Black Gardens!

The 'Creepy' Black Bat Flower is definitely the star of the black garden with a flurry of common names such as Black Cat's Whiskers, Devil's Flower, Black Beauty, and Tiger's Whiskers, The Black Bat Flower (Tacca Chantrierei) is a tropical perennial native to monsoonal rainforest in southeastern Asia. There is something, something curiously odd about these flowers, you can understand why superstition has built up around them. The tiny "eyes" of these beautiful and spooky plants squint out from the darkest deepest maroon flowers. It is considered by some to be a malevolent plant and in Malaysia it is unlucky to look into these little glittering watchful eyes.

photo by ana traina

Many people are intrigued with the mysteriously haunting Victorian black garden. Filled with uncommon and attractively spooky black flowers, foliage and other interesting additions, these types of gardens can add dark drama to the landscape. Edward Gorey was no exception, he was delighted when his friend telephoned him saying that the Cape nursery near his home at 8 Strawberry Lane in Yarmouthport carried black pansies. The very existence of black flowers amused Edward.  So he promptly bought all the black pansies that the nursery had, and then had his friend plant them in his garden.

photo by ana traina

How to Grow a Black Garden

Growing your own Victorian black garden is not hard at all. It’s basically done just like any other garden. Careful planning always helps beforehand. One of the most important factors is proper positioning. Dark-colored plants need to be placed in sunny areas to prevent them from becoming lost in the dark corners of the landscape. They should also be placed against a lighter backdrop to stand out more effectively.

Another aspect of the black garden is learning how to use the various tones and hues correctly. While black plants mix rather easily with other colors, some work better than others. The best thing to keep in mind when working with black palettes is choosing lighter shades that will contrast well with the black-colored plants you’ve chosen. This will help intensify their color and allow them to stand out more easily. Black flowers and foliage can accentuate other colors if carefully placed. For instance, black plants work well when combined with silver, gold, or bright-colored tones.

When using black plants for the garden, consider their various textures and forms. Look for different types of plants with similar growing requirements. There are numerous black plants to choose from that will add thrilling drama to your black garden, unfortunately there are far too many to name. However, here is a small list of black or dark-colored plants to get you started.

photo by ana traina

Black Bulbs

• Black Tulips (Tulipa x darwin ‘Queen of the Night,’ ‘Black Parrot’)

• Black Hyacinth (Hyacinthus ‘Midnight Mystique’)

• Black Calla Lily (Arum palaestinum)

• Black Elephant Ear (Colocasia ‘Black Magic’)

• Arabian Night Dahlia (Dahlia ‘Arabian Night’)

• Black Gladiolus (Gladiolus x hortulanus ‘Black Jack’)

• Black Iris (Iris nigricans ‘Dark Vader,’ ‘Superstition’)

• Black Daylily (Hemerocallis ‘Black Emanuelle’)

Black Perennials and Biennials

• Mocha Coral Bells (Heuchera x villosa ‘Mocha’)

• Black Hellebore, Christmas rose (Helleborus niger )

• Black Butterfly Bush (Buddleja davidii ‘Black Knight’)

• Sooty Sweet William (Dianthus barbatus nigrescens ‘Sooty’)

• Rose varieties ‘Black Magic,’ Black Beauty,’ Black Baccara’

• Black Barlow Columbine (Aquilegia vulgaris var stellata ‘Black Barlow’)

• Black Night Delphinium (Delphinium x cultorium ‘Black Night’)

• Andean Silver-Leaf Sage (Salvia discolor)

• Black Pansy (Viola x wittrockiana ‘Bowles’ Black’)

Black Annuals

• Black Hollyhock (Alcea rosea ‘Nigra’)

• Chocolate Cosmos (Cosmos atrosanguineus)

• Moulin Rouge Sunflower (Helianthus annuus ‘Moulin Rouge’)

• Black Prince Snapdragon (Antirrhinum majus ‘Black Prince’)

Black foliage plants

• Black Pussy Willow (Salix melanostachys)

• Black Fountain Grass (Pennisetum alopecuroides ‘Moudry’)

• Black Mondo Grass (Ophiopogon planiscapus ‘Nigrescens’)

Black Vegetables

• Eggplant

• Bell Pepper ‘Purple Beauty’

• Tomato ‘Black Prince’

• Corn “Black Aztec’

• Ornamental Pepper ‘Black Pearl’

photo by ana traina

Happy digging!

