Haphazard Gardeners

Kat and I are always interested in the horticultural explorations of our space. But, as I was born with a black thumb, our efforts are sketchy at best. But if you look outside our window past the cars, in the great pile of discarded grass clippings, there lie a few anomalies. We do our best to throw out high-nutrient organic matter into this pile to keep from being wasteful, and some things begin to sprout on their own. Little gnomes in the night come and tend the seeds, guarding them from birds and that mouse that lives at the corner of the house. Thus, by the careless hands of haphazard gardeners have sprung up a canteloupe vine, an enormous pumpkin vine, and several tomato plants living helter-skelter across the grass pile. I would like to weed them, and I do a bit now and then, but they all seem to do better if I leave them alone. Fresh tomatoes are a blessing, and I can't wait to have to get to the pumpkins before kids do if I want to make pumpkin stew.

So the show at Bonhoeffer's went tolerably well. It's not exactly a listening room, and being brought up under the warm wing of New City Cafe has left me a bit spoiled, albeit well-fostered. I drove down with Andy and Analee in tow and we plowed slowly but surely through a welcome line of Cumberland Plateau summer squalls. We were blessed with a built-in audience. A band called Damascus Road was playing at Salt and Pepper down the road, and the power went out. So they moved the show to Bonhoeffer's and we did a double-header of sorts. Their lead guitarist, Justin, is an inspiration to watch. I think he blacked out during part of the show and just started playing with a charisma you don't often see up close. I'm still tempted to be frustrated at the loss of money. No cd sales plus two tanks of gas and no tips equals a possible bad time. But God reminded me again that art is not about money, and I must say, I do like to be a pen in the hand of a writer.

We're still looking for a church to meet with, and this morning was an adventure in frustration at the place we went to. But now, I hear the sound of thunder outside, softening up the land with a hush to receive merciful rain. I do believe I must leave you now, as the sky is calling me out on the front porch.