I’ve been waiting and watching and waiting and watching for this old tree to fall. For years it stood decaying where it stood.. held by the limbs of the tree beside it. This tree became a metaphor for much of my life. I walked past it and would debate pushing it over and instead I waited because intuitively I knew my two hands were not meant to control its time to fall to the forest floor. This tree was so dead, so rotten, that even birds would not make their home in it.. and yet it stood.. winds blew and it stood.. rains came and it stood.. ice, snow, heat, and hail.. it just held on.. until now. I feel myself rejoicing as once again it’s metaphor - it’s story is not lost on me. I will say beyond a doubt I am glad to see the hole in the Canopy this tree has left. Sayonara old friend. Let the new saplings grow! Thanks for the medicine and teachings about holding on and knowing when to let go.


Fork Tailed Bush Kaydid Nymph

I mean, just look at this.  Have you ever seen anything like it? This.  This, my friends.. These are the things that keep me up at night - chasing down the identity of a new friend, someone completely alien to me.  I mean, look at those feelers, the black eyes, and that mandible..  Those legs! Those feet!  And the red stripes.. How did this come to look like this?  Seriously.. It's more than I can stand.  I am completely infatuated..  Mesmerized..  And to think.. when this wild critter grows into an adult it will add to the cacophony of sound I hear right outside of my window as I type this.  Welcome to my garden young katydid.  Hark!  The season of insects is upon us!


Stored within these beautiful seeds is the potential for a tree that can live for 300 years. That is pretty amazing to me.




Every year when this flower blooms I am reminded my of Grandma Rabun.  She was probably the kindest most loving woman I have ever known.  She gave me these bulbs when I was very young and I have carried them with me everywhere I have lived.  I look forward to them bursting out of their tightly wrapped buds overflowing with textures and patterns and silky petals.  An iris's center - the perfect sneak peek to the coming orgasmic explosion waiting for just the right moment to erupt.  

I started gardening because of these flowers.  I had to have a place for them.  My grandmother did not have a lot when she left this earth other than her family and her flowers.  And with the planting of her bulbs in my new home as a youngly married princess to my prince charming came my love of the earth in a whole new way.  As I consider this it is funny to me now because everyone in my family always had a lovely vegetable patch and I spent most of my summer days in them..

but those..

those were vegetables. 

An Iris is a flower.. A stunning work of beauty that bursts out of the leaves on a single fragile stem for all to see, but they do not let us forget they are there quietly waiting all year with their triangular pointed leaves..


Iris's brought this rebellious soul back to the garden in the most subtle way - in the way only my Grandma Rabun could have taught me to do it.

And, so, with every Spring I wait.  I watch.  I tend the garden around the bulbs making sure we're all set for this growing season.  When my Grandma's beautiful irises arrive I make sure I turn my eyes to them daily until they are all done for another season and then, I get back to my vegetables.. (the way she would have wanted me to).