The Malevolent Baneberry!

photo by ana traina

White Baneberry (Actaea pachypoda)  is part of the buttercup family.

The innocent looking fruit of baneberry which appears in late summer or early fall, has inspired the plant’s other name.  Each white berry has a purple black dot that sits upon a red bright stalk.  They look “strikingly like the china eyes that small children occasionally manage to gouge from their dolls,” wrote Mrs. Dana at the turn of the century, and therefore acquired the other common name doll’s eyes.

Bane is the English word that appears as early as Beowulf as bona or bana which means “slayer” or “murderer.”  Walter Conrad Muenscher’s 1939 book, Poisnous Plants of the United States, reports children have died from eating the berries of the similar European baneberry, which John Gerald describes it as having “ a venomous and deadly quality.

A Rabbit Sniffs 
Peter hopped over to smell them. Then he made a wry face. They didn’t smell good. No sir, he didn’t like the smell of them. Mrs. Grouse chuckled. “Those flowers are much like the berries they turn into later -- good to look at only,” she said. “Aren’t the berries good to eat?” demanded Peter. Mrs. Grouse shook her head in a very decided way. “They are poisonous,” she said. “I advise you never try one of them” --Thornton W. Burgess, The Burgess Flower Book for Children (1929)

Needless to say, these berries are very toxic and should never be eaten. Children and perhaps some uninformed adults from any urbanville should be repeatedly warned not to eat these berries or any other wild berries for that matter if they are not 100% sure of what they are about to put into their mouth.

Bits of odds and ends: Native Americans used baneberry as a root tea for various problems including pain, colds and coughs. The Cherokee used it to revive a patient near death. The Chippewa used the same tea for convulsions. Maude Grieves reported that the Indians considered the plant to be a valuable remedy against snakebites, particularly of the rattlesnake. Its use for this purpose is not widespread, probably because the plant may be as harmful for you as the snakebite.  On the sunnier side of the Baneberry -- They do attract a number of song birds, including the yellow-bellied sapsucker, american robin, wood thrush, brown thrasher, gray catbird, and ruffed grouse.

Repeated Warning!  Contact with all parts of this plant should be avoided. The berries are known to be extremely toxic and all parts may be somewhat toxic and may even cause blisters on the skin where touched.


excerpts from The Secrets of Wildflowers: A Delightful Feast of Little-Known Facts, Folklore, and History

Meet the Magical Mr. Cornelis Gaalswijk!

all photos by ana traina

A few days ago, I decided to stop at one of my favorite fruit and flower stands in Columbia County just on the corner of route 9 and route 203. It is my favorite stand because the fruit, veggies, and flowers are always eye-fetching, incredibly fresh and quite tasty. 

As I was deciding on which cantaloupe was the ripest, a tall and spritely man suddenly appeared from out of the greenhouse. I did not recall ever seeing him before but I shyly said a quick hello. I can’t really say how it all started, but after a few minutes of awkward silence, somewhere between perusing the zucchini, and asking the price of the tomatoes, we struck up a conversation.

