Trip to Spring Creek Prairie

Tons of photos to ensue. Spring Creek Prairie Audubon Center is less than 30 minutes southwest of Lincoln, NE, and is also where my wife and I had our wedding reception two years ago. We visited it Tuesday, an overcast and warm / damp foggy morning.

The prairie sits on 800 acres of never-tilled land, and also hides the remnants of the Nebraska City to Ft. Kearney Oregon Trail cutoff (see pics below, but we didn't see any wagon ruts due to foliage, I'm guessing).

Lots of native plants, lots of Piet Oudolf looking vistas, and--unfortunately--lots of invasive weeds (which I'd assume will get less and less as the prairie ecosystem fully restores itself). Stop talking. Show me pictures. Ok. Click to expand if you'd like.













The welcome and education center, replete with shop.


















One of many mown paths we found ouselves simply wandering on. We ignored the map.













Everything is beginning to die back. The grey is especially pronounced on this morning, but I still find the view breathtaking. Do you?














A comfy place to rest. There was so much thistle everywhere--likely invasive varieties--and so many insects on them, I put in a seed order when I got home for Cirsium discolor, the native pasture thistle.














Glad to see my ironweed isn't the only stand that looks like junk.














It's all about the linkages of shadows. I had an art teacher in high school who taught us to first draw the shadows of what we were trying to capture, then that object would more truthfully be rendered. A lot of metaphor in that idea--that shadows define us as much if not more than our actual selves. Shadows: memories, hopes, dreams, worries, fears, defeats, impressions, loves, beliefs. All that is left of us in the end is a shadow, much like the image of a photograph.














What cool texture of milkweed pods.



















My wife insisted this looked like a nest of baby rodents.
















I found this indentation added much character to such a relatively small area where we walked. We encountered a pond, a marsh, this gorge, tree lines... everything.



















Prairie sculpture.



















I'm really partial to this image. It's like sedimentary gradations. In the middle is, I believe, a stand of buckthorn--on the left still green, on the right already a warm bronze. Lovely texture.














I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes.... (name that annoying band)














Guess this is where the wagon trail is.














He stood still for me long enough to get a nice shot of both him and the thistle bloom.














Spotty patches of Salvia azurea where peeking through various grasses, and really stood out.














Quintessential plains view.



















On a dark day these unknown grass / weed heads stood out like a halo. In fact, if you click on the image, it sure seems to me that each one does indeed have a halo.














As well as these. Gorgeous in the breeze.














What makes prairies so beautiful to me are how overlooked they can be--especially this time of year. It's easy to stop and gawk in July at the various blooms, but to stop and gawk at the subtle foliar forms, changes of color, the way each species naturally organizes itself and literally leans upon one another above and below the ground--well, there's something to be learned on a few metaphorical levels. To walk among the end of a season with hope and faith, to imagine what was and will be, is to live fully in the now; I think prairie vistas are especially instructive in this regard as they wear their changes on their sleeve, so to speak.

Best Nebraska Blog

I command thee to go vote for TDM as the best Nebraska gardening blog over at Blotanical. Come on.

Starting Another Book--Hopeful Hopelessness

I'm preparing a last batch of essays and poems to send out for the mad fall rush, then I focus. I hope. On a third book manuscript. The other two are floating out there in the world, pissing me off, making me cry.

Today I got yet another encouraging rejection on my writing, and lately it's been the creative nonfiction. Left and right, but few takers. This is really, really, getting tiresome. I am competitive, I am envious, I am jealous. I am confused, I am saddened, I am disnechanted. And if I wasn't, I don't think I'd be a writer or any damned use to any potential reader. That's not much comfort, though.

So I feel like I need to quickly reflect, purge my system of these other two manuscripts--though I know that if taken (no, it's when, right??) I will likely invest much time in them again.

Afterimage: Poems -- Frankly, I could care less who takes this book any more. Sound crass? I used to think it mattered who published your work. Well, it does, but you know what... I don't think it matters nearly as much for poetry as prose. The audience for poetry is far less, and I think the poetry book is more a statment for the c.v. that says something like "Yes, I'm competent, see? I can write poems, know what I'm talking about, and can focus and train myself enough to actually produce a book. Yeah, I'm a writer."

