The title of this post feels like it might be a metaphor. But it's not. Yesterday, damp and cool, saw me duck down behind our wild roses, pull away the leaf litter, and plant stinging nettle seeds. They don't grow wild here like they do where I grew up, and it wasn't until I had moved away from the Pacific Northwest that I learned of their infinite value. I couldn't figure out where I would plant them in a suburban yard with two kids and their friends running about. When I discovered the seeds for sale through Seeds of Change, I bought some. When they arrived the spot occurred to me - behind the rose bushes, to the side of the garage. It stays slightly damp there. When it rains the hole in the garage gutter drools on that spot. It's shady. And out of the way. If we ever sell the house I'll have to rip them out no doubt, but for now I have my little witch garden - thorny wild roses and a tangle of stinging nettle.
1 comment:
Synchronicity led me to your book at my library. I have just begun reading Voices of the Earth and the way you write about nature is perfectly descriptive and poetic; very few authors of our age can write with such vision! I've never met anyone personally, outside of a New Age shop near my home, who can feel the grass and trees and rocks as though they are alive. Of course, I had to look you up and I found your blog! Thanks from a fan :)
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