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October 27th 2009

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    Turned earth that has been raked into tilth presents a brief moment of satisfaction.  Then it rains and stones begin to float.  Then it rains some more and there is that sense of nutrient being washed away to feed some distant part where something evil like Bermuda Grass is already established.

    In the bones I know that soil and plant material maintain a symbiotic friendship that predates cultivation.  So turned earth raked into tilth and left for the winter frost to bite, contains an unhappiness.  Which is why I think of the vegetable garden as young, and I remind myself that I am still making soil, and to do that I need frost and nakedness and double trenches and time.

    The oldest bed, with its new concrete edging, is I believe maturing to that point where it has achieved what I think of as 'chocolate'.   And such have been my sins that into this contented place I will soon consign perennial vegetables, which means for me that this is a time of farewell.     

    

    In these patterns of mind I can see analogies with Eden.  The creative moment is passed, and now either I have 'chocolate' or this bed will become a swamp of iniquity dominated by those creeping and flowing things that are pestilence and which define punishment by knowing what good is.  

    Happily 'creative is', so I can say farewell to a comrade, see him again in Valhalla perhaps, instead of looking into the stars and determining the purpose of the perfect something that makes.

    But harmony is never settled in me, so I will say to those who would replace the shovel with newspaper and mulch, "You are lazy!" in the matter of your place in the world.

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tim candler

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