Seasonal Transitions
Here on the Eastern edge of North America's desert belt summer's sunny whip is beginning to tighten. Right on schedule. Be it a hot, dry summer or a cooler, wet summer, the heat typically begins to settle in around the time snow country is sprouting its lushest green. All portenses point to another hot, dry summer this year.
In a normal year I would have most of my harvesting done and the garden beds would be buttoned down to face the summer dormancy by now. Winter is the lush growing season in the desert. My new gardens are still under construction, so I am keeping pace with the snow country imigrants this year. My beds are filled with new growth which will need intensive care to survive the dry heat of the desert's dormant season. I will let them die before I will join the weed warriors who sweat their summers away trying to imitate snow country rhythms in the desert. I am already running for air conditioned environs by mid-morning. The evenings are already too hot to get my agricultural juices flowing.
Photo journaling is the dream that is emerging in this year's seasonal transition. It is a dream that might be even older than my dream of growing medicinal quality herbs. Maybe. It would be a tough contest. For sure, it was a dream that distracted me mightily during the dreary years of paying rent with engineering graphics and technical manuals. It is the dream which best brings cohesion to my gypsy wanders through the Americas. Plural intended. There are allot of countries in the Americas.
Por que no? I have already begun to assemble a bee folder that my husband is using to explain his new beekeeping hobby. His co-workers are all gossiping about "...Jim and his little girls..." I have yet to get my lense focused on his queens. All at the speed of life.
In a normal year I would have most of my harvesting done and the garden beds would be buttoned down to face the summer dormancy by now. Winter is the lush growing season in the desert. My new gardens are still under construction, so I am keeping pace with the snow country imigrants this year. My beds are filled with new growth which will need intensive care to survive the dry heat of the desert's dormant season. I will let them die before I will join the weed warriors who sweat their summers away trying to imitate snow country rhythms in the desert. I am already running for air conditioned environs by mid-morning. The evenings are already too hot to get my agricultural juices flowing.
Photo journaling is the dream that is emerging in this year's seasonal transition. It is a dream that might be even older than my dream of growing medicinal quality herbs. Maybe. It would be a tough contest. For sure, it was a dream that distracted me mightily during the dreary years of paying rent with engineering graphics and technical manuals. It is the dream which best brings cohesion to my gypsy wanders through the Americas. Plural intended. There are allot of countries in the Americas.
Por que no? I have already begun to assemble a bee folder that my husband is using to explain his new beekeeping hobby. His co-workers are all gossiping about "...Jim and his little girls..." I have yet to get my lense focused on his queens. All at the speed of life.
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