Morning Glory: A Story of Family and Culture in the Garden -- This thing is seven months young--vs. the poetry which has been shopped around for five years--so I am much more concerned about where it ends up (it is a hybrid memoir that is maybe proving a bit tricky to market, partly because of the hybridity, partly because I'm still learning how to write queries and proposals). I think first books often don't mean as much to one's opus as later books and where they come from, but first books are like first dates. Memorable first dates. Or just really nice handshakes--you know the ones, because most people don't shake hands very well at all.

So I'll soon be off to Oklahoma and Kansas to undertake something incredibly massive--a memoir of sorts (and maybe a side collection of poems), but that's all you're getting. I've no idea where it will lead me, what narative will unfold to bring order and focus to further research and--eventually--the writing. After a slew of rejections recently in the midst of sending out work (it's like eating Haagen Daz as you run to the toilet) I think that, ultimately, the only thing that can possibly satiate my impatience and dismay and doubt is to focus on writing again. Like never before. Because I ain't half bad at it. I think. Maybe. What do you think? Oh man, validate me, please.

Nebraska Statewide Arboretum Plant Sale

Was a delight. Got to talk to the assistant director Bob Henrickson--who in many ways reminded me of Mr. Renegade Gardener Don Engebretson. You know, the mavricky (not the Palin kind), opinionated, occasionaly swearing, dirt under the nails, overly tanned plant junky. We lamented the state of arboretums planting way way way waaaaayyy too many annuals and non natives (pricey and tacky), after I mentioned I was surprised with such at the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum a week ago. Bob said you'd think regional, large arboretums and botanical gardens (like the Lauritzen Gardens in Omaha) would demonstrate the local and regional areas and various micro climates, thus teaching most folks good things.

Then he gave me a free liatris squarrosa because he said it needed a good home and couldn't stand another winter potted up. Other plants I got:

Aster ptarmicoides--upland white
Allium cernuum
Echinacea pallida
Liatris scariosa 'Alba'
Liatris microcephala 'Alba'
Echinacea angustifolia--narow leaf coneflower
Monarda fistulosa
Pulsatilla patens
Zizia aptera (bring on the black swallowtails!)
Lespedeza capitata--roundhead bushclover
Filipendula ulmaria

And my 15% member discount was lovely.

Now I'm off to spread my proprietary seed blend on A Street here in Lincoln: various members of joe pye weed, ironweed, milkweed, liatris, and coneflowers.

Side question--anyone know why my Helianthus 'Lemon Queen' buds go limp and fall off just before blooming? A dark spot forms about 1-2" down the stalk where it sags and drops. I am at 50% bloom this year and it sucks.

Texans! Save the Monarchs!

According to Monarch Watch, the drought in Texas may produce one of the lowest--if not lowest--overwintering population of monarch butterflies in Mexico this year. The drought has lead to fewer nectar plants in the final pit stop / major gathering place for monarchs before they make their final leap to Mexico. So if you can, restrictions or not, water your flowers.

And while you're visiting Monarch Watch, get your garden up to speed and then have it certified as a Monarch Waystation.

But if you're in Minnesota this weekend, you can help Monarch offspring that will come back north next spring by attending the Minneapolis Monarch Festival. Make milkweed seed mudballs, enjoy 4 acres of restored prairie on Lake Nokomis, make me happy. (You can also come dressed as a monarch butterfly but, personally, I think you'd look terribly strange.)

Of course, according to the Nature Conservancy, in 90 years we might not have enough water to even take care of our own food sources. They've recently forecasted temperatures in the middle Great Plains to rise by as much or more than 10 degrees--with Kansas, Nebraska, and Iowa leading the pack. You can download a report on your state. Have fun.