Mr. Cornelis Gaalswijk, a young man of 25, came to this country in 1950 from Holland looking for adventure.  Not speaking English very well, he and his little wooden shoes went to live with his Uncle in Minnesota.  He stayed and worked with his Uncle for three years. Everyday Cornelis’ Uncle would buy him the Dutch newspaper. On one particular day in April, he noticed an ad placed in the paper by a Ms. Marie Ooms, of Old Chatham, NY.  She was looking for a nice Dutch boy to marry. He, of course, was looking for just the right woman. Well, whatever Marie wrote in that ad, Cornelis was now smitten. So he bought himself a Chevy 4 door for 1600 big ones and drove 1400 miles, through Chicago, Cleveland, finally reaching Old Chatham to meet this Marie Ooms.  And in Cornelis own words, “they met, they clicked and Bingo! They married.”  He found a job at a local dairy farm by chance. He didn’t know anything about Dairy farming but it was good money and he was a quick learner. As time moved on, he and Marie had four children and lived happily ever after for 50 years. 

At first glance, Cornelis looks much younger than his 85 years, but now as I looked into his deep blue eyes, all the years gone by shadowed over them...and for a moment, only a moment his sadness took its toll, washing away his cheery spirit. You see, three years ago, Marie wasn’t feeling so well and she went to the doctor who didn’t know what was wrong with her.  So her doctor sent her to the hospital, and there she was attended by three other doctors who didn’t know what was wrong with her either.  Mr. Cornelis Gaalswijk stood by her side, helplessly saying to those who would listen, "I don’t want to lose this woman, I've been with her for 50 years."   As unexpectedly as he found Marie Ooms, he, unfortunately, did lose her.

Marie died of a double heart attack...  

I didn’t know what to say, I felt so many things... How does one say, I see, taste, feel, smell, know and am touched by your broken heart?  So, I just stood there in respectful silent,  dwelling in my own once upon a time broken heartedness, knowing as he did, that there are no words.  Then, as if swooped up by a sudden cheery thought again, Cornelis asked me if I would like to see his wooden shoes.  Of course, I did. 

Later on, at home, as I was eating my ratatouille made from Cornelis’ zucchini, tomatoes, onions and garlic and as I took my last bite of this delicious country meal a bitter sweetness slipped down my throat.  I thought, at first, how sad it would be, to me, to lose what is most important in my life...again.  Then, thinking on Mr. Cornelis Gaalswijk’s bright smile and inviting conversation, I thought how courageous, how magical a man he was. I realized that as sad as his story ended, as sad as all of our stories end, he did, in fact like he dreamed, have the greatest adventure of all.  He lived, he loved and he shared.  

  

If you ever wish to visit my favorite fruit and flower stand, you will find Mr. Cornelis Gaalswijk there from 10am - 1pm, then he has a little lunch, and then from 3pm - 5pm... 

A Small Tale of the Wild Wild Grape!

photo by ana traina

Earlier this year, I stumbled upon wild grapes growing in the little patch of wood by the side of my house in East Chatham. I have lived here for 8 years and walked passed that little patch countless times, but until this summer I had no idea the grapes were there. I'd never even seen wild grapes growing before in my life and was delightfully thrilled with the treasure find.

I returned to the to woody vines hanging heavy with the purple gems and cut some. I imagined that those grapes were going to become something exotic... like “Spicy Wild Grape Butter” in my hands, though I'd never made that before.  Was there even such a thing? So I searched online for a recipe and here is what I found.

WILD GRAPE BUTTER

1 c. water

2 qts. wild grapes, washed & stemmed

2 tbsp. grated orange peel

2 c. sugar

1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp. ground cloves

1/4 tsp. grated nutmeg

1/4 tsp. ground ginger

Add water to grapes, bring to a boil and simmer 10 minutes. Pour juice into a colander and press pulp into a bowl. Return pulp to enamel or stainless steel kettle. Add peel, sugar and spices. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, for 10 to 15 minutes or until thick. Pour into sterile jars and seal. Makes 8 half pint jars.

WILD GRAPES by ROBERT FROST

What tree may not the fig be gathered from?

The grape may not be gathered from the birch?

It's all you know the grape, or know the birch.

As a girl gathered from the birch myself

Equally with my weight in grapes, one autumn,

I ought to know what tree the grape is fruit of.

I was born, I suppose, like anyone,

And grew to be a little boyish girl

My brother could not always leave at home.

