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November 18th 2009

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    Depending upon how the beds are counted, the gravel bed is either the twelfth bed or the thirteenth bed.  

   But it was I recall the enabling concept of Xylophone that put geometry back into a confused process of vegetable garden expansion.  And here I think of the gravel bed as a bass note on the Xylophone.  So perhaps it is necessary to maintain the conceptual flow of this new part of the garden empire by contemplating the tone of those vegetables that might match the bass notes from the gravel bed.

    Fortunately or unfortunately the vegetable garden is headed toward fruits and berries.  Which are plants that can quickly be granted high notes.  Little pings in the register, the sort of sound a triangle makes.  And yet I think of Mango as a bass note, which might suggest tone emerges from the manner of eating.  

    I say this because Mango is best eaten while naked amongst the surf of a tropical beach.  Whereas a strawberry is better grasped in association with silver spoons, nutpicks, Edwardian portions of double-cream and all those frailties associated with long fingernails.

    

    Potatoes are bass notes, as are turnips and those characters who lurk unseen until harvest.  Through long months their growing status revealed only through the health of leaves and beggared by a constant suspicion that something is wrong underground.   Here the bass note in theater suggests doom and despondency, and this may offer further insight into the distribution of sound across the panoply of cousins.   So tone might not be so much in the manner of eating, rather in the manner of growing.

    Then when the garden fork is in the potato bed and a new potato is sifted from perfect tilth, I am certain I hear high notes.  But if the earth is dry clay, and the potato is mangled by stones and other manifestations of idleness, I hear the deep bell of poor husbandry.

    It is a complexity of sound emanating from the Xylophone beds, and I have five more notes to make.  But I do suspect that on the west end, many feet away from the gravel bed, there may be the high pitch of Raspberry prickles.

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tim candler

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