A dry spring in Nebraska led to to a later and lesser appearance of Monarchs in my garden, at least that's my theory. I got home yesterday after a long weekend away and only found 5 caterpillars outside--4th and 5th instars. Last year, we were still plucking many younglings off the milkweed well into late September. Peak migration here is around September 15, so it does make some sense that there aren't many egg layers around.

Swallowtail Deskinning, Monarch Assassinated, Spider v. Grasshopper

Lots of insect intrigue and gore pics to follow. You ready? I promise some nice garden pics too, though.

This is the first year I've tried raising black swallowtails inside, and lo and behold, it's a lot like doing monarchs. See?

















Unfortunately, the above swallowtail came out yesterday and couldn't inflate one wing. We put him in the garden anyway--freezer euthanization isn't my thing yet. (Yes, I know it should be.) It could've been a virus, or maybe it's because he never could attach his derriere to the stick so just hung there for two weeks.

Did have a swallowtail and monarch do their thing at the same exact time:


















Though I think we have far fewer fall monarch cats outside this year, my wife insists it's because they're dispersed on almost 20 various milkweeds. Last year one cat pupated on the siding, and this year there's one on my storage chest. I best be careful opening it these next two weeks:













Ok. Here we go. Some sort of assassin bug--I do believe--got a monarch cat. Notice the green blood trailing down the leaf under the body like some bad horror flick on Scifi, oops, I mean SyFy.













But below is something joyous. With so many grasshoppers (hundreds, millions) every time I walk through the garden I stir them up. A few inevitably jump into spider webs. Here you can see this spider pouring silk out and pasting it on to the victim. Huzzah!













I have two 'Chocolate' eupatoriums, and one has almost lost all of its buds due to grasshoppers eating them. These are the last plants to bloom in the fall, and I am pissed off (better than on, right?). I'm worried about how many grasshopper eggs might be in the garden.

Speaking of eupatorium, here's one called 'Wayside' I am in love with. The blooms are either an irredescent blue / purple--much like blue lobelia--or they are a dusted grey / purple. Only thing bluer in my garden is the 'Nekan' sage.













Angelica gigas never sets seed for me--no idea why--so I have to buy 1 year old plants every year. Worth it, though:






























That was a gratuitous cat image. He likes to fold laundry with me and play with the socks.













I enjoy this combo and this angle. The globe thistle seedheads pick up the grey of the switchgrass and little bluestem, while the 'Baby Joe' eupatorium does the same with the grasses. By the way, Baby Joe is nearly 6 feet tall--I assume the wet clay is to blame for its girth.


















Say it with me--the favorite view. We should just call it TFV from now on since I use this shot so often. Doesn't the sedum way off bring the eye in by reflecting the color of the bridge, mulch, and steppers? Humor me.

I Know I'm a Whiney Jerk But....

If you've had sod for 1 month, should you be fertilizing it already? In August? I can feel the synthetic, polluted runoff making its way to my tap then collecting in my organs. All this just from watching my new neighbor.

A quick google search seems to suggest that sod was fertilized quite heavily at the farm (duh), and a summer (early or late) installation won't need anything until spring--maybe a winterizer at most. That lawn just can't be too green, so why not use plutonium on it? Oh, because the dog--the only one who uses the lawn BARK BARK BARK PLOP PLOP PLOP--might get sick.

In non grouchy news, I have 20 essay submissions ready to be sent out this week. I'd like to double that number so maybe 1 place will accept me this year (my odds always seem much longer than other writers I know), but it's just so darned exhausting... and that's not what this fall is about.

I need to go move some ironweed now.

What Are You Gonna Do About It?

I spent 30 minutes this morning chucking seeds over my fence on to the neighbor's 3 acres, taking advantage of the favorable wind direction, speed, and barometric pressure. I see they have wild goldenrods blooming between invasive cedars. Well, goldenrod is a start. Here's how I helped you boring people who occasionlly walk along the fence whispering to each other while staring at me and generally freaking me out:

Echinacea pallida, purpurea, paradoxa

Liatris ligulistylis, punctata

Eupatorium altissium

Vernonia fasciculata

Asclepias tuberosa, incarnata

Sure, I feel a bit like a pervert or some sort of stalker tossing my seeds over the fence while ducking away behind a cedar (you can take that any way you want, folks). I feel a bit ashamed, yet get a small rush.

