Eternity’s sunrise

If by eternity is understood not endless temporal duration but timelessness, then he lives eternally who lives in the present. Ludwig Wittgenstein

Always vulnerable to mail order catalogues, when seed vendors started touting their end of year sales, I panicked. I don’t have enough space to grow everything on offer! I considered buying or renting a vacant lot to extend the urban food farm. If the world is falling apart, might as well go all in on flower farming. At least the fuzzy buzzy pollinators will be happy.

Then I took a deep breath, watched a few sunrises and managed to reign in my greed. I did a serious audit of all available land on this smidgen more than one tenth of an acre of Chihauhauan desert which has my name (and that of the Last Emperor) on some pieces of associated paper, assigning us custodianship. I have enough space. I just need to use it better.

I’m currently spending these beautiful deep winter days amending the lovely, lyrical flowing lines of the Last Emperor garden design, digging in the earth daily, pleasantly warm with winter sun on my shoulders, fetching rocks and carrying arroyo driftwood, content in the simplicity and honesty of the work, dreaming of watermelons and beans somewhere down the crazy river.

Then it became a slightly frenzied dance with wolfish wild winds. An incoming winter storm system lent urgency and upped the pace of my work last week. If rain, and maybe even snow, was in the forecast, and if I could get in just ahead of the weather system, it would be a really good time to sow the freshly prepared beds with Secale cereale (rye) seed.

The front new year’s sowing of rye has already sprouted into stubble on a green man’s chin.

Another ounce and a half of Gazelle Spring Rye seed was sown on Friday, just as the first big fat rain drops started to fall, calling time on my outback endeavors. 2 inches of rain, we call it here: 2 inches between raindrop splatters on the ground.

The project alongside the wash line on the far north (back) boundary became something of an archaeological dig yielding a lot of artifacts: many pieces of plastic, some shards of broken glass, a button or two, ditto coins, some fascinating rusted nails and sundry bits of metal plus a battle site worthy collection of cartridge shells. Why oh why are there so many spent cartridge shells? Seems I’m gardening either in a 20th century North American midden or yet another place where yet another shootout took place. Or both. Gunz ‘n trash. We do both well. One section at the far north east corner is probably going to have to be dedicated to sunflowers for heavy metal bioremediation for a year or two. I suspect motor oil contamination.

There was, however, one special treasure.

A tiny, delicate but intact (I think) bird skull.

The storm did bring just under an inch of very welcome rain over 48 hours or so, with even a very light dusting of snow this morning.

Of course I was out at first light surveying the new dimension of delight in the Garden of Earthly Delights.

The wind chill is something serious but everything sparkles and glistens with crystalline light. The fine blades of saffron crocus droop beneath the weight. I’m sure the plants are up to the minor, temporary disruption. I celebrate the feeding the bulbs beneath the surface will receive from this rain and smidgen of snow.

A lacy dimension is added to the outdoor furniture.

It is so little, but we so seldom get snow that I savour every frosted flake.

As the sun and a golden light starts to move into the outback, Ganesh of the Garden, snug in his bed of fig leaves, is kinda sleepy, feigning indifference: “Huh? Snow…. Whatever.”

In front the Asian leafy greens and bolting arugula greet the sun, shaking off their snow frosting.

Arugula isn’t the only blooming marvel for this time of year. Foxy Ferox has a lovely flower spike which is hanging in there, with a little help from repurposed yoga blankets on the coldest nights. The temporary and not very aesthetic metal cages can be draped with blankets when temperatures promise to swoop below upper twenties.

I’m kinda proud of Foxy Ferox for the great job of adaptation. There might yet be bitterly cold nights which do this inflorescence in, but until then, we have flowers! With raindrops. A desert midwinter January gift of great rarity.

One day I hope this long dark Night of Ice will be over. Soonest. Please.

Until then, I shift to eternity. Or presence. As a way to endure.

Recommended Reading:

Wild Dark Shore by Charlotte McConaghy, 2025. A novel this time but also some of the most amazing and edgy nature writing from my current favorite environmental fiction author. This title, set on an imaginary, remote Antarctic island, about seeds and their banking, climate change and questions about what and how and who we save, is part murder mystery too. Enthralling. Gripping. As with all Charlotte McConaghy’s novels, the science is meticulously researched, the storylines imaginative and engaging, and the message urgent. I found it an unputdownable page turner. Consider the uses of chronic insomnia. May you always have a stack of this author’s offerings on your night stand or audiobook queue. Migrations (2020) has been mentioned previously, but Once There Were Wolves (2021) is also absolutely so worthy.