The Haves and the Have-Knots

Rudbeckia hirta (Black-eyed Susan) blooms abundantly in my NW Florida garden

Business for massage therapy has been a little slow lately, but I'm not worried. That's what I told someone today at the fitness center where I have my practice. It's summer vacation time, and the massage business has its ups-and-downs like any other business. Will it ever be perfect, you think? My "practice"? I hope not. It should always be unfolding, and I should always be learning something new. That's what I told someone else I met today who is still a massage student. She is hoping to make a decent, maybe even good living as a therapist. I encouraged her to not be discouraged if it takes a while to get to that point.

Curled-up Black-eyed Susan waiting to unfold

Even with the economy being depressed and many people out of work, there are still the "haves" who "have knots"--in their necks, their backs, their shoulders....By "haves" I don't mean people with more money than they know what to do with. I'm not personally acquainted with any "1%-ers," whatever that means. Around here, the people with money to spend came by it honestly. They've had to work hard for it, which explains the knots.

Francis Bacon had some wise words to impart concerning wealth, among other things, and he paid close attention to what other wise men before him had written. Wouldn't it be nice if policy-makers making decisions that affect other people's wealth would follow suit?

"...as Solomon saith: 'Riches are as a stronghold in the imagination of the rich man;' but this is excellently expressed, that it is in imagination and not always in fact; for, certainly, great riches have sold more men than they have bought out. Seek not proud riches, but such as thou mayest get justly, use soberly, distribute cheerfully, and leave contentedly; yet have no abstract nor friarly contempt of them, but distinguish, as Cicero saith well of Rabirius Posthumus:

'In studio rei amplificandae apparebat, non avaritiae praedam, sed instrumentum bonitati quaeri.'

(In his anxiety to increase his fortune, it was evident that not the gratification of avarice was sought, but the means of doing good.)..."

'Music of the Spheres': Blueberries and Other Things That Make Me Sing

We are enjoying almost the final harvest of this year's crop of blueberries, and the last ones to be ripe are the sweetest of all for some reason. This morning as I filled my container with these large blue spheres, a song that's been stuck in my head since yesterday evening kept me company in the blueberry patch.

Just before SAM and I headed for bed last night, we   were listening to the Spa channel on XM Radio, and lo and behold, this familiar song began to play. Secret Aging Man recognized it right away. "This is My Father's House," he said confidently. Are you sure? I asked. "It's an old Baptist hymn. I'm pretty sure." Wrong. Sorry, honey. I looked it up in an old hymnal we somehow ended up with from a church (not Baptist) that we attended in Kentucky. This is My Father's World. Not house. A building could never contain Him.

This is my Father's world
And to my listening ears
All nature sings,
And round me rings
The music of the spheres...


(Words by Maltbie D. Babcock, music by Franklin L. Sheppard, 1901)

Thanks to Stratoz, whose latest post about a saint got me thinking deep thoughts this morning.

Summertime Sound Bites: Curious Cat in a 'Lunch Pail Tree'

With food prices ever increasing, SAM and I have been working on turning our landscape into more of an edible one. As part of that effort, the Loropetalum tree--not edible as far as I know but too beautiful to cut down--that shades the front porch now holds pots of herbs. Can you spot the Cuban oregano (Plectranthus amboinicus) in one of them? Not a true oregano, also called Indian Borage, it has large variegated leaves, is very aromatic, and tastes wonderful in just about any dish that calls for oregano. I purchased it earlier this year at a Santa Rosa County Master Gardener plant sale. After watching its vigorous habit in a pot, I'm not about to turn it loose in the landscape. It might get carried away and cover everything in sight with its aromatic self, at least until freezing weather knocks it out. It's more suited for much warmer climates. 

The Loropetalum might as well be called the Lunch Pail Tree now. Remember that unusual tree in Frank Baum's story Ozma of Oz (you might have seen it in the film Return to Oz)?  It seems that Peanut the cat would agree that lunch is right at hand, only it's not herbs she has a taste for. The mockingbirds attracted to our edible landscape delight in taunting her. Now I'm not encouraging her to "thin their herd," but I won't discourage her from putting the Fear of Gardener into them.

Shortly after we moved back here, I noted that the local mockingbird population had exploded. We had already made great progress on the edible landscaping with the addition of blueberry bushes and plum trees a few years ago, and then pear and persimmon trees were planted shortly before we moved away. A few weeks ago, I told Peanut that I would be very disturbed if all of our work were fruitless on account of the birds. At least this time, she must have been paying attention to me.

Old as Dirt? Get Yourself Some New Soil, 'Dig'?