It's Milkweed Seed Flinging Time

I drive down my semi-rural roads each year flinging seeds and seed pods from my car windows. Mostly swamp milkweed, white and purple, since uber-slow-to-establish Sullivant's has yet to bloom for me. May they grow along the edges of fields and in gullies and give life to hundreds of monarchs!

Speeking of caterpillars, I had no idea that Zizia aurea (Golden Alexander) was a host plant for black swallowtails. This midwest native gets yellow flowers similar to bronze fennel and grows to about 2-3' tall in moist soil. I just happened to be looking down at the plant that brushed my leg, and there on the end of a stem near the developing seeds was a 3rd or 4th instar swallowtail. Marvelous! Hope it self sows freely.

And today is a sad day. It is August and it is cold. This is Nebraska. It should be 90, not 68 and cloudy with a north breeze. Methinks the asters and goldenrod may just decide not to bloom, and the budding sweet autumn clematis will simply climb off the arbor and scamper south.

Creative Nonfiction is No Longer Creative

I've spent years sending my prose work to literary journals, almost two decades sending poetry. Here's what I've come to believe are the expectations of literary journals (and average readers) when it comes to creative nonfiction:

1) Creative nonfiction must read like fiction. This means it must have a clear beginning and end, a narrative arc, a denouement or peak moment of energy / tension, some reflection, and blatant emotion.

2) By emotion I mean that the market / expectations dictate sensationalism--to a degree. A degree which I, personally, can't and won't deliver in less than 5,000 words. Nonfiction seems to be a genre that is shrinking into quasi confessionalism, especially if it's from a unique or under-represented cultural / social / economic perspective. What's more, I think cnf also has to be super neat and super tidy because it is true--or this neatness will in the least validate any possible exaggeration or hazy memory.

3) I get the distinct sense that very few journals, and obviously fewer readers, want to see lyrical meditation or reflection, let alone any sense of the "poetic" moments in life. I've had journals tell me my writing tells too much, but that's the only stuff that gets accepted, too (seriously). I find MUCH more value in prose that involves the reader--maybe not through showing--but through a lyrical tightness and metaphorical leap more common to poetry. Through silence. Through pensive reflection. Even my better writing students have recognized this on their own.

4) If creative nonfiction is more than narrative--and most folks will say that's the case--where are the non-narrative journals? Where are the experiential pieces? Where is a literature that goes beyond "as told to" story? I'm thinking about the many lost oral traditions. I'm thinking about story as a rich weave of narrative, metaphor, imagery, silence, and negative space. Too much nonfiction leaves little to the imagination, and as a result too little to the meaningful experience of the reader. A good story is not enough, I believe, yet it appears to be plenty at the moment. Maybe this is why we feel disconnected.

5) So it would seem I'm saying, "Hey, I write in a hybrid style, mixing genres and approaches, publish me." Well, maybe. But what I really want to say is where is true creative nonfiction? Where are the subgenres flirting with each other within creative nonfiction? What happened to the creative? What happened to the excitement of learning / discovering in prose, seeing the world through multiple lenses at once--and as a result, seeing much fuller and farther? Maybe I'm simply asking this: what happened to our closeness with a diverse world, our wonder? Why has our writing become so formulaic, expected, one dimensional, and distilled? Has it?

Anyone out there?

The Sunflowers -- Poem by Mary Oliver

Come with me
into the field of sunflowers.
Their faces are burnished disks,
their dry spines

creak like ship masts,
their green leaves,
so heavy and many,
fill all day with the sticky

sugars of the sun.
Come with me
to visit the sunflowers,
they are shy

but want to be friends;
they have wonderful stories
of when they were young -
the important weather,

the wandering crows.
Don't be afraid
to ask them questions!
Their bright faces,

which follow the sun,
will listen, and all
those rows of seeds -
each one a new life!

hope for a deeper acquaintance;
each of them, though it stands
in a crowd of many,
like a separate universe,

is lonely, the long work
of turning their lives
into a celebration
is not easy. Come

and let us talk with those modest faces,
the simple garments of leaves,
the coarse roots in the earth
so uprightly burning.