But that beginning was wiped out in fear

The day I swung suspended with the grapes,

And was come after like Eurydice

And brought down safely from the upper regions;

And the life I live now's an extra life

I can waste as I please on whom I please.

So if you see me celebrate two birthdays,

And give myself out of two different ages,

One of them five years younger than I look--

One day my brother led me to a glade

Where a white birch he knew of stood alone,

Wearing a thin head-dress of pointed leaves,

And heavy on her heavy hair behind,

Against her neck, an ornament of grapes.

Grapes, I knew grapes from having seen them last year.

One bunch of them, and there began to be

Bunches all round me growing in white birches,

The way they grew round Leif the Lucky's German;

Mostly as much beyond my lifted hands, though,

As the moon used to seem when I was younger,

And only freely to be had for climbing.

My brother did the climbing; and at first

Threw me down grapes to miss and scatter

And have to hunt for in sweet fern and hardhack;

Which gave him some time to himself to eat,

But not so much, perhaps, as a boy needed.

So then, to make me wholly self-supporting,

He climbed still higher and bent the tree to earth

And put it in my hands to pick my own grapes.

"Here, take a tree-top, I'll get down another.

Hold on with all your might when I let go."

I said I had the tree. It wasn't true.

The opposite was true. The tree had me.

The minute it was left with me alone

It caught me up as if I were the fish

And it the fishpole. So I was translated

To loud cries from my brother of "Let go!

Don't you know anything, you girl? Let go!"

But I, with something of the baby grip

Acquired ancestrally in just such trees

When wilder mothers than our wildest now

Hung babies out on branches by the hands

To dry or wash or tan, I don't know which,

(You'll have to ask an evolutionist)--

I held on uncomplainingly for life.

My brother tried to make me laugh to help me.

"What are you doing up there in those grapes?

Don't be afraid. A few of them won't hurt you.

I mean, they won't pick you if you don't them."

Much danger of my picking anything!

By that time I was pretty well reduced

To a philosophy of hang-and-let-hang.

"Now you know how it feels," my brother said,

"To be a bunch of fox-grapes, as they call them,

That when it thinks it has escaped the fox

By growing where it shouldn't--on a birch,

Where a fox wouldn't think to look for it--

And if he looked and found it, couldn't reach it--

Just then come you and I to gather it.

Only you have the advantage of the grapes

In one way: you have one more stem to cling by,

And promise more resistance to the picker."

One by one I lost off my hat and shoes,

And still I clung. I let my head fall back,

And shut my eyes against the sun, my ears

Against my brother's nonsense; "Drop," he said,

"I'll catch you in my arms. It isn't far."

(Stated in lengths of him it might not be.)

"Drop or I'll shake the tree and shake you down."

Grim silence on my part as I sank lower,

My small wrists stretching till they showed the banjo strings.

"Why, if she isn't serious about it!

Hold tight awhile till I think what to do.

I'll bend the tree down and let you down by it."

I don't know much about the letting down;

But once I felt ground with my stocking feet

And the world came revolving back to me,

I know I looked long at my curled-up fingers,

Before I straightened them and brushed the bark off.

My brother said: "Don't you weigh anything?

Try to weigh something next time, so you won't

Be run off with by birch trees into space."

It wasn't my not weighing anything

So much as my not knowing anything--

My brother had been nearer right before.

I had not taken the first step in knowledge;

I had not learned to let go with the hands,

As still I have not learned to with the heart,

And have no wish to with the heart--nor need,

That I can see. The mind--is not the heart.

I may yet live, as I know others live,

To wish in vain to let go with the mind--

Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me

That I need learn to let go with the heart.

