What's Up, Doc?

Above ground there were beautiful green carrot tops . . . .

. . . but underneath only scawny, spindly six-inch carrots!

All in all, it's been a good summer growing season for my deep-bed organic garden. For the first time, I planted good organic seeds--not just store-bought plants--and I worked really hard to keep it cultivated, pest-free and fertilized with mushroom compost and fish poop. The red potatoes, cucumbers and albion strawberries were definite successes, but I was most excited about the huge Japanese Imperial Carrots that were (supposedly) forming under the bushy green heads that surrounded my lettuce, tomatoes, herbs and marigolds. Any ideas about what might have happened? And while we're on the subject of slow, stunted growth, what's up with my croquet-ball sized Watermelons at the end of the gorgeous flowering vines trailing out of the bed borders?

On the 8th Anniversary of 9/11, I Recalled My Most Peaceful Place

I glanced up in the heat of the day
like I did every day
and worked even more earnestly
so that certainly the time would
pass by faster.

Later my awaited moment came . . .
I was FREE and I ran
down the dirt slope to the river
never bothering to take off my dusty sandals
as I stepped carefully into the same freezing water
where my great-grandfather once drove cattle . . .

. . . and then we danced--the water and I--it was
so cold on my bare toes that I jumped and splashed, jumped and splashed . . .
meanwhile, the sun played tricks on my partner as it swirled
in tiny, shallow rapids
around the rocks in its way.

Now the sun was beginning to set--nothing new yet
ever exquisitely unique.
Surrounded by the hills my senses were keyed into nature.
I heard only the wind singing gently behind me and
I saw only the sun up ahead sliding
lower
slower
taking its time . . .

. . . the daystar, like a paintbrush, watercolored the sky with a mass of
purple pink orange and red encircling the glowing orb.
My heart soared as I climbed the mountain path,
for I thought I saw his form etched against the horizon;
though my body ached from the day's work,
his coming urged me to the top where I
dropped
in a tired heap
letting the gentle breeze ruffle my hair and caress my bones.

I turned over, resting my weary head on my arms, just in time to watch the sun
fall away in one last blaze of glory.
I let out a sigh of awe and appreciation for this marvel,
just as the night sounds began echoing through the valley . . .

I was lulled to sleep under a sky of countless stars
whose light sent a secure warmth washing over me.
I recognized the feeling like the well-worn paths.
I was not alone . . .

*Written a few months after I met Jesus as more than a historical figure

Elaine Everett Copyright 1972