Absences--Teaching, Flowers, Books, Writing

1) School is starting, and for the first time in 9 years, I'm sitting it out. Woo hoo! I know that my semester off will be exciting and exhausting, but I also know I need to get down to business. I have a mental schedule in my head--can I stick to it? What will true freedom do to me: spurn me onward, or make me a couch potato?

2) The asters are missing. Well, 1/2 of them, thanks to the rabbit. We are now trying liquid fence spray here at TDM, after mixed results with pepper wax and plantskydd. Unfortunately, the 500 grassshoppers are still here.

3) I just discovered that black swallowtails--in late summer / fall--stay in their chrysalides for 8-9 months until spring. Since I don't want to try and overwinter any on the back porch or in the fridge, I put out the last two large cats on the green fennel and hope they can evade any wasps these last few days. I hope the two already inside will eclose soon. Must remember to be careful cleaning up the garden next March and not throw any swallowtails into the compost!

4) To make up for the lack of cats, I brought in three more monarchs. Also smashed up more aphids on the milkweeds. 3 tiems as many milkweed this year, but lots are limp and looked sucked dry.

5) I've had my hybrid garden memoir rejected for a third time this summer. Book manuscript letters tend to be very much like literary journal letters: it's us, not you--or, it's mostly us and other things, just a little you, because there's something sorta decent going on here, probably. I know I've just started this process and am still learning the ropes on manuscript submissions, but I'm quickly bummed to see the process is far too similar to getting an essay or poem rejected. Maybe I was delusional, thinking that a bigger chunk of words--a much, much larger effort--would return a different sort of response. I keep seeing people I know getting books accepted left and right, and I feel left in the dust's dust.

It's probably not a good time to try and get a book published (and please no one suggest self or digital publishing, or finding an agent so the process is twice as laborious and mysterious), but I figure if you got something unique and good it shouldn't matter. So what do I have? I really just sort of want to move on, and am finding it hard to do so when I still have to think about it--sending out the manuscript, sending out essays to journals (I really don't want to send out work to journals this year, but what choice do I really have?).... I'm already having a hard time concentrating on the next book project. Nothing is neat! Ok! Fine! I knew that! And if this book ever gets accepted it'll need editorial polishing. I know! Overlaps can be good, I suppose. I'm my most productive when 2 projects are going on simultaneously.

6) But you know what? I was just sitting here thinking about the times in my life when good things happened with my writing: they usually come in rushes and while I'm working my tail off. So, maybe the cosmos has seen my waffling in the garden too long and is waiting to see if I walk the walk 24/7. This is a test of the emergency writing system--get your butt back in the freaking chair and don't do anything else.

7) I really can't afford it, but I just ordered a heap of liatris for the monarchs. The garden should be nicely filled in next summer. If only a person's spirit and energy and faith were so easily appeased.

8) The day I'm not melancholic is the day I can't think straight or deeply feel the world--and the day I have no hope of experiencing true joy and peace.

"All I know is that here I am, and the valley is very quiet, the sun is going down, there is no human being around, and as darkness falls I could easily be a completely forgotten person, as if I did not exist for the world at all. The day could easily come when I would be just as invisible as if I never existed, and still be living up here on this hill. . . .And I know that I would be perfectly content to be so.

Who knows anything at all about solitude if he has not been in love, and in love in his solitude? Love and solitude must test each other in the man who means to live alone: they must become one and the same thing in him, or he will only be half a person. Unless I have you with me always, in some very quiet and perfect way, I will never be able to live fruitfully alone."

-- Thomas Merton

Focus On the Garden

Many closeups of spiders, my chest hair, spiders killing preying mantis, dragonflies, swallowtail larva, and various sundry blooms. Ready, steady, go.


