The Humble Bumble Bee and the Curious Toadflax!

photo by ana traina

Toadflax is a flower with many many names, Fluellin. Pattens and Clogs. Flaxweed. Ramsted. Snapdragon. Churnstaff. Dragon-bushes. Brideweed. Toad. Yellow Rod. Larkspur Lion's Mouth. Devils' Ribbon. Devil's Head. Pedlar's Basket. Gallwort. Rabbits. Doggies. Calves' Snout.  Buttered Haycocks. Monkey Flower.  Yes, and my all time favorite Eggs-and Collops, A collop was a slice of bacon or ham on which a fried egg was served. In England, Collop Monday was the day before Shrove Tuesday, and eggs-and-collops was the appropriate dish.

The curious mouth of the flower is completely closed and never opens until a bee forces its entrance. The only visitors are the large bees - the humble-bee, the bumble-bee, the honey-bee, and several wild bees - which are able to open the flower, and whose tongues are long enough to reach the nectar, which is so placed in the spur that only long-lipped insects can reach it. The closing of the swollen lower lip excludes beetles from the spur. When the bee alights on the orange palate, the color of which is specially designed to attract the desired visitor, acting as a honey-guide, it falls a little, disclosing the interior of the flower, which forms a little cave, on the floor of which are two ridges of orange hairs, a track between them leading straight to the mouth of the long, hollow spur.  The bee pushes into the flower, its head fitting well into the cavity below the seed-vessel and thrusting its proboscis down the spur, sucks the nectar, its back being meanwhile well coated by the pollen from the stamens, which run along the roof, the stigma being between the short and long stamens. 

Toadflax abounds in an acrid oil, reputed to be poisonous, but no harm from it has ever been recorded. Little or nothing is known of its toxic principle, but its use in medicine was well known to the ancients.

Medicinal Action and Uses -- Astringent, hepatic and detergent. It has some powerful qualities as a purgative and diuretic, causing it to be recommended in jaundice, liver, skin diseases and scrofula; an infusion of 1 OZ. to the pint has been found serviceable as an alterative in these cases and in incipient dropsy. The infusion has a bitter and unpleasant taste, occasioned by the presence of the acrid essential oil. It was at one time in great reputation among herb doctors for dropsy. The herb distilled answers the same purpose, as a decoction of both leaves and flowers in removing obstructions of the liver. It is very effectual if a little Peruvian bark or solution of quinine and a little cinnamon be combined with it. Gerard informs us that 'the decoction openeth the stopping of the liver and spleen, and is singular good against the jaundice which is of long continuance,' and further states that 'a decoction of Toadflax taketh away the yellownesse and deformitie of the skinne, being washed and bathed therewith.'

The fresh plant is sometimes applied as a poultice or fomentation to hemorrhoids, and an ointment of the flowers has been employed for the same purpose, and also locally in diseases of the skin. A cooling ointment is made from the fresh plant - the whole herb is chopped and boiled in lard till crisp, then strained. The result is a fine green ointment, a good application for piles, sores, ulcers and skin eruptions.

The juice of the herb, or the distilled water, has been considered a good remedy for inflammation of the eyes, and for cleansing ulcerous sores.

Boiled in milk, the plant is said to yield an excellent fly poison, and it is an old country custom in parts of Sweden to infuse Toadflax flowers in milk, and stand the infusion about where flies are troublesome.

The flowers have been employed in Germany as a yellow dye.

An Excerpt from Scott Cohen's Manly Diary!

photo by scott cohen

Dear Manly Diary,                                  

Second day out.  Wind at leeward. Mast sails blowing hard. The horizon far off in the distance.   Starbuck(s) by my side.  Looking for the great white sale, I mean whale... but all I found was someone's massive kindergarten drawing and an idea that seemed to be oh so fitting.  Yes... I needed to sleep too.  This barbary beast had it right.  O! Pioneer....what the oceans can tell us!  Yet the drawing.  Confusing as it was , was telling me t'other.  Look beyond the dark crashing sea, beyond the palms adorning the coast, beyond the warm sands of beaten time and carry forth.  With amex in my pocket and new shoes to be had there was nothing I could do but follow.  I was drawn.
  

photo by scott cohen

Rose's Vanishing Wrinkle Cream Recipe!

photo by ana traina in daniel parker's garden

WRINKLES.

