Thursday, June 7, 2012

Coming Around Again

or Circles and Lines

I.
Butterflies never really seem to have a plan.  The monarchs and other migratory species must have one, deep down, to be able to make it between points A and B every year.  Generally, though, linear progress and butterflies don't seem to go together.  At first glance it's all flutter and drift with them, even when they're feeding, sometimes even when they've come to rest.  I was surprised the other day, then, to see a cabbage white flying in circles around the garden—purposeful circles, even if they were a little ruffly.  Normally they flutter in over the wall, flutter back out on a puff of wind, flutter in, lay eggs on the arugula, drift for a few seconds, flutter back over the wall.  This one, though, made six or seven strong (if ruffly) laps before alighting somewhere near the rue and disappearing in the foliage.  I still have no idea what that was all about.


II.
Later that day, a hummingbird made the rounds from one desert olive to the others, circling each tree before moving on to the next.  No ruffles or drifting for him, no sirree:  this was all aggressive reconnoitering, as if he were looking for rivals; he came close to assaulting a goldfinch before remembering himself.  (Hummers:  not easy neighbors for the small fry.)  He, too, made several laps, but then kicked into warp drive and winked out.

Cotula 'Tiffindell Gold'

III.
We've probably all sung rounds at some point in our lives:  "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" or "Hey, Ho, Nobody Home."  Singing them is a kind of sport, like kicking a ball around with a group of friends.

Only usually without lives hanging in the balance.

Rounds can be artistically satisfying, too.  I love the sense of growth as one voice "waterfalls" into another, and the liquid seamlessness once all the voices are engaged.  I also love the sense of sharing, as you exchange parts of the melody and hear how the same tune sounds from another voice.  Rounds don't really go anywhere, of course, except back to the beginning over and over, but you can stop whenever you like, and in the meantime the harmonies that result are sweet.

Feverfew (Tanacetum parthenium)

IV.
Time in the garden moves in circles and lines.  We look forward to the seasons' turning and the return of old friends among the flora, and enjoy the ritual quality of seasonal chores:  trimming back dead growth at the end of winter, tidying away the faded tulip leaves in spring.  But we also want to see signs of progress:  to see gaps fill in and trees mature, to have our gardens bear fruit and ripen.

Western sand cherry (Prunus besseyi)

V.
I've been thinking about cycles and progress, rounds and growth, as I embark on my third year of blogging this week.  Tomorrow Microcosm will turn two.  The passage of another year astonishes me.  The first felt like a gigantic milestone; this one hardly feels like a marker at all.  Maybe having written about the garden twice through the cycle of seasons, I'm not keeping each one as straight in my mind.  Or maybe, having shared ideas and gardens and comments with readers and with fellow bloggers, it's harder to remember where one voice leaves off and another begins.  All of those actions blend seamlessly together.

Individual posts of Microcosm remind me more of ruffly butterfly circles than they do of obsessive, no-frills, take-no-prisoners (except for maybe an accidental goldfinch) hummingbird flights.  Garden blogging as a whole, though, reminds me of singing rounds—complex ones, like "Sumer is icumen in", with its multiple canons sounding at the same time.  In both forms ideas come around again as the seasons or the phrases turn; they share a sense of exchange, and of unexpected harmony resulting from separate melodies.  They also share a sense of community that is a little apart from "real" life but that still reaches out to it.

'Mesa Verde' iceplant (Delosperma 'Kelaidis' aka 'Mesa Verde')




Garden blogging follows the cycles of the garden, of course.  As with the garden, though, I'm also finding myself hungry for growth.  Not in viewing numbers—I am so happy with you, my community of friends!—but in style, perhaps.  Do any other bloggers feel that way?  (And if so, does it pass?)  I don't have any particular plan in mind; things are all flutter and drift here.  Maybe I'll try a joint venture or two, or some exploration of plant biology or the history of my little plot of earth, or some New Mexico ecology.  Or maybe a fictional account from the perspective of a cabbage moth making ruffly circles around a very small garden.  (What was that all about?)  Something to fill in the gaps, to grow and bear fruit and ripen.  In the meantime, sumer is icumen in.



