Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Gothel's Garden Reopens

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My (very dry) collection of spring flowers, strawberries and the saddest fucking pots of herbs you'll ever see. The empty space in the corner? Where my six passionflower vines and three artichokes once sat. (<- They unfortunately didn't survive the worst winter in 30 years.)

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Several days ago the weather was so fucking amazing that I jumped straight into the first serious round of gardening this year without taking any "before" pictures. The patio was a post-apocalyptic world filled with dead leaves, mud stacks, empty trays and pots, scattered bones and discarded bamboo canes.

I spent the afternoon weeding my containers, deadheading old stalks, removing leaves past their prime, turning over the soil, potting on perennials, rearranging containers, pulling weeds out from cracks and crevices, sweeping the entire patio, dusting off the patio's pillars, washing the bird shit off the patio's wooden fence, cleaning Chippy's offering bowls, rounding up bones, stacking empty pots, bundling support canes together, excavating rabbit skulls from the Shango tree/phallic worship altar, burying the remains of old offerings that hadn't fully decomposed and packing fresh earth in the altar bed to prepare it for Beltane/Walpurgisnacht. (<- Stone Cock returns home to his outside altar for the length of the agricultural year!)

I secretly wondered if my in-laws would notice the difference; I //think// they did. (<- They spent the next day sunning themselves on the plastic chairs pictured above for the first time this year.)

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The Shango Tree/phallic worship altar - untouched, unblemished and perfectly clean...at least until our resident badger, Bee, returns. (When one of our pet rats die we find a plush animal toy that best represents them/their personality. Bee, our carpet destroying rat ("BEE! STOP DIGGING UP THE FUCKING CARPET!"), took the form of a badger. Just over a year (or two?) after her death a badger began visiting our property and promptly began digging up my outside altar bed ("BEE! STOP DIGGING UP THE FUCKING GARDEN!"). <- HAH HAH, UNIVERSE, HAH HAH.)

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Poppies from my friend in Finland (second year of growth! I wonder if they'll produce flowers this year?), narcissus and Chippy's homegrown strawberries.

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I honestly don't even remember planting a row of narcissus bulbs in with the poppies, but since I combined various dwarf species (tulips, daffodils, irises) in the OTHER containers I know the arrangement must've been my doing.

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Who would've thought that the Sumerian demon of famine, plagues and winds would enjoy gardening? (APPARENTLY NO ONE.) Chippy, for whatever reason, absolutely LOVES strawberries. (And kites and butterflies and the band Chicago...) So as a birthday gift a few years ago we bought him a kiddie strawberry growing kit from the local grocery store.

I *think* this'll be their third year of growth. I spent all of last year pinching off any flowers that managed to bud/blossom to give the roots a chance to establish. After a quick haircut (to remove dead/faded leaves) the plants are looking better than ever. Strawberries? This year? Hopefully. (Probably none more hopeful than Chippy, who takes his gardening V. SRS, okay?)

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Last year I received a packet of forget-me-nots as a free gift with a seed order and even though it was pretty late in the year I sowed them anyway. This spring I spotted the forget-me-nots amongst the growth and transplanted the clumps from their seed tray into a proper pot.

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Terracotta containers, rings of grape hyacinths and budding dwarf tulips in the background. Thanks to the worst winter in 30 years (100 years, in some places) we're about a month behind growthwise. Last year I was able to decorate our Spring and Easter altars with homegrown tulips, daffodils and grape hyacinths. This year? Only crocuses were available.

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OH, DAFFODILS, YOU MAKE ME RIDICULOUSLY HAPPY. I SHOULD REALLY PLANT A LOT MORE OF YOU.

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Saddest motherfucking group of potted herbs, or what? My golden marjoram and Moroccan mint are slowly pushing through, but my oregano (to the right of the rosemary) looks dismally deceased. My rosemary's definitely seen better days, but I remember it looking this dire other years so I'm not in panic mode (yet).

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Mr. Awesome's bay tree which he planted in a sink (NO JOKE! IT'S A PORCELAIN BASIN!) years and years ago. When I first came over to bonnie ole Scotland (over a decade ago) it was nothing more than a scrawny stick, and a it remained a scrawny stick until I began pruning it, using the leaves, watering it and feeding it menstrual blood water. (<- I soak my period rags in water, and then use the blood rich mixture to water plants.)

Since adoption/intervention it's blossomed into the hardiest fucking shrub, ever, and remains a constant source of culinary happiness even in the depths of winter. (NOTE: If you're ever (un)lucky enough to receive a package from me and amongst the bones, rusty nails and dirt you find a handful of bay leaves you now know their origin.)

