How Does My Garden Grow?

                     Pallet Garden

With thoughts of harvest

I turn once more to gardening, in pallets

of all things.  So small and manageable

as my hands spread  dirt

in neat rows between wooden slats.

Seeds of herbs and vegetables nestle in, bide their time,

while water and sun nurture small shoots.

Soon the small corner of the yard

fulfills that pull of nature.

The ripe joy of freshness, just born,

picked moments before gracing the table.

Sating a desire – providing sustenance

for the body, yes, but more the soul.

The idea of a pallet garden this summer sprang from a random glance on Pinterest which produced an immediate spark to have a garden again, without the work of having the large 12 x 12 raised bed garden that used to sit where the new two car garage now rests. 

http://gilannie-goddess.blogspot.com/2012/04/my-new-pallet-garden.html

I mentioned it to Steve who just happened to know where to get me a couple of pallets and my spark was on its way to becoming reality.  It’s a fairly simple process, and there are quite a few websites (best so far) I’ve found to help me along with suggestions like making sure the pallets are heated treated wood, how much soil it will take, watering tips and of course  the best vegetables for this type of growing venue.  A quick Google image search gave me the idea of adding another pallet vertically just for herbs and maybe a few strawberry plants for good measure!

And already what’s grown?  A poem!  It’s been a long time since I’ve written a poem and don’t even know how to begin apologizing for its form or meter or lack of thereof.  (Let’s just call it free verse and leave it at that.)

So how does a poem grow from my pallet garden? I can thank an online writing course I started on a whim last evening.  One of the exercises was to explore whether I prefer to write poetry or prose. Since I haven’t written any poetry for a very long time, I was surprised the above verse came so quickly.  It was a nice reminder that I enjoy writing poetry too.  And, the exercise helped me process this blog post as well that was at the idea stage but hadn’t been started yet. 

So already, my pallet garden has provided a lovely mix of passions, writing and gardening.  All this, nurtured on a whim…

Stop by again this summer, won’t you, and see what else the harvest brings?

“Journey’s Beginning” Gets Published!

Love the cover!

Ah, how sweet the reward the longer one waits for it!  After 13 years, "Journey's Beginning", a piece I wrote about my experience at the beginning of membership classes at Trinity United Methodist Church, has been chosen for publication in Chicken Soup for the Soul: finding my faith.

Written at the very beginning of my faith journey, this is a very personal piece for me.  And often, like faith that takes you by surprise, the publication of this piece did as well.  I submitted this in both poem and short story format to a number of places over the years with no success.  Then, earlier this year on April 9^th, I received an email that “Journey’s Beginning” had made it to the final selection round for ChickenSoup for the Soul: finding my faith. Was it still available and was I interested in having it move forward in the selection process?  I sent off my very affirmative reply immediately and so began THE WAIT.

I didn’t tell a soul other than Steven and Abram that my piece was being reviewed for the final cut.  Then, July 17^th, (98 days later, but who’s counting?) another email.  I’d made it and would be a part of the book.  OH JOY!  My first publication in book form! 

Scared that it might fall through, I still didn’t tell anyone.  Then, I got an email from Chicken Soup for the Soul in early August, again congratulating me, welcoming me to “the family and team” and sharing encouragement and tips on how to promote the book and my part in it.  THAT made it really sink in and feel real.  I wasn’t dreaming this – it wasn’t going to fall through – it was really happening!

And so, next month on October 16^th, the publication release date, my piece of the collected stories will be out there, potentially in 40 languages and 100 countries.  OH JOY!

Here’s a small excerpt:

…There are twenty-one of us in the

membership class.  At my turn I

answer the questions on the board. 

"My name is Amy Morgan. 

I have lived here all my life. 

I was married in this church and our

son was baptized here."

My throat closes up now.  My eyes fill

with tears.  I don't understand why.

I sit staring at the next question. 

I don't know how much time passes as

I silently read it over and over. 

How have you come to be a Christian?

This room, full of people who have given their

religious histories brimming with family memories

 and traditions, positive and negative experiences, all wait. 

