
One of the things I love most about our new backyard is the pink flowering dogwood tree, which has finished with its flower for the summer (this photo from three weeks ago) – but is now covered in glorious thick leaves which I can only imagine will create a lovely patch of shade in a few years when the tree has grown up a little more. A simple, healthy tree it is – I am charmed by it almost daily. But in general I’m finding myself entranced by our new little backyard – moreso than I have with past gardens. Although I’ve loved all the gardens I have grown and tended, I have to say I’ve never experienced the feeling of permanence I have right now – which I suspect has me a lot more invested in the process of rooting (pun intended). I find myself planning for asparagus, something that takes three years to get a crop from (and then gives for twenty more years), thinking about what type of climbers I would like to plant over the shed (once we’ve redone the roof on it next year), and plotting a long-term project in the front that will involve a pond and woodland plants.
It’s all very exciting, and assisted by the fact I haven’t had to travel at all lately, which has brought me back into the type of home life I enjoy and have missed for the past couple of years. My domestic side and all, something I’ve never been ashamed of even in my days of anarchy (which involved lots of large gardens, open-door potlucks, and home-brewed wine…. all things I want back in my life).
So I’ve got a crazy mix of stuff in the ground at the moment, some of it just seeded, some from starts – a mix of flowers and vegetables with a few perennials dotted about (most of which preceded us and I’ve decided to keep). Tomatos, eggplants, and peppers are something I’ve gone into this year – hoping that the warm weather will hold and I’ll actually get fruits without any greenhousing (my tomatos are already starting to fruit). My lettuces and radishes are ready to eat (planted the first weekend we lived in the house), I’ve got kale and cabbage growing strong and healthy, peas which I’m trying to train up the string trellis, bok choi, summer squash, cucumber, celery, spaghetti squash, and even some corn which I just put in this week (I figure there might not be enough for proper pollination but at the very least it’s an attractive plant for the side of the shed). Basil of course, oregano, dill, sage, thyme, lavender, a rosemary bush transplanted from the front, chives and parsely. And that’s not to mention the random cut-flower blends I’ve seeded in little patches all over the place, including sweet peas, cosmos and blackeyed susans. A little bit of everything tucked all over, I can hardly wait until the intensive weeding period is over and the stuff is established enough to really take over.
It’s a funny thing in a garden, how it seems to take so long to establish, and then overnight it’s almost overcrowded with growth. (I have a terrible problem with spacing, my gardens always look a little overstuffed). I figure I should actually document this garden, at least a few photos per week – so that I can remember next year when I double the amount of bed space with a querr little (patchy) yard I started out with.
I do find myself a lot more attentive to this garden than any before it though, watering twice a day in this heat, weeding every time I bend down to look at something, actually working on soil improvement (feeding all the plants eggshells when I have them), and hoping that my garden will love me back in return. It feels good to have this connection with home again, it’s been far too long since I’ve had one.
It’s been some glorious early summer out there these past three weeks, and the call of the trails is upon me, getting out of the gym and into the woods a welcome relief after 8 months of elliptical trainer and kickboxing classes at the YWCA. I love my gym and all, but day in and out seems a bit too much like going to work whereas the forest always feels like play. Brian and I took our first hike of the season last weekend, and yesterday I went out on my own for an 8 km canyon trek on the North Shore. I had never done this trail before and was glad to check it out – being so accessible to Vancouver and all. Sometimes I get into a bit of a rut with Lynn Headwaters, my favourite 10-km being there, but this year I’m trying to branch out to other mountains, trails and watersheds in the vicinity.
As much as I love hiking with Brian and other people, I also enjoy taking the occasional hike out by myself. Nothing backcountry or foolish mind you, I know how easily an injury can happen and would hate to be way out there alone should one occur. But the North Shore parks are populous enough that if something were to happen, someone else would be along the trail within the next ten minutes. Added to that I always tell someone where I am going and when I will be back, just to make sure all my bases are covered. In short, I take my precautions and otherwise don’t worry.
Or at least, haven’t worried until lately. I had to confess to Brian last night that I had a slight pause in me as I pulled into the Lower Seymour Conservation Area parking lot, a marginal case of the nerves that came out of nowhere and reminded me that since April, two women have been murdered in different lower mainland parks. First being the case of Wendy Ladner-Beaudry struck down while jogging in Pacific Spirit Park early April, second being the recent death of Tammi-Lynn Louise Cordone who was living in a tent in Lighthouse Park. The police have not publicized the cause of death or potential motive in either case, though they have issued the declaration that the two murders are not linked – which I suppose is meant to allay any fears the public might have about using their local parks.
Both murders are believed to be random attacks though a chilling fact whether or not they are linked. Our recreation areas are places of refuge from the daily bustle of the city, from the sterile world of concrete and glass our city has become. A little green space, a little cardio activity and a couple hours later I head home feeling physically and emotionally refreshed – lucky to live in a place that offers such lush opportunities within minutes of my home. And I’m certainly not the only lone woman out there who feels that way. Check out the North Shore hiking trails any weekend and it’s pretty clear that women are at least 50% of the trail population if not a lot more. In groups, and alone – hiking or running – women’s appreciation of outdoor sport has clearly been on the increase in the last decade or so likely due to the explosion in holistic approaches to fitness over the same period. I suspect that this is more true in the Vancouver-area than almost anywhere else given 1) proximity to outdoor recreation space and, 2) the relative safety of Vancouver compared to other major urban areas. (I note that on one of the weight-loss boards I frequent, it seems many women from the US are afraid to walk on their own, whether in cities or parks).