I just like this picture; the shaft of light helps. I was playing with the manual focus, leaping from plant to plant, and this one is focused on the 'October Skies' aster--which I can't wait to see in bloom this first year.


















A true native sage! As in, Lincoln, Nebraska! It's called 'Nekan' because it's found in a thin swath from Nebraska to Kansas, but it was discovered just minutes from my house.


















The black swallowtail cats are loving this mystery self-sown fennel. May it self sow again--mysteriously.














Apologies for the point and shoot camera image (dead battery on the EOS). Not sure who I should've cheered for, the spider or the mantis. I have images from last year of a mantis eating a decapitated bumble bee, soooooo....


















I forget the name of this liatris. Help? She's just a baby, so her bloom time is a bit late.













This is the only caryopteris--of 5--that has lived for me, and look at it now! Also look at what's at the birdbath. Also pray that this year the rudbeckia actually come back.













She's been getting fatter and fatter and fatter. I also had the pleasure of seeing her catch a grasshopper a few days ago. Die die die grasshoppers. (I wish the spider could kill the resident rabbit, who has mangled half of my asters).













You just HAVE to click on and expand this photo. Waaaaay cool, dude. It's on a rocky mountain liatris.


















Loving the bronze fennel, even in bloom with that somewhat-not-quite-right-with-the-foliage yellow flowers. Behind it is 'Blue Fortune' agastache and white turtlehead.













Electric blue lobelia.













The althea on a stick is looking good....













...see? Though I must admit, it's a bit too froo froo for me, but it does make a nice statement at the corner of the patio.

This concludes the picture show. On the way out please consider donating to the "Buy This Handsome Man More Plants" relief fund. Ushers with hot pepper wax spray (aimed at your eyes) will have cans ready to collect your generous gifts.

Yes, I am feeling confrontational today. But watching the video from my previous post (Kitten Mittens) eases my pain.

Kitten Mittens

I tried this. Doesn't even work this well. (So tired of hearing the cats rip up carpet threads as they walk across the room during a movie or intimate moment!)

Poem -- My Fingers Are Yellow With Aphid Juice

I spent my morning smooshing as many aphids as possible on my various milkweeds. Those plants are looking pretty shabby and droopy, just in time for the fall monarch migration and last egg laying extravaganza. Not cool. (Did find 3 cats though.)

So I give you an instant oatmeal kind of poem:

My Fingers Are Yellow With Aphid Juice

I won't be calling any truce,
won't be waiting any longer
to quench my aching hunger.

Aphid guts. Aphid guts.

For an hour beneath the August sun
I pressed aphids against my thumb.

For an hour among bees and grasshoppers
I weaved a maniacal path,
spraying the slaughtered aftermath
in a rush of tepid water.

In the evening I'll raise my hands
against the window, cover the setting sun
with the fading yellow almost undone--
on my skin, in my eyes... aphids, aphids, aphids.

Mr. Mows All the Time and Mr. Waters All the Time

These could actually be the same person, but they are not.

Mr. Mows All the Time -- He mows twice a week whether the grass has grown or not. After he mows, he must notice how the grass suddenly looks browner. This is because shorter grass tends to lose water faster (he must not know this). So, he diligently sets up and moves around his sprinklers almost every evening.

Mr. Waters All the Time -- Every morning the street is wet, along with his driveway and sidewalk. His sprinkler system is clearly the program and forget kind. Or don't give a rat's ass kind. His grass is luciously green, however, even though it's no taller than a grasshopper and looks like a golf course (the only time he is outside is to mow his lawn, fyi--I should know, I'm outside all the time).

I forgot one.

Mr. and Mrs. Water for 5 Minutes -- I kid you not, their sprinkler system zones turn on for 5 minutes at a time (and spray over the fence on me, which is nice since it's hot out). Now what in the world are they trying to water? The air? That grass will have the shallowest root system ever so it can burn often, so they can water more, so I can get on this soap box and box soap to you.

And these are just my immediate neighbors. What do the folks two doors down do? I need a cupcake.

