Lilies of the Field

I came to Pixley for many reasons. One of them was peace. I craved the slower pace, the relative quiet, and freedom from traffic and the rush of the Big City. But even Pixley is not immune to stress. The remoteness makes travel more difficult. While our lower population density has been a plus through the COVID-19 pandemic, we still suffered business losses and financial woes that the rest of the country experienced. Considering Pixley started out poorer on average, and we’re still recovering from The Big Storm, it has been difficult. And when you reach a certain age, you know you’re on that fast slide down the razor blade of life (Thank you, Tom Lehrer), so prospects for financial improvement are slim. Add health problems to the mix, and I can’t say life in Pixley has been stress-free.

We lost a blueberry bush. I planted four of them last year, and suddenly, one died. This distressed me. The other three are producing, and even the blackberry bushes I planted, though small, are doing well. I hope to have a decent crop next year. I want to replace the dead blueberry bush with one that is approximately the size of the other bushes, but with gas prices what they are, we’re economizing where we can. I wanted to decorate the house with flowers for Easter, but decorations are a lower priority than food and utilities and medical bills.

I was inspecting our garden, lovingly referred to as the farm, and my eye was drawn to a splash of red. Against the back of the house, in a weedy flower bed that we haven’t tackled because we need to conquer the fire ants first, beautiful lilies were blooming. I went for a closer look, and among the weeds, I found blackberries growing wild. I took a picture of the lilies and the blackberries and brought the four fattest berries to share with My Taller Half (MTH).

And I laughed at myself. I can worry over the smallest things. While I worry about berries and flowers and feel a bit deprived that we currently have neither in abundance, God gave us beautiful lilies and sweet berries. They grew on their own, with no assistance from me, and reminded me of these words.

Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.

Matthew 6:25–33 (ESV)

My Taller Half and I wish you a blessed Easter.

BTW — in case you are interested, 255 days as of yesterday. (see 41 Days)

Country Girl

Our neighbors in Pixley fall into three camps — those who are happy to live in the city, those who wish they could move back to the country, and those who moved here from a Bigger City and can’t figure out what the first two camps are thinking. As the population of Pixley is only slightly larger than that of the apartment complex I lived in before the move, Pixley is country — its elevated status as the county seat notwithstanding.

I am, at heart, a country girl. I never get tired of fields and forests, damp clay roads, the sounds of birds in the day and frogs at night, or a night sky full of stars. My parents, being true country people in the Depression, wanted nothing to do with that life as adults and wanted to spare their children from it. That is sad. Our little piece of property is a bit of heaven to me.

And so I give you our Farm Report:

The satsumas are blooming, and the Meyer lemon is just forming blossoms, but the ruby red grapefruit blossoms smell the sweetest. We’re going to have to remove all the little fruits that are forming to allow the trees to put their energy into growth and not production. Sad. Maybe next year we can allow a few to grow.

The fig is putting out all sorts of new growth. It was the last to put out leaves, but it is making up for lost time. We have blackberries forming now and a bunch of blueberries. Those can stay — assuming we can beat the birds to them. The neighborhood cats may finally earn their keep.

The potatoes are growing wonderfully. I gave them a little “safe” bug spray — something has been chewing on the leaves. Southern peas and pole beans are growing like … beans! The sweet onions and shallots look good, but I’ve never grown them or potatoes before, so I don’t know what to expect.

Around the house, about 1/3 of the State Fair zinnias we planted from seed have started to grow. One of the crocosmia bulbs is beginning to sprout. Two of the lily bulbs I planted are sprouting, and the dinnerplate dahlias are doing wonderfully. There are blossoms forming on the gardenias. I can’t wait for all the flowers to bloom, We need to get rid of the wisteria that is taking hold in our azaleas, but I may keep a cutting or two in pots. It’s an invasive little monster, but I love it when it blooms. My Taller Half (MTH) fondly remembers an encounter decades ago with wisteria in full bloom, planted outside the Smithsonian Museum, creating a Maxfield Parrish-tinged moment that feeds his soul still today.

I found three frogs hiding in the compost bin. They got a ride to the nearest azalea bush. The bird feeder is never empty of birds during the day, mostly cardinals and finches with the occasional dove cleaning up underneath. We have to give them credit for bravery with all the cats in the vicinity, but we do try to eliminate hiding spaces near the feeder so they aren’t caught unaware.

No report on “the back forty” — we can’t get through the overgrowth. One of these days…

That’s it from our little 3/4 acre of heaven.