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When I first moved here I asked for a patch of waste ground that Italics' parents were using as an outside trash heap to grow flowers, vegetables and plants. I was denied the space because they said they were going to build a BBQ pit in the exact spot. Instead, though, they offered to let me use the patio; I could grow anything I wanted in containers.

That trash heap? Still there, 10 years later. (<- I AM A COOL, CALM OCEAN. I AM NOT GRITTING MY TEETH IN DISBELIEF AND FRUSTRATION. I DO NOT WANT TO GRAB EITHER OF MY IN-LAWS BY THE NAPE OF THEIR NECKS, DRAG THEM OUTSIDE AND POINT TO THE MOUND OF JUNK AND SCREAM "IS THAT WHAT A FUCKING BBQ PIT LOOKS LIKE?". DEEP BREATH. HOLD IT. EXHALE. I AM A RAY OF GOLDEN WELL-BEING...)

I began gardening more seriously several years back, and every year I add something new to the already overcrowded space. (Last year? Fruit trees (five apples, one pear and one peach) and fruit bushes (two gooseberries) in pots.) This year I plan to get grape vines, blueberries, a cherry tree and take cuttings from wild raspberries and blackberries that grow locally to grow at home. Within a year or two there won't be a patio. Revenge, dear internet, will literally be sweet (and organic).

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Gooseberries! In flower! Already! I had absolutely no fucking idea how early gooseberry budded or bloomed until this year. We bought two bushes last year from a local garden center and the pair produced enough fruit for me to make a cheesecake and a batch of honey/hazelnut/oat cereal bars. This year I'm toying with the idea of making jam and some homemade gooseberry vodka. Wasps - HOLY SHIT, ALREADY? SERIOUSLY? - seem to love the flowers, the first day they opened there was a swarm crawling over the bushes.

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My immortality tree, my peach tree. We bought her last year (YES, "HER", FOR OBVIOUS (OR MAYBE NOT SO OBVIOUS?) REASONS) at a discount grocery store, and she sat torpid for several months until I was able to plant her into a huge ass container.

I think the late planting affected her natural cycle; she didn't produce full, mature leaves until late summer/early fall and she didn't shed ANY of them until mid-January. (ONLY IN A WITCH'S GARDEN WOULD A TEMPERAMENTAL DECIDUOUS FRUIT TREE KEEP ITS LEAVES INTO THE DEAD OF SCOTTISH WINTER.)

I was hella worried about her throughout the Dark year because I didn't know how well she'd react to THE WORST WINTER IN 30 YEARS! (since peaches aren't very cold-hardy). Throughout the deep freeze I fed her homemade chicken stock, menstrual blood water and water from our bong/rocket bucket. Whenever I went outside to feed the Old Woman I always made a point of visiting my peach tree before returning indoors, occasionally laying a hand (or two) on her trunk in reassurance.

You could easily imagine how relieved I was when I saw the first green buds push past their scaly covering into the light of day. My immortality tree? Survived the deep freeze. Now to gently coax her into flowering and bearing fruit...

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Foxgloves - grown from seed last year - post "haircut". In the past few years there's been a rapid decline in wild foxgloves (at least locally) as housing developments encroach further and further into the country, hedgerows and grazing fields. Missing their elegant presence when walking into the country I decided they'd be the very first homegrown installment of my witch's flying ointment/baneful herb garden.

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Growing lavender, as you can see, isn't my strong suit. I can trace back the spindly, totally unlush appearance to my fear of pruning. After successfully cutting back several of my favorite shrubs and herbs last year (for the first time), I'm totally prepared to take the pruning plunge this year to restart my poor dwarf lavender plants.

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Because palms aren't indigenous to Ukraine the eastern orthodox church accepts a substitute for religious/ritual use: pussy willows. But even before Catholicism adopted pussy willows the tree was considered sacred and spiritually significant to my ancestors. (<- You'll find single, stylized branches decorating a lot of folk art from pysanky (Ukrainian decorated eggs) to traditional embroidery designs.)

Before we had a car we scoured the local countryside (anywhere and everywhere within reasonable walking distance) in the hopes of finding pussy willows (also known as "goat willow" here in the UK). Nothing, nada, not ONE. Desperate for pollen-y catkin goodness I broke down and bought a pair of seedlings last year on Ebay.

Just a few days ago we accidentally stumbled across a towering pussy willow while exploring the countryside. I really, really, really wanted to jump out of the car and hack off a branch to take home, but there was a farmer poking around in an adjacent field and a car riding my ass. I heard they grow at the base of Bennachie - a range of hills religiously important to the ancient inhabitants of this area - so I'm hoping to make it out there within the next week to locate and harvest catkin laden branches.