I have nothing to offer them….

The release announcement on Chicken Soup for the Soul’s website reads:  “Everyone's faith story is different. People of all faiths share their personal experiences in this inspiring collection of amazing stories about the number of ways people discover, or rediscover, their faith — whether it's Protestant, Catholic, Jewish, Buddhist, Muslim, Hindu or any other religion. These inspirational and powerful stories will touch the hearts and souls of readers.”

I’m proud, excited and humbled to be a part of this book.  I can’t wait to read the other contributing pieces and to see how my piece weaves into the larger whole.  I didn’t know at my journey’s beginning that it would lead to this destination, but I’m grateful it has.

Stats:

• Expected Release: Oct. 16, 2012
• Publisher: Chicken Soup for the Soul; Original edition (October 16, 2012)
• Seller: Simon and Schuster Digital Sales, Inc.
• Formats:  Paperback 400 Pages,E-book
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1935096958
• ISBN-13: 978-1935096955

ALLEGHANY (A-Z April Blog Challenge)

We camped in Alleghany State Park a few weeks each summer with my godparents family when I was around five.  Too young to have clear memories of the time and I’ll concede that most of my recollections are most likely from years of repeated stories and a few pictures. However, there are a few that I can fully claim as my own, either by experience or through the tactile memory of the senses. 

The bears and the fear go hand in hand.  Somewhere near midnight, pajama clad, us kids and an adult or two would pile into the pale yellow convertible with the top down and head to the garbage dump.  The heater did no good to dispel the cool air, so we’d huddle under blankets and snuggle in for warmth.  At the top of the crest, my godfather would turn the car and the lights off, put it in neutral and cruise down the hill towards the dump. 

After we came to a stop, he would turn on the headlights and there, in front of us were the bears.  Wild bears.  Pausing in their hunt through the garbage, they would turn and look at us.  Sometimes, they took a step towards us before returning to their meal.  It wasn’t until years later I realized all they could see were the bright lights and not us.  I’d always held my breath, waiting while they decided whether I would be a tastier find than what they held in their paws.

As if it wasn’t enough that we interrupted their meals, during the day we would trek up to the bear caves.  Amongst the boulders there were impossibly small openings, winding down and into the rock.  They were cold and damp and pitch black except for the glow of a flashlight.  We’d wind our way through the tight passageways that led to the dens.  I was terrified of finding bears there but even more terrified of refusing to go in and be the one left alone outside at the opening.  I don’t recall anyone pointing out that they were abandoned caves…

We made camp in two cabins and the lazy days held trips to the stream to search for salamanders and walks to the general store where you were allowed to buy candy and “Indian souvenirs”.  We played board games, walked through the woods, put on elaborate plays that were written and directed by the older kids and cooked marshmallows and hotdogs on sticks around the campfire. 

There were movie nights and although I don’t recall any of the movies, there are flashes of memories: taking our sleeping bags and pillows with us as we headed to the general store at dusk and playing on swings and the slide until the movie started, projected on a large screen in the open area near the store. The ground was rock hard underneath us, the mosquitos always biting, but the popcorn flowed and I remember feeling incredibly small under the night sky.

Wasn't this car exactly, but it was a big 'ole boat like this one!

The most vivid memory I have is climbing into that same yellow convertible and pretending to drive.  I played with the gear shift and must have popped it into neutral as I soon found myself rolling backwards down the dirt driveway that led to our cabins.  It stopped with a thump against a tree after rolling across the road at the bottom of the driveway.  Beyond that tree was the ravine.  I got out and didn’t say a word to anyone.  Soon after, the car was discovered, and after much yelling and questioning, someone ended up taking the fall for me and the punishment that went along with it. I was never even considered as the culprit. I don’t recall who ended up being blamed and punished.  

These are the childhood moments that begin to shape us. The fear of taking a risk. The joy of simple pleasures with family.  Loving the smell of a wooded forest. The magnitude of the night sky and feeling so small beneath it.  The guilt associated with a lie.  And there, in the hills of Alleghany is as far back as my childhood memories, and my shaping moments go.