This time of year the flowers turn brown and the deciduous trees look dead. 

Looks can be deceiving. 

This weekend Bill and I visited a church in one of Chicago's most violent, most drug-infested inner-city neighborhoods.  It's not on the top ten tourist sights.  Instead, it heads the unprinted "don't go there" list.  If you imagine crumbling buildings, trash on the street, and few flourishing businesses, you're right.

But what you could never imagine is the difference one church has made over the last thirty years. 

Sunday we worshiped in the gym used for youth sports. We heard the choir from Hope House, their homeless shelter for men. They provide housing, substance abuse counseling, and job training. We met Fred whom the others call "prof" because he's spent some time in college as well as other less positive places.  He was cheerful and articulate, not what I expected from a guy in recovery. 

Their church's spin-off ministries include health services--birth through geriatrics. A beautiful new facility boasts a top-of-the-line health club. 

They have a legal center. 

Students can join sports, the arts program, and after school tutoring. In a joint effort with the Chicago Botanic Gardens, local kids grow and sell their vegetables from their community garden. 

As well, they created a development company that built numerous homes and helped the area residents buy them. Their sliding-scale apartment building is beautiful.

Statistics and some first impressions would tell you it is a decaying community. It's not. New life, spiritually and physically, thrives here.

Likewise, there are seasons of life where all appears to be in decline. 

I think of a friend's mom, who in spite of her advancing years, was still very much alive. When Dot was  94, and in assisted living, she went to the gym with her daughter. She walked the treadmill at 2 mph for about five minutes. When she had to move into the nursing home this Catholic lady exuberantly sang Baptist hymns with the rest of the residents. She made new friends and encouraged one man to play the piano because he still could! She focused more on what she could do more than what she couldn't.

Lord, may my attitude be as good.

We went to Chicago to visit friends who are in time of difficulty. Family crisis, job loss and ill health have clobbered them. Even though the circumstances look grim they don't believe all is lost, they trust God. 

If you know someone who looks around and sees more ebb than flow, reach out and be the bright spot they need so that "their hearts may be encouraged, having been knit together in love". (Colossians 2:2).

Because looks can be deceiving.

Sprigs: Time for Seeds

I love the last harvest of all--the seeds that form on the dying flowers. Plentiful and free, they guarantee plenty of filler in the garden for the following summer. Just remember they won't be true to type. The colors narrow to predominant dark pink in the zinnias. The cosmos keep a little more variety, but you won't find that the two toned reproduce abundantly.

I like the different ways the seeds develop: the tightly packed marigold seeds in little bunches, the cosmos like exploding fireworks, and the zinnia seeds crispy and held together at the center of the bloom.

purple millet

This is my first year for millet. I started it from seed. I won't collect any this fall, but wait and see what they do on their own. The millet is a nice purple until the seeds develop. First they are colorful pinheads, and then they grow shaggy and fall.

cleome and pendants where seeds grow

Cleome may be hard to get started, but they add tall color at the back of a flower bed.

 Zinnia seeds.

 I've had marigolds grow from seeds that were at least three years old.

cosmos

progression of seed development


What seeds do you keep? Which have been truest to the original plant?

Left Behind

My husband wanders like a puppy tracking fresh scents.  He disappears  while touring, hiking or biking, not to mention shopping. He slips away without saying a word. As soon as I realize he's not beside me my head swivels to catch a glimpse of him. I sidle through the crowd to spot him down an aisle.

Once I gave up the wild goose chase and paged him. He didn't respond and a quarter hour later I found him outside on a bench. Now I keep him at my side in Wal-Mart. Actually, now I won't even go to Wal-Mart with him.

Most outings include someone asking "Where's Bill?"  It's become a joke. 

Except for when I find it irritating. When I'm in a hurry, it's aggravating.  And when we travel, his vanishing act is distressing.  We chronicle these events in family lore as the (almost) left behind series. 
They've never been the disaster I direly predict. In fact, most of them are funny. After the fact.      

