Irene (the hurricane) doused my basement in a lot of water ruining a bunch of cardboard packing boxes that were meant to do a lot of things including become tombstones and other things for halloween. In a way Irene was a blessing in disguise. It made us really clean out the basement, make some repairs that were long over due and it even inspired me to take that first step towards making a lasagna garden in the front yard.
I have always wanted to plant something on the other side of my drive in the front yard, but the soil is poor there -- compacted and definitely lacking in nutrients because of a row of pine trees on the far end. Digging even an inch would get you to tough roots. So, for the longest time, I have been thinking of making a lasagna garden over there. A lasagna garden is one where you compost all your material right on site where you plan to plant you garden. Here are some links to how to make your own lasagna garden: http://organicgardening.about.com/od/startinganorganicgarden/a/lasagnagarden.htm http://www.motherearthnews.com/Organic-Gardening/1999-04-01/Lasagna-Gardening.aspx
I started out ambitiously enough with a really large patch of earth marked out for the garden with a hose. Then I began dumping soggy cardboard from the other corner of the yard, where they were waiting to go to the recycling bin. Half way through the process I nearly gave up and ran in the other direction, because right bang in the middle of my front yard was a large pile of ugly cardboard. It looked like a junk yard.
This is how it looked and it freaked me out!
I was getting hungry as well, so decide go in and start some lunch prep and time shared it with this garden building. I realized pretty quickly that I did not have enough soggy cardboard to cover the initial plan of the garden. So, I scaled back.
An old cat enclosure was recently torn down and the lumber was lying in the side yard. Just to make me feel a little better about the crazy junk in the front yard, I decided to first build an edge around me garden. It looked a little better and less crazy. So, I went ahead and started to dump some soil.
The soil was actually a large load of mulch that was never used and had already composted into soil in the back yard. I added about two loads of vegetable scraps that were meant to go in my backyard compost pit before I covered it all up with the soil.
Here is another in-progress shot.
It took all of eight loads of soil to cover the entire area. Eight loads of soil that had to be dug out and transported, up a slope, to this area. It was good work out. I worked straight out for about eight hours that Sunday while parallel processing with cooking. This was the result.
It was the most productive weekend in recent memory! After the leaves have fallen, I will add another layer of veggie scraps and a layer of dried up leaves and may be cover it with a landscape cloth and let it cook until spring.
Every year, in the late September - early October time frame, Navarathri arrives as if to herald the upcoming Northeast monsoon, which to those living in parched Tamil Nadu is always a boon. To me, growing up in Chennai, Navarathri was the festival. Not Diwali. Not Pongal. Navarathri. When else do you get to wear pretty clothes for nine nights straight and strut about town? At night. When else did you get to see the entire neighborhood's creativity on display? When else were tone deaf maamis allowed to sing in public. OK may be, the last one is not quite as exciting for those who were stuck on the hearing end of the singing mamis!
Depending on which part of India you come from, the reason for celebration is different. The southern version is that of the Goddess waging a war for nine straight nights against a bull-faced tyrant and emerging victorious on the tenth day. To me, it was when everyone at home pitched in to decorate the seven steps (or was it eleven) that we set up at the beginning of the festival to display our "dolls" (as they are inappropriately called). Starting a few days earlier, the whole house would be abuzz with activities. My grandmother (with very helpful little elves) would start making colored paper garlands to be hung from ceilings and to be draped on the sides of the steps. My mother would supervise the annual Grand Bringing Down of the Steps from Storage and the Setting up of It! My Dad would design more paper decorations that we would help cut and shape and later, tack on to the steps.
When done, the steps soared all the way to the ceiling.
To reach the middle of the upper step of the golu, one would have to climb on to a stool. This is where the all important kalasam went which was carefully hidden from view by the larger pieces. This was Mom's territory. The larger pieces were always on the upper steps and dealt with themes from the Hindu mythology. Going down the steps, the tone changed to the more informal and that's where my Mom's plastic bead sculptures went, along with other interesting things like a set of dolls depicting a marriage scene. There were statues of freedom fighters that I am sure came from the pre-independence or even the immediately-after-independence era, and a brighter looking pair of Mother India with flags and all.
