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The Old and the New

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This post is about what’s new and what’s not so new in my garden.penstemon 2This past year I added two Penstemon superbus plants.  One did not make it through the fall and winter.  This 50 percent ratio is typical of my efforts in the garden.  But the one that has survived makes me want to try again.

Chamisa, Fall, 2014

Chamisa, Fall, 2014

This winter I cut back the out-of-control chamisa, as close as I could get to the ground.  I thought perhaps it would give up.  As you can see, it did nothing of the kind.  chamisa

I can only hope this growth will be thicker and sturdier than last year’s, when I did not cut it back far enough.  The plant growing around the stumps is Mexican primrose, which has spread as if it, too, thought the chamisa was not coming back.  mexican primroseBut what is this little blue and white flower?  pansy

It’s a pansy from a seed that wafted from another part of the garden.  I am delighted when nature adds its own touches to my efforts to work with plants.  I can pretend we are a team, though I know I have much still to learn.

The Bad Guys

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In case anyone imagines that I like everything and anything that will grow in my garden, I decided to devote a post to the nasty weeds I’d like to get rid of.  There are three.  P1000217

Nutgrass is a very attractive grass.  The deep green leaves are a contrast to most of the paler greens of the desert.  But it is terribly invasive, sending its roots deep and out in all directions.P1000218

Bermuda grass is known in many places, but wasn’t a problem where I lived in the east.  It too is attractive when it is young, and it can – almost – be kept under control as a lawn.  When it matures, however, it sends runners out, long and strong.  they appear spreading out over sidewalks looking for places to root.P1000216

Goathead, as the name may suggest, is the worst of all.  It is also the prettiest, with delicate leaves and a pretty little yellow flower.  Its seeds stick to everything, are a danger to bare feet, and can pierce through gardening gloves.  I may get lazy with nutgrass and Bermuda grass, but this plant I pull on sight.

I’ve recently realized that I’ve been taking more pictures than I’ve had time to post this fall.  This is a first step in correcting that oversight.

Happy Equinox!

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It’s the midpoint on the sun’s journey from south to north.  I know it is really the earth’s tilt that causes this apparent journey, but it is hard to think in those terms.  We humans have always seen it as a shift in the sun, not in the ground we stand on.  It’s the first day of spring, and in the garden, the plants are already ahead of me.

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The large grass plant has made a big start.  It has far to go, since its seed heads will reach seven feet or more.

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The chamisa, which will also grow large, is nagging me about the sloppy pruning job I did on it this winter.  I couldn’t decide which branches to cut down to the ground.

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The pansies, which provided a bright spot through the winter, also are happier with the warming weather and longer days.  They’d look even better if I got out to rake out the old weeds around them.

That’s how it is with gardens.  There’s too little to do until suddenly there’s too much.  If you’re still waiting for spring to reach your yard, get those tools ready and replan your days.  I didn’t do that.  I should have seen this coming!

Haiku, “Rules,” and a Recommendation

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Haiku, that Japanese form which took hold in English about 50 years ago and has continued to be of interest to many, is a great example of the role of “rules” in poetry.

I particularly like a haiku posted recently on the blog, Five Reflections:

soft subtle mantra
hoes the garden of the mind
new poem blossoms

I was delighted by the contrast between the mantra described as “soft subtle” and the hardness of a hoe.  But then my inner critic sounded alarms:  “the ____ of the ____” the critic complained.  “Couldn’t he have avoided at least one of those empty words?”

I keep my critic busy checking my own work for unnecessary cases of “the” and “of the.”  But was he (or is my inner critic a she?) right to complain in this case?

There are two schools of thought about haiku, those who insist on a 5-7-5 syllable structure and those who argue for shorter, tighter lines.  The 5-7-5 imitates the Japanese form.  But the second party asserts that those Japanese “syllables” are not all words, some are signals of other kinds, so the 5-7-5 structure is a poor substitute.

The Haiku Society of America takes no official position on this question.  Their definition a haiku reads: A haiku is a short poem that uses imagistic language to convey the essence of an experience of nature or the season intuitively linked to the human condition.  I have noticed, however, that the winners in their annual contests are more often of the shorter style.

I had a workshop with a person of the “shorter is better” school.  He ruthlessly cut down my already short attempts.  I was persuaded that he knew what he was talking about.

Now, I’m not so sure.  “the garden of the mind” has a gentle flow to it that appeals to me.

On the other hand, does this haiku fulfill the Haiku Society’s definition that it “convey the essence of an experience of nature or the season”?  “The garden of the mind” is completely metaphor.  No actual garden, no hoe.  What should I make of this?

My favorite of the haiku I have so far seen on Five Reflections is this one:

sea smoke illusion
ancient seafarer ghost ship
grandpa’s story time

What I like best about this poem is the turn in the last line: the misty sea scene is suddenly transposed to an indoor scene, warm and cozy, where “grandpa” tells his story.  I didn’t even notice at first that this poem has nary a “the” nor an “of.”  This poet knows what he is doing, which further confirms my suspicion that sometimes those “lesser” words are the right ones for the flow and mood of the poem.

In summary, the following, sometimes contradictory, “rules” are apparently made to be broken by skillful haiku writers:
“Always use a three line construction of 5-7-5 syllables.”
“Don’t waste syllables on lesser words like “the.”
“Start with or focus on nature.”
As one who finds haiku challenging to write, I’ll take these “rules” as suggestions, refusing to be bound by them.

To read more at Five Reflections, click on the link in the blogroll in the column to the right of this post.  Enjoy!

 

 

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