Once our family vacationed in Hawaii. In Honolulu we rode public buses to Sea World.  As the self-designated tour guide for our family I had  the bus schedule and a paper map to track our transfer points. Returning, we were the first passengers to reboard at Sea World. Bill settled in the back of the empty bus where he claimed he could see better. I told him to keep an eye on us because I feel more secure sitting near the driver. The kids and I sat opposite the center exit door.

photo by martin, flickr 

The bus took on passengers until it was more crowded than a tropical fish tank. People were elbow to hip in the aisles and my two girls and I were jammed into one seat. 

The transfer point loomed. One daughter pulled the yellow cord to indicate a stop. I nudged and prodded the way to the stairs like an ice breaker through a frozen river. Passengers pressed in our wake to fill the space. 

Mexico City, photo from EMBARQ 

The bus stopped. We jumped off but Bill was still inside the bus. As it pulled away he stood on the bottom step, legs spread, hands pressed against the glass. The three of us watched from the sidewalk.

He got off at the next stop and made his way to us before our connecting bus came. 

I was annoyed. Surely, I thought, he’ll pay more attention in the future. The incident didn't worry him. Ramblers are as enchanted with the journey as the destination. 

If you know a straggler, share one of your near misses to include in the Left Behind series. 

* The title is a reference to a series of apocalyptic novels I didn’t read. Apparently Christians are snatched from earth, and the rest are left behind.

Sprigs: How to Divide Day Lilies

This week is a how-to. 

If you have day lilies that have grown too thick, this is a good time to divide and replant. I found these directions for storing them over the winter. However, the steps are the same if you just need to thin them. I took pictures in case anyone else was hesitant about being too rough with the rhizome. But I'm convinced you can't easily damage them. 

1. Dig up the clumps.



















2. Trim off the tops of the plants.

3. Divide the clumps.

4. Lay them out to dry if you are going to store them. Otherwise, replant.











Mine are now layered with peat moss and stored in an old ice chest.  I hope they come through the winter. 

I'll let you know. 


http://homeguides.sfgate.com/store-daylily-bulbs-over-winter-70183.html

Second Wind

I’m not an athlete, but even I know that if I rest before I get too tired, I get a second wind. 

This is just as true when exercising emotions.  

missed our turn-off, but got close to the Arch!

Recently, my husband and I drove to Missouri upon my father's death. I expected to feel distress, sadness, and anxiety. But apparently I have shallow emotional reserves and time with family quickly drained me. Once spent, I fled to the hotel. 

As a highly introverted person, I best refill when I have time alone. That wasn’t an option yet. 

I persevered through the short trip, ready and relieved to depart. 

Once home I felt like an old helium balloon hovering just above the floor. Over the next days I promised myself no agenda but to nap. We expected out-of-town guests in three days; but, I reckoned, I’d be at least partially reinflated by then. 

However, I’d written down the wrong dates, and the day after our return my friends called and said they were two hours away. Should they stop for dinner first?

I was dismayed, and dreaded what I had formerly anticipated.  My husband reassured me and said a quick prayer while we made up the guest bed. 

Our friends were gracious, insightful, and let us set the pace--old-people slow-motion.

Thank you, Scott and Becki. (Bec on the left, Scott's the photographer) 

By the time we retired the first evening my consternation had faded.   Although still weary, I knew they understood my poverty of spirit. 

Over the next days they shared their emotional energy, and I got a second wind. 

It blew in with their arrival, buoyed me up for the duration of their stay, and I rode it out on the jetstream of their departure.

Anne Lamott says it better than I can:

“This is the most profound spiritual truth I know: that even when we're most sure that love can't conquer all, it seems to anyway. It goes down into the rat hole with us, in the guise of our friends, and there it swells and comforts. It gives us second winds, third winds, hundredth winds.”

Sprigs: Last Tango

There's not much worth looking at in my gardens this time of the year. 

I went out to cut a bouquet and this was it:  wild yellow and blue flowers (yes, I know they're weeds.) 

But they make a flirty pair, more like a tango than a formal waltz.

Sprigs: Purple Basil

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  Purple basil is a staple in my flower beds.

A fellow gardener gave me one plant eleven years ago.

They reseed themselves (too) freely. Now I just pull them up as they begin to form seeds, or when they are in a place I don't want them. 

They smell wonderful, and I sometimes cook with them. 

aromatic basil and chive bouquet

 When summer is waning, they grow large. They make lovely bouquets by themselves, or added to flowers. 

If you want some, I'll share!