Essentially an Ode to Spring (And Gardening)

This is a picture of the second year I gardened. That green stuff is cheat grass. Isn't that garden so perfect looking, though? I don't remember that girl who did it much. This year it definitely doesn't look like that, but then, four years back, I could spend all day every day weeding.

“It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want—oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!”

-Mark Twain

          Spring is my favorite time of the year. I pretend I'm torn between Autumn and Spring, even adding Winter in for good measure, but Spring has my heart. I live in an area where each season is distinct. True, Autumn may not carry with it the brilliant colors you might find on the East Coast, but it still has its charm. Yet, I can't help thinking of Autumn without melancholy as I think of the first frost turning my garden to a mess of lifeless piles of green and the days of grayness before the first snow. Winter turns the landscape into a magical wonderland, but the long afternoons caught inside a house full of drafts saddens my soul. I'll give my two-pence on Summer, even though it doesn't have a chance in the running for my favorite.

          We have a dry and wet season here in the middle of Washington State (*please note that this area is not the reason Washington state is called the Evergreen state*). When Summer comes around, everything goes dormant. Like way dormant. Like everything is brown, including the lawn if one isn't on top of things (I'm in charge of that. You can't imagine how stressful it is. My socializing consists of threatening trees, bushes, flowers, and stocks of grass not to die on me). Also, confession: I don't much like the heat (imagine a whole lot of sun and not so much shade). The only reason I don't quit Summer entirely is because the heat and sun grows my garden. At the end of the day, every season revolves around my garden.

           Which is why Spring is my favorite. When you live somewhere for a long time, you start noticing how different one year is from another (weather-wise. Also something one who gardens pays more attention to). This year, for instance, we had snow covering the ground till early March. A typical year will have snow for one month from December to January. The snow will melt in the first week of January. There will be one day in late January where the sun shines, and you mistake it for Spring (however, you won't be totally wrong. The first wildflower comes out then). Then there will be a lot of mud and gray days. Mid-February the yellow bells start showing up. Then the wild violets and the Grass widows. And then the cheatland (obnoxious foreign weed that has utterly taken over) is alive.

           This year all the wildflowers have arrived in a flood. Because of all the moisture (I think), they are abundantly everywhere. They have grown larger and lasted longer. I have this feeling inside that I somehow have to appreciate every single flower because who else will? Spring is the time of year when I am keenly aware of nature. Of God. Of the absolute beauty everywhere. Sometimes I can hardly believe the multitude of wildflowers out there were planted by God just because it pleased Him. So many people don't stop to admire them. So many people don't even know they exist, but I do. Sometimes I imagine God planted them right out there in my backyard for my pleasure. How lucky am I? I'm overwhelmed by the uniqueness of each flower. All the colors. I think that's why I garden - in some small and imperfect way, I'm echoing what I see around me. With my human hands, I try to copy the masterpiece of a Supreme Artist whose work is ingenious but effortless.

           And Spring makes me come alive again. I want to run along the worn paths between flowers (trust me - running isn't a thing I normally want to do), dance, or sing at the top of my lungs because there is simply no way I can hold the joy inside without exploding. And then there's the Spring dirt. I don't know why, but there's something about Spring dirt (It's beautiful! I know, it's a bit weird to call dirt beautiful, but it just is. If you don't understand, I can't explain it) that makes me want to get something planted in it as soon as possible.

           This year, I planted peas in March when the snow on the very edge of my garden melted away, but usually it's mid-February when I can't resist the call to be outside. Things are going slow (but so has this whole year. Again, weather-wise), but I've planted Peas, Radishes, Carrots, Walla Walla Sweet Onions, Red Onions, White Onions, Potatoes (purple, blue, red, and yellow!), Kale, Bok Choi, Lettuce, Beets, Spinach, Turnips, and Swiss Chard. It sounds a lot more impressive than it actually is. Really, the only thing you know that's growing from just a glance is Dandelions. My garden is being taken over by Dandelions. I'm so torn on this. They suck all the nutrients out of my earth, but the bees also love them a lot. Last year my actual planted vegetables suffered for the sake of the bees - I just couldn't pull out all the volunteer Bachelor Buttons or Cosmos.

         

           Next Sunday I'll be back to posting an end of the month catch-up full of pictures (mostly flowers) taken in April. What are your favorite parts of Spring? Have you done any gardening? Is there anybody out there who loves dirt as much as I do?

