The Children

January 26, 2011

Hello friends,

“the Children”

If you’ve spent much time with me in the past year or so you would know this loose phrase in my vernacular. ‘the Children’ is basically an interchangeable singular/plural noun referring to creative, mental, emotional or physical offspring of mine. However, it’s not necessary for the subject/s to be “offspring” in the sense that they came from my womb, symbolic or otherwise. See, they may be derivative of their own birthplaces and have come into my life at random. Occasionally the term refers to friends, housemates, strangers never to be passed again … because, at the heart of the term is a sense of nurturing. The desire to nurture, the desire to care for and connect with an object or a person, a living animal or plant. An idea, even. A prayer. Either way – the main requirement is the feeling of connection and relation.

By this definition, just about