Gardening - grace grits and gardening

burning down the house!

December 4, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Two months ago, our house nearly burned.

In the spirit of fiction writing, I exaggerate a bit, but it was a close call. I was in Arkansas and therefore not responsible nor a suspect. John returned from work to a smoke-filled downstairs. Dallas fire fighters paid us a visit with sirens blaring—it was that bad.

A basket of napkins smoldered atop the microwave, too close to a hot halogen light.

basket o’ cloth napkins

What if John had worked late or gone to happy hour?

bottom of cabinet. nice.

The underside of our cabinet is extra crispy. Inside the cabinet smells of a rump roast grilling on a Weber. For hours I washed glasses, doors and shelves.

I heated lemon slices which I thought might eliminate the odor.

With the kitchen door ajar and ceiling fan whirring for hours, a swarm of mosquitoes moved into our home, hiding in corners and underneath furniture. Yes, DallasHasMosquitoesYearRound!

I burned my favorite candle to a nub, almost starting another fire.

The citrus and rosemary chicken baked for dinner masked the smell for one episode of Mad Men.

An open sack of Dunkin Donut coffee absorbed a touch of the odor, but smoked my favorite coffee.

I ignored it. I packed my car, locked the back door and drove to Dairy Hollow for a writer’s retreat. I became a witch for Eureka Springs’ Halloween, the streets filled with zombies and ghosts. Real or imagined?

In Fayetteville, purple and orange pansies grow where weeds once lived. I painted the last louver door! Thanksgiving at my sister-in-law’s—I only baked a pecan pie and potato casserole, a major departure for me.

Fearlessly, I wrote in the Ozarks, making new friends, thinking fresh thoughts.

Never once did I think about my Dallas kitchen, 350 miles southwest, smelling of forest fire mixed with Pine Sol. Yet,

ItStillStinks.

I suppose I shall be forced to paint. Ideas, anyone? anyone?

talya

Burning Down the House, Talking Heads

for the birds

December 3, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Boogee (hard “g”) lives around the corner from our Fayetteville cottage. How do you spell your name, I asked? I don’t really know, she laughed. That’s just what everyone calls me.

One corner of Boogee’s dry-stacked rock wall is a shrine to Found Objects—lost or discarded sidewalk treasures discovered and relocated by neighbors strolling with sleepy headed toddlers, dedicated power walkers, Razorbacks headed to English class.

Partially hidden within fall leaves—a like-new pacifier, a purple plastic Easter egg, a man’s red and black striped necktie.

I contributed a red string with tiny black beads found on Dickson Street—nothing fancy or nice— oddly interesting. With my offering, I felt part of the neighborhood.

Near Boogee’s inviting front porch, she grows cotton! A single stalk , a specimen celebrated like a rare Japanese Maple. The cotton hangs white and heavy, ready to be picked. Beyond ready but still soft and beautiful.

When are you planning to pick your cotton, I asked? Oh I never pick it. I grow it every year for the birds. The birds take bits for their nests.

One of the reasons I lovelovelove Fayetteville…

talya

Musical Pairing:

White Bird, K T Tunstall

Hello Autumn!

October 15, 2012 By Talya Tate Boerner

Autumn is the time we begin to wind down the year, rebalancing our bodies and minds as the days begin to shorten and cool. We breathe a sigh of relief at having survived another hot southern summer.

Into storage go those summer decorations, the bowl of seashells collected during annual treks to Destin, the sunflower door wreath. Into the back of the closet go the white linen pants and summer sundresses. Bring on cowboy boots and sweater weather!

Thoughts turn to family and football, chili and pumpkin spice lattes. Fall is a time for thanksgiving.

Surprise lilies bloom where none stood the night before. The air is filled with defoliant and the smell of cotton.

I wait for the Great Pumpkin.

The roadsides and ditch banks around our farm are tangled with tiny wild flowers and colorful foliage perfect for gathering into fall decorations. What better way to honor nature’s blessings than with vegetation growing wild near the fields? These fields which provide for us all spring…every spring, year after year.

ditchbank decor

Our rice field is peaceful now, resting, and nearly bare after harvest. The remaining dry stalks, interesting only to dove and duck, are in sharp contrast to the brilliant colors along the turn row and ditches. Cockleburs hang in clumps on scarlet stems. Peeking through the weeds, purple morning glories creep along the dark soil like ground cover. Silvery Johnson grass waves in the breeze. Growing wild, pink spiky flowers are unfamiliar to me, similar to salvia.

decorating with Autumn’s offerings

You can easily transform your home at no cost with only a pair of scissors. A rusty bucket or tarnished silver bowl provides the ideal container. Any found object will do.

As poet Ella Wheeler Wilcox observed, a weed is but an unloved flower.

The beauty is all around.