Six Days til Mother's Night

I'm looking forward to Mother's Night on the 20th, just my personal, quiet celebration--like I do most things--a Mother's song (to the tune of Greensleeves) I found and a pine candle I bought. For a display, I thought I'd bring in a few sprigs (I'm not big on denuding my trees) of evergreen and add some apples and nuts from the grocery store. Frigg, Freya, Idun and Sunna will be the honored goddesses, and I will ask blessings on all the grandmothers, mothers, daughters and sisters I know. If that's not good mojo, I don't know what is.

About Idun (Idunn, Iduna, Idhuna): Ramblings

Idun ("She Who Renews") is the Norse goddess of youth, who grows the magic apples of immortality that keep the gods young. Her husband Bragi was god of poetry.

Remember Pagan immortality doesn't mean "forever pacing in heaven." It's about the never-ending cycles of renewal and death that we observe and in which we participate. Despite all the fearmongering, ancient and modern, there's no uncertainty in spring and winter; ya gotta love that. And when the sun and earth runs out, there are other stars, and when the stars all run out, there is still the universe, and when the universe runs out, there is rest and another universe. Do your worst, you dirty, carbon dioxide polluters, you can't outdo the gods!

But about Idun...

Loki, the god of mischief and fire, was once responsible for arranging Her abduction by the giant Thajazi. Without Her apples, the gods soon began to age, and threatened Loki until He agreed to rescue Her, which He accomplished by borrowing Freyja's falcon robe and fleeing with Idun who He had changed to a nut. (This story must be a season-cycle tale; there are lots of them like this, apple to nut, etc.)

Some say that Gerd the Giantess is another aspect of Idun. Freyr brought her eleven golden apples and Draupnir. Sunna may also appear as the aspect Gerd, whose beautiful white arms, raised aloft, illuminated sea and sky. Freyr could see her from a great distance and fell in love.

As we are in love when the morning sun rises or when She returns from southern climes as She will begin to do on Mother's Night, gracing us with her light and warmth a little more each day. Even in the coldest winter, the longest night (literally), she holds the promise of renewal. I'd say that's a miracle or...humankind's propensity for hope. In either case, it's worth celebrating.

End of Ramble.

Bountiful July

How many times did Dad complain that his zinnias weren't as bright and bountiful as he'd like? And how many times did I say...just wait, Dad, they'll come on...

Marigolds that self-sow each year. Not much now, but like the zinnias, they'll come on in their own time. In my gardener's eye, I see them bold and gold. Soon, very soon...

Fuzzy picture of the 4 o'clocks, which we do not enjoy as we should, because they bloom in the evening. But sometimes, when the night is mild, I step out on the porch to find them glowing in the dark.

Every year, I strive to do picture-justice to the crepe myrtle, which are the royalty of my yard. I fail miserably in these two pictures, above and below, but use your imagination with me...

Dry, hot weather always causes the leaves of the paper birch to yellow and drop, as now. They're pretty and a harbinger of autumn to come, scattered over the plumbago.

This butterfly and his kin are all over the purple coneflower, but here is a stray I chased in order to put his pic on the internet. He's famous now!

Perfect, and it's not the only one. Loads of large, rounded, smooth-skinned, delicious fruit this year. We're eating them sauteed (green and red), fresh on salads, sliced on sandwiches, grilled on fish, chopped up in pasta. It is truly a bounty, and we are appreciating our marvelous, tomato fortune as we indulge in the grandest of the summer fruits. See below!
Not as bountiful, but nearly as satisfying is a wagonload of onions, fresh dug from their bed (below).
When I let it go, propping up here and there, weeding out what threatens to mar it, then I end up with this carpet of impatiens each year. Below, the cilantro happily co-exists with the flowers. Above, a sunflower from the birdseed I offered this winter.

This Shouldn't Be

Brandywine, an heirloom, should be plagued with diseases and pests, right? And my Celebrity and Beefsteaks should have a few resistances bred in, right? Bah.

Here's my star Brandywine. Link to how it looked as a baby. This is all one plant. It bears, at the moment, 25 tomatoes, and there are many more blooms ready to form fruit. In comparison, my Celebrity, at next best, currently bears 12 fruit, and two of those are damaged by insects, whereas every Brandywine fruit is large, perfectly formed and unblemished by either disease or insects. Go figure.

Brandywine is the first of my reds (I have a couple yellows) to begin ripening. It's not obvious in this picture, but one familiar with the hues of ripening tomatoes can already recognize this as a Brandywine and not an ordinary red.

Oops, at the cleome in the bed next to my Brandywine, a wasp adds excitement to my photography session with the tomatoes.Here's my pathetic Celebrity, which slumps during the brighter part of the day. Bah.

Baby Fruits and Veggies

A perfect spring is being followed up with a perfect early summer. Soaking rains followed by sunny days, then another round of it, and the plants are loving it. It's my best year ever for the fruit trees. I even have apricots, which are usually frozen off because they bloom so early.

My nephew and his wife are gardening in a community plot in Chicago, and he keeps us updated on his garden's progress through his blog site, Earth Household. He recently put up gorgeous pics (so jealous of his photography) of his fruits and veggies. Not to be outdone, here is a slideshow of my babies!