9 Ways of Looking at a Tiger Swallowtail

Images of a female tiger swallowtail, and assorted caterpillars eating skin. I see something different in each, so if you want, expand each image and see what you see (or don't--go eat a donut, it's just as good if not better).
















Today's swallowtail preferred hanging upside down, so pictures were harder to take--but in this one you get a good feel for the racing-stripe body.














Here is the full coloration and a cool strip of darker yellow on the right wing that looks as if someone put scotch tape on it.














I don't know what is on the proboscis, but I'm assuming pollen or nectar.














The irridescence of blue on the wing seems echoed in the one visible eye. I like this subtle framing of color.














I enjoy this one because of the nearby green fly perfectly squeezed into a butterfly bush bloom.














The backlit yellow wing--stunning, like a cathedral. And surely there is more sense of divine communion in this one organic life than all the immitative houses of worship put together.



















Fangs?


















This guy just molted and is hungry. Waste not want not. Maybe I'm jealous.














Did you ever have a glow worm doll as a child, that if squeezed, lit up? Please, don't squeeze my caterpillar (that is not a euphamism).

Lots and Lots and Lots of Garden Pics

15 images showing all 1500 square feet (the main, 2 year old back garden). If you want to see what this all looked like 3 months ago, click here--it's pretty amazing. A person can forget how far things come, especially as many plants begin to fall off in the heat of summer and depression sinks in (until the asters and eupatorium restore one's faith).

As you know, click on any image to expand it.














From the deck













White turtlehead













Black swallowtail on coneflower














Standing under the arbor














Looking from the patio














Still looking from the patio














Looking down one of the two paths from up on the "hill"














Morning glories can frame anything well.













Monarch on swamp milkweed














Looking in from the lawn I'd love to not have, but that does present a certain kind of je ne sais quoi counter balance to the garden. I think it's like yin and yang. A needed place to rest your eye. A place where negative space can exist. A place for a swimming pool (100 next two days).















Fence path after the arbor













Grey-headed coneflowers


















'Blue Fortune' Agastache














Looking at the arbor from the main garden














Arbor from in the side garden

Have Greener Sex

22 percent of people worldwide have had sex in the garden.

Now, I simply report what I find, ecologically mindful, of course. But this all seems a bit over the top to me. Or is it? Enjoy (XXX).

1) Sex Toys
Many store-bought sex toys contain, among other things, chemicals called phthalates, a substance used to soften hard plastics like PVC and provide that jelly feeling. There is quite a bit of concern about the toxicity and health risks of phthalates (in 2004, the EU banned a range of phthalates from children’s toys), especially in sex toys that are used in warm, moist places.

2) Lube
As you would with any other personal care product, go as natural as possible and try to avoid petroleum products, artificial scents, flavors, and colors.

3) Condoms
Let’s face it, reduce, reuse, recycle just doesn’t apply when it comes to the rubbers. (duh)

4) Green Fun
Sexy play can be green and efficient as well. Showering together can save water (if things get steamier, we suggest taking it to the bedroom and not leaving the shower running). A nice bike ride for two is a fossil-fuel-free way to get the blood flowing and can also be quite stimulating, especially for the ladies. (OMG!!!)

5) Taste Sweeter
There are some very strong rumors going around that vegetarians have the best tasting love juices (though some items from the vegetable kingdom you may want to avoid, like asparagus and garlic). (Please don't test this theory out and post about it in the comment section--thanks.)

Submission Season

Is just around the corner, but I could care less. I'm so freaking tired of sending my nonfiction and poetry out into the literary lottery limbo. It's time consuming and costly, and 99% comes back anyway. I could be researching or writing.

So although it is time for the annual late summer / early fall insanity, I don't think I'll participate this year. Both my books are at publishers, and I am filled with naive hope about them, and that's enough from the glass; the rest of my naive hope will be excursions across the great plains this fall with my laptop, going through old papers, talking to old people. I've had enough of you, envelopes and stamps and contest fees and hours agonizing about the right pages in the right order when it doesn't matter a bit. Time to live the life.