Plants That Do Tricks

I love plants that can do tricks. I prefer those that come by their talent naturally & willingly to those tormented, grafted & twisted according to the will of people. (Exception:  espalier. Love me a great flat, wall hugger of a tree, but I detest topiary. I see green 'poodle-puff cuts' on a shrub & I want to scream 'Let my foliage FREE!')
Instead, I admire any one plant that produces several different colored flowers. Nasturtiums, for one. I also like Lantana's concentric ombré effect.
But my favorite 'cirque de foliage' trick is any GREEN flower. So refreshing & unexpected. In Annapolis I lived in the postage-stamp sized guest cottage of a narcissistic plastic surgeon who thought he was Georgio Armani, but more closely resembled Spaulding Gray. From the sleeping loft (up a ladder, 2 twin mattresses in a hirsute railed adult 'crib' arrangement), you could peer through the rail to see what was directly beneath you, cooking on the stovetop. Did I mention it was small?

This one really does tricks--from innocuous green bud to spectacular pink orchid!

It had 3 'pro's:' 1.  A huge skylight directly over the bed, through which was a wonderful view of treetops.  Raccoon families would regularly take time out from garbage can raids to look in on my slumbers. 2. My first experience with Jalousie windows which acted as a funnel for sound. I always

The mostly finished porch!

 

left the windows cranked mostly open, & since I was situated uphill from the little neighborhood dockside beach bar, I was lulled to sleep by the soft metallic clang of sailboat riggings & strains of my first experience with reggae--UB40.
But the third & most wonderful thing about this unassuming, glorified garden shed was the 2 disproportionately long window boxes that, when combined spanned the whole exterior wall by the door. Mind you, there was no window above them, only rough dark brown wood siding, but in my eyes the empty boxes had such potential.
Maryland had wonderful nurseries full of lush plants & I had spent many weekends wandering their gravel  paths, dreaming of gorgeous massed plantings for which I would never have space or landlord permission. Now I had a place for a bit of what I'd been longing for, so I went to 6 different nurseries, drew various schematics, priced plants...became completely overwhelmed with choices, & went home & planted seeds. I planted bells of Ireland.
Within a remarkably short time, their gorgeously healthy green  spires were tall enough to touch the eaves & the flower boxes were so full it looked like the cottage was off-balance & in danger of rolling over.
So I added trailing purple lobelia to the front edge.
I loved the wave of cool colors that hit me when I came home after I commuted through the infuriating sea of duh traffic, having spent my day doing a type-A job For which I was completely unequipped. I'd unlatch the pixie-height wooden gate & step down into my tiny Eden. I'd grab an iced tea & my book & flop into the single, basic outdoor chair to read until it was too dark to make out the words on the page. It was only my second adult home, & those ethereal green spires made it mine.
Fast forward a couple of decades & the same things affect me the same way, but I 'go much bigger' (& stay home) now. I'm just completing (for now--I have a deeply held belief that when we cease to tweak, we die) my second total redo of my front porch since I bought my little house in May, 2008. Unexpected furniture paint & upholstery colors, a freshly painted tiffany blue beamed ceiling & dusky, dark aubergine fascia & trim against the sandy, buttery wall color make a happy backdrop for all the orchids, whether blooming or not.
But the big joy this morning was this green Dendrobium beauty, blooming over the blue rail & greeting my across the street neighbors. Lucky them.  LUCKY me.

St. Croix Summer

Andrè Millar, a fave orchid 

Summer in St. Croix is a pretty wonderful, lazy thing. I look forward it like teachers must--lists of deferred projects made, edited, lost, recreated & usually forgotten when the flat, clear, signature 'Tiffany blue' of the Caribbean Sea calls. The sea calls to me year-round, but I'm able to answer more often when cruise ship port calls dwindle to one stop every third Sunday. And there's the yin-yang summer bonus cache of sea glass unearthed by tropical storms on their way through our neighborhood. I'm also addicted to seeing my favorite fish--a jr. Puffer type with his perpetually surprised expression & his two young French Angelfish friends. This summer I've never snorkeled alone, having a friendly entourage of very pushy 3"-4" long silver fish with me at all times. They swirl around me as I gather glass, & actually head-butt me sometimes. I call them Mumifish, named for my pup who uses similar tactics to get my attention.
Despite all the time spent 'self-brining,' I am getting some projects done, including a few house face lifts that have had a similar effect on my mood. Regular roof maintenance turned into trim work.  Trim paint (deeeeep midnight purple or 'Grape Ape,' as we've taken to calling it) quickly segued into porch ceiling paint (also 'Tiffany blue) & so on. I've put pics in a 'Projects' album on my personal FaceBook page (add yours to the comments section on this & I'll 'friend' you if you'd like) & new sea glass designs on www.facebook.com/FromtheC.