Where I'm At (Writing)

           I started an online writing mentorship with a YA published author in the beginning of March. In this month and two weeks, I've learned some important things (unfortunately, not all about writing):

          1. I really suck at skyping. We did a skyping...session (is that what it's called?), and I died from awkwardness for the rest of the day. Please tell me someone else can relate to these feelings? Please? I even recited possible conversation continuers/starters, and...nope, did not work. Also you know the feeling when you are trying to explain something to someone, and they're just looking at you with an expression that says you speak a different language, and you wish you could just stop and forget about the whole thing, but at that point, you have to continue? Yeah...I wanted to go get a shovel and bury myself, but I didn't; so high-fives all around.

          2. I should really, really, really stick with one story through the second draft and beyond because when you say "Oh, this is my first draft", it just isn't...I mean, you feel like you've been slaving away at stories forever and not getting anywhere, and maybe that's because you only write first drafts? In my defense, I did work on one story for almost 7 years straight (with breaks between drafts wherein I wrote 1st drafts of other stories), and nada happened. Or rather my brain came along and said, "How about we ruin this plot structure that we've worked four drafts to perfect and change the story into something totally different? How about we make it into third person with two POV characters? How about we write it in 1st person from someone totally different?" Ha. Yep. Goodbye. So, the part of the story where I polish up descriptions and that has never occurred yet in any of my drafts. Though...I think my first drafts might not be as rough as some people's?

           3. On that note, the note about not polishing up descriptions and other lovely stuff, I've found out that I don't know nothing about 'showing' versus 'telling'. I mean...I did think I knew...but obviously I didn't, and now I've been nitpicking my writing so much, I'm not even sure if I know how to write anymore. I'm going to blame my inability to discern the difference on the kinds of books I read.
       A. I grew up reading a lot of older books. A lot of older books told rather than showed. like major time. So I'm used to reading whatever be the words and not paying much attention to the mode, other than if I was bored or actually interested in the story.
       B. Even some of the newer books (as in thirteen years ago new) do the telling instead of showing. I've been reading Sci-fi books because I was being dutiful and researching one of the genres I hope to write in (so far I've found I don't like sci-fi). Currently, I'm in I, Robot by Isaac Asimov, and he tells a lot. Maybe it's because it's sci-fi, but I hope not. I really hope not.
It's really debatable whether I'll recover from this blow or not.

          4. I'm shamefully behind the reading of Craft books, but I'm working on that. I've finished Conversations With a Writing Coach by Susan May Warren. Just a quick read through. I'm planning on going back through and read the lesson part again before I work on my new idea (New. New idea. Cursed be the brain that comes with new ideas, especially since it isn't anything under the umbrella of speculative fiction. Unless I put a dragon in there somewhere). It was a really easy writing craft book to read. Now I'm on A Novel Idea by a compilation of different Christian authors. Can I say lots and lots of information? Not to mention what I'm learning with my writing mentorship.

          But that's mostly what's been going on with my writing. Other random news: I'm sick for the eighth time since the beginning of the school year in September. It's wearying. I joined Twitter, for better or worse (MeaghanRutherf8 - don't ask why), and I'm dying my hair purple (after I go get a passport picture done - the mom's request). So there's that.

How's your writing going? Anyone out there in need of critique partner? Favorite writing craft books? Most difficult part of writing?

Random, Rambling Thoughts of an INFJ (#5)

I'm an introvert. Evidently, I used to be a bubbly three-year-old, but I don't remember that. Something must have changed drastically. Though, when you read about INFJs, it says we're the most extrovert Introverts. That makes perfect sense to me. Some days I wish I could become a hermit. Other days I yearn for connection more frequent and more deep than the typical Introvert.

But in crowds, I'm not outgoing enough to join the extroverts, and I want more human contact that other introverts. So I'm usually the pursuer of relationships...with other introverts. Every once in a while I ask myself why, for once in my life, someone else won't take the initiative. They won't just come up and ask me if I want to hang out. They won't meet me, find me funny or interesting, and pursue a friendship.

It's hard not to take it personal. After all, what's the common denominator in all these situations? Me. When I do step out to initiate conversations, friendships, and my offering of myself isn't enough, then I recoil like an introvert. I ask myself, "Why? Why do I even bother? It's too exhausting. What's the use?" It's tempting to commit social suicide ('"If people don't like me when I'm in the background and doing everything 'right', then I might as well stop trying."). It's tempting to search inside myself and wonder, 'What's so wrong?'

There's nothing wrong. Nothing at all.

Sometimes people like to imagine they'll have things all figured out when they get out of their teens. These 'fitting in' or 'unearthly awkward' problems won't be there anymore, but I hate to say they don't just go away.

