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Saturday, April 20, 2013

Le jardin, il parle français; Je ne sais pas pourquoi.

The garden, he speaks French; I don't know why. But there is its slate, proclaiming it is permitted to take photographs,


and the sprite in charge of the slate has underlined this permission heavily. I did not see her do it. She was out early and knows where I go to heal.


It is Saturday and I still recover from bodily trauma, metaphysical distress and waking up this morning tangled in a coat rack in contest for my vest --and the garden is a "he". I suppose it must be correct. The garden would know because gardens think. I too think, and know that and reflect no disturbance. It knows its place in the universe and, because I am in it, know mine. Where am I?


Quite.

The brain is an irritable beast that itches with frustration, with a spiritual  agitation for which one cannot turn to churches --not even big powerful ones with Popes like Catholicism and Facebook-- because one lacks specifics. And, because religions are thick with worldly intrigue, we must sometimes disenthrall ourselves and turn, naked and alone,  to the moment. There are roses. They have names, like "Mr. Lincoln" and "Candelabra".

This one is called "Timothy Leary" because it causes admirers to wake up at '60s Unitarian LRY conferences handing out...I forget what, but it's why we keep it caged. We must maintain, in sobriety and alertness, our private thoughts. No matter what one's religion, what is finally sacred is the integrity of one's own mind. Here is an iris, which you may recognize by its plume and bearded falls as the "Gabby Hayes".

Gabby Hayes was a scruffy old sidekick character who introduced tv westerns to young viewers  in the 1950s. I remember him sitting on a dusty porch whittling something and having no teeth. He called us all "Li'l Buckeroosh". He was not like other people and made it feel ok if we weren't like other people too. In fact, as the memory pursues me through time, I realize Gabby helped us see that even other people are not like other people.

During upheavals and events of astonishing brutality, such as we hear of daily, the mind roams and soars in search of meaning. The garden is a good place to let it do that. For this reason I include a comprehensive view of it:

From a 1940s oater:
[Gabby checks his pocket watch]
 It's half past.
Half past what?
 I dunno - the little hand's broke off!

To which I can only add, tune in next time, Li'l Buckeroosh!


20 comments:

  1. I've always loved gardens. I love them even more now since I can't have one. This Texas dirt is too hard and dry and unresponsive.

    All gardens speak - so I am told - but those that speak in French are the most enchanting. They inspire reticent minds to wander and encourage writers to pen delightful things....

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  2. In awe.

    'The brain is an irritable beast that itches with frustration, with a spiritual agitation for which one cannot turn to churches --not even big powerful ones with Popes like Catholicism and Facebook-- because one lacks specifics. And, because religions are thick with worldly intrigue, we must sometimes disenthrall ourselves and turn, naked and alone, to the moment.'

    Just sitting here with a blinking cursor in awe.

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  3. I turn to my garden (which speaks no French) in times of distress. It (well ok me) often causes bodily distress but eases the metaphysical traumas in my world.
    I loved your photos (and indeed the whole post) and hope you find ease soon.

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  4. Beyond loving your commentary for these photos, I finally have to ask you: why is an admittedly educated Portugese-Anerican whose mom was a
    Spanish teacher so enamored of French??

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  5. May the garden continue to help heal you. We are always closest to the source of all things when we commune with the innocence of nature.

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  6. Yeah, the garden is one of my favorite spots, too. Perhaps I should post signs in mine, too. Though Norwegian doesn't have quite the same panache as French.

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  7. Elephant's Child --Thanks, I'm feeling better every day.

    Willie-- I don't know. It's what appears on Norma's slate. Words only appear when she's out there. I can't figure it out.

    Delores-- The source. Yes. It seems to be a cheerful thing too.

    Geezer-- Might be neither language. You have to set out slate and chalk and see what appears. Sometimes gardens just get silly.

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  8. I really look forward to having my first home so that I may grow my own garden.

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  9. Keith-- Your garden exists and it speaks all languages. Happy Earth Day!

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  10. "...not even big powerful ones with Popes like Catholicism and Facebook..."

    Love. This.

    I do wish the hard frosts here would stop gobbling up the nascent green of my backyard. Would you please appeal to the God of Gardens on my behalf? Because he and I don't seem to be on speaking terms at the moment.

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  11. Stephanie --Thank you! I'll do what I can but I'm pretty sure "God of Gardens" is a she.

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  12. I've always loved gardens. Poring through the catalogs and browsing in the nursery to plan a magnificent panorama of color and scent is one thing, and one I can do quite well. It's trying to maintain a garden in the midst of stifling heat and swarming bugs that sucks the romance right out of the endeavor for me. Then again, my garden never spoke French to me. More's the pity.

    Be well, dude.

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  13. Susan-- Some gardens don't speak, they listen, and want us to come listen with them. They are among the loveliest gardens and you never know who'll get one. And thanks, guys called dude always get well!

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  14. I've had to give up a lot of back garden space for my hubby's ever successful vegetable growing. Not that I really mind as there's nothing beats garden salad. Only come across caterpillars in my lettuce leaves (on my plate) twice in 5 years....!

    I'm now reduced to window boxes for my flowers. Cascade begonia is my favourite plant.

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  15. Helena --I too am cautious with salads. Caterpillars get quite upset under vinaigrette. A Begonia Cascade makes a wonderful show in shady places and --altho not wishing to create territorial strife-- other flowers can be convincingly promoted as companion plants to vegetable gardens.

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  16. Merci beaucoup, mon ami. Votre jardin est aussi interressant que votre esprit.

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  17. Austan-- Très agréablement dit!

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