Germinating Seeds

What a brilliant idea. Plant the whole thing and the egg will break
 down and further fertilize the plant. I'd keep the original cardboard
carton so as to reduce my carbon footprint.

Here's another interesting idea
 

Straw Bale Gardening

Yellow Dog Granny said she didn't know what hay bale gardening is. I said hay, but should have said straw. I found a youtube, granny, just for you!

Berries and flowers

So I took my own pictures of raspberries with the cell phone last night, but they waiting until this morning to show up! Go figure.

I planted this tulip tree about 4 years ago when it
was 6 inches tall. It's about 12 feet now!

Hosta and Daisies

The daisies are trying to take over the enter bed. Didn't know
they would due that until I had to move them out of the garden.
Unfortunately, I didn't get them all and the tomatoes are feeling crowded!

A good pruning leaves space for the sun to grow more raspberries!

Finding all the berries requires about three trips around the bed.

Raspberry bush

Raspberry Bush

I love they way the berries tuck away under leaves. Less for
the birds and more for me!

Harvest

Pruning

I want to make a difference, one tree, one flower, one berry at a time! Blessed be.

Raspberries and Roses

A few years ago we started a hay bale garden. We started with three hay bales, a little bagged dirt and Epsom salt. After about six weeks, we were rocking. The tomatoes never had much chance to ripen, however, given Cameron's love of fried green tomatoes.

The following year the bales began to slump. I had been laid off work, so I looked to create, meaning free, solutions. The neighbor had cleared their lot in anticipation of building a new home. I had free reign of cut wood, adding to my wood pile. Then I decided to use the large cut pieces, some up to a foot across, to line the outside of the garden. I thought that when they finally disintegrated, I'd have  more fertilizer for the garden. I spent a couple of evenings attempting to carry the stumps from the neighbor's lot, around the side of the house, and over to my garden. The project was, shall we say, a bit ambitious. The second afternoon my neighbor appeared at my elbow. I had resorted to rolling them, which was, while successful, time consuming and my lower back hurt. So Paul, my 80 something neighbor, wiry and spry, tossed each stump over his shoulder and lined them neatly around my garden. He couldn't remember his deceased wife's name, but he could work! In less than an hour he accomplished more than I had done in two days.

The following year I found raspberry plants at our local Aldi's. I had a total of four plants, but the a fire-ant nest cut the roots of one before I found them and left me with three. The package had said to cut the canes back after bearing, but I was a little shy of cutting them all the way back. I've had nice yields, I thought, a handful or two. So this year I became much more confident. It worked for the roses to be sheared way, way back. So I did the same with the raspberries. Rather than a few handfuls from my tiny garden, we've had handfuls. Enough for raspberries on ice cream a couple of times, and two raspberry cheese cakes.



I had never thought too much about how raspberries grow until today. Of course, birds usually get the first yield, a flashy red berry sings spring to them. But most berries grow carefully tucked under green leaves where I have to walk around the garden three times to find, peering between canes and looking up under the leafy, low canopy.

So  this evening I headed out to see what was left of the current raspberry crop. Every time I pick raspberries I think of my Mammaw RoseMary. Her love language was cooking, and she made the best raspberry, blackberry and rhubarb pies ever. As I picked berries, my eyes were drawn to the trailer next door. Hospice cares for Paul now. And my grandmother died of cancer 15 years ago when I was in grad school the first time. Time moves on for us all.

I miss you Mammaw.

Spiritual Separation

Take out a sauce pan...



We all have 'em. Not such much a spiritual crisis as a spiritual separation from the Divine. Those moments when the spark of the Divine seems a little cold. Not necessarily the journey into the abyss; more like an absence of enthusiasm for spiritual connection. Fatigue. Mild disillusionment. Or a life so full of necessity that we forget to step in front of the altar. A life spent answering a calling that separates from the personal connection.

Add a pinch of spice.



Yesterday a client stepped into my office for a treatment plan, and I found myself telling him the things I needed to hear ... funny how that happens. I discussed with him the stages of faith. He's Christian, so the conversation led to how belief can grow. For some, they need the rules and strictures of organized religion. Others grow disillusioned with it. Still others find it too confining as they struggle to integrate science with conservatism. He says his wife says "you just have to have enough faith" as his church teaches, but he says he can't deny the scientific proof of dinosaurs. So now he's having to allow the grey areas of questioning and have faith his God is big enough to take it. I assured him that He is.