You've probably heard the expression "old as dirt." Since true soil or "dirt" is mostly weathered rock with some well-rotted plant material mixed in, you can understand why that expression came into being. Now Florida doesn't have much weathered rock or soil, but it does have a lot of sand, as you can see just beyond the boundary of the vegetable garden. The veggies in my garden this year consist of a few scatter-planted green beans, some cucumbers, onions, tomatoes mostly in pots, and various herbs for seasoning everything. Since we moved back in mid-March, I didn't have enough time early in the spring to properly prepare the ground for summer planting. I needed some real dirt real quick, or the garden would fail just as miserably as in years past.

Our decision to attend church at the same place we used to go when we first moved here proved to be more fruitful than I could have imagined. Thanks to good friend and fellow gardener with a business, Cliff Martin, we now have some real dirt. He "makes" the stuff himself with mostly cotton seed hulls and other organic goodies. He won't give me the exact recipe for it, but maybe if I come up with an interesting name? It certainly could be Cliff's Compost Heaven.

I decided to conduct some very unscientific testing on the dirt by adding it to the front half of the garden, the part you can see first as you walk by. Just a few weeks have passed since those handfuls of dirt were casually pitched at the plants, and you can easily see how vigorously the plants have grown. The Homestead onions (another one of Cliff's specialties) have really shot up, and I've harvested several pounds of beans already from this tiny plot.

So what about the back 40 (inches or so) of the garden that didn't receive the good dirt? The plants are puny, the leaves are yellow, and the beans are not as bountiful on this side.

The beans aren't the only lucky plants to receive Cliff's Organic Wonder Soil. This Floradale tomato in a pot--purchased at a plant sale from another plantsman, our pastor/PSC math professor--received a top dressing of the good stuff. I had already potted it in some garden variety garden soil before we got a truckload of Cliff's Miracle Mix. If it sounds like I'm thrilled with this new dirt, I am, strange as it may seem. Even an old-as-dirt gardener like me can "dig" some new soil.

Schwarmerei or Wrought Irony?

It might not look like it here, but Peanut the cat is exhibiting a severe case of Schwarmerei ("extravagant enthusiasm," the losing word in the 2012 National Spelling Bee). She is usually more demonstrative, but it's about 6 p.m. in this picture, and her action has run down for the day, I'm sorry to say.

She prefers a little morning light to be shed on her behalf. I'd say it's preferable to what she sheds on our behalf. Cat hair is everywhere to be found on the new tile floor. But it blends in quite well with the new color scheme, don't you think?

SAM chose the flooring, and it's no surprise to me why he picked this particular color and style: Now that he's working from home, he and I share the cleaning chores--it's so easy to overlook those hair balls lurking underfoot...

and there's a piece of picture sandstone placed prominently on the great room wall near the front door. That piece of rock is not the only geological feature in this house.

SAM's rock garden has outgrown its former, more humble home (seen here and in the second pic in this post, way at the back, where it holds my German china).

SAM is not particularly Schwarmereic when it comes to gardening outside, but he did design the tropical garden where we buried all of that exhausted cardboard.

It's funny how things have turned out: I'm now working away from home, building my massage practice. SAM's become quite adept at garden design and cleaning the house, among other things. The rocks have a nicer home than my china. Age before beauty, I guess.

Something's Afoot in Northwest Florida: Reflexology and Armadillos

If sailing ships could sail the sea,
And sails were not required,
The term itself for sailing ships
Would have to be retired.

A trip to Tallahassee this weekend for a FSMTA sponsored reflexology workshop at Core Institute proved useful for learning in more ways than one:

1. Who knew there are more ways for treating the body through the feet than there are excuses for not drinking enough water?
2.  Did you realize you're supposed to drink an amount of water (in ounces) equal to one-half your body weight per day? If you fall short of that amount, your vital organs steal moisture from the fascia and muscle tissue in your body to keep functioning properly. Poor ol' fascia and muscle have to limp along like a car engine without enough oil for lubrication. Don't forget that the heart is made of muscle tissue. No wonder I felt dog-tired walking those hills at Lake Tallavana after attending the workshop. 
3. Vacant houses soon become home to various forms of wildlife. Nature bounces back quicker than a dehydrated massage therapist can write a simple blog post. The old brain must suffer too. This post has taken longer to finish than it takes a family of armadillos to take over an empty shed. 
4. Armadillos are capable of spreading leprosy, but no cases of armadillos passing the disease on to Floridians have yet occurred or at least been reported. If they had been, an all out war against armadillos would surely be declared. Who would want to be half the man or woman he/she used to be? If you have no idea what I'm talking about, then you're too young to have heard some version of the leprosy song (lyrics to the tune of the Beatles' song Yesterday). If only leprosy could be one of those terms that would have to be retired.