Point being, there are a lot of women out there in the woods these days which is significant in terms of overall community health – and the idea that some person or persons may find these places of refuge a ripe hunting ground is maddening – particularly as there seems to be no discussion on what overall safety concerns or practices might arise as a result. It’s just another case of – oh, more women murdered, no connection etc. etc. that we always seem to hear. As if women treated as prey in our communities isn’t connection enough to explore the possibility of more paid park staff, and increased trail maintenance as starting points for safety.
In any case, today being my flex day I decided on another short hike (for fitness more than anything else), and at Brian’s suggestion took his dog Charlotte along for peace of mind. Not that I’m overly worried about this being an epidemic or anything, but the fact I think of it at all has disrupted my enjoyment of the forests around Vancouver – and I’m hoping to shake that sooner than later. In the meantime I’ve got a big dog-companion to come with me – and as friendly as she is, no one would mess with her big black self I’m sure.
On my way to a meeting, so this will be quick… but I just discovered the treasure that is http://downloads.bclibrary.ca and wanted to share. Tons of audiobooks and e-books available for free download through the BC library system website – and all you need for access is your regular library card. I mean, how cool is that? There seems to be a limit on how many people can check out an item at a time, making it the same as regular library holdings, but I was stunned to discover just how many e- and audiobooks are available through this service. Check it out 🙂
Gosh my brain feels bouncy this morning. As in all over the place, but still bright and springy as though every new idea is valid, worth pursuing away from the last idea. I’ve had this screen open to blog for an hour, but just now I’m settled enough between one thing and another to peck out a few lines. I’m not sure what’s up with the sproing, but I do know I’d rather be writing at the moment than working. Not blog writing either…. I’ve turned out two poem drafts this morning and I think I could get started on this novella I’m plotting given half the chance. It isn’t every day I feel like writing this much. I wish I could capitalize on it when I do.
I’m looking forward to the gym. Hoping that it helps me vibrate at a slightly lower frequency so I can get some focused work done.
I had hardly begun to read
I asked how you can ever be sure
that what you write is really
any good at all he said you can’tyou can’t you can never be sure
you die without knowing
whether anything you wrote was any good
if you have to be sure don’t writefrom the poem Berryman by WS Merwin
I keep coming back to the last stanza of this poem this week, over and over I’ve half-remembered it until finally this morning I leafed through the book I thought it was in until I found it. Copied the stanza both here and in my notebook to remind me that self-doubt is normal, but it’s best to keep at bay if you want to keep coming back to the writing desk. That’s what I’m finding hardest right now, I wonder too often “what’s the point?” and when it’s six in the morning this angst becomes an all-too-convenient reason to stay in bed rather than write.
My journal on mornings like this becomes a litany of complaint about tiredness and internal worrying. Who do I think I’m fooling anyway? It’s ferocious to be self-hating in the middle of writing a story, and this week I have dragged my fingers across the keyboard as if afraid to move forward, afraid to finish a piece started with great excitement only a couple of weeks ago. Okay, perhaps not great excitement, but a story that intrigues me nonetheless – written from multiple perspectives and part of the series I’ve been working on for months. I have half a first draft, but as I said, I’ve been balking as I enter the third section. I wonder if it’s because I have no idea about endings, or pacing, or whether this story is about anything more than the way some people live because they have to. Which feels like it’s about nothing. Though I do realize that few things are about more than that. I’m feeling nagged by it when I’m not writing, but resistant when I do – sortof like having to write an essay for school and leaving it until the last minute. That’s the feeling.
This morning I decided to stop forcing myself through it for a couple of reasons. The first being the obvious, I’m being too hard on myself with this piece and need a bit of a break. The second has more to do with the totality of my writing in the last six months which has been exclusively focused on this single project and has left me wondering if I am capable of writing anything else. I go to see poets like Shane Koyczan read and feel decidedly unhip, Elizabeth Bachinsky makes me wonder if I’m unable to feel things deeply enough, is that why I’m not writing in first person or making autobiographical attempts? But it’s part of the nature of what I’m writing (a twisted and fictionalized family memoir of sorts – in poetry and short prose), that it’s not about me at all. It’s about them, and if I use first person it’s only to hear what they are saying to me, not the other way around.
In any case, I grabbed my poetry forms book this morning and wrote some lunes and haikus instead. Structured short poems. I never write those – though I greatly enjoy them. I love haiku, the poignant and the ridiculous, there is something so fantastic at looking at the world through 5/7/5 – calming I suppose, filtering out the noise, finding the essence of what needs communicating. I gave myself leave to write a love poem in linked haikus, just for this morning, and for half an hour I was able to work uncritically. I could have gone on longer, but that was all the time I had after fooling around for my first half hour. Relieving the pressure of voice and theme was exactly what I needed to find the creative place inside myself this morning. The part that doesn’t just think it’s hard work, but gets enjoyment out of the work process to finished product.
Which is the point, I suppose. If I don’t ease up and stop asking myself that question above over and over (“is it any good? is it any good? is it any good?”) any desire to continue will be killed. There is no answer to that question, at least not to the person writing, because we can never read our own words outside of the process in which they were written. Outside of the sprout of an idea from which they grew. Validation is important to continuing, but really I agree with Merwin (or Berryman who’s speaking)… “if you have to be sure don’t write” to which I would add – otherwise you’ll drive yourself crazy.