And what a pleasure it is, as the days stretch out and the garden beckons, to engage my voice with yours.

25 comments:

  1. You have such a wonderful way of painting a picture with your words. And I love seeing the pix too, as they add to the words.

    It's so fun to spend time in your garden with you:)

    Blessings.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Elaine! It's always lovely to have you here for a glass of virtual iced tea.

      Delete
  2. My wife is a music teacher and doesn't allow me to sing harmony, in circles or solos. shucks. I understand (I think) about coming back to where you've been. I think.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Having a spouse with high standards is good and bad, Greggo, good and bad... I suppose that having such a tiny garden makes me very much aware of coming back around to write about the same plants every year when they flower. I don't have a lot of other options! And I love how in spring we're all talking excitedly about each other's crocuses and so on, and that we'll do it again just as excitedly next spring. That's all I really mean. I think.

      Delete
  3. What a lovely idea, that all of us garden bloggers are singing a round. Our song to the seasons. I always enjoy your writing and photographs... Congratulations on two years blogging! I like your descriptions of the moths and hummingbird. Sometimes I think the hummingbirds remind me the most of people in our driven age. Relentless, never satisfied, always zooming to the next possible pleasure and failing to savor the moment.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. "Our song to the seasons"--yes, that says it beautifully, Sheila! Thank you--one thing blogging hasn't done is to slow down the passage of time. I really can't believe another year has gone by. For as magical as hummingbirds are to watch, they can really be pills. At least they have the day-to-day need for simple survival to blame...

      Delete
  4. may we have some New Mexico ecology?

    I think from my vast 3 year experience, that what keeps a blog alive, for the blogger, and for her readers, is a little gentle change. Much like a garden, which is after all NOT exactly the same each June. Change that pleases you, the gardener and the blogger.

    Happy second blogaversary to my once was a BlotSprout, now flying solo!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Diana, I've just been browsing to find some books on local ecology, so we'll see what emerges...

      Thank you for that veteran wisdom. Gentle change is exactly what I'm looking for--something to keep my thinking fresh, but not a radical re-shaping of the blog.

      Thank you, and congratulations on your third!

      Delete
  5. Stacy this post certainly resonates with me...I have been drifting with the wind as it changes wondering what is next in my life as I contemplate retirement next June...what about my blog...it will be 2 in late summer...I love your words as I feel the melody and harmony of blogging and gardening with the seasons...I am contemplating a book that will mirror these rhythms or at least that is my thought for now....I think as we are changing or feeling a need for change we are adrift until the planets align and the vision is clearer...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Donna, what a huge and exciting change you have ahead of you. My supervisor is retiring at the end of the month and beginning to fathom what that means, both the gains and the losses. What is next is such a huge question. Plants have their genes to guide them, where we have the great unknown. (Half the fun, of course.) A book sounds like a wonderful idea, especially in this age of self-publishing and e-books, which SEEM, at any rate, to make the process a lot more human and writer-driven. Change and drifting do go together, don't they? Then we find that nice stable mesa again, and walk along its top until we come to the cliff on the other side and wonder, Now what?

      Delete
  6. Happy Blog Birthday Stacy! You always inspire . . . lovely weaving of thoughts and images as well. Thank you for sharing one of my all time favorite songs. I am sure whatever your direction becomes you will continue to add to the world with your thoughtful and beautiful posts. Many Happy Returns!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you so much, Carol! I'm delighted that you enjoyed Sumer is icumen in. I've never sung it in company, but it must be a huge amount of fun.

      Delete
  7. Happy Blogaversary Microcosm!

    An appetite for growth is surely healthy.
    If you're taking requests ...
    You once left a comment on my blog about xeriscape planting after I inadequately stuck my foot into a subject that I didn't understand - it would make a great post.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks, b-a-g! Oh, dear--I hope I didn't sound like I was barking at you re: xeriscaping. That certainly wasn't my intention! I'd be glad to do a post on it, though.

