My art teacher, blurry borage, Gojira, blah, blah, blah..

Johnson's Blue geranium

 
In high school I had the best art teacher.  I can't remember how or why anymore but Mrs. Samsel and her husband (a professional photographer) took the time to listen to me and love me (no easy task in those days) and teach me what they could about photography.  Using 35mm cameras and film and a darkroom.  I was all set to study art and photography at the San Francisco Art Institute, but at the last minute opted instead to follow some fleeting, lunatic notion and go to the cosmetology school down the street from my house in Storm Lake, Iowa.  It was a crazy, out-of-character thing for me to do, but set me on a path that I never would have discovered otherwise (note: I'm not actually a cosmetologist).  I am a better, happier person for having let my destiny unfold in front of me rather than, full of pretense, chase down what might have made more sense.  But I sometimes lament that I don't utilize those skills so freely and lovingly passed on to me by the Samsels.  What happened to the passion that I had for photography, for capturing those precious, transient, ephemeral moments that make the pain of living more tolerable?  I need reasons to keep my eyes open.  I seldom have a camera with me now, and only on the rare occasion that I'm driving in the country at twilight do I wish that I did, and even then those thoughts are usually eclipsed by the intense concentration required to dodge oncoming deer. 

I tell this story because obviously I had intended this space to catalog my passion for gardening.  It never really has.  And it's partly because my garden isn't the most photogenic -- it's purposefully cultivated, but also wild.  There is a balance between what I want there and what nature wants there.  I've found that if I let fate have her way, she lets me have mine.  I harvest plenty from my garden beds without having to cull the native plants (a.k.a. weeds) that tuck themselves in amongst my vegetables.  And many of those weeds are just as edible.  My garden is beautiful to my eyes, but not so much to most others'. 

..and let's be real, it might also be because I'm just a crappy photographer.

The other reason for this blog not having anything to do with the goings-on in my garden despite being titled as such is this:  I am compelled to garden more than I am compelled to prove that I garden.  In the age of Facebook and Pinterest and whatever other forums I'm not privy to, there's this obsession with presenting evidence of having done things, rather than just living life and DOING THINGS.  Things that are meaningful and sincere and worth remembering, not just things done in a haste so that you could have PROOF that you'd done something.  I was considering this phenomenon recently, after having "met" the genuinely amazing French metal band Gojira in Kansas City last month…

What other metal band would use this for a backdrop?!

I bought a VIP ticket to the Kvelertak/Gojira/Mastodon show because after driving five hours to get there I'd do almost anything to not have to wait in line to get into the show.  And because who doesn't want to meet members of their favorite bands?  I want to meet EVERYONE when I travel, that's kind of the whole point, isn't it?  New places, new people?  As I've been holed up by single motherhood in rural Iowa for the past 9 years I'm starved of opportunities for either of those things.  Before I had Tristan, I'd been lucky to have met some of my favorite musicians, as well as writers and artists and producers under various circumstances over the years.  I have fantastic memories and stories, I've made friends and made a baby but I don't think I've ever asked for a picture (with one exception -- Liesl from The Sound of Music.. unfortunately that photo has been lost to time).  Frankly, I just hate having my picture taken.  And forget about autographs, those meaningless, indecipherable scribbles, ubiquitous only because they require less initiative than actually saying something (in my mind that "something" is usually "fuck off").  So armed with these pet-peeves, I should have been reluctant to participate in the meet and greet with Gojira, but I've actually never done this kind of thing before and was more than a little curious.  And I'd had way too much to drink beforehand (thanks for the complimentary bottle of wine, Hotel Sorella!).  The experience was entirely unimaginative, calculated, totally appropriate for this age of haste and unbelievably awkward for me.  Mario Duplantier might be one of the sweetest men I've ever met, but I hope that his brother realizes that attraction and admiration and shame and three glasses of wine renders some of us (hi there) total doofuses.  Gojira really is something special and beautiful.  And the only band that I can prove to anyone on the internet that I've met, which is pretty ironic.

I am so glad I didn't wear my clogs.

Tomorrow I'll post more unprofessional pictures to prove that I garden!  And to weepily reminisce the work that will slowly be dismantled over the coming year.  I installed a patio this past spring.  A fucking patio!  By myself!  Okay, with a seven-year-old, which is just about the same as "by myself", but don't tell him that.  He's super cute and I don't want to hurt his feelings...

More memories from other Octobers..

The Minnesota Landscape Arboretum is one of our favorite places.  I can't remember anymore when we first visited, but Tristan was very little and we were accompanied by his aunt, Dixie.  Most of the photos from that occasion have been lost, thanks to a hard drive failure and I suppose my own failure to back up those files.  I did scrounge up some shots from 2011 today, behold the willow castle...

