Blood Root, a kind of Wood Anemone, (thus named due to the “blood” that runs out of the red roots, or “rhizomes” when they are broken) is the first plant that blooms in spring here. I don’t truly admit of the possibility of spring until the flower’s tender thumbs poke up across the forest floor. The bright little buds relieve the dull brown of the spring ground like stars on a velvety dark night and the absolute purity and delicate nature of the remarkable blossoms is a glorious pronouncement of spring. As far as I’m concerned…it is now official!

I heartlessly pruned the raspberries last night, chopping away with a large clipper until my sore hands could no longer grip the handles. The work evoked memories of past springs...

I can still see Daddy pruning his trees and shrubs while my siblings and I, curious and adoring lads and lassies, bobbed around his knees, mildly solicitous for the welfare of the “poor plants.” After all, the trees bud so busily in spring, and he was cutting off all their hard work with remorseless brevity.

The first year I was entrusted with the task of trimming our rose bushes, I “executed” the job with a few cautious snips and a guilty feeling akin to that of…well…an executioner. When Daddy checked my work, he was kind, but told me I had failed to accomplish the necessary pruning. I have to admit to my shame that I protested a bit at first. Those bushes had sprouted up and out marvelously and it seemed a shame to cut back the tender green shoots.

My feelings in the matter have revolutionized dramatically, but I believe watching my characteristically tender and loving father trim with care and resolution year after year gave me a new understanding of love as well as the nature of plant growth. Experience taught me that the pruning of growth is a inexorable prerequisite to the bearing of fruit. Season after season showed me the abundance that comes out of healthy plants cut back and branched out.

In fact it is the expectation of fruit proves the love of the gardener for his plants even while he cuts back what seems to be good; because he prunes to make way for what is better. This understanding has brought a kind of joy and satisfaction to the task of pruning that supplants the naive hesitating cringe I used to harbor at every snip. Love knows when to gently cut away what is temporary so that what is lasting may be gained with patience.

So we cut back and train up and plant down and water in with faith and expectation…that the Lord of the Harvest will bring forth the bounty of His choosing in His good time.

Potatoes and Peas, Beans, Beets and Radish seeds are planted, with nothing as yet to mark their final resting place but trim rows of dirt and rugged stakes. Broccoli and Cabbage, frosty of leaf and sturdy in stature are set in neat squares, and feathery Onions march in regiments down the length of the garden. And chicks peep merrily from 207 throats and convulse any watchers with their clumsy antics. Our dear friend Gracie seemed to bring out the best in them!

Craig, Karen and The Six Arrows

"Even a child…"

Because culture is by definition an identifier, identity is a culture's greatest strength...and weakness.  In a time when identity in our society has become anything but identifiable, understanding who we are is often difficult to say the least.  I have noted that many of the young people of my generation have a case of identity failure.  In many ways, they are the natural victims of a crumbling society.  Often, they no longer know who they are, or what they are supposed to become.  Why this talk of culture?

Observing plants grow up from tiny seeds to full-blown vegetation is a unique privilege and gives cause for thought.  If one is responsible for the care and nurture of something that is growing, one learns to be attentive and proactive.  After all, if you can’t recognize the beginning stages of distress in a young plant, it often fails beyond full repair; if it doesn’t die completely before you can effect a change. 

As home-educated/self-educated young people, my siblings and I are questioned often about the level of social interaction we experience…many would call the method our parents chose to raise us “brain-washing.”  Yet all education is just that…a forming of the mind into a certain pattern of thought.  Naturally, the world-view into which we are trained uniquely defines the way we grow.  You can probably see the parallels (albeit imperfect ones at times) in the language of vegetation and philosophy of life.  Children grow up to be what we purposefully or passively train them to be.  So also, young plants, are “brain-washed” from youth.  True, a basil seed has all the created potential to flourish into a savory smelling, vibrant green plant.  From the moment of planting, however, the gardener begins to train it.  Soil temperature, the amount of light, moisture and air are all tools that must be properly administered in order to encourage life.  A plant that receives too little light gets etiolation, a disorder that causes it to grow tall and spindly without casting down roots and the plant almost never fully recovers because it is forced to spend good growing time later compensating for early weakness.

From the moment true leaves appear, and even before, there are defining traits that mark a plant.  We learn the seedlings by name...when they are young, because our “babies” from the earliest age have an identity.  They look and smell and taste and feel and grow the way their full-grown counterparts do.  Oregano buds and branches out into a bush, thyme trails and creeps in vines, setting down new roots as it grows.  If at any time, the plant stopped growing the way it was supposed to, we would call it a mutation or ill-health.  The loss of DNA…or identity…seminally divides a good plant from a bad one.  By their fruits we know them and understand how to help them grow.

“Even a child is known by his deeds, whether what he does is pure and right.”

~Proverbs 20:11

Aside from lessons on life, the greenhouse is also bursting at the seams with pots.  Aubrey’s famous Kitchen Herb Gardens are flourishing and nearly complete!  Cracking the door every day after the bright “percolating” morning hours releases aromas that are just a step away from the draft of a window opening into heaven.  Maybe I’m biased.  After all, when most people tally their favorite smells, sodden dirt, ripe vegetation, and damp heavy air don’t usually make the “Top 10” with Grandma’s Hot Apple Pie and Coffee.  Even so, I can’t resist a good greenhouse scent.

 

Half of this year’s 3000 onion’s were the first thing in the “fallow ground” this past week.  We planted in trepidation and watched with no small measure of concern as snow drifted over the tender plants.  But onions are hardy in cold, and we found on Thursday that they had brightened from the slightly distressed condition they arrive in when shipped; in spite of this rugged Minnesota spring!

Craig, Karen and The Six Arrows

Itty Bitty Chicks - One Day Old

I love listening to the contented cooing, chirping sounds they make as they settle down for their first nap in the warm 92 degree F. brooder.

Pancake insists his intentions were never to eat a chick. He just wanted to taste one.