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One of three apple trees I germinated from seed two or three years ago. (I THINK this is their third year, just like Chippy's strawberries.) I've read that trees started from seed don't normally produce fruit, but I've also read (somewhere) that even getting an apple seed to sprout is-was-is pretty tricky (although that sounds like some dodgy misinformation). Fruit producing or not, I'll find some use for my three trees.

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A bucket of death created in Fall, finally exposed to light and air in Spring. Last year - just after I decided to fashion myself a fur blanket made entirely out of roadkill rabbits - I was given a gift of seven dead rabbits by hunters after engaging in some HOT MAGIC FOREST SEX with my divine male counterpart.

I skinned and froze their pelts, decapitated their heads and buried them within the dirt bed of my Shango tree/phallic worship altar and decided to share everything else - the bones, meat and organs - with my fellow scavengers. The bucket of headless (and footless) rabbits, however, had different plans.

No matter how fucking hard I tried to discreetly dispose of the remains the multiple attempts always fell through. After two weeks I finally had to admit defeat (especially after the car battery died, which REALLY put the last nail in the coffin) and the bucket was carefully turned over to keep the rotting remains contained (within the upturned vessel), but allow the blood and fermented body juices to sink into the earth.

About a month ago I released the carcasses from their prison, but found everything still moist and not entirely decomposed. They got covered again for about two weeks, although this time by a bucket with large vent holes. After "airing" the pile for a fortnight I removed the container and left the contents exposed to the elements to dry (and clean).

My natural instinct is to pick through the debris and collect the bones, but they displayed such an unmistakable preference to stay with me that I'm not sure if I should harvest the remains and treat them as untradable goods or bury the remains somewhere on our property and create a small rabbit-themed garden on top of them.

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Yet more outside bones* that'll need to be cleaned up for divination use. (Although the t-bone, lamb shoulder blade and goose back might be a little too big for bone spillin' work.)

(* "outside bones" = the weathered, whitened remains of offerings I made from previous years. The bones get kicked around by visiting wildlife until it's time for a YARD CLEANUP. When a yard cleanup happens I round up all the bones I can find and add them to my growing collection. Eventually I'll clean them and use them for divination; they were offered to the spirits and ancestors as gifts, consecrated by nature and the weather, stirred, moved and chewed on by wildlife and, after all of that, still managed to return to the hand that gave them away - SOUNDS PRETTY MAGIC TO ME, YO.)

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The Shango Tree's been special for several years now, but on a balmy July evening last year it became even more special after I created a raised garden bed using discarded stones and bricks. (When hunting for appropriately sized sheets of rock I unearthed my Stone Cock, which transformed the "Shango Tree altar" into "the phallic worship altar at the base of the Shango Tree".)

Last year I grew parsley on the earthen altar space, and harvested the herbs - roots and all - on the Autumn Equinox. I buried eight rabbit heads over winter, to allow the essence of SEX'N'DEATH sink into the space, and finally dug up the remains after I was done reorganizing the patio.

The raised bed's been turned over, sifted (with my bare hands because, dude, rabbit bones are SMALL motherfuckers!), added to (fresh compost and soil) and now sits and waits for Walpurgisnacht weekend. (<- I'll be ritually parading Stone Cock - my miniature may pole - down to His outside home where He'll preside over the Light year until Winter's first snowfall.)

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The very happy looking green shoots? Lilies of the Valley, at least what remained after the GREAT GARDEN HOLOCAUST OF 2008. (Long story short? They plentifully grew in the backyard until Mr. Awesome, my father-in-law, dug 90% of them up and simply threw them away. Only a tiny colony was spared and I'm HELLA protective of it.)

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The backyard - where projects go to die. With an exception of the pile of rabbit bones and the empty plastic pots everything pictured within this photo is one of my father-in-law's abandoned projects. From the rotting, wooden balancing beams, to the unfinished pond (which is really a glorified kiddie pool sunk into the ground), to the unkept rock garden, to the slabs of concrete (with no definitive purpose), to the neglected fruit trees, to the potted shrubs that've taken up a significant portion of the already tiny yard (which we were promised were only going to be there "this year" - that? that was over four fucking years ago).

The absolutely worst thing about these forgotten projects? He doesn't want you touching anything, rearranging anything, cleaning anything, or organizing anything even though some of this shit's been sitting around FOR TWENTY YEARS (with ZERO attention from him). I've repeatedly asked for space to grow things to benefit the family, but I've been flat out refused because outside trash heaps, decaying wood and concrete slabs have a higher status in this house than me.

