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Gifts from someone else’s garden are the best. You get something in your yard from a friend, and they are no worse off for having shared with you. Every year when the plant returns you are reminded of this friend and his kindness in sharing something from his garden.

We have about ten clumps of elephant garlic coming up. Each clump has as many as a half dozen individual plants. I put them in three years ago when a friend brought over a bucket with a clump of garlic and dirt inside. I divided the bulbs into cloves and planted them in a zigzag pattern, so their gray-green foliage would make a fluffy edging for the area. The first year they didn’t do much, and I left them alone. The next year they came up again, and I harvested the bulbs, cured them and ate them. I didn’t leave any bulbs in the ground and I didn’t plant new ones, so I was surprised to see them coming up again this year.

I remember now when my friend showed them to me in his garden he said they leave behind what he called “acorns” that look like garbanzo beans and seed for the next year. I had forgotten this, but now they are sprouting in the yard, so he must have been right about that.

I had previously tried to grow Italian garlic that I ordered online, but it quickly figured out it was not in Italy and died. This garlic has a humble local origin. My friend originally found it in an open field and brought a clump to his garden. He later subdivided that clump with me. I love the abundance in that imagery, something freely gotten and freely given, spreading comforting aromas in multiple kitchens years later.

Today you receive something free that multiplies on its own, the love sent with this note. As you find worthy recipients, scoop some out and share. Yours will still grow bigger, and if it dies, others can give you back what you gave them to start love anew.



This little guy is the same calf you met in the Ears post. As I approached it became clear there were two cows and two calves lying in the grass. When I got right up to the fence they stood up.

The calves are small, I’m guessing a couple months old. When they stood up they were even cuter than their ears had suggested. As they moved tentatively toward me, their moms got between us, doing their best to protect the little ones, but not before I definitively answered the question I had about cow snouts. They’re wet.

I don’t know why baby animals are so appealing, but they are. They have no idea what is going to happen next and no perspective of their place in the world, but they bring a sense of wonder to the ordinary moment. “Wow, a breeze!” I imagine them thinking to themselves. “Look! A person walking up!”

Maybe that is what we like about them. They remind us what it was like to experience the simple magic of being in the world.

As we get older we get more jaded. We think thoughts like, “Someone is walking up. I wonder what they are trying to sell.” No only have we felt lots of breezes, we also have a sense of how we fit into a larger context, and we know we are not the center of the universe. That is a little disheartening, but calves have no such discouragement. They don’t even know there is a universe that they may or may not be the center of.

Baby creatures can maintain this sense of wonder because someone else is taking care of all the practical details: what to eat, when to moo, and whether to move into another pasture.

Becoming more jaded is about having to take care of those things ourselves. Caregivers take care of more than their fair share of practical matters, which can trample our innocent hopes for unknown marvels.

You have done a great job of ensuring you get regular breaks, which opens doors of possibility. Consider how you might bolster your sense of wonder.



We can host another episode in the contest where you figure out what is in the photos, but this morning I will just tell you. This is a donkey belly. I wanted you to see the gorgeous fur and comforting round shape. It is cold and wet in my part of the world, so a little warm furry comfort is in order.

This morning at the Bossy Spa we are serving jasmine tea with the scent of the delicate blossoms adding a hint of sweetness. If you were here you would be with me on the back porch because however cold it is, being outside is the best. We’d have warm blankets over our laps. We would drink quickly so the tea wouldn’t get cold.

After breakfast we would go on a ridiculously cold walk because the dogs will not have it any other way. As I imagine the way the rest of this day unfolds, it involves a fire in the wood stove and a stack of books and little projects like fixing a necklace clasp and hemming the skirt that is a touch too long.

Today may not be the most exciting day in the world, but it is a day for comforting rituals and staying warm. If you have a few small annoying projects floating around, getting them done can be really satisfying. If you have any things on your to-do list that can be outsourced to your sister who lives far away, send them.



