Ive got good horse manure, I can get it to my suburban home, Ive got good organic mycorrhizal fertilizer, almost too-much information from the internet, the bright Colorado sun... But Im struggling against bugs and bunnies eating my crops... and sunburn, windburn... and weeds in the garden (if only I could eat the weeds....) While Im getting more greens now than I can eat, what happens in November? in March? I cant even imagine really relying on the work of my own hands, and the challenges of sun and rain, yet to provide. So now here I am, just HereNow, in the moment. Everythings fine. Am I thankful for grocery stores? tractors? the long haul truckers, the trains filled with coal and grain? Nitrogen fertilizer factory (explosions), chicken factories filled with antibiotic-infested disease? The science of chemical pesticides and herbicides? That I can fall back on when I fail, and fail again, and fail again? Am I thankful for the sixth Great Extinction event in Earths long experiment with living things? That the Age of Aquarius ... was meant, quite literally as dumping buckets of rain... That weve got an endless war on to protect our oil on the other side of the world? It seems obvious to put up a little fence around my greens to keep the bunnies out. Sorry bunnies. Its me or you. Such is life. **** To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough 1785 Robert Burns Wee, sleekit, cowrin, timrous beastie, O, what a panics in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an chase thee, Wi murdring pattle! Im truly sorry mans dominion, Has broken natures social union, An justifies that ill opinion, Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion, An fellow-mortal! I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen icker in a thrave S a sma request; Ill get a blessin wi the lave, An never misst! Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly was the wins are strewin! An naething, now, to big a new ane, O foggage green! An bleak Decembers winds ensuin, Baith snell an keen! Thou saw the fields laid bare an waste, An weary winter comin fast, An cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell- Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro thy cell. That wee bit heap o leaves an stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thous turnd out, for a thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the winters sleety dribble, An cranreuch cauld! But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o mice an men Gang aft agley, Anleae us nought but grief an pain, For promisd joy! Still thou art blest, compard wi me The present only toucheth thee: But, Och! I backward cast my ee. On prospects drear! An forward, tho I canna see, I guess an fear! robertburns.org/works/75.shtml
Posted on: Sun, 06 Jul 2014 02:55:28 +0000
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