In fact, I was having a nice time feeling close to giving up over the weekend. I started mentioning a fun thing to do the next time a 'friend' and I got together. It ended up feeling like I was talking to a wall. Those are the times I take a step back from a friendship. If it's a friendship built on 'Well, there's no one better to hang out with', then as far as I'm concerned, it can go jump in a lake. If they actually mean something, they'll start banging on my door till I get out of my fit of introvertishness. I did that once - took a step back. Three months later I got a call from the person about something utterly different, and she didn't even think it was strange. Yeah, that's not how it works with me.

I think everyone likes to be pursued, and not only romantically. I think it's one of those yearnings deep down. Who doesn't want someone to meet them and think almost instantly, 'This is one fun human. I want to hang out with her/him more?" Who doesn't want to know someone else thinks they're funny or interesting or irreplaceable? Who doesn't want someone to keep coming around even on days when you're the worst version of yourself? *raises hand* I know I do. More than once I've thought how nice it would be to find someone whose strengths were not mine, who could balance me out.

Then today I remembered something. I remembered a poem I read awhile back. The Hound of Heaven by Francis Thompson. It's a little hard to understand because of the older English and then the punctuation, but it is absolutely beautiful. The poem paints a glorious picture of how God pursues each of us. He pursues when we are running the opposite way from Him, when we are at our worst, when really don't want to be pursued, or when we forget that He is pursuing us. I think a lot of the time we look to humans to fill hopes that only God can. We put humans on pedestals, and we forget how high of a one God should be on in our life.


"I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
  I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
  Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
                  Up vistaed hopes I sped;
                  And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
                  But with unhurrying chase,
                  And unperturbèd pace,
                Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
                  They beat--and a Voice beat
                  More instant than the Feet--
                "'All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.'"


There's one part in the poem that says  "'Lo naught contents thee, who content'st not Me.'" I read somewhere an interpretation - "If you don't content yourself in the presence of God, then nothing will ever content you." 

I can't expect humans to fill a yearning God placed in my heart to pull me back to Him. Though I yearn to be pursued and appreciated for who I am by flawed humans, the God of the universe has pursued me and continues to pursue me relentlessly. I should understand how that feels - how it feels to pursue a friendship with someone time and again, only to be ignored or left feeling insufficient.

"I could be your faithful friend, isn't that enough?" I silently ask other people.

"I could be your faithful friend, isn't that enough?" God whispers to my heart. "I created you, and I love every piece of you. You are enough. I made you, and I said you were good."

When things actually grew...

Would you come to the garden with me?
I know a garden isn't your thing.
The dirt and the water - the grub-
Getting everywhere never suited you,
But maybe you can pretend for a day.
Pretend and make me happy.
Pretend and cast the loneliness away.
Maybe we can water or plant
Or just simply weed in silence.
You know, there's always weeding,
Or maybe you don't - I don't know.
So would you come to the garden with me?
We'll sit on the bench in the shade
When our bones are weary
Or the sun shifts,
And the heat is overbearing.
We'll rest, I promise,
As soon as the last seeds are planted.
I don't think you can imagine
A rest like the rest in the shade
After your work in the sun.
And everything will simply be better
Because you chose to go to the garden with me.
I'll teach you all that I know,
Or I won't if my voice is a noise;
a nuisance upon the nuisance
Of the dirt and the mud.
I'll simply guide your hands
So you will know the how,
But you won't know the why,
Unless the why is something you want.
Put the dirt here.
Make a trench there.
Whisper the words like me,
"Grow, grow,
Become big and plentiful,"
And maybe they will,
Or maybe they won't.
It's just the garden's way.
The soil flirts and seduces
While the weeds push back the love.
I've lost you now.
I know I have in the middle of this place.
You'll probably say,
"That's the way it goes when you ask me to come to the garden,"
But don't be so bitter.
This is where my heart dwells.
In a garden by vegetables, weeds, and flowers.
So when I ask you to come to the garden,
It's an invitation right into my heart.

That's mostly what I've been doing lately - gardening - all around my other responsibilities (cause I've picked up another 4 hours (at least) of work every week, and there's potentially another 3 hours. I'm trying not to freak.). It's sad how I seem to have less time to get lost out there in the garden every passing year, but I guess that's just the way it is. This past weekend, I spent far too much of my free time prepping the ground for potatoes, but stupid me bought too many (AGAIN). This evening I managed to get them all (35...bleah) planted.  But I won't lose you in my endless ramblings about my garden. I won't mention how I put up a greenhouse for the first time (and how it subsequently blew over in the wind. Sad day). How my hobbies have once again seized more space in my room (the seeds have decided to make a germinating station in there - but hey, it's been worse. One year I had like 75 Butternuts in there...and pumpkins. Can't forget my pumpkins.). Anyway, here we are in April, but I don't want to think too much about that.