Gardeners Anonymous, Where Are You?

Buddha minding my pondHang out with me for any length of time and you will hear me repeat my many mantras. A frequent one is: I have too many gardens for a single woman with a social life. It’s become a problem.  While I do love gardening—I truly enjoy both the process and the result—it seems to have taken over my life and my yard. Ornamental trees, shrubs, flowers, ground cover, herbs, vegetables, a water garden, grass, and weeds; they are all there. And, as I (gracefully) age, I find gardening requires more Advil and leaves me with less energy for other pursuits. I truly regret it when I am too tired for dancing…but is having a meaningful conversation after dinner considered a pursuit? How about staying awake past 8 PM?
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Yoga has helped me…in ways I never expected!

Like many people, I came to yoga in the 1990s mostly out of curiosity. And, like many people, I was interested in yoga for its physical benefits. I had always been involved in some type of exercise or sport, starting in high school with field hockey and volleyball, then continuing through the tennis and racquetball boom. In the late 70s, I worked at the YMCA for three years and have maintained a gym or health club membership ever since. Running, aerobic classes, stationary bikes, weight machines…did them all. For me, yoga’s best offer was a subtle promise to stretch my spine. As a short, small-boned woman whose grandmothers and aunts all had the shrimp-backed, sure signs of osteoporosis, this had great appeal. Any help with concentration and attention would be a bonus. Surprisingly, there were other unexpected benefits.
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Yellow is the Colour of My True Love’s Hair: Pine Pollen Season in the South

Working in my yard this weekend, pulling weeds and mulching the flower beds, I found myself humming this old folk song “Yellow is the Colour of My True Love’s Hair”. Not because my love’s hair is blonde in the morning (it is salt-and-pepper all the time), but because EVERYTHING was yellow, dusted with a thick coat of what my botanist friend calls tree sperm. Pine pollen—we all more or less hate it.

pine pollen coating

Everything looks dull. It clings to all surfaces; cars seem to be a particular magnet. With a small gust of wind, you can see it billowing in sulfurous clouds of gold. Despite our general annoyance—guess what?  Pine pollen is supposed to be good for you!  Seriously.
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