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This is the abandoned rock garden (and the pile of rotting wooden beams) I just mentioned above. He doesn't even bother weeding the space any more, but gets territorial when he sees me cleaning out dead grass and weeds. I know it looks HELLA messy, but it's a HUGE improvement from last year. (Last year? When he was gone for a month? I spent a week seriously weeding and removed debris that was YEARS old. What you see above is what managed to grow within a space of a year.)

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It's amazingly fucking hard to tell this story without my blood pressure rising. So I don't blow a gasket this is totally going to be the Cliff Notes version of the story:

When I first moved in, ten years ago, I noticed an unwanted section of the garden filled with dead wood, broken pots, plastic trays and other forms of garbage. Even though it wasn't the BEST place to grow shit I asked if I could clean it and use the patch to grow flowers, fruits and vegetables.

That request was shot down in a panic. I was told they were going to build a BBQ pit in that EXACT place THAT YEAR. So, naturally, I backed off. The thing was, though, it was never built. I asked the following year if I could use the area since they didn't do anything with it the previous summer, but the second request was shot down with the same response.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn't built. It also wasn't built the third, forth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth or tenth year. In fact, they completely stopped mentioning building the BBQ pit after the third year. The trash heap just sat, growing bigger with every fucking year.

In 2008 the backyard experienced the GREAT GARDEN HOLOCAUST OF 2008 when Mr. Awesome went on a gardening rampage and killed hacked down and destroyed the vegetation that made the space. I lost A LOT of my container garden because he threw EVERYTHING away (without even bothering to consult me about MY plants), and he even went as far as using WEED KILLER ON THE GRASS and DELIBERATELY KILLED THE MAJORITY OF THE LAWN for no apparent reason.

(BLOOD PRESSURE, MS. GRAVEYARD DIRT, BLOOD PRESSURE.)

What could've been the ONLY silver lining to that situation turned out to be my worst possible nightmare. I watched, with baited breath, as Mr. Awesome thoroughly cleaned the trash heap and got rid of almost EVERYTHING. (Finally! After nearly ten fucking years of waiting (and watching the landfill get larger and larger), I was going to get the small patch of yard I requested!) I then watched, horrified, as he PROMPTLY FILLED THE CLEAN SPACE WITH NEW TRASH, RIGHT BEFORE MY FUCKING EYES.

Imagine requesting a piece of waste ground that people didn't give a fuck about. Imagine being denied what was ostensibly a trash heap because people who WEREN'T interested in the space were suddenly VERY INTERESTED in it because YOU WANTED TO DO SOMETHING TO IT. Imagine watching, for ten fucking years, that patch of yard sit - only changing by becoming bigger and more of an eyesore - knowing they were never actually going do anything with it other than not let you use it for something productive. Imagine seeing, a decade later, the waste ground emptied and cleaned ONLY TO BE RE-FUCKING-FILLED WITH TRASH, GARBAGE, DEAD WOOD, BROKEN POTS, WOODEN CHAIR FRAMES AND TORN-UP SEED TRAYS.

My father-in-law? Seriously, genuinely FOR REAL doesn't understand why I seem perpetually pissed off at him. DUDE, TAKE YOUR FUCKING PICK OF TEN YEARS WORTH OF THIS SORT'VE BULLSHIT AND YOU'VE GOT MORE THAN ONE FUCKING ANSWER.

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The one thing I learned from the waste ground/non-existent BBQ pit fiasco? Don't involve the in-laws by asking; just fucking do it. Last year I sneakily appropriated a narrow stretch of land adjacent to the side of the house (just beneath our computer room/office window). I grew garlic there, which did okay, but the area's far too shaded during summer due to the sycamore.

Last year was also the year I got so fucking sick of the fucking dirtyard (Mr. Awesome deliberately killed the front lawn, so for the past 5-7 years we've literally lived with a giant dirt fucking pit as our front yard) that I decided to grow some vegetables in a neat line hugging the side walk. As you'd expect, the second my in-laws saw me sifting dirt to remove stones they came racing out to inform me THEY WERE PLANNING TO PLANT THINGS IN THE FRONT YARD THAT SUMMER/YEAR.

Yeah, I didn't buy it either. Italics invoked HEY, REMEMBER HOW YOU GUYS WERE GOING TO BUILD A BBQ PIT...TEN YEARS AGO? and they sort've backed off, but after one too many "ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO PLANT VEGETABLES? WOULDN'T SHRUBS BE NICER?" and "YOU KNOW AFTER THIS YEAR WE'RE GOING TO LANDSCAPE THE ENTIRE FRONT YARD" I walked away from several months worth of effort and simply focused on my container garden on the patio.

