Day Two

After my last post I looked a bit more into the art and science of blogging. Come find out, there is a whole world out there waiting to make me filthy rich if only I plant upon the human mind thoughts worthy of financial whatever.

Really.

Well, for what it's worth, there were other things I learned as well from my perusal of the available literature on blogging. One fellow listed 23 questions to consider while blogging. The ones I recall are as follows.

What am I trying to say? Hard. Don't know, don't care. Something about gardening, and in particular, what I am thinking about whilst I do it.

Who is my audience? Easy. Whoever is out there and whoever likes my writing and gardening. Hopefully people out there who are gardeners themselves, perhaps in north-central Montana, people who can help me get it right, this art of gardening in an impossible climate.

So much for what I remember of the 23 questions.

After I wrote my first - my latest - blog, I discovered that I wanted to do more of it. It has a sort of cathartic and even catalytic effect, as if what one is doing is important after all.

I suddenly realized that blogging gives me the feeling that the whole world is out there, my own little oyster, waiting for inspiration, all of which descends from my blog-o-sphere to yours.

You. Yours. Your own. The person reading this. The Reader. The Consider-er. The Friend. The Companion. The Person Coming Over. The Person Dropping By.

The idea that we are talking together, you and I, as surely as sipping tea on my back porch, me pointing out the latest experiments, the thoughts and the travails of my seasonal plant kingdom, and you, sipping your tea, enjoying my company and yours, looking over the green (or right now brown and waiting) grass covered in fractal-islands of melting snow, nodding your head congenially or just absent-mindedly, and smiling, approvingly. Here we go, into the great unknown, you and me, the eternal friends, the symphony of conglomeration, the chat, the little chit chat. The no big deal. The visit. The dropping by.

As I looked at the one grape vine mentioned in my March 1 blog, neatly wrapped around a post, and as I compared it to the more slovenly-left vines on the other posts, I decided to be more aggressive. The sap is not running and I believe that I have at least a few weeks before it does.

So I began to work harder in my little garden than I have in the past several months. Of the eight posts which have grape vines on them (and not mentioning the posts holding up my back porch on which there are two additional vines), we now have:

(taken from my back porch, facing due south at twelve o'clock)

at nine o'clock: a lovely Valiant vine loosely wrapped around a post, a real winner from last year. She is one of the interesting stories of the garden. When she was first planted, along with her seven sisters, she did ok. And then one summer she was no big deal at all. And then came a hard winter that just about wiped all the other vines out. But because she had started late, her roots must have been in tact. The cold didn't get to her as she was developing, because she developed late. Consequently, she bloomed. Last summer was a good year for her and she really took off.

at ten o'clock: a sad story. The Yard People, the ones who do a good job usually but sometimes not, let the weed spray get on to this little plant and - well, right now she looks like a goner. They did the same thing a year ago to a lovely peony, and then denied all responsibility. Same thing this time. We'll see, but I'm not holding out a lot of hope.

at eleven o'clock: another Valiant, coming along, but barely. I left this one untrimmed and uncared for, unlike the pruned ones of yesterday. Too much pruning I think makes a plant feel harassed, and this one is having trouble enough.

at eleven-thirty: another Valiant, and not doing so well. The growth is very feeble and there is no reason for it. But there is a story here as well.
When I put the garden in several years ago, the earth movers came across some sort of concrete box about three feet beneath this little grape vine. It may be an old bomb shelter, or the concrete sarcophagus of an old grave. Who knows. But whatever it is, it may have some sort of psychic effect on the grape vine above it. No matter what I do, I can not get it to grow.
I actually consulted a psychic about this. Apparently one of the reasons why my garden is so "into" harmony and balance is to even out the very negative effects of whatever is in this box. So the mystery continues.

at twelve-thirty: another Valiant. I wrapped this one around the post after trimming off all the smaller branches. We now have about eight vines wrapped rope-like upon a post. My idea is that by keeping the vines together, and by treating them as a group, the harshness of winter may wipe out only a portion of the stem and leave the others alone. I also hope that by trimming all of the smaller grown along the vines I will encourage some sort of root development without hurting the plant by too-vigorous pruning.

at one o'clock: another Valiant. This one is a bit anemic, but may come along better this year. Not sure what the problem is here.

at two o'clock: another Valiant. This one had a lot of heavy growth over the past several years. Lots of vines, and all of them strong and determined. I spent more time pruning the small growth off of this one than the others combined. I am concerned that my effort to wrap these vines - perhaps ten or so - around the post may have opened up a lot of loose fibers beneath the paper-like bark. This is probably not good, but we shall see. I am learning that the gentle hand in gardening is the correct hand.

at three o'clock: my final Valiant. This one is planted right next to where the water spout for the roof comes out, and it shows it. Without any direct intention or effort on my part, this plant always gets tons of water and plenty of southern sunshine.
This is not necessarily a benefit in this part of Montana. The cold snap that the first Valiant dodged hit this Valiant very hard. Nevertheless, it recovered and is doing well. I spent about twenty minutes yesterday trimming off the small growth and wrapping about eight vines around its post.

And so, with some minor exceptions of plants left alone for humanitarian purposes, my grape vines are cleaned and tidy and waiting for Spring. The weather has been exceptionally clear and even warm. March 1, 2010 was a wonderful day to begin gardening, and March 2 - today - has been a good day to tell you more about it.

More tea?

We Begin

Today, March 1, 2010, I become a blogger. I do this in memory of what for me is the first day of Spring, at least a sort of Spring.

For today I entered into my backyard and began pruning - potentially out-of-season - a large grape vine curling around a post to the left of my little back porch. I am experimenting. Last year I began pruning in mid-April and this was too late. Sap was running and it left small pools of wounded goodness all over the damp ground, pools caused by me and my own clumsiness.

So this year I am beginning anew, as gardeners get to do. I have cut one vine to see if March 1 is too early to prune, and I have left the others - six or seven of them - deliberately alone. Here they will be permitted to flow into the sky at their own speed and interest. Only one has been pruned on March 1, 2010, and that is enough. For me, it is a beginning, a time to see, a time to just let other things go whilst I explore what is possible and what the possible is made of.

And so, we begin.