Wonders Await You

If you know life is a gift, and I hope you do, you may find it troubling how many of us, myself included, waste life now and again. It is not that wasting life is my intention, or the intention of others when they waste there, sometimes we don’t even realize we are doing it. Wasting life is often the net result of life wounds, life circumstances, and the way some of us were socialized into experiencing ourselves.

Well, I say life wounds, life circumstances and socialization be damned. At least be damned when you weed your way into the soil that is my life and disrupt it, poison it. I will till my own soil.

All the wounds, circumstances and socialization patterns do not deserve to rob us of remembering to live, and giving ourselves permission to do exactly that. No, things will not always go the way would like, or work out the way we hope, but sometimes, more than you might think, they will.

If you never give yourself permission to live, you’ll never find and experience the beauty and glory of life, no matter how big or small, the latter two notions defined solely by the eye of the beholder. For example, big to me is watching Goldfinches, Black Capped Chickadees, and Purple Finches on my bird feeder, or rabbits scamper about my back yard early in the morning. Thunderstorms are big too. They make me turn off all house sounds and crack open windows because I don’t want to miss a moment of the enchanting forest of sound. Small is the kind of car I drive or whoever the hell made and designed the clothes I’m wearing. I’m grateful for the car and the clothes, but they don’t, for me anyway, compare to the wonder of the birds and thunderstorms just mentioned.

I don’t know what the big and small glorious moments of life are for you. I do know you deserve them, even if you think you do not. So, while I’m tilling the soil of my life, I hope you do the same for yours. Remember to live. Wonders await you, if you give yourself permission to live.
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Tomatoes Murdered – The Cages Did It!

Dear Reader:


I know you may find what I say here hard to believe, but it’s true. As you know I have been tending to my first vegetable garden. Some of the plants are doing well but I am here to report that all 15 tomato plants have died. In fact, they were murdered. Yeah, I know, I can sense your doubt, your misgivings, thinking I’m being silly, but they were murdered and Bonnie, who I still love, had a hand in it. She got the 15 tomato cages that ultimately ended their lives.


Don’t believe me? Well then, consider this. And before you do, let me say that the vegetable coroner does not agree with me when it comes to cause of death. But I’ll get to that shortly.


I planted those tomatoes indoors when they were nothing but seeds, little adorable newborns they were. They were born free in other words. No cages or cells, no restrictions – free, I tell you, free!


And then one day in a group discussion Bonnie says, You need cages for them. Now that I think of it I am responsible too. I am guilty as well. As soon as she said the word cages I should have seen the red flag (apologies to my 15 dead red friends, potentially red friends, I should say. They would’ve been red if they’d been given half a chance). The reason I should have realized something was wrong was this: when was the last time you saw someone running down the middle of the streets bellowing, Help me! Help me! My tomatoes have escaped!! Answer? Never. Cages…really now.


But no, I believed her and one or two other helpful souls who chimed in saying¸Oh yes, Peter, they need cages.


Well, here is the truth of what happened. It is simple and tragic. I carried the 15 funnel shaped tomato cages outside and my beloved 15 baby tomato plants took one look and in unison, committed mass tomato hara-kiri. One look at those cages and they were out of there. Done, dead, over, fini, no mas.


The coroner said suicide, but I know murder when I see it.



The cages did it.


More soon,



Soil Boy

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Garden Update from Soil Boy

I suspect many of you may have noticed a shortage of rocks where you live. I don’t just suspect this, I’m sure of it. How can I be so sure, you ask? Because all the rocks missing from your property are on and in my property. I spent nearly all of the first 15 years of my life in Rockland County New York, so believe me, I know rocks. Well, here’s a bit of a newsflash for you. Rockland County ain’t nothing but pure clean potting soil compared to where I live now.

I was out in the back 40 today continuing to clear the land for my vegetable garden. I began to understand the origins of rock gardens. Some poor soul, overcome with frustration of grappling with battalions of rocks, wearily looked up, wiped sweat from his brow and said, “Fuck it; this looks great just like it is,” and ordained the first rock garden. If you can’t beat’m join’m. If you can’t beat’m or join’m, rename’m.

Anyway, I will be back out in rock world tomorrow.

Just between you and me, I am having a great time out there. But I’d appreciate it if you kept that between us.

Yours truly,

Soil Boy
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