surprises

anyone who has known me more than about seven minutes knows that i am rather gung ho about things. when called to gardening, i dug up a few acres of dirt. when called to flower essences, i made seven hundred or so. when i get interested in something, i wade in with activities, books, feasts, questions, embraces.

this makes it easy for me to imagine the meeting with my soul and my angels to plan this accident. i can just hear myself say sure!!! let’s break my arm in thirty pieces and see what i learn. it was so like me to leap off this cliff with complete abandon.

yet, this leap has taken me in new and uncomfortable directions, to the land of the no leap where i can’t do much but be still.

i always thought of myself as a hands on sort of person. yet, with this injury, my soul has asked me to let go of this defining idea of myself. with this leap, i have to let go of long cherished ideas of self and all the activities that bolstered these ideas. every day when i think i have finished this work of letting go, i find more layers to let go of.

at this point, i don’t have a sense of what i will understand of myself on the other side of this letting go process. at this point, i am just grateful that i recognize i am still essentially myself, even as most everything i did as a matter of course each day has been surrendered.

on the practical level, i had no idea how many jobs required two hands. its deja vu all over again to sit at the table like a two year old watching a grown up cut up my food for me. or have someone help me get dressed. or to have my news of the day be that i tried to unbend my fingers.

as i take a back seat to most things at the farm, it is a lovely and delightful to see who and what flourishes in the spaces left by my absence. emily has taken up the bulk of my work in the office with such grace. all the ladies have risen up to the challenges with equal grace and good cheer. it leaves me in awe. lizzy has now left for her own journey to walk the pilgrim trail from france to santiago de compostela in spain. until her departure she cooked up a storm for us. one epic night there was a choice of three desserts. jim, ben, and will join emily in learning a lot they never knew about flowers. a lot!

and in the gardens, there are more surprises as everything that can’t be done yields its own gifts.

100_6071.JPG

a bed of iris i was going to move this spring from its holding spot in the vegetable garden looks sensational just where it is
100_6052.JPG

so much soars with unchecked beauty and some plants i have assiduously weeded out in years past come to the fore as lovely additions to the beds
100_6060.JPG

here, bright yellow celandine, a marvelous flower essence for improving cell to cell communication and helping us be our most vital, informed and connected self, an essence in my drinking water as i type, gets its way, at long last, and moves from the hedgerows of the farm smack dab into the center of the perennial beds where it is helping everything to shine.

life goes on

100_5994.JPG

it’s beautiful and peaceful here. the flowers look as lovely as ever- not yet minding the weeds that flourish because i am not on weed patrol-

so many people helping- the incredible crew in the office led by the indomitable deb have kept things sailing along magnificently- now that emily is home from college she officially has become this summer’s bottler- on other days she’ll be shipping with sophie, invoicing and doing email too- on wednesday she’ll be out in the gardens.

and so it was on this wednesday that she and lizzy and their friend lily did one of the jobs that absolutely had to get done- they dug and planted the cherokee trail of tears garden in red shiso-

100_6015.JPG
here was the garden awaiting their ministrations-
100_6020.JPG

here emmy, lizzy and lily begin to lay out the design
100_6042.JPG

here the garden is planted
100_5974.JPG

and here i sit in the arbor garden- so glad to be outside for a bit- there’s the wheelbarrow i fell over, the hand in question wrapped in a splint and some silver bandaging that is falling off because i need to ask someone to wrap it on me again, and st francis, representing the mysterious beloved directing all the dramas including this one.

mending well

in the last week, during the few lucid moments i have had- and there have been few-i have wondered what to call this blog-

i have considered……tilting with windmills wheelbarrows

this might be the right title because last saturday while shoveling soil out of a wheelbarrow, i pitched over the back of the barrel in a classic molly move onto my left arm and well… smashed the arm into many bits

which suggests another title idea…….

packing hardware

after a five day wait while the necessary nuts and bolts and screws and pins and wires and plates were procured, a lovely hand surgeon spent four hours putting my arm and wrist back together

while i waited, i did flower essence research and drank flower essence water out of quart jars. as i mend, i do the same

so perhaps the title is…… molly as test subject

and someday i may actually have the stamina to write what i learned beyond gratefulness for every animal wellness collection flower essence mix as well as gratefulness for everything else in creation, especially jim

but, it is time for me to go back to bed- the place where i am for now- learning about a different kind of spring and a whole new way of gardening

with love to you all, i am, mending well

A Thank You

Oh who was I fooling with my talk of sticking just to business of the microcosm?

I spent most of this week fighting what, in my eyes, was a significant a miscarriage of justice out there in the macrocosm. I have no idea if what I did has done any good, but I felt I had to weigh in anyways. AND I DID.

Even as I write this, I realize the bees talked to me about microcosm and macrocosm to help me let go of unnecessary guilt, not to encourage me to keep dividing my world into microcosm and macrocosm. Like I just did, for example.

