“Cabbage: A familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and wise as a man’s head.” Ambrose Bierce
“Remorse is eating his soul like a caterpillar in a cabbage.” Dorothy Sayers
“An idealist is one who, on noticing that a rose smells better than a cabbage, concludes that it makes a better soup.” H.L Mencken
“Cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college degree.” Mark Twain
Painting. Marilyn Wells. http://www.marilynwells.com/
Quetzal came skipping up yesterday mid-morning with both hands behind her back. She was glowing. “Which hand?” she asked. “Left,” I said. She shook her head. “Right,” I said. And so in slow motion she brought around her right hand and there it was, the season’s first, a perfectly ripe Big Dena tomato. We stared at it for a few seconds, and then she handed it off to me and we stared a while longer. It seemed like a new center of gravity, a small sun.
Quetzal initially placed the tomato in the very center of our dining room table. Later on she placed it on a cutting board along with her favorite knife. When I returned home from Portsmouth, I noticed she had added a small bouquet of sweet peas to one side. That’s how it showed all last evening, last night, and that’s how the tomato shows right now. The Queen Bride, the first begotten, some new revelation sent down from Saddleback Mountain. Our Big Dena. When we go to eat it, it will be like communion. When we walk through the valleys we will know no evil. We shall stand as lifted. Yea we will stand as lifted.
Yesterday when I pulled a length of arugula out from one of the hoop houses, there was an amazing show of earthworms in and around the plants’ roots. I had never seen so many worms. I kept stopping to watch them, to bump them along with my finger, to smell their soily home. Earthworms are no geniuses, maybe, but they do know what they want. Yet the thing is, what worms want is likewise what I want. Is it possible that man and worm can somehow hookup over some common need? Some life force?
It is possible. This:
soil rich in organic matter
One night about two weeks ago, there erupted an astonishing brouhaha in the vicinity of our fire ring. It was coyotes, a great gathering of them, maybe ten or so, the most I’d ever heard so close to the house. Our dogs, which usually go crazy when they hear coyotes on the mountain, went mute; after an initial rush to the door, they returned to the fire, flopped down, and didn’t move. Turning off the lights, I slipped out onto the deck. Continue reading