Stirring the pot.



So now my separation seems to be slipping away.

I've known for a long time that becoming a therapist was the answer to a  calling. Just as I know the skills I've gained are preparing me for the move Cameron and I want to make to the Pacific Northwest. Moving to a place we've never been to weather the coming global financial crisis. Making a commitment to the next stage of a calling we can't even yet define. Talk about walking by faith! LOL

Putting the saucepan on the back burner. Probably will do more with it when the time is right. We'll let the thoughts simmer awhile.

Southern variety just brought to the office

So my co-worked walked through the office a few moments ago, flower in hand. I asked what she had and she thrust a gardenia under my nose. Mmmm...I want one of these plants in my dream garden.

Cameron and I have kept a private blog for about two years with our dream house ideas, thoughts about our future move, etc. Since we don't have anyway to make our dream concrete just yet, the blog has remained rather private. To protect our anonymity, some thoughts regarding the move shall continue to be private. So I'm going to add more of those dreams here. Call it manifestation.

Gardenia jasminoides

With a grow zone of 8, our future garden will need to either be very cold hardy or grown indoors.

So I've found a hardy gardenia in a Portland nursery. I read somewhere they like coffee grounds to balance acidity in the soil. In the south they prefer light shade, but in Oregon they need full sun. I'll need to plant them when I plant the trees in the spring to give the roots time to settle and spread.

Dreaming the Dream and Weaving the Path

After reading my partner Cameron's blog, I checked to see when the last time I blogged was. March 22. Hmmm...found out about the Hep B and screached to a stop. I could make noises about exhaustion, business, still working two jobs, and maintaining supervision to complete licensure requirements. And with Cameron in need of surgery, picking up extra housework as necessary. So I can justify not blogging. But honesty compels me to say I play zoo, so I can realistically make time for a blog post.

Truth is, I feel like I'm holding my breath. We are poised on radical change, and it's just not happening fast enough. We wait, each day, for that change to come. And it could have come anytime in the last 18 months or anytime in the next 18. That's the biggest challenge. We know what's coming, more or less, but not when.



As my name suggests, Dreamweaver, I am dreaming. Cameron and I want to move to a small town in the mountains of Oregon. We dream of fruit orchards, bee keeping, aquaponics, goats, chickens and rabbits. A world vastly different than a trailer park in South Carolina. Cameron dreams of transitioning. To walking into circle without a shirt on, neatly trimmed beard, embodying the Lord. I dream of that same circle with apple blossoms woven into a garland on my head. And late nights by the river with a fire, talking.



To prepare for the future, I research. I come from farm stock. I picked berries at five for Mammaw Rosemary to make into a pie. I hoed, raked, and weeded. I gathered windfall apples for applesauce. So I've been researching long term storage wheat berries. Fruit trees and nut trees that are cold hardy. Pollination and self-pollination. How to pollinate citrus in my future conservatory. I've researched breeds of goats and agreed with Cameron on the Nigerian Dwarf and found the breeder.

I dream of working the land gently, with raised flower beds, aquaponic veggies, ever bearing berries and trees. I dream of walking the land, the woods, beside the river. I want to blog, to think, to take the exploratory path of the inner journey. I want to reclaim my place as the child of the Goddess, her priestess and servant.

I read a lot. I see the growing economic crisis and global crisis and want to make a difference one blossom, one prayer, one apple at a time. Ever cut an apple crossways to observe the Lady's pentagram? She is ever present. Her voice in the wind and fall of snow.

So if one particle of dust, one flap of a butterfly wing, creates change, then so can I. Even if it means I'm simply removing my own carbon footprint and providing the neighbor with extra apples. Yes, I want to simplify. And create. Looking for pictures, I found this lovely blog. I want to read more blogs. Return to my photography and jewelry making. Learn to draw. Create forms in 3-D with clay.  I want to post pictures of our goats. The peaches in bloom. My first handpicked cherries. I want to live in the joy of creation. And have time and sleep enough to treasure them. And to share it all with Cameron. This is my dream, and weaving of my path. So mote it be.