It doesn't matter whether or not you are afflicted with wrinkles, it's an excellent thing to give them some attention. Freckles are bothersome and provoking, and red noses make us as cross as black cats, but wrinkles!—they are the worst of all, for with them comes the sickening realization that the freshness of one's complexion is beginning to fade, and that youth itself is slipping away.

It is before the lines really appear that they should be considered, for then they're much more easily managed than when they—with their sisters and their cousins and their aunts, to say nothing of grandmas and babies—settle down for a nice long stay. Wrinkles are worse than bogie men, and "they'll git you if yo' don't watch out!"

Wrinkles are unnecessary evils—anyway, until one gets to be a hundred or so. That is, if you are so lucky as not to have troubles enough to keep you awake six nights out of seven, which seems to be the case with most people these days. Even then perhaps you can deceive yourself into believing that life is one big, lovely, roseate dream after all. Worry is a paragon of a wrinkle-maker. And, by the way, did you ever know why?

It is not so much for the reason that screwing up the face traces lines and seams in the skin as it is because the fretting upsets the stomach. It has a most depressing effect on that hyper-sensitive organ. Haven't you often noticed what a finicky, doleful sort of an appetite you have whenever you are indulging in a fit of the blues? The physiological explanation is the very close alliance of the great sympathetic nerves, which make up a little telegraph line more perfect and complete than any yet constructed by man. The poor, worn brain is fagged and tired. This fact is immediately communicated to the stomach, which, in true sisterly fashion, mopes and sulks out of sheer sympathy.

Then, of course, with an unruly digestion, all sorts of complications begin. The eyes get dull, the face thin and sallow, the complexion bad, and the flesh flabby. At that stage the wrinkles, with their aforesaid relatives, sail in upon the scene. And there you are! And—ten chances to one—it's a cheerful time you'll have getting rid of them.

by Helen Follett Stevans 1901

RECIPES FOR THE COMPLEXION.

In compounding face creams one cannot be too careful and painstaking. It is much like preparing a salad or a charlotte russe, either of which can be utterly ruined by lack of care—or too much fussing. The creme marquise is especially difficult for the woman who tumbles things together in a haphazard fashion. Unless compounded just so carefully, it will be likely to crumble, but when done according to directions it makes a cosmetic that is absolutely unrivaled. 

Creme Marquise:

¼ ounce of white wax.
2½ ounces of spermaceti.
2½ ounces of oil of sweet almonds.
1½ ounces of rose-water.
1 drop attar of rose.

Shave the wax and spermaceti, and melt in a porcelain kettle. Add the almond oil and heat slightly, but do not let boil. Remove from the stove and add the rose-water, to which the perfume has been added. Beat until creamy, and put in jars. Cease beating before the mass becomes really hard. Be sure that your druggist weighs the wax carefully, for too much of this ingredient will spoil the creme by making it too firm. This delightful preparation should be applied immediately after washing the face, but can be used at any time. It is absolutely harmless. Get the best materials—and see that your almond oil is the real thing instead of a cheap imitation, which acts almost as poison to the skin.

odds and end note -- spermaceti (from Greek sperma, seed, and Latin cetus, whale) sometimes erroneously called parmaceti is a wax  present in the head cavities of the Sperm Whale (Physeter macrocephalus). Originally mistaken for the whales' sperm(hence the name), spermaceti is created in the Spermaceti organ inside the whale's head and connected to its nasal passage, among other funtions.

A botanical alternative to spermaceti is a derivative of jojoba oil, jojoba esters,  C₁₉H₄₁COO-C₂₀H₄₁, a solid wax which is chemically and physically very similar to spermaceti and may be used in many of the same applications. Esters of cetyl alcohol and jojoba oil are used as a substitute for spermaceti.