I finally opened an Etsy storefront at www.etsy.com/de/shop/fromthecstonegems.
I also post lots of pics of the orchids & fruit I grow on FB. Pineapple season in my yard was particularly splendid this year, with 21 beauties quickly dispersed & dispatched by my friends & myself. I even got around to boiling the peels this year to make a delicious unsweetened juice I used to bump up the flavor quotient in banana bread & muffins.  Mixed with light cran juice, the pineapple juice makes a really refreshing drink too.
Speaking of which, I'm about to have a glassful & toast to your lovely, lazy summer, wherever you celebrate it.

Parables in Paradise

I like parables almost as much as I like analogies. And I'm telling you I like analogies like pageant queens like tiaras. But back to parables.
Growing up I frequently heard 'there is a lid for every pot,' & I guess I subscribed to the premise. It is similar to the Hebraic concept of bashert, which states that there is a 'perfect-fitting' someone out there for every one. The reason they fit one & only one person is that we were once fused, subsequently divided, & then left to wander the earth searching for our missing, matching mate. Kind of a cross between match.com & Garanimals, I guess.
My experience was more like Huusker Dü, the old memory game where you remove 2 checkers from a board, revealing symbol pairs & try to remember where the matching pairs were. It was a little more hit or miss than bashert's certainty, & the instructions were in Swedish, not unlike Ikea kit furniture. How's that for an analogy!?
Lately I've grown very attached to a local version of a pot parable (non Marley related); 'Every pot must sit on it's own bottom.'  Though I'm trying not to take that too literally (I get off my bottom & swim a lot), I like to think I've found the balance & independence of mind implied in the island version.
I'm not ruling out a lid...just not squandering a lot of time trying to get one to fit. For now I'm fine as is, on my own (well you know) & letting off a lotta steam!

Happy

So I had an appointment that I expected to be quite somber this afternoon.  Instead I left the spot with a snappy tune in & a ridiculous grin on my oh so round head.
A friend was recently diagnosed with a serious medical problem, one that caused her to lose her voice (temporarily) & those who knew her to gain some worry furrows. After several postponements of our regular standing monthly appointment (while she was off-island for treatment), fear & anxiety were building their walls on the foundation of the unknown.
  Earlier this week I finally received the call setting firm the appointment & by the time I arrived at the designated spot today I was twitchy with uncertainty. After I've known her for 2 decades would she look/sound/feel in some sense different or diminished?
When she opened the door the music fairly bounced out the door. My friend is a diminutive person, even so I've always marveled at how unfailingly perfectly put together she is, with the final detail always a spiky pair of beautiful heels (despite the fact she works on her feet for hours at a stretch.) When the door opened this afternoon I expected flats & probably an outfit more suited to comfort than style.
She wore a perfectly cut red dress, her black apron & a gorgeous pair of strappy leather high heels.  Her voice is back, as is her smile. The only visible change is a narrow clear strip of bandage at the hollow of her neck. After the initial relief, I relaxed & only after 20 or so minutes had passed did I become aware of the song, the soundtrack to this surprise. It was Pharrell Williams' 'Happy,' from 'Despicable Me 2.'
My appointment was at 4:30 this afternoon.
She had been playing 'Happy' on continuous repeat since 9 this morning.
No one complained.

Streamlining Your Stuff

I'm reminded daily of George Carlin's old routine on 'stuff.'  He talked about how we're never comfortable unless we have our stuff with us--whether it is placed all around our home or workspace, or packed in smaller versions in our luggage when we travel. The smart phone & tablet were both created in response to this need, & I'm just as codependent on them as most people.
But here I'm talking about a more tangible version.
The best version of stuff is a ziplock sandwich bag with my driver's license, a pack of gum & a ten dollar bill inside. Paired with towel, snorkel, mask & mesh collection bag, it comprises my most streamlined stuff, & is all I take with me to snorkel. I don't take stuff to change into, or swim fins (HATE confined feet, on land or in the sea). I don't take my phone. If you're really my friend, you know I'm in the sea between the hours of 4:45 & 6:30, but that I can be reached in person there or you may leave a voicemail.  Since I don't 'do' my hair or wear makeup other than lipstick, I can be showered, shampooed, dressed & ready for dining out by 6:45.
Stateside stuff involved coats/gloves/umbrellas/hats/shoes/boots/scarves/briefcases/travel mugs/book bags & backpacks.
I love my little Baggie!

Chicken Foot* (*-note)

So somehow I managed to leave the discussion of St. Croix Agrifest 2014 without mentioning my absolute obsession from that event. I am completely fascinated by and totally enamored with...wait for it...the chicken tractor. Yes, I said the chicken tractor.
Perhaps you, like me had never heard of such a thing.  Or even better, perhaps your brain is conjuring up a picture of a rooster driving a John Deere.  But no! A chicken tractor is in fact a system rather than a vehicle.  Every evening as I was leaving the fairgrounds I had to pass the chicken tractor. It was actually an open work mesh pen or enclosure with no floor and roosts built for the chickens.  I would pass this apparatus every evening as darkness was setting in on my way off the fairgrounds. It was home to several of the best looking, fittest, chunkiest chickens I have ever seen.  I marveled at
how plump and soft feathered they appeared when all our local chickens look a little tougher and
more sinewy.
And on the final evening when I slowed down to read the educational sign attached to the chicken tractor, I discovered the reason for their fitness was the design of the gizmo.  It was in fact designed to give them a better life. The fact that it has no floor allows the chicken farmer to move the enclosure from place to place so that the chickens will have fresh green grass, grubs etc. to scratch around in.
Oh, and it was called the chicken tractor because the group of chickens within the coop performed many of the functions of the tractor – aerating the soil, keeping the grass down, and obviously fertilizing the area.

So here's to the chicken tractor, and to the many innovations and ideas that changed hands and heads during this year's Agrifest!

Chicken foot*(*note):  if I wanted to get crazy with the metaphors as I am wont to do, I might say something here about what the chicken tractor means in the big picture. I have two theories about why this thing fascinated me:

1.   Perhaps despite being able to see the larger realm, we're each given our own parcel of life, with boundaries real or imagined. The trick is to make the very best of what we've been allotted, & improve it if we can.  Or conversely…
2.  Perhaps some of us are just waiting for the moment when the coop is lifted and we can make a break for it!

Too Long at the Fair

Sea glass pendant on 'bamboo wrap' band--the big seller at AgriFest this year

(See more at fromthecjewelry.com)

So the St. Croix Agrifest is over for another year. I followed a dump truck full of fair remains up Queen Mary Highway  this morning, & every time he hit the brakes, a balloon would fly out of the bed of his truck & drift away. Late yesterday you could tell things were winding down. Babies & toddlers were cranking & whining. Happily exhausted crowds flowed by with glazed unseeing eyes.

The slamming of legs on folding tables rang from several vendors' booths, & the family members who had set up supportive encampments behind booths bagged their sling chairs & grudgingly left their posts. Most had been there two or even three days of the fair, each covering the 'sales floor' for the vendor at some point while they went off to stretch legs, to buy the local delicacies made specially for this event, or just to see who & what they could in those short breaks.

As we took practiced shortcuts to avoid the inevitable traffic snarls of vendors trying to bring their vehicles onto the grounds to haul away displays, a gorgeous glow arose from behind the plant display building--a lovely sunset to this 43'rd annual event. Sitting in traffic on the short ride home, my mind ran to ideas for new designs for next year's fair. Visions of larger, hoop style earrings, new charm bracelets & anklets slowly paraded by my mind's eye. Despite having created well over 100 new pieces during the 3 days of the fair, I seriously considered unpacking my tools when I got home... & then I lapsed into a sofa-coma & left that for another day.
See you next year!

Inside the Sunset, by Lea Ann Robson

My absolute favorite place to be is at the beach at sunrise…my favorite except to be at the beach at sunset…more specifically IN the sea at sunset.  Dorsch Beach (where I get the sea glass I use for all my From the C designs) on the west end of St. Croix is a long expanse of soft sand punctuated by only two or three inns & condos.   It is as popular with residents as tourists, & is the one place I always feel confident recommending to day-trippers, positive they’ll come back with glowing reviews before they get back on the ship & set sail. 

It is diverse & active, & most mornings I share my first swim of the day with a guy I call Horst.  I don’t know his real name, but I like to name animals, so Horst it is. He is sleek & black & loves the water as much as I do.  His trainer is a small guy with waist-length dread locks, & he hangs onto Horst’s mane & floats as the stallion swims further out than you’d believe.   While they do their slow circle out & back, their landlubber counterpart, a roan mare wearing green legwarmers, trots circles in the sand around a rather large man who sits on an inverted drywall bucket.   They’re usually my only company other than an occasional early-rising guest, coffee in hand as they scan the sea from the deck at Sand Castle by the Sea, the first inn on the beach.  I imagine the guests returning to their room full of sleepy family & reporting on the calm & intensely aqua water in anticipation of the lovely vacation day ahead. 

'From the C' 'bamboo wrap' necklace

There are much worse ways to start your day than snorkeling for sea glass, watching a horse swim from underwater, & sharing a moment of vacation with guests who are always fascinated in the day’s haul of treasures.

And so I always think this is the BEST part of the day as I drive home to shower & go to my other job…right up until after work, when I run home to change back into my suit & zoom back to the beach for sunset.  Fighting the dying light, I stubbornly stay mask down until the absolute last possible minute, when I pop up to catch my favorite moment.  There’s an instant when the sky & sea seem to exchange places & properties, when the reflected colors in the water’s surface are so bright, the sky seems to darken by comparison & the water feels like it could levitate.  Standing chin deep in that bright water, I feel my concerns rise also, leaving me limp with contentment & with only one remaining item on my to-do list, to dry off & make the short drive home.