The Blackness of Virgin Soil

Journal entry for 25 Oct 2010 | Link

Gardening, What It Became

Gardening, as I noted in August, was not a success this summer. A far superior gardener noted the need for full sunlight, which didn't fall anywhere on our property. The only spot with partial sun lay under a tree planted beneath the power lines running to the house, and had been butchered accordingly. Someone cut its central trunk, thus sending a decade of limbs down a splay of confused paths. In September there was a knock on the door—our neighbor had sent up his tree man, who had spent the morning at his house felling some objects of disagreement with another neighbor. With the agility of a gibbon, he clambered up the tree with his chainsaw. A month later, a stump grinder came. The offending tree now looks like this...

...and this.

As if on cue, a tomato plant flowered and fruited.

Still, it was October. Growing three green tomatoes wasn't so notable, but we effectively mulched and tilled half the yard in the course of getting rid of the tree, which in turn yeilded a hundred dollars of firewood. The boxes I built for the raised beds may make a decent cold frame with a few adjustments. Meanwhile, E.H. Faulkner promises:

With a good deal of truth it may be said that we have allowed our soils to degenerate chiefly because there have been too generous supplies of good soil everywhere over the face of the earth. The existence of these fertile areas, and particularly the discovery by Columbus, at an opportune time, of a few hundred million extra acres previously unheard of and unsuspected, served to make man's way easier. As long as this condition obtained, it was not imperative that man should learn how to provide tillable soils where none existed.

It is now time, however, that the truth be realized. We can recreate soil wherever good soil formerly existed, and we can do so by machinery. Any exceptions to this categorical statement will be found to result from human mistakes...

Something about this is inexplicably comforting.

Falling for You

Despite having daunting pile of work to do in advance of my upcoming exhibition in Miami, we were finally able to arrange to visit the log cabin home of some friends in Florida. Not the sunny state, but the mountaintop town in the northwest corner of Massachusetts. After all, my pile of work is permanent, but Fall color is not.

Those in the know report that New England won't have a true color peak this year, due to a warm Fall with swings of temperature and alternating deluges and dryness. Yesterday brought with it a drizzly fog that dampered the display. But the view had a melancholy charm of its own.

Our host's house.

The chicken coop, with its attached run, which can be picked up and rolled around to a new spot on the yard as needed.

Denizens of aforementioned coop. In the foreground is Kevin. Kevin the Hen.

Bee hives, behind a solar-powered electric fence of sufficient oomph to deter bears.

View of the property.

Heading east out of Florida.

The Cold River.

Pumpkins for sale in Buckland. We'd have partaken if not for the fact that the squirrels mysteriously developed a taste for them this year.

Fall's not complete without some frightening gourds.

Inbound #5 Reviewed

Justin Giampaoli reviewed Inbound #5, and deemed it good.

Django and Pesto by Franklin Einspruch is a clever demonstration of a recipe, with lines bearing the simplicity and elegance of James Kochalka. Grade A.

This is high praise. Kochalka is the reigning master of the slice-of-life webcomic and I'm enormously pleased by the comparison. Giampaoli concludes:

I did some quick math here and it looks like the total GPA is somewhere in the neighborhood of a 3.78, which is a straight Grade A if you correlate it to a letter grade. Stop for a minute and consider just how astounding that is. This is an anthology we’re talking about, with 3 editors, 26 individual entries, and 34 creators. That’s staggering. That’s like successfully herding cats.

Quoted for truth. Enormous credit goes to the editors. Many thanks and much admiration to Dan Mazur, Dave Kender, and Shelli Paroline.

The Talk Shall Soon Walk

Last week I pinned up the work for The Talk That Walked in the studio, and found that I have 54 linear feet of art for 43 feet of wall in the library. That realization came with a sigh of relief, and confirmed that chasing down a few more inspirations during the coming week will give us that much more to choose from when we install. The series so far includes reinterpretations of Yehuda Amichai, Cavafy, Yuan Hongdao, ee cummings, and Edna St. Vincent Millay, and there are more to come. The website goes live November 4, along with the show itself. The reception is on the 18th, and I'll be in Miami for the entire time. Early indicators indicate that the exhibition shall be singled out for mention in an upcoming issue of the Miami New Times, so I'll be available for artistly duties regarding the show, as well as visiting friends and family, attending a six-day Zen retreat with my old beloved sangha, and setting myself up for a rude shock upon returning to Boston weather in late November after a three-week absence.