This particular year we were also attending a wedding that same day, hence Tristan's semi-formal attire.  Here's the happy couple...

Some more scarecrows at the Arboretum...

 This series of three (from this October, actually) was curated by Tristan himself...

...and I am not entirely sure what's happening here, either...

What IS happening here?  Seriously.

This is the best hanging basket arrangement I think I've ever seen...

...and this is probably the best selfie ever taken by a seven-year-old.

I love you, Tristan.

Moving onto other random October memories -- when Tristan was born my friend Simone knit him a pumpkin hat and I believe matching booties (although I can present no photographic evidence of the latter).   

Huge postpartum Marianne, drooling 1-month old Tristan, awesome burning bush.

Bees, bats and adorable hats...

Goodbye for now from the pumpkin house.

Goodbye.

Last Halloween in Iowa

I've long abandoned this "blog" in favor of Facebook and just being lazy, but my tiny family is making a huge move in the coming year and I'm feeling a little nostalgic for things that I thought might go on forever.  Halloween here in Iowa, for example.  I'm kicking myself for being too indolent to have photographed the armies of jack-o-lanterns that have graced our porch the past several years.  Why didn't I just film my two hugely pregnant friends and their five little ones stuffing our scarecrow two Octobers past?  You don't see that kind of thing everyday.

Look, they did such a good job!  You should have seen it after the head was carved!

Last year Tristan was a banana.  Every year since he was a baby we've gone to Lauritzen Gardens in Omaha, Nebraska for their annual Ghoulish Garden Adventure...

Romantic, isn't it?

Next year we may well be settled in New York.  And even though intellectually I doubt that there's a better place to spend Halloween that in the Hudson Valley, my heart aches for what we'll miss here.  Will we fly in for the Anderson Horticultural Library book sale?  The first weekend in October has involved a trip to the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum (which houses the aforementioned library) for the past few years and I can't imagine missing it.  They know us there, they expect us, they LOVE us (I've spent way too much money there)!!  And the arboretum goes all out for autumn..

 

They have the absolute best scarecrows!!!!

 The squash is pretty fabulous, too!!!

How often do you see such sexy squash?

We'd never done it before, but being that it's probably our last chance we went to the Living History Farms this year to see what they had to offer in the way of Halloween festivities, and good gravy was it a gorgeous evening..

Holy shit this is beautiful, am I right?!

Expletives do not do it justice!!!!!

For the past several years I have carved as many pumpkins as they'll provide me with for the Ida County Conservation Board's "Halloween Hike".  It began as a guided walk along a jack-o-lantern-lit path through gorgeous woods at night with stops for multiple ecological and nature-themed skits along the way but has since evolved into a self-guided tour through less wooded areas  with trick-or-treat stations instead of anything conservation related..  Ahem, which is fine (!), because my participation has generally just been about the pumpkins.  This year there weren't so many to go around though, thanks to the unusually wet weather.  Because of their number and small stature, they are remarkably less glorious than previous (undocumented) years, but I did photograph a small selection of them...

 And some more carved on Halloween night..

WHAT IF WE DON'T HAVE A FRONT PORCH ON OUR NEW HOUSE?  If we live in the country there won't be anyone coming to our house to trick-or-treat!  Sure, we might be able to grow our own gross of pumpkins, but will we have had time to make friends that will care to see them carved?  What pregnant ladies in New York will want to stuff my scarecrow? 

...

On October 21st I found an abandoned kitten, just a few days old, in a box in my neighbor's driveway.  He'd moved a litter born in his boat to the box.  From there the mama kitty had moved the others but not this precious little thing..

We took her to the vet's office, and the staff there didn't give us much hope but they did give us some kitten formula.  To our surprise (and chagrin) she's been eating and growing and peeing and pooping and worming her way into our hearts and out of her box.  Today we got a carrier to contain her when we'd like some peace and quiet.  We'll nurse her and love her and try to train her enough to be ready for adoption at the Siouxland Humane Society around the 24th.  Did I mention that I am allergic to cats?  And that I pretty much loathe the idea of pets in general?  Ethically, aesthetically, in all respects I am pretty much emphatically averse to pets.  There is a reason this tiny creature came into our lives when she did.  Acknowledging this last Halloween in Iowa is just a wobbly, worried baby kitty step towards a whole new life.  It'll be hard to leave; it would be easier to stay put and let this dream die.  But there is hope... 

...and there's dried formula around the sides of her mouth.