Greens, Ganesha and the Schoolyard Garden

The schoolyard garden is such an immense source of amusement, joy, learning and contemplation that I barely notice I’ve created a part time job for myself for which I receive no payment.

And yet it’s full of riches.

Not to be cliché or corny, but, seriously, the hours I spend as the ‘Garden Lady’ at my kid’s school are some of the best of my entire week. This is my third year running the Garden Club, where we weed, water, grow food and play in the dirt after school. Starting a few weeks ago, we’ve added a ‘Farmer’s Market’ to the Friday mix, and now, on the verge of spring, we are very much in the flow of all this happy garden activity.

By Wednesday, the kids are asking me what we are selling for the Friday market, and I awoke yesterday excited to bake muffins and purchase some glassware from the thrift store around the corner to use as vases for our little garden bouquets. Two different families brought in huge bags of lemons from their trees for us to sell. You should have seen the kids beaming as they walked the brown paper bags full of fruit to our farm table, met by all the other kids oohing and aahing over the little gems. They quickly got to work arranging the fruit in pretty baskets and crates. These ten year olds run the entire stand by themselves for over an hour. Yesterday’s total: $33. Not shabby for some muffins, lemons and a few flower bouquets. I’m going to use the money to purchase plants today from a local high school plant sale – keeping the garden manna flowing.

I have learned so many interesting ‘little things’ along the way in this garden. There is an overzealous oregano plant in one of the raised beds that produces more potent little leaves than I’ve ever seen. During my garden tours I always have the kids pick a leaf and rub it between their fingers, explaining that this is the herb that’s used in Italian tomato sauce. It sounds so basic, but you can really see the lights go off in their heads as they make this tiny connection: “Oh, yes, this stuff grows in the ground, it doesn’t just magically appear in a can on a supermarket shelf.”

We have a very international school, and in the two years since I’ve planted that tiny oregano, a teacher from Romania explained to me that Romanians adore oregano and use it more than salt in their cuisine. Yesterday a mom from India asked to purchase an herb bundle with just oregano (I had mixed herb bouquets on the table). As I cut her a big bunch of just oregano, I asked what she was going to do with it. She explained that in India, you don’t cook with it, but that oregano is a sacred herb that’s used as an offering to the gods. This fascinates me! We had a little chat about Ganesha (she was shocked that not only do I know about this deity – the remover of obstacles, but have a little crystal statue of him by my bed – but that’s getting a little off topic for this garden post.)

This magic is always offset by the ‘practical parents’ who have to buzz kill all the delight going on before their very eyes. Yes, it takes all kinds, and becomes a practice of acceptance (at least that’s what I tell myself). Yesterday it was a parent grad student who visited the garden for the first time. After an hour of about 40 kids and parents digging, weeding, watering, harvesting, selling and (imagine that) relaxing, she came up to me and said: “So, Jill, what’s your ‘grand plan’ you know, your ‘vision’ for the garden club?”

I stood there sort of dumfounded and ever amazed at how the ‘smart’ grown-ups over think, over analyze and kill all that naturally wants to grow, and what is so obvious to the kids. We ARE LIVING our vision, this is it, I thought to myself. This is an elementary school garden in the middle of the city not a grad school botany class!

I collected myself, paused and smiled: “Our master plan is to grow food and have fun doing it.”

Never a dull moment.

Happy planting.

Oranges & Oaks are My Sweet Spot

Solstice, Citrus, Seeds and Spontaneity…..

Well, we made it. December 21, 2012. The shift has been happening for all of us for quite some time, but this year in particular was quite an odyssey.

I am so grateful to be here.

This morning, as near-blinding light streams through the windows of my home, and I sit with warm coffee and a cozy sweater, my heart feels happy and alive. I’m still glowing from a spontaneous visit to Santa Barbara a couple of days ago where we visited a sweet friend’s home, picked citrus from her grove and collected acorns from her 300+ year old oak trees.

Oranges and Oaks are my sweet spot.

My son and I woke up Wednesday and spontaneously decided to visit a u-pick farm in Somis, CA. We drove all the way out to find that nothing was ready except for a few hungry goats nudging us for carrots!

Not a problem. We blew out of Somis and headed north to my friend’s house where her trees were very ready. The drive on the 118 from Somis up to Santa Barbara is pretty much heaven. Farms, old houses, mountains, citrus, clear blue sky. It’s the Old California that is timeless and so heart achingly gorgeous. Postcard country.

I don’t know what it is about orange trees, but they seem to have some magical power over me. The vibrant colors, the heady scent of the blossoms, the sound of the bees hovering, the delicious juice…even the tang of the bittersweet peel that you can turn into marmalade!

And then the oaks…don’t even get me started. Majestic, regal, powerful. My son, friend and I collected hundreds of acorns. I thought of the Native Americans who used those seeds for nourishment. I wondered what the land looked like hundreds of years ago before it was a ‘city’ when the tribes lived there and honored and respected all of nature’s power, beauty and abundance. Not unlike we did that afternoon.

