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Rocks
At the last training retreat for my studies with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
yezida, I commented that my experience of the apprenticeship program was like carving a farm out of New England: a year of learning the lay of the land, building the house, clearing out a few of the big issues, and then a year of going, "My gods, another rock" as one tries to dig, or plow, or clear out what the frost brought up.
The "rocks in my head" metaphor kept going for many of the people who commented after me.
So today I went and dug holes. I have a pair of grapevines that I got a few years ago, which have lived in a half-barrel type bucket which has now rotted out the bottom. I wanted to put them in the ground somewhere I intended to stay for a while, somewhere they had space to grow.
There's something about claiming the space, treating here as a place to be for a while, that's really potent, really powerful; it's something I tried to write about in my article for RTV, the magical act of treating the place as the right place. Not sure I got it out right, but that's so where my head is these days, with reality and domesticity.
So I dug holes. And pulled out rock after rock after rock -- round ones, big flat ones, things that ground up white against the tip of the shovel. Got a little stack of rocks now.
And vines in the ground. One of which has definite new growth, one of which appears to have buds. I had been worried about them making it through the weird, weird winter.
Vines in the ground, and a little heap of rocks.
yezida, I commented that my experience of the apprenticeship program was like carving a farm out of New England: a year of learning the lay of the land, building the house, clearing out a few of the big issues, and then a year of going, "My gods, another rock" as one tries to dig, or plow, or clear out what the frost brought up.The "rocks in my head" metaphor kept going for many of the people who commented after me.
So today I went and dug holes. I have a pair of grapevines that I got a few years ago, which have lived in a half-barrel type bucket which has now rotted out the bottom. I wanted to put them in the ground somewhere I intended to stay for a while, somewhere they had space to grow.
There's something about claiming the space, treating here as a place to be for a while, that's really potent, really powerful; it's something I tried to write about in my article for RTV, the magical act of treating the place as the right place. Not sure I got it out right, but that's so where my head is these days, with reality and domesticity.
So I dug holes. And pulled out rock after rock after rock -- round ones, big flat ones, things that ground up white against the tip of the shovel. Got a little stack of rocks now.
And vines in the ground. One of which has definite new growth, one of which appears to have buds. I had been worried about them making it through the weird, weird winter.
Vines in the ground, and a little heap of rocks.
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But if you are pleased, that's the most important part of all. Hurrah for the dirt.
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New England really does seem to grow rocks. Our garden had new ones every year.
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I haven't seen the proto-garden yet though, so I can't judge how pleased I am with it.
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