I think they were trying to tell me that even though they work a geographical terrain, a “bee way” of only so many miles, humans work a terrain that is more fluid. More importantly, this shifting terrain only works when we come from our hearts. When we work from in our hearts, our terrain moves fluidly through a reality that is all one. If we are in our personality, ideas of microcosm versus macrocosm get us out of whack into false notions of me and mine.

In oneness, I just have to listen to my heart and do what I am called to do. I need make no fixed lines between micro or macro realms or cling to an assessment of their relative value. Tending a bed of cabbage is no more or no less than tending a continent, because it is all unity.

And if I remember it’s never a fixed line between what is and isn’t my realm, I won’t blockade myself apart from anything either. Even when I am mad at something “out there” and want to feel separate, it is not so.

But this oneness doesn’t mean I am responsible for the whole enchilada either. It’s that kind of confusion that sends me into retreat into the illusion of me and mine.

Like the bees, I need to work what my heart , in any given moment, defines as my ” bee way” as best I can and THEN LET IT GO.

This letting go is what the bees reminded me of this week. The letting go is another thing I need to remember. If I can remember outcomes don’t matter, I can stay fluid in following the hearts call all over the place. When I mistakenly get lost in outcomes, I get foot sore as well as heart sore and want to hole up and lick my wounds back in the fortress of me and mine.

I also need to remember that I really never get a clear sense of outcomes anyways. None of us can ever really know what happened because of what we did. I can’t begin to remember all the times when a note from one of you kept me going. Did you know that? I hope you do now, if you didn’t know before.

This week, during what appeared to be a futile tilt with the windmill of an institution of higher learning, I got a little too invested in outcome. Before I remembered that outcome didn’t define me, I wanted to go to a cave and eat worms, go to that separate establishment way away from the rest of the world. I wanted to growl there as well as eat worms. Can’t forget the growling.

But the Flowers lifted me up, the bees lifted me up, the dogs lifted me up, and letters from you lifted me up. And I thank you. Your bee way overlapped mine this week and even though you can’t always know outcome, let me tell you, in this case, the outcome was good.

100_5950.JPG

The Way of the Bees

People sometimes ask me why I don’t write more about events in the big wide world. Why do I stop most of my commentary when I reach the garden gate?

While the tiny world of this garden is a place of much hope and beauty, I often find the world beyond here a painful and confusing place. To be honest, I don’t know what to say about most of it, except to growl and that would get quite tiresome for you.

I try in each moment of my day to be as loving as I can be. Out in the world this sometimes leads people to think a village idiot is on the loose. Back here, I can see it makes a difference. And I am truly content with the small scale of my efforts. In keeping with my general mood of subdued ambition, I just want get on with uncomplicated loving these days. Nothing too big or splashy. I am no longer looking for that headline “Molly Sheehan Ends Nuclear Arms Race.”

This spring, when I lost more overwintered honeybees than I expected, I sat with the remaining hives in a puddle of despair. The Angels and the bees told me that the losses were a problem of the macrocosm, not the microcosm. They told me that there was nothing I could have done. They asked me to let it go. There was no request to continue my handwringing, just a request to keep on being happy. I found this startling. All over the country honeybees are dying, but they want me to be of good cheer and carry on. They exhorted me to, “Just go out and plant your garden with your same joy as usual.”

There was no hiding from the stark realities of the world in this request. These bees talked to me while I took apart the hives of dead bees. It wasn’t called Green HOPE Farm by a bunch of Angels for nothing. With this crew, hope isn’t some passing fancy, but an eternal verity.

As I bottled “Don’t Worry-Bee Happy” this week, I discovered a honeybee was sitting on my head, helping me bottle. She only dropped to the counter to get released outside when the last bottle was capped. As I returned her to her hive, once again I felt a bit muddled about the honeybees’ exhortation to bee happy amidst the problems of the macrocosm.

I decided to stroll down to the eastern side of the property to check out the newly blossoming Plums and look how the bee population seemed to be doing, this being a good litmus test for local bee populations. I found the trees to be wildly abuzz. The Plums were awash in bees of all sorts, plum bees, honeybees, and more bumblebees than I had ever seen, all of them frollicking in the heavily Flowering branches. Their ecstasy joined the perfume of the blossoms to sweep me into a state of simple happiness. I lay in the grass and looked up.

100_5931.JPG

How simple. if not always easy is this way of the bees. Love the microcosm, joyfully get on with our small caretaking roles in our microcosms and the macrocosm will take care of itself. If each of us does this, how swiftly we could right this tilting planet.

100_5930.JPG

As a community of Flowers, Angels, Nature Spirits, Dogs, Cats and even some People, Green Hope Farm can be a funny place……and I love telling you all about it!