My friend sent us off with overflowing bags full of fruit and acorns, and happy hearts. The Native Americans did not embrace the concept of ‘ownership’ of the land. We inherit it from our parents and borrow it from our children. We are its keepers. Imagine if we thought of the entire earth – and each other – in this way.

So, rather than ‘wishing’ my friend’s home was my home, I simply opened to and filled up with the beauty of the experience, the moment. When you seek the ‘essence’ of what you want, you don’t need ownership…it just comes. Let it come to you!

For me that was a gorgeous California day spent with people I love – and who love me – inspired and nurtured by nature’s never-ending gifts and abundance.

Back in L.A., my home is brimming with bowls of acorns and a citrus centerpiece. To this garden lady, they look like treasure chests filled with jewels. Beauty is cultivated on the inside, but being surrounded by gifts from the garden is a treasure indeed!

clandestine lovers

Last night in L.A., rather than keeping me huddled inside, the wild weather itself drew me out. AIR, the most elusive of elements, seems to speak through the wind. Like a visit from a lover who has gone missing for a while, it comes at you with a vengeance: biting your neck, singing in your ear, pulling your hair…overpowering your entire being…

I can work with that.

Amidst a year of more transformations than I care to tally, simply being out with the elements is a welcome reprieve, and source of renewal. I snuck out last night under a smiling crescent moon for a visit with Mr. Wind. He did not disappoint.

Howling, enticing, shaking the proverbial bed posts through the frenetic vibration of all the trees, he caused me to look up…and then I saw my old friend…the Flowering Pear Tree.

Each year, come November, I start looking for her. Waiting for her leaves to drop so that her tender white petals can emerge right around the turn of the year – a sign of all the beauty that’s to come.

But, in this Official Year of Shit Storms, ahem, ‘growth,’ I’d forgotten all about Ms. Pear altogether. This year, it turns out, she was waiting for me.

She stood tall in all her glory, tiny white blossoms lit up by the moon, which was extra bright because nary a cloud graced the black sky. Her silken blossoms danced with the wind against an ebony backdrop and I stood there, like a giddy teenager who happened upon something naughty: in this case, the wind making love to the tree.

It was a gorgeous sight, and they seemed to be having a really good time of it. I stood there for a moment, admiring their force and grace – a beautiful pairing indeed.

Alas, it was time to move on and leave them to their privacy. More adventures, I’m quite sure, on the horizon….

Clovers & Canyons

When there are times like this where the entire country is in mourning and certain things simply are incomprehensible and people turn their astonishment into anger, and then into antagonism, all I can really do is get back into nature. This morning it was a gorgeous canyon hike with my son.

It didn’t plan it that way. Up at 6am I had no idea how the day would unfold, but a few hours later, we found ourselves high above the sea in one of the mountains on the Malibu/Ventura border. The drive out was indescribable. One I’ve done hundreds of times, but today in particular was stunning. Even more than usual.

The ocean looked almost iridescent purple, the pale clouds swirled themselves into the powder sky and the Channel Islands were in such clear view it looked like you could reach out and touch them.

Just yesterday I was thinking that I was ready to start making love rattles again, but had no more pieces of found wood for the handles. I wasn’t thinking about this today – just focusing on the beauty – when we turned a corner to find the mother ship of sticks and branches – enough wood for more rattles than someone should ever be allowed to make in one lifetime.

Perfect.

We spent quite a bit of time selecting our specimens and my son was impressed at how I broke the wood with my bare hands. He’s still easy to impress and still totally innocent. He doesn’t really understand what guns are and certainly not murder or tragedy. He’s been deliberately shielded, having never watched violent movies or the news. And today up in that canyon, I held that moment with him for as long as possible. Insanely grateful to just be with him, heartbroken for what’s happened in Connecticut and selfishly happy that my son is still blissfully ignorant of the darkness and horrors in a world that he is going to have to grow up in.

We gathered our sticks, examined a patch of clovers on the trail and headed back to a warm home with books on the shelf, food in the fridge and each other. We spent the evening painting pictures and playing games. A simpler day could not have been had, this heart heavy with gratitude.

Springtime in December

What more could I need
Than a spring in my step
A beat on my drum
A skip in my heart?

All from you.

The one who
Time and time again
Flips my switch
Fills my cup
And feeds my soul.

And you do this in the dark
Uphill
In the rain.
Like it’s nothing at all.

If only you knew
How your love
Makes me bloom
Like
Springtime in December.

from Ginger Roots, Plantings of a Future Dreamer

impromptu orchestra

I’m not sure what it is, but more times than not, it seems like rain falls in the City of Angels after hours. It’s like the Powers That Be know that there is too much beauty, fun and loveliness to keep us indoors during the day here. We like to play.

