Oddly, This (And By "This," I Mean "Everying") Appears To Be Working Out
After an adult life spent in apartments and condos, four and a half years ago I moved, deliberately, into this bungalow and screen porch with a small yard. I've spent almost five years living with the land and the trees and the plants here and editing, planning, dreaming, dancing skyclad in the rain, visioning the yard that I'd like to have. Tonight I think that I may -- may -- have finally met the landscape designer that I've been waiting for. He says that I can do everything that I want within my budget and, here's the beauty part, he told me that America is ripe for revolution and that, if it comes, he'll be in the streets, won't I??? We sat and killed a bottle of v. good wine and talked politics and investments and what it was like for us boomers to grow up burying friends during the Reagan years and what's wrong with America when it comes to sex and how Virginia is now, really, Zone 8.
I think that I'll trust him with my land, with my arisaema , my peonies, my oak trees, my beeches, my crape myrtles, my herbs, my sacred space. (And you think that you will trust her with your body and your mind.) (And, of course, it's ALL sacred space.) Miss Thing warmed to him immediately, let him pet her, didn't go, as she almost always does with new people, and hide from him. I'm going to let him take trees off my land, put new trees onto my land, change some of the most important things in my life. He wants me to grow, surprisingly, even more hellebore, wants me to keep at least one of the beeches, wants to take out the mess of shrubs in the Southwest corner, understands my need for unity and massive plantings, will find me a good space to grow herbs.
Does this ever happen to you; you meet people who you just know are; (1) right and (2) likely to be your friends forever? Somebody pinch me. It just can't be that EVERYTHING is going OK for me.
Light posting this weekend; I'm off to Eschacon, mostly to see dear friends, and back to a v. busy week starting Monday. If you're in my Women's Circle, or if your are Son or DiL, please feel free to guestblog.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."