Cosmos

The wind is picking up and the leaves scatter and shower down upon me and my large hairy walking partner as we plod through the parks and streets of our tiny town. There is so much change afoot at this time a year. Each day a new color, a new landscape. I feel blessed when a leaf chooses the exact moment, for my pure selfish bliss, to be the moment in time that it lets go. It releases its grasp upon the life giving tree branches, literally and ever so gracefully, falling and twirling, spinning and serenading, to their deaths.

I keep the ones that fall from above and stick to my sweater. I bring them home with us, I twirl their stems in delight beneath my thumb and forefinger as we walk the tree lined streets. Their cool subtle texture, gleaming with golden color. I love placing them against my cheek, their soft coolness against my skin. By the time I arrive home from my walk they are just a dark and shriveled mess of a thing. I have eventually along my travels, stuffed them deep into my pink tote bag, somewhere under the bagels and addicting almond croissant that I purchased from the local bakery. The leaves beauty in that phase of its existence before its death is so quick. The walk home. No time at all in the scheme of things.

No time at all.

I revel in my small blossoming wildflower garden that came from sprinkling a handful of seeds and saying a little prayer over them this past the spring. It’s is now truly a bright spot on our block. The cosmos, like our sunflowers were just a month ago, are stretching for the clear deep blue sky.

We’ve had some juices straight from our new juicing garden we created. The garden is flourishing in the three hand made, perfect height, amazing soil filled, dream come true, free standing planter boxes in our front “yard”. All filled with brocolli, kale, spinach, chard, beets and brussle sprouts. The deep deep green vibrant and energetic as I glance out our kitchen window each morning.

We’ve done so much on our little blank spot of land, but what I’ve done mostly is weed it. We have sheet mulched the entire 9000 sf. We have planted four fruit trees and a flame red maple, Alfred 2.0. It’s a flat and open and searing lot. Even with all of the above (or maybe be cause of it?) we had our hands full with weeding! Retaming, domesticizing this parcel of wild, abandoned, and uncared for land.

First to pop up in the yard was the “vine weed” that joyfully sprang to life from its ghostly roots under the four inch thick mulch and cardboard this spring and early summer . They are small with tendrils so it’s a bare handed job. “Hello! I’m here! “ They seem so optimistic. Yet I unceremoniously yank them out. As deep as I can get them then bag ‘em, more and more pop up. They are truly never ending.

I do believe I’ve pulled up my body weight in weeds this summer. Wheelbarrow fulls. The occasional chunk of grass, the tenacious sucker “junk” trees trying to fight hard for their way back into the old junkyard this once was. But the grass and sucker trees are easy peasy. They seem to get the message of their unwantedness eventually.

The bitch of them all is the goathead. Known to puncture car tires, bike tires, and pups paws . It seemed to put out its best showing at the end of September. Just as I was thinking my lower back and I were getting the upper hand on the cheery vine weed and others in the yard, I’d see the dreaded goatheads. Getting them before their characteristic yellow blossom blooms. Wiggling the wood chips away from the goatheads crown, gripping gently at the lowest point on that stem as I can and “plink” it comes out. Root and all. One of the most sartisfying feelings. I listened to many a true crime podcasts multiple episodes in my ear buds, moving like a crab along the ground of wood chips I call longingly my “yard”, pulling out these suckers.

Today I found some more patches just after I declared out loud for the entire neighborhood to hear “I think I’m ahead of them. I think I’m done with them” and then of course when I adjust my eyes to “goat weed” vision” I find more. The locals here know. It’s a war not a one season battle.

No time at all.