Yesterday, when such sad news about Connecticut filled our entire country with tears, the rain, yet again held its tongue until after dark. And then it let loose.

We each have our ‘happy place,’ (hopefully more than one) and for me, lying in bed at night in the dark under a pile of warm blankets, while simply listening to the rain is definitely one of them. Last night was no exception.

Drip, drop, splat, ting, sing….

An impromptu orchestra takes the city by storm, dancing against tile roofs, metal cars, concrete sidewalks…and let’s not forget the plants.

We gardeners here in L.A. do a little happy dance when it rains: “free water!” Living in a desert and keeping even native specimens alive is a labor of love…and water bills.

But last night it was so much more than that. With the year coming to a close, and sad news that touched each of us in a different way, the rain reminds us that there is always something new being re-born; in us, in others and of course in the garden.

Waking this morning to sunshine and crystal blue sky (I love that), the plants were quietly drunk with nature’s elixir. Ecstatic. Sated. Alive.

Which is exactly as I am, as I give thanks for so many gifts, and offer prayers – around the entire world – to those needing a lift in their hearts, an extra bloom in their garden, some water for their soul.

Like a garden, we need to take care of and look out for each other. One seed, one bloom, one drop, one heart at a time.

Garden Trinity

Perhaps what I love most about working in a garden or on a farm is that it forces you to keep moving forward. Yes, there is fruit and flowers and beauty to be enjoyed, contemplated and consumed. But not for long. Because as soon as something has come to fruition, it’s time to move on and plan for what’s next. It’s time to keep moving forward.

This is easier for some of us than others. Though I consider myself to be an optimist – always looking to the future with promise – I sometimes have difficulty letting go of what was.

You cannot do this in a garden.

Like it or not, a garden forces (invites) you to be with what is, plan for what will be, let go of what was…and simply be okay with all the factors that are out of your control. Spent buds are dead. Old fruit is rotten. Simultaneously, flowers in bloom are magnificent works of art – but still fragile and temporal. And the seeds in your hand will one day bear fruit…but there’s a lot of work to be done between this moment and that harvest. Past, present and future all converge in a garden. Like a trinity. This is not theoretical, just look outside your window – it’s all happening right now.

Which is exactly as it is in ‘real life,’ too. Old experiences must be lovingly composted, or else there’s just a pile of rotting fruit on your kitchen counter, festering, attracting flies. Seeds must be planted, and patience and perseverance must be practiced, even for those of us who want to know all the answers now (that would be me). For some of us, the blooming buds are hardest to embrace, because they require a slowing down to simply be, to enjoy, to open to abundance. The flowers ask us to receive the gifts life has offered, even the ones that are hard to see at first, which might be disguised as “something we don’t like.” Something we don’t like is often exactly what we need to be healthy or to grow. Nature makes sure of this. Nature takes care of us.

The garden reminds me of that basic wisdom we forget in our addiction to ‘achievement’: it never really is the destination, it’s the journey. The seed, the bud, the bloom…and back into the soil. There’s no end to it. And it’s been this way since the beginning.

It’s the same cycle with life experiences, and even with these bodies of ours. Nothing is really ‘ours’ to keep. It’s borrowed. Even this flesh is borrowed. We have to give it back. Everything that we perceive as ‘ours’ is really just an experience to be enjoyed in this moment. Relationships evolve, bank accounts fluctuate, living situations change…just like a garden.

We keep re-birthing ourselves in this lifetime until it’s time to give ourselves back to wherever we came from, whether that’s some other realm, or ‘just’ back into the soil. Some moments we take more, other times we give more, but in the end, hopefully our lives have been our own authentic garden. A magical place to first feed ourselves…and then others…with LOVE.

I keep learning…

Caravan

Certain things
Like citrus
And the mound of
Soft soil
Pressed between
The flesh of my fingers
Carve a path back to you.

There is an open field
And a canyon
And a dead end road
With your name on it.

You came
In like lightening.
Talking in tongues
Scorching this body
Illuminating the land.

You left
In a quiet caravan
Chasing the night…
Marking a trail
With rotten fruit and jagged stones
That leads to nowhere.

{poem/photo: JV}

Evergreen

Beauty graces
The places
Even you cannot touch.

A light rain
An early winter’s walk
Mist on my mouth -
Tiny kisses
Planted
In this evergreen heart.

Spring sings
From just over the white horizon
And calls
Like church bells
Or a choir
Or wind that whistles
Through naked trees
That do not blush,
As they dance
Like giddy children
Full of wonder
And wishes
Bearing fruit.

{poem/photo: Jill Volat 12/4/12}

My Go Twos Goes Green!

What a fun treat to be featured on a fashion blog! Who says gardeners don’t have style!

Thank you My Go Twos for a great morning spent taking pictures in the garden! For the full spread please click My Go Twos. Below you’ll find a few pics from this creative and artistic fashion website!