“A Vegetable Garden”

 

            I dug out, added soil, carved out rows, and neatly planted my first vegetable garden the year I turned nine. In my memory, this plot of backyard covered acreage, but I know in reality it couldn’t have eaten up much of the yard. I grew lettuce, green onions, tomatoes, and two varieties of radishes. If I close my eyes, I can see the child I was kneeling on the ground, worshipping Earth.

            When we moved to Texas, my parents delegated a larger garden for my passion. I added peppers, herbs, and even corn to my crops. One year, I planted cucumbers along one section. That summer we ate cucumbers with onions in vinegar, sugar and water. We ate them on sandwiches and within salads. The bumper crop meant we gave them to our neighbors and friends. My mother didn’t want to pickle them (she had extremely limited pantry space), so we made cucumber ointments for our faces. I remember slicing cucumbers into my bathwater!



Flowers instead of veggies!
 

            Making a living competed with my desire to garden; and as an adult, I shifted to herbs and native plants and flowers. I haven’t grown much more that tomatoes in recent years. And I think a part of me longs to sink my hands into rich soil again.

            In the year since my mother’s death, I’ve toyed with the idea of toiling in a vegetable garden. In my mind, I’ve carved out a huge section of our backyard and planted it to the brim with thriving life. I imagine myself outside each day, watering and weeding. I can actually feel my body kneeling in worship of the harvest. 

            This image seduces me.

            But I’ll prepare no garden this spring. I promised myself a year of doing less, of walking away from the “must do” lists that I create for myself.

            I grow a different garden this year. One that allows me to dip into serendipity instead of structure. I hope to nurture creativity and whim not bound by schedules or lists. In the end, I strive cultivate a gentler “me” who’s not so driven to do more, but instead slows down enough to enjoy more.

            Once I’ve gathered my harvest of contentment? Then I’ll plant a vegetable garden.  

 

 

Copyright 2104 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

"The Mist"

Stepping outside,     

I paused and raised my face to the mist.   

Her cold hands slapped my cheeks crimson,     

making me gasp in surprise.   

I hunkered down my shoulders,   

drawing the collar of my coat tighter to fight off the unexpected chill.   

The predawn sky hung heavy with haze that whispered into my ear,     

“Go back to bed.”   

The street lay in waiting silence with its lights haloed weak and pale.   

The fog muffled my steps as I crossed the slick sidewalk.   

She entranced me with her ebbing dance as I inhaled her essence.    

She engulfed me with her silken touch as I stepped deeper into her embrace.   

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Frostbite”

 

            Cold weather blasts into central Texas so infrequently that waking up to a morning with frost dusting any surface provides a spectacular photography opportunity. When I ventured outside this morning with the dogs, frost coated the top of our hot tub. Its sparkle drew my eyes, and I rushed back inside to grab my camera to capture a few shots before the morning sunlight heats the cover and melts away our evidence of last night’s freeze.

 

           



I know many of you sit frozen into place by mountains of snow, and you’ll probably look at these jewels and think, “No big deal.” However, I like pausing in the daily grind just long enough to celebrate Nature’s subtleties.

 

Copyright 2014 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Rolling in the Grass”

Bridget catching lounging in the sun

 

            From puppyhood, our dog Bridget’s loved stretching out in the sunshine. Her sleek black coat catches the sun’s rays. In some lights, she becomes glossy obsidian. No matter the temperature, she’ll lounge outside until she bakes. I think she has some internal censor that pings a warning just before her coat begins to sizzle.
 



Bridget getting ready to roll!

            At that moment, she rolls in the grass.

            Her delight oozes as she squiggles right-left-right-left, and often she grunts in pleasure. When she finishes this ritual, she heads to the back door, which she taps with her paw until someone opens it. But she doesn’t enter the house. Her back, covered with grass or other yard debris, demands a vigorous hand pat or brushing to clear her coat. And so she waits patiently on the back porch while one of us dusts her off.

            This morning’s cold didn’t hinder Bridget’s daily roll in the grass. The rare chill in our Texas air didn’t prevent her from gathering a little warmth from the spotty sunshine and then rolling in the dormant grass.

            Sometimes, I wish my own life could derive happiness in such simple ways. Stretching out in sunbeams—and rolling in the grass.

 

Copyright 2104 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"A Printer"

            The other night, my husband and son left our house on a mysterious “mission” and returned home with an early birthday gift for me—a printer! They purchased a smart little Brother HL-2200. A very basic Monochrome Laser that spits out pages almost faster than I can type. Already, I love this little device.

            Over the years, I’ve relied upon my husband’s fancy Cannon, a machine that sucks ink like a gas-guzzler. This past year, this temperamental copier has taken to whirring and complaining, and then refusing to take up paper. It’s all showmanship.

            And so I drifted into the zone of a writer without hard copies. I slipped into an uncomfortable world where the printed page doesn’t exist; where I fanatically email my drafts to myself out of fear of hard drive crashes or other computer catastrophes.

            With my Brother installed and handily by my side, I’ve spent the last few days organizing and printing. The shelf I’ve dedicated in my closet for hard copies now contains a two-inch binder for drafts of my blog and drafts of poetry dating back to 1973! Next to it rests a bright yellow notebook that houses the final draft of my first novel. I’ve only had a working draft, covered with my personal editing and revising notes, perched in the closet. I can’t believe how good it feels to have a pristine final draft!

            My current creation benefits from this little printer, too. Currently, I’ve color coded various characters and scrawled ideas and details onto notecards. Anyone knowing my handwriting understands immediately the frustration I feel as I curse at my cursive. With this printer, I can quickly type up and print notes for each created person, making it much easier for me to double check facts and details as I weave my story. And research now becomes a breeze. That Victorian Queen Anne one character calls home?  A Google search to three or four sites and quick copy and paste and PRINT! I have definitions for witch’s caps and strap work at my fingertips.

            I know many people persistently preach, “Print is dead!” But not in my house. Not anymore!

 

 

Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman