Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth
In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.
Little Clay Goddess
The little clay goddess went out into the garden on Planting Day.
Ohmigods.
Now I practically need a machete to get into the garden.
The tomatoes have been the size of grapefruits.
The collard leaves are as big as skillets.
The squash vine, umbilical, not content with taking over the garden, is in the process of claiming the entire back yard. I'm expecting it to grab me as I go out the door any day now.
The butternuts it bears are each more than a foot long. The last one I cooked weighed two and a half pounds.
It's been quite a growing season. Earth, Sun, and Thunder have all been generous.
And the soil is chocolatey-rich, lovingly, patiently nurtured with compost these past 30 years and more.
So I'm not saying that this year's prodigious harvest necessarily has anything to do with that little clay goddess planted up to her knees back in the corner of the garden.
No, sir.
I'm not saying that at all.
Sculpture: Joanna Hajduk, Glinka Design
Photo: Magda Kielar
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