A Watched POT(US) Never Boils--Lessons from a Garden and the Gulf

"But with the word the time will bring on summer,
When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns,
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;
Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us.
All's well that ends well. Still the fine's the crown;
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown."
--from William Shakespeare's All's Well That Ends Well, Act 4, Scene 4--



Time in a garden/blog has taught me:

1. Patience. I have planted several Clematis vines here in the last five years we have lived in this house. Only one variety, Nelly Moser, (thanks to Prairie Rose, I remember its name now) has survived hurricanes and hot summers. It thwarts even my best efforts to doom its existence by planting it on the southwest corner of a brick house in the northwest corner of Florida.
2. Joy. I had some doubts that anything would thrive with my lack of experience gardening in a southern climate. The soil here still needs a lot of help, and the fire ants are a daily nuisance.
3. Peace. Commonly accepted mind-numbing methods (take your pick--there are more than ever to choose from these days) are losing their appeal for this gardener. I have found a place where troubled times freeze in place like a photograph or words on a page, never ignored but ready at a moment's notice to be cooly examined and discussed from a variety of perspectives.
4. Love. SAM puts up with a lot of manure from me and always has. I come from a long line of strong-willed (bull-headed?) people who don't slip easily into someone else's yoke and pull in the desired direction.
5. Kindness. Still in the developing stages.
6. Goodness. Same as above.
7. Faithfulness. Same as above.
8. Gentleness. Same as above.
9. Self-control. Same as above. Just read some of my previous posts, and you'll understand what I mean.
   

Many exciting things have been happening across the Pond for POTUS and his family. I hope he gets a chance to relax this summer in his new garden at home and maybe even on the water. Of course, living in Florida means that water is never very far from my thoughts. Springs, creeks, rivers, and the sea surround us with liquid energy and diffuse life's tensions. We manage to stay afloat in a kayak that can be pedaled like a recumbent bike or paddled if necessary. Early on Saturday morning the Gulf of Mexico laid down like a lake and allowed us to explore the coastline along Fort Pickens. At one point we saw something in the water some fifty yards away that could have been a body for all we knew. It looked to be about five feet long and had a good deal of mass to it. Had a shark gotten to some hapless swimmer or surfer dude? Images from Jaws swam across my mind. No. As we pedaled closer, the object raised its head and then sank in a matter of seconds. It was a sea turtle! We could not get close enough to take its picture, but we got excited by the sighting all the same.

After about an hour or so in the kayak, the old backsides get a little sore, so we head for shore and walk about on the empty beach for a while. It's still early in the morning, and we have a long stretch of the beach all to ourselves. I love to be on the water, but using my feet on land helps me to think more clearly. And tipping over doesn't usually concern me when I'm standing on my own two feet. I have lots of things to think about.

Before we reach the shore, we notice the water there seeming to boil with some sort of activity. (I took a couple of videos but wasn't satisfied with the quality so a picture will have to suffice.) The "boiling" lasts for quite a while even after we beach the kayak. Some sort of jackfish (judging by the shape of the tails) are chasing tiny minnows, and the gulls and other shorebirds are feasting on them as well. But the action drifts off farther down the beach, and even disconcerting news that finds its way into my thoughts simmers down eventually. Son's cool acceptance of a 25% pay cut to keep his job makes me wonder at how silly I am to lose my temper over trivial things. And at the end of the day, daughter's life and limbs are spared when her tire explodes. It does not happen on the Interstate, which is part of her drive home from work, but on Highway 90, not far from home. She is in the left lane and manages to bring the car to a stop in a grassy portion of the median. I am home to pick her up, SAM is summoned, and the tire is changed. The day ends well.