a man and his hoe

every day is a good day

Category: Happiness

  • The Sun Is All It Takes


    A blue sky and brilliant sun is all that was needed to bring on the bees. I won’t have to worry about the apples not getting pollinated. The warm sun also made the arugula shoot up fast. Arugula is another vegetable which seeds easily. Let some of it bloom and go to seed, and each spring it keeps coming back once the sun returns.



    The sun also brought out this earthworm. While planting a row of radish, it slid out of the ground, slipped over the surface, and disappeared about a foot away, making me wonder what would make an earthworm crawl out of the ground on a sunny day. Was it fleeing a mole or marauding beetle? Was it curious about the sun? Did it need to warm up?


    The warm sun makes the lilac perfume the yard. It also makes the tulips melt. The sun is all it takes.


  • What the Spring Sun Brings


    The spring sun shines a light on garden art, a shallot carved into an exquisite piece. Nature has a way of turning anything into a museum piece if you leave it alone long enough.


    The spring sun brings a bumble bee to life. Fresh out of the cold ground, it rests on the back porch, soaking in the sun, before she flies off to start her colony. Hopefully, she found a nest site on this sunny day and is snug tonight in her new home, dreaming of all the children she will have.


    The spring sun brings a cat on my chest when I stretch out to enjoy the warm, sunny day. The spring sun, source of life and happiness.

  • Of Skunk Cabbage and Coffee Beans


    When we left Seattle twelve years ago, we thought we would be deprived of some creature comforts living so far from the city. Pleasantly, that has not turned out to be the case. If anything, it seems that it is the city folk who have to go without. How many people in the city have a nearby coffee roaster they can call up in the morning to have a coffee beans roasted to their specification? And I doubt there are any in the city who get to enjoy a pleasant bicycle ride, passing watery ditches full of blooming skunk cabbage, to pick up coffee beans roasted just for them.

    This summer I gave Gilda a sample of the coffee beans we like, and asked her if she could tell what kind of beans they were, and if she could come up with a similar roast. It didn’t take her long to match the roast, and now, whenever we need more coffee beans, I just call her in the morning, and pick up the beans in the afternoon.


    It’s a pleasant bike ride to her roasting cabin, and today, the ditches on the sides of the roads were bursting with blooming skunk cabbage, Lysichiton americanus. They are a sure sign that you are living in the north. The first time I saw skunk cabbage in bloom was as a fourteen year old, traveling on my own in Hokkaido in early summer. There, the skunk cabbage, Lysichiton camtschatcensis, have white blossoms.

    And I doubt city folk have a coffee roaster who has the time to chat about gardening when they pick up their coffee beans. Without a line of impatient customers behind me, I get a guided tour of Gilda’s garden to see what is blooming and advice on how to keep chipmunks from digging up tomato plants, instead of a busy clerk handing me coffee beans and yelling, “Next!”

  • What Is That Light in Yonder Sky?


    Pray tell, what is that light in yonder sky? What is that blue up above? After an eternity of dark clouds, snow, rain, mist, slashing winds and gales, the sun rises again. It was a shock to step outside and see sunlight making the tree tops glow, to see the sky blue again, not to feel the damp air wet my hair and fog my glasses. I’d forgotten what sunlight is. Now I can hold out my webbed hands and feet and let the sun melt the webs away.


    The growing chicks are ravenous this morning. They gorge themselves in preparation for a full day out in the sunshine, their eyes seeing many things for the first time as the sun fills the gardens and woods with the brightest light they have ever seen.

  • There Is Something Magical


    There is something magical about feeling a just laid egg, an egg that is still warm, almost hot to the touch. There is no doubt that it is alive.


    There is something magical about fresh snow capping a mountain. It’s nice to see it up there instead of down here. It’s where snow belongs, on the tops of mountains.


    There is something magical about chickens out enjoying the sun. After days of clouds, snow, and rain, they are as surprised as I am that the sun still shines. That’s magical too.