Purple garden

It's alive

Today: 48" circumference, approximate weight, 52 pounds. Gained 12 pounds since yesterday. I bet if we put a webcam on it you could see it grow.

Growth rate

It's been more than a month since my last post and I guess that's mostly because things are the same... agent searching, job searching, working on the next book, revising the previous one, doing a little freelancing and part-time editing to pay bills. Still contemplating the big questions (such as what's next). Some of those questions can't be answered right now. So I'm enjoying the summer (as much as that's been possible with the humidity, rain, storms and bugs).

Part of the fun: Dad and I are growing a giant pumpkin. Last year's attempt failed to germinate. This year's popped out of the soil at the beginning of May (pictured). Last week the pumpkin measured 20" in circumference (also pictured), yesterday 39", today 42". My practical father constructed an Excel spreadsheet to calculate the pumpkin's growth rate and figured it had gained 7.6 pounds overnight based on its dimensions. Growers in the film Lords of the Gourd say these things can gain 40 pounds a day. The vine is incredibly long and headed toward the house. I'm a little scared.

Summer dawn

An unusual occurrance yesterday -- awake before sunrise. Makes me wonder what else I've been missing.

One of Those Places

Maybe it’s the Earth-old granite or the glacial lake. American Indians called it Spirit Lake but it was erroneously translated to Devil’s Lake in the mid-1800s, according to the park’s Official 2010 Visitor Guide. The sensational name attracted visitors, which pleased the railroad, hotel and tourism officials. It remains an attraction, complete with tie-dyed t-shirts and cheesy beaded belts, but yards from the visitor center are ancient effigy mounds in the shape of a bear, a lynx, a bird. Rocky trails lead away from the beach crowds. Dense hot forests where trees vibrate in the rain. Turkey vultures soar on thermals and somehow you’re above them, watching the quiet lake. Heavier rain sounding like tearing paper. In the moisture each step is deliberate, life-giving, bone versus rock. The biggest daddy-longlegs I’ve ever seen, a delicate creature hugging a boulder as old as time. Ripples of prehistoric lakes. I am one thing, one blink.

Straight and narrow

Been a while since I've written anything for Three Word Wednesday, so here we go. The words are hidden, noble and roam.



The world’s largest ball of yarn (the one that’s usually in the midwest somewhere) is hanging over my head but as I drive it begins to unravel. There are always lines. The ones we cross, the ones we don’t. The ones we roam. A line drawn on the internet between my house and yours. The ball unwinds. It becomes flexible, pliable, my thoughts of you unjumbling and pulling tighter, clearer. I drive over other lines, squiggly black lines, repair cracks on the interstate. Lyrical lines that resemble Arabic text. Maybe unsuspecting motorists are driving over sacred poetry and don’t even realize. Mystic tomes about noble dervishes spinning in circles instead of going from point A to point B. Hidden words that people drive straight over, hidden songs that offer a wish for shapes.

Visitor

A backyard surprise last week, coming in for a landing on some nearby property.