Each year we would ask to set up a "zoo" and a "park". Each year Mom would resist, "who is going to clean up all the sand ?" Each year this argument would be countered with an enthusiastic, "WE WILL!!" from the kids that normally feigned deafness when she asked for some help with the household chores. And yet, each year, the moong beans were soaked and moong sprouts enthusiastically planted in soil to build the "turf" of the park. Each year little plastic animals would be placed in the "zoo", with the zebra disproportionately towering over the giraffe and protected from the teeny tiger next door by a precariously tilting stick fence and an impossibly blue "rivulet". Each year, the master planners of the golu would redesign the zoo and the park amidst heated arguments of how it is impossible, really impossible, for this or that animal to be placed in close proximity to the other. Sometimes these arguments were taken to the "elders" to settle and sometimes they were settled mutually by way of a small fisticuff.
Each night we would run enthusiastically to the temple to see the way the Devi was decorated. Each day it would correspond to one of the avatars of the Devi. On the ninth day, she would be decorated all in white symbolizing the Goddess of learning. This day was bitter sweet for us kids, because it signaled that the party was nearly over, but it was also the only adult sanctioned no-studying day in the entire 365 days of the year (366 if it were a leap year)!! The only book related thing you had to do on that day was to bring out one textbook from each subject and set it up in front of the steps, where it was covered ceremoniously in silk cloth and duly worshipped. And you didn't have to study for a whole day, guilt free. On the 10th day -- the victorious 10th (Vijayadasami), you had to do a little second pooja, open up the books and read a single paragraph from each of the textbook. It made for the strangest readings of all. Within one hour there would be paragraphs read from Nicholas Nickleby to Graph Theory, stopping on the way at Tamil novels. Then everyone that was learning any fine arts in the house had to practice for a bit, while everybody else listened/watched. This included hoarse throated singing, screechy violins and a quick Bharatanatyam adavu. Anyone who wasn't learning any fine arts was enrolled in a class on that day.
It was also that night when the ustava murthys (the bronze temple statues that were meant for processions) were polished from 3:00pm by industrious neighborhood kids, decorated and taken out on a procession late at night. Several men, including Dad, were in the procession party, singing Vedic hymns all the way, carrying the three palanquins with the utsavars and walking barefooted through the entire neighborhood, stopping at streets to let people meet and greet the Gods as they went around town in a grand procession, with music, vedic chants and chattering kids and sparkling moms bringing up the rear. This is also usually when the Monsoon decides to rain on the parade. Literally. On one such procession several years ago, we were rained on pretty hard, to the point where the adults decided that the kids would have to be housed in other people's homes to wait out the rain, while the adults would continue with their procession all the way back to the temple. My sister and I were loth to leave the procession, but were told firmly to seek shelter in the nearby house. Shivering in our skins, we were offered boy's clothes by the "aunty" who had only sons. I remember being so disappointed at not completing the procession.
Last year, 16 years after I moved out of India, I set up my first golu. I had managed to steal a lot of my Mom's collection, but my golu doesn't hold a candle to the golu of my childhood days. Gone are the days, when you rush out the front door, barefooted, yelling over your shoulder to whoever is listening, "I am going to the temple" and spent the better part of an afternoon brushing and burnishing bronze statues. Today, before heading off to work, I must retrieve my golu padi from the garage. I may even have some time to dust it off. When I get back home, I can set it all up and decorate it. Wish I had all my grandmother's color paper garlands though! May be I will make some papier mache sculptures, one each year, to add to my display.
Work, life, more work and some more work and then life. They have all been getting in the way of my plans. But, one good thing did happen. Made a teeny trip to Bushkill falls last weekend to celebrate the little Sis's 30th birthday (Now she will have to call herself 30-something... guhahhah!)
Anyhow, here are some pics of the Falls
It was not really a trek per se, but the path did have some interesting tree roots
and moss covered stumps
and very pretty rock faces:
Finally the Falls
I played around a little with the camera settings
At the base of the waterfall -- is this flowing water or cascading tresses?
The water rushed over rocks only to fall down a second time
