Regardless of the fact that my gardening philosophy is a somewhat slipshod mosaic of trial and error, there are moments of unplanned flora nearby that are quite orderly and not of my doing. While walking in the back fields –– many tens if not several hundred acres –– of fields cultivated from time to time, I came across this patch of wildflowers. I can only describe it as in the middle of nowhere. Once upon a time there was a farmhouse, but all that remains now are some disorganized slabs, a spring fed pool, collapsed fence and not much else. Trees and nature have grown up around this area, at least a kilometre from the road.
I first noticed this area as a blazing patch of red on the far edge of a field into which I had never ventured. What was it? When I stepped toward the patch, it was as if I had set foot into a magical field; I saw a luna moth and there was a serenity surrounding me and my dog as well. The camera battery had died, so this picture is from the following day, when I revisited the site. I wonder why this little place, no more than a hundred square feet exists. It is a burial ground? Sacred ground? Magic? I have been told that there is a thin veneer between the sacred and profane world, on our property. Is this a sign of such a phenomenon?
I was by the area yesterday, and it continues to thrive, different annuals now, mixed with poppies, wave in the breeze. meanwhile my own garden chokes itself with weeds and thirsty perrennials.
Andrew Binks 