bejewel every bloom. We are looking at the buckets and baskets that overflow with bounty, green beans, juicy red tomatoes, peppers of every size, color and scoville units and those darlings of my heart, fresh baby peas that taste like candy on the tongue. So many never make it to the kitchen as they are consumed on the spot. All of this happens in 15 or 20 minutes, this dreaming of the Garden that is yet to be. It is the Dreaming, the laying out of invisible-to-the-eye plots and beds that really creates the future of the garden. The Dream comes first, it is the outline, the reality follows in due time. Without the Dream it is only a weed covered patch of land. The Dream brings it to life and I am the Dreamer who will help the Master Gardener bring it to fruition.
