The Adjusted Normal, 4. Of Gardens and St. John.
Yesterday afternoon, I tackled a corner of the back garden next to the house. There's a bush there of false jasmine that flowers in May, with fragrant flowers that lead, after a couple of weeks, to the headiness of the orange blossoms nearby. The only problem it has, is that it grows.
Also, there are grape vines my parents planted close to sixty years earlier, after building this house, that grow to form an arbor under which shade we spend pleasant summer evenings. It helps to keep the house cool during heat waves. But the vines sometimes have shoots close to the ground that seem to grow various centimeters per day, until, if you let it go long enough, the arbor seems to be growing from the ground up.
Unfortunately, hidden in the green maze, are brambles. Those pesky little buggers forced stern language from me yesterday. But, even if I did have decent gardening gloves, they are so long, that they hit me all over when I pull out a sucker, making me the sucker. I think I still have some thorns somewhere.
My gardening prowess depends on the year. There are years I carefully cultivate plants in pots at my front door, trying to have different colors flowering. I also try to keep at bay the brambles, and the vine shoots that threaten everything. That was last year. Then, there are years like this year, that the garden resembles the Secret Garden when Mary Lennox first found it, and the pots at the front of my house make it look like Herman and Lily Munster live here.
More than anything, that's because this year spring has caught up with us while we had our heads turned away. I still feel like I'm missing a part of the year. The weather hasn't been helping, either. After heat last month that made it seem like July, this month we've gone back to weather more proper of the beginning of May. It's around 21ºC/69ºF, when it should be at least six or seven degrees Celsius warmer. Next week, along with astronomical summer, that warmth will return, just in time for Saint John's Day.
St. John the Baptist's feast day is the 24th, and on its eve, the custom is to build bonfires, roast sardines, jump over the coals, and take things and change their place. The younger people generally run with the last, in the wee hours of the morning, taking things like my pots and putting them somewhere else, like at a neighbor's door, or lining them up along a nearby lane. The tradition is that witches are out that night, doing falcatruadas, or mischief. There have been doozies in years gone by, though the custom is slowly disappearing, and some confuse vandalism with mischief.
This year, though, the only bonfires allowed will be private ones. Most cities and towns have public bonfires, where people can go to eat a sardine or two, get together, and have a good time. The beach of Riazor in A Coruña is one such place, with bonfires all along the sands. Rianxo has a big bonfire behind its auditorium. But not this year, to avoid crowds. Private bonfires also have to declare who's responsible for them with the local police department. But many probably won't. Our daughter wants to build a small one this year. I'm wary of doing it, but we just might. Though, the sardines, or pork ribs if the fish are too expensive, will be grilled on our lareira, a flat stone under a chimney in the barn where we do barbecues.
I should go keep trimming the jungle.
Life continues.
Also, there are grape vines my parents planted close to sixty years earlier, after building this house, that grow to form an arbor under which shade we spend pleasant summer evenings. It helps to keep the house cool during heat waves. But the vines sometimes have shoots close to the ground that seem to grow various centimeters per day, until, if you let it go long enough, the arbor seems to be growing from the ground up.
Unfortunately, hidden in the green maze, are brambles. Those pesky little buggers forced stern language from me yesterday. But, even if I did have decent gardening gloves, they are so long, that they hit me all over when I pull out a sucker, making me the sucker. I think I still have some thorns somewhere.
My gardening prowess depends on the year. There are years I carefully cultivate plants in pots at my front door, trying to have different colors flowering. I also try to keep at bay the brambles, and the vine shoots that threaten everything. That was last year. Then, there are years like this year, that the garden resembles the Secret Garden when Mary Lennox first found it, and the pots at the front of my house make it look like Herman and Lily Munster live here.
More than anything, that's because this year spring has caught up with us while we had our heads turned away. I still feel like I'm missing a part of the year. The weather hasn't been helping, either. After heat last month that made it seem like July, this month we've gone back to weather more proper of the beginning of May. It's around 21ºC/69ºF, when it should be at least six or seven degrees Celsius warmer. Next week, along with astronomical summer, that warmth will return, just in time for Saint John's Day.
St. John the Baptist's feast day is the 24th, and on its eve, the custom is to build bonfires, roast sardines, jump over the coals, and take things and change their place. The younger people generally run with the last, in the wee hours of the morning, taking things like my pots and putting them somewhere else, like at a neighbor's door, or lining them up along a nearby lane. The tradition is that witches are out that night, doing falcatruadas, or mischief. There have been doozies in years gone by, though the custom is slowly disappearing, and some confuse vandalism with mischief.
This year, though, the only bonfires allowed will be private ones. Most cities and towns have public bonfires, where people can go to eat a sardine or two, get together, and have a good time. The beach of Riazor in A Coruña is one such place, with bonfires all along the sands. Rianxo has a big bonfire behind its auditorium. But not this year, to avoid crowds. Private bonfires also have to declare who's responsible for them with the local police department. But many probably won't. Our daughter wants to build a small one this year. I'm wary of doing it, but we just might. Though, the sardines, or pork ribs if the fish are too expensive, will be grilled on our lareira, a flat stone under a chimney in the barn where we do barbecues.
I should go keep trimming the jungle.
Life continues.
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