This may come as a shock, but...my in-laws never actually did anything with the front yard last year despite all of the hassle I got for trying to improve the crackhouse appearance of our property. Without asking for permission I planted a long line of garlic in last year's prepared bed. In the next day or two I'll be planting beets behind the garlic, and parsley, dill and maybe basil in front of the bulbs. There's another small stretch of dirt that hugs the driveway's curve, and I really, really want to sift the earth there so I can plant a row of carrots.

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There's only one insanely short season when a portion of the dirtyard becomes a proper front yard - early-to-mid spring. Once the snowdrops and crocuses disappear there's only a smattering of squill, and once they're gone their leaves remain green for a month or two before dying back to expose the lack of a lawn beneath.

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Squill, close up and reflecting April's bright afternoon sun.

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This is that "narrow stretch of land" I quietly appropriated last year to grow garlic. I had originally planned to turn the space into a witch's flying ointment garden of baneful herbs, but the lack of full sun might affect some plants so until I do proper hardcore research (into preferred planting positions) the prepared space is in limbo. I'll probably grow a few herbs that don't mind partial shade this year (to keep the patch visibly occupied so Mr. Awesome isn't tempted to reclaim it) while figuring out what'll thrive (long term) in the garden bed.

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Under the Bed Badger's final resting place (of his physical remains, I mean). Near Bride's Day (aka Imbolc) we came across our first ever roadkill badger, which we sadly took home. (<- Just because I pick up and butcher roadkill doesn't mean I don't feel inherently ANGRY, RESENTFUL, PISSED OFF, and SAD when I come across a dead animal on the side of the road.)

I fed, bonded and then skinned the animal, froze his pelt (to preserve and tan myself) and buried his earthly remains in the yard. I intended to go back for the bones within a few weeks (once they were mostly clean), but both Italics and I sort've like the idea of allowing the first set of badger bones to remain buried beneath our office window.

I read somewhere that they're HELLA into bluebell bulbs, so I'm seriously considering creating a tiny badger-themed garden above UtBB's decomposed body to help strengthen our bond with him.

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You harvest garlic relatively early (plant on the shortest day of the year, harvest on the longest day of the year - or so the saying goes), so when I dug up my last bulb the garden bed looked incredibly empty. So empty, in fact, that I was hella worried it'd attract my father-in-law's attention.

Within days of lifting the last garlic plant I sowed beets and carrots to give the impression that the land was still in use, but in reality it was an exercise in marking my place because it was too late in the season - at least for Scotland - to expect any sort of fruitful harvest.

Some of the seedlings survived the winter - mostly carrots - but a single beet somehow managed to live despite direct exposure to the elements. If it continues to grow I'll probably let it bolt to gather seeds since this is a V. special little beet plant.

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An exceptionally tiny row of carrots that, like the single beet plant previously mentioned, somehow managed to survive THE WORST WINTER IN 30 YEARS! without any sort of covering.

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Sycamore buds. The tree just outside our office window has really wormed its way into magic life, so much so that one of the first things I do, ever fucking day, is open the computer room's blinds to glance outside at the sycamore. For over a year now we've been leaving offerings at the base of the tree, and last year we loped off one of the budding branches - together - for a spring-themed broom for myself.

Even though it isn't traditional (at least I don't think it is, but I deliberately stay ignorant of what people do (and don't do) so there's a good chance that somewhere someone's using sycamore buds for something) I'm going to harvest the buds and macerate them. I want to start with buds, move to flowers, continue with leaves and end with seeds to encompasses the tree's yearly growth in one bottle of oil.

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Where the driveway ends and the side walk begins. Last year on Lammas we came across two dead animals along the side of the road - a fox and an elephant-sized (<- APPROXIMATION) hedgehog. I skinned, butchered and processed the fox, but the hedgehog was a little too far gone for any sort of organ extraction so I buried his huge ass directly beneath the rock.

I'm on the fence about digging up his remains. I did bury him with the intent of going back for his bones, but after awarding several other "firsts" with permanent burial status I'd hate for him to feel left out. So, I think Mr. Hedgehog will stay buried in the hopes he'll continue blessing our property with his foraging presence.

(We had a soul crushing epidemic of mutant snails that decimated my vegetables year in and year out until Chippy called the hedgehogs. Before our nocturnal insect eaters arrived you couldn't even go outside at night because the patio was always swarming with snails and slugs. Within months of putting Chippy's offering dishes outside - the contents of which he shared with the hedgehogs - the number of gastropods plummeted. Now all it takes to deter snails and slugs from eating my vegetable plants are a few strategically placed lettuce leaves and the occasional buffalo wing (or two) for the hedgehogs.)