      Delete
  8. Sometimes, it's hard to come up with fresh ideas for blogging, but some bloggers continue to offer fresh perspectives and thoughtful insights. What are some of the ways that you would like to see your writing or photography grow or find personal growth? That's about as philosophical as I get; I tend to be more of a concrete person. :)

    Happy Blogaversary!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. GirlSprout, I think I might like to try my hand at something like nature writing a little more. It wouldn't be hugely different than what I'm doing now but might be more...useful. 3 cheers for concrete people!

      Delete
  9. Congratulations on your second blogaversary! I hadn't thought about the garden growing in circles and lines, but you are right. And I suppose our blogs do go along that path with it. I, too, feel my blog needs a bit more direction, but now I wonder if it's just a part of the cycle. I love the way you write and always look forward to reading your posts and getting a fresh perspective through your eyes and your words.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thanks so much, Holley! I do wonder if we all got together and compared notes on our experiences of blogging whether we'd find peaks and valleys at about the same points. I like what Diana said above about gentle changes.

      Delete
  10. Two years of blogging, Stacy, hard to believe!
    You have enriched our worlds--not only intellectually and visually, but also with the compassion and love that comes through your writing. Chapeau, Stacy!
    --Ronit (now in Tel Aviv)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ah, thank you, Ronit! It's hard to believe it's been two years. You and my sister were my first readers and supporters, when I only had two posts written. Hugs to you, and enjoy your time in Tel Aviv!

      Delete
    2. Many hugs and smiles back, Stacy, enjoy your wonderful summer!

      Delete
  11. Beautiful song, Stacy - which I joined in with gusto (though it wasn't pretty). Two years old already? You are an old-timer, ain'tcha? I for one DO want to know what that pesky, purposeful moth was up to - and whether he/she is still doing it.
    Now going through my second year, I do wonder whether I have anything else to say (as we've spoken about before) but until, with one concerted voice, readers tell me, "shut up, already" (which they may already be doing but I ain’t listening - yet), I shall carry on regardless. I shall be with you, I hope, to write (again) about crocuses in the spring. (Don't go changing Microcosm too much now). Dave

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. What DOES go on inside little moth heads, Dave? Lots of hunger and indecision, I'm guessing, with maybe a tiny dose of poetry about nectar.

      As I have yet to hear even ONE reader tell you to shut up, you are destined to be blogging for the long haul. (Hooray!) I realize that my attitude toward other blogs is completely different to my own. I feel like I can't possibly write about the sand cherries AGAIN, but would be sad if you never wrote about the long borders again, or the duckweed. (Though I would be happy if you didn't have duckweed to write about, of course.) They're like old friends you want to keep up to date on. It's hard to realize that people might feel that way about the sand cherries, too. (If they do.) I can't imagine Microcosm changing radically--a rut is such a very comfortable thing... Besides, I do like the way things are. I just don't want to get stale. Looking forward to the crocus posts already... (Partly b/c it's 98F/36C today.)

      Delete
  12. Happy Blogaversary, Stacy. Your evocative discussion of circles and lines, cycles and growth has helped me to understand something about my own blogging experience. I heard from many people that the 3rd year of garden blogging is the most difficult, the one where people are most likely to give it up; and I've definitely struggled more in year three. I think part of the difficulty is that, having written our way through two cycles in our gardens, we start to feel as though we are repeating ourselves -- because although the experience of repetition in our gardens through each cycle is part of its wonder, it's hard to keep capturing that sense of wonder in new ways as we write about it. (I sometimes find myself with a phrase or theme running through my head, and then realize that I've written that before.) I'm looking forward to seeing how you, your writing and your blog evolve in the coming year. -Jean

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you, Jean. Your description of the difficulties with long-term garden blogging is beautifully put and had me nodding my head in agreement--experiencing wonder afresh and capturing the sense of it in fresh ways are two separate things. It's a different ballgame from being an academic, where you may teach the same courses every year but always to different students, or where your research will be about new subjects (or explore old ones in greater depth).

      After a couple of weeks my own impression is that just threatening to change makes the tried and true seem extra-beautiful again...

      Delete