Imagine if you will a television show for flower nerds. The contestants would be shown random flower photos and would have to identify them. The person who first identified each flower would win a prize, maybe a pack of seeds. I realize not everyone would find this exciting, but I would watch it.

The tiny blue flower I posted yesterday was promptly identified, so I have succumbed to the temptation to once again crowd source my flower identification. This is another bright splash of green spilling over the rocks in the garden. If you look closely there are tiny white flowers shaped like four white hearts with their points joined in the center, where yellow dots hold the whole thing together.

I have enough confidence in your powers of identification that I will not presume to name this flower, though I did discover that cormeum is the Latin word for heart. That is how I would start to name this plant, if I were going to name it, which I most certainly am not.

Finding the name of a flower is like solving a crossword puzzle. If you don’t solve the problem, no lives are lost (unless you eat a plant you have not correctly identified).

I appreciate the comment from yesterday that says “a small, solvable, intellectual puzzle that interests me” is appealing. I find that too. The distraction can be welcome, and so much of life isn’t solvable per se. Life offers nothing to maximize; there are no clear optimization parameters. We are mostly just walking around and bumping into things and deciding whether to climb over them or sit down and rest for a bit.

If you have the time, take a short break to identify this flower, complete a crossword, or find a different little problem to solve with a clearly defined answer. The simple satisfaction from completing these tasks can be a small island of calm in a turbulent sea.



Behind this little clump of the world’s tiniest blue flowers is a bunch of thick brown stalks that died back for the winter. The garden bed looks rather forlorn and raggedy, but when I bend to pat Annie, who is lying in the bed sunning her belly, I notice the “weeds” mounding along the rock edging are sporting tiny star-shaped flowers.

I am not able to identify these small flowers, so perhaps they have escaped the notice of any botanist and are available for naming. In case that is true, I hereby name them stella tinicus. Stella, the internet informs me, means star in Latin. Tinicus is a word I made up to mean tiny because all the real Latin words that I looked up were already taken to describe other plants.

It is exciting to find this tough little ground cover providing some cheer in my otherwise bleak landscape. When the bees come to forage, it is one of the few sources of pollen and nectar this time of year.

Some aspects of your own landscape have the brown dry bleakness of midwinter. You have extra work giving care. A lot of practical chores need doing. Your must tend to your own health and well being. Amid all of this you would like to continue to excel in your work, be a good friend, and walk the dog.

Does that sound like a lot? Accomplishing all that seems like a pretty tall order.

People who love you are worried that you are carrying more than you can bear. Those of us friends and family who love caregivers, one and all, are not sure how best to put our collective shoulder to the wheel with you. So we write our love in these love notes every day. Perhaps you would rather have practical help making lunch, but today we send you the world’s smallest flower arrangement.



Winter is rolling along, and it has been a long time since we have seen flowers. You can tell they are coming, but they seem to be waiting in the wings for a cue that it is their turn to show. This morning I noticed the camellias are blooming, our first sign of spring.

Camellias have no business being in our environment. They like acidic soil, and our soil is quite alkaline. They like shade, and this one gets full sun in the afternoon. The bush has been in place for more than ten years and is bigger than I am. Somebody forgot to tell it to be fussy, and it decided to get right on with blooming where it is planted.

We too can be planted in an inhospitable environment. We may have to work long hours or not have enough money. We may be serving as a caregiver, a role that can be depleting to our energy. We are not going to automatically thrive under these conditions. We might just barely get by.

Sometimes, though, at the unlikeliest of times and in the worst of circumstances, we bloom. I don’t know why this happens once in a while but not all the time. It certainly isn’t a matter of our gritting our teeth and spitting out a bloom. Grace just descends following its own timetable, and we soften. We might bloom with tears or with smiles. We might feel uplifted and comforted for no reason at all.

Blooming often happens after a long winter. Our new website bloomed today and trust me there have been some cold dark nights wrestling it into shape. There are a few straggling items that need to be fixed, but it was time, and I counted on you, dear reader, to be forgiving of the glitches.

I hope you bloom today, even just for a moment alive with the hope of the coming spring.