Ms. Sooty Copper Goes Butterflying!

drawing by ana traina

Ms. Sooty Copper never intended to go to Lady Flora Bedds’ garden tea party last Sunday, it was way too sunny for that sort of thing, so instead she decided it would be a lot more entertaining to practice her fine art of butterflying. It was all the rage in Yorkville Gardenshire. So off she went in her spanking new periwinkle-blue butterfly suit, flitting, fluttering and floating about, hoping to meet new and interesting acquaintances. She met so many diverting fauna and flora along the way that she completely forgot all about the time.  It was already Bluejay Souffle Tuesday before she remembered that she did not bake a thing for Nastia Grooper’s dinner party this very eventide!  She did not have a single recipe to try, she had already served all of her exemplary treats. She could absolutely not go to Nastia’s empty handed, nor was she going to let Nastia titivate herself by telling titillating tales to other lemony, or dare I say limey, ladies about herself.  Ms. Sooty Copper started to fret so much that she began to lose altitude when she heard a sweet echo of a nearby Sunflower, named Helian Thoideae, it whispered, “Honey and Sunflowers make a bread that is slightly sweet and totally hard to beat! “  

Sunflower Bread Recipe

1/4 cup honey, 

1/4 cup butter, softened

2 eggs, beaten

1 cup whole wheat flour

1 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon baking powder

1-1/4 cup ground sunflower seeds, shelled

1 cup milk

1/2 cup whole sunflower seeds

Preheat oven to 325 degrees.

Now Beat honey and butter together, add eggs, beating well. Combine flour, baking powder, salt and ground seeds. Add honey and butter mixture. Add milk, mixing well. Fold whole sunflower seeds into dough. Put into greased loaf pan and bake for 1 hour and then you’re ready to go.

Ms. Sooty Copper thanked the dear Sunflower, for the recipe and the seeds, then she fluttered home in a flurry as she had so little time left, she really had to hurry!

A Purple Pickerel Rush!

photo by ana traina at ooms pond

The Ponds

by Mary Oliver

Every year

the lilies

are so perfect

I can hardly believe

their lapped light crowding

the black,

mid-summer ponds.

Nobody could count all of them --

the muskrats swimming

among the pads and the grasses

can reach out

their muscular arms and touch

only so many, they are that

rife and wild.

But what in this world

is perfect?

I bend closer and see

how this one is clearly lopsided --

and that one wears an orange blight --

and this one is a glossy cheek

half nibbled away --

and that one is a slumped purse

full of its own

unstoppable decay.

Still, what I want in my life

is to be willing

to be dazzled --

to cast aside the weight of facts

and maybe even

to float a little

above this difficult world.

I want to believe I am looking

into the white fire of a great mystery.

I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing --

that the light is everything -- that it is more than the sum

of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

When Life Hands You Lemons, Just Make --

photo by ana traina in daniel parker's garden

LEMON CHEESECAKE! Here is a recipe from The Compleat Houfewife or, Accomplifh'd Gentlewoman's companion by E. Smith in 1929.
To make lemon cheefecakes (Cheesecake) take two large lemons, grate off the peel of both, and fqueeze (squeeze) out the juice of one; add to it half a pound of fine fugar, (sugar) twelve yolks of eggs, eight whites well beaten; then melt half a pound of butter in four or five fpoonfuls (spoonfuls) of cream; then ftir (stir) it all together and fet (set) it over a fire, ftirring (stirring) it till it begins to be pretty thick; take it off, and when it is cold fill your pattipans (a pan for baking pastries or pies) little more than half full:  put a fine pafte (Fruit pastes consists of the pulp of various fruits reduced by heat to a kind of thick marmalade with the addition of, in some cases, up to nearly double the fruit's weight in sugar. The paste was boiled to reach the preferred consistence and then molded into rings or knots, dried, and then either left plain or sometimes they were crystallized or candied. Pastes were very sweet confections, and they were often used to ornament the tops of cakes. The term "paste" can also refer to various pastries, such as puff paste.) very thin at the bottom of the pattipans: half an hour with a quick oven will bake them.  Guaranteed to make lemons into something even sweeter than lemonade!