After my peripatetic Summer, I plan on staying put long enough to grow some herbs, so I started a few on September 2nd. My bedroom faces south, so the amount of light is only going to get better as the season progresses. As you can see the marjoram (top) and basil have already sprouted. The window box has chives and sage in it; so far there's no sign of activity there, but they supposedly take longer to sprout.
I've either had extraordinarily good luck with herbs, or gotten nothing at all. I haven't been able to figure out what makes the difference yet; it's sort of like my digital camera travails. Sometimes, more often than not at this point actually, the image will be in focus. Sometimes it isn't (about a third of the time), but I haven't the foggiest idea what makes the difference. With herbs, for some reason, it's been an all or nothing thing too.
I've never tried marjoram or sage before, so that is all new territory. Basil and chives I've done a few times though I got nothing from either of them last time, not even sprouts. Maybe the soil I was using was depleted, though I regularly gave them fertilizer (hmm... it's liquid stuff, that probably means my herbs aren't organic, right? Eh). I wondered if perhaps the pots were actually too big; I tried planting them right away in the larger pots that would eventually be their homes, rather than starting them in little sprouting pots. My thinking was, outdoors they would just grow in the ground, with no soil limitations beyond continental ones, right? What plant is going to object to TOO much soil, after all?
Well, maybe they do. Basil can be a bit touchy, which is why I'm happy to see it's already on the way (knock wood), but I feel like I could sprinkle chives on the rug and it would sprout eventually, so why didn't it work last time? We'll see if it does this time. The previous tenant of this window box was some English ivy, so maybe that has some influence too. Oh so many variables.
This image was on a wall in my hallway this morning. It's created by a prism in one of my living room windows (facing east) shining past that golden pothos plant, the one that climbs three quarters of the way around the room. I thought it was very arty. It also reminds me how nice this apartment gets in the Fall, when the light is strong, but the temperature is cool. I woke up today in a great mood, in part because of a wonderful date with friends Genna and Jeff yesterday, but also because Hurricane Hannah had finally, truly moved on. I no longer felt like I was wearing a warm, wet, velvet bodystocking with full hood (people in my life probably wished it had come with a ball-gag, but no such luck). I suppose that costume might be a good time for some folks, but it's not really my thing. Today is much, much better. Cool, crisp, bright, some of my favorite weather. Hmm, no wonder I'm back on the blog, even if I have nothing really to say (I always manage to go on though, don't I).
I have a gazillion photos from various walks in the past four months, but the thought of trying to share individual walks with you all is too daunting at this point. So I might just drop an image in now and then, when the mood hits me.
This photo is the top of the trail heading into Earlham Woods, in my hometown. It was the entrance to my secret kingdom, my private Narnia, when I was a kid. Looking at the image now, I can see why I still find it so appealing, exciting even. I know this trail, and all these woods, like the back of my hand (wait, is that a freckle? A mole? Where did that come from? Oh, never mind, it's just chocolate syrup), but when I look at this image, it still calls to me, speaking of mystery, magic, and adventure. Recently at the Midnight Garden, Birdie and Greg were discussing how much they feel the call of paths, trails, and old train tracks. I had never thought of it that way, but I do too. I'm getting better at seeing secret roads in urban settings, but my first love will always be the adventure of an unexplored path through trees, over hills, into mountains, any beautiful place that only reveals a few feet at a time. This visit to Indiana, and this photo, remind me that even places I think I know well often have surprises for me. The answer, I think, is to keep moving, and keep my eyes open.