|Inside the grape vines even the light is green.|
So much the same for all the rest of human life, eh? And of course many more species — I think of ants or bees in their ever-tending of colonies.
And to think as a child I sometimes would dig a long stick into a pile of ants, to see them scurry to rebuild, to carry eggs back to safety. (A period of remorse would follow, and outright horror when my brother set an ant pile on fire.) What kingdoms did I dislodge today in my yanking-out, in my need to establish some control?
And then, always necessary to keep some wild place in the garden where I don't make every decision regarding growth.
What I end up with is a rather cluttered collection of blossoms and squashes, grapes and leeks that would appear to most visitors, I think, as verging on total chaos, but is for me a delicate balance between letting creativity/growth flourish with its own intent, on one hand, and then a strict attention to dead-heading spent blossoms and nurturing new growth on the other hand.
Mine will never be a closely-clipped garden. I savor my annual love affair with the volunteer foxglove, the California poppy. And this blue marvel — freed from a strangle of bindweed — has made its presence known once again: the nicandra, or shoofly plant. It's a native of Peru. How the heck did it get way up here?!