Nature

Today, I woke up with nothing to do. And I mean NOTHING.

/ Pam Goode / 2 Comments

UM … NOTHING??? This has never happened to me before.

After looking around the house for awhile (still nothing), I spent some time finishing the few tiny pieces leftover from my last project … and then I looked around the room again. I tried moving some furniture here and there. Eh. I cleaned up those leftover tiny pieces, and then I wondered if I should start on the next piece, but I wasn’t really ready for that. And then I finally decided to go to the plant store and ogle some plants.

Ogling is pretty much always a good way to spend time, don’t you think? I managed to buy a few and hope they live. “Hope” is the key word here. In truth, I’ve never been good at keeping plants alive. Ever. Any kind of plant — even the ones that say “foolproof.” And I can’t help wondering … why not???? Seriously, why not? I know how to do pretty much everything involved, and it isn’t that hard. And yet . . .

On second thought, I noticed that the girl who checked me out did remove the soil from the vase (dumped it, actually) and added all fresh soil, which seemed a novel and really good idea. Nonetheless I’m hopeful, even if not particularly optimistic on the turnout.

Now, my husband is a different egg. He can grow anything, and by anything, I mean everything. I don’t have that gene and I’ll likely never get better at trying, and that’s okay. It’s also why he takes care of the garden — well, … and the food, and the dusting, and the miscellanea, but that’s okay too, because I’m really, really good at other things: great ideas, lots of girlfriends, playing with babies, and saying “let’s go out to dinner!” All necessities, I promise.

And of course it doesn’t really matter how we spend time. Somehow, we all pretty much find the right path.

@PamGoodeWrites

Windblown

/ Pam Goode / 10 Comments

I’m not sure there are terms to adequately describe the commingling of nature against nature.

The sand dune isn’t particularly large, but I was able to duck down enough to obscure the sea for this photo. I’m usually all about the ocean and her cycles, but this particular tree made me catch my breath. She’s hanging on for dear life, and still she couldn’t be more beautiful.

The lives we live — so fluid and so cross-hatched with a large serving of both agony and endless beauty.

Image by Pam Goode, Pawleys Island, SC, 2023

Just a Walk in the Park

/ Pam Goode / 4 Comments

Today was one of those splendid days that pops up when it really shouldn’t. It’s still chilly here, though there are a few in shorts and tee shirt, and yours truly in a surprising redistribution of the ubiquitous puffy coat. Yes it’s 55 degrees in Ireland today, and though that wouldn’t really be “cold” at home, in Ireland it comes complete with the cool (read frigid) air that follows us everywhere.

We took the long walk by the River Feale, the banks filled with flowers and the ever present fanciful gurgle of water, and then headed to the Garden of Europe. The gardens are beautiful and becoming more so, and I particularly love the surrounding forest of trees and flowers.

Left to Right and Top to Bottom: Trees and flowers along the River Feale; Tufted plants; Laura taking a path to the water; Yellows and purples; “Wrap your arms around me”; Gorgeous setting in the Garden of Europe; Fabulous pebble mosaic created by Kathleen Doody of Canada, a former Olive Stack Residency recipient; Path through the Fairy Woods; Holocaust Memorial.

Inspired by a month-long artist residency graciously provided by Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland, Day 23

Starry Night

/ Pam Goode / 5 Comments



Into this night

of stars two thousand-fold,

I burrow in to join

the dance of darkness

versus light,

of days spent courting night,

of spiraling constellations rapt

in silent dialogue,

and drift into a joy

unparalleled.

And this I know

deep down inside:

that in these star-struck

moments,

true life lives.


© Pam Goode

Inspired by a month-long artist residency graciously provided by Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland

Dear Ireland: I’ve missed you so!

/ Pam Goode / 5 Comments

I’ve missed your lonnnnnnng frothy grasses, your ubiquitous flowers and delightfully moody seas. I’ve missed your shells of every color, and certainly your mind-blowing hand-built walls. And your stripey stones — how could I turn away from such whimsy?

I’ve missed your waterside horses and donkeys and cows inching closer and ever closer while hoping to get to know us better. I’ve missed your poets and your deep love of writing. I’ve missed your lovely tea rooms, your lobsters, your ubiquitous inlets, and your spell binding vistas over land and sea.

And I think —

You’re waiting for me, aren’t you?

Only 13 sleeps … and some fleece-lined pants. And two wool hats because one will need drying while the other is worn, and weather-proofed boots ….

But IRELAND!!!!!!!!

I’ve missed you so ….

In the Neighborhood

/ Pam Goode / 13 Comments

When we first moved in, we could sit on the porch and see nothing but green. No other houses. Rarely a human form. It was pretty amazing, considering we live smack dab in the middle of the city, or less so, realizing ours is the last on an unmarked dead-end street with only 5 houses in total.

We have no back yard, but the front runs for 120 feet and then drops into Briar Creek (aptly named), and thus began our soul-stirring relationship with nature. We could see egrets on the bank, training their eagle eyes on unsuspecting fish, hawks circling for daily joy rides, deer prints …. I drove home from the studio late one evening, and as I reached our short street, an owl appeared and flew alongside me not even two feet from my face until I pulled into the garage, my mouth hanging open the entire time.

And then as gardeners do, we began planting. Okay, mostly my husband, who cares nothing for temperature or insects or the clock or even food. And of course the more we planted, the fuller and more lush the garden became, transforming itself to a wonderland so deep and multi-layered that we could no longer see the creek or the egrets standing watch, and we assumed that “progress” in the neighborhood had moved them along. I missed them, but I also loved the banana and fig and mimosa trees that had magically sprung up in their place.

Or perhaps more accurately, the banana and fig and mimosa trees that had shortened my vision.

A few days ago we went for a walk along our winding two-lane main road, and I suddenly felt pulled to jump off the sidewalk and shimmy down the bank for an eyeful of our creek from a different point of view. And there, some fifteen feet below the level at which we pass our days, focused too heavily on where we’re going and whether or not we’ll be late, I spied a gorgeous four foot heron picking her long-legged way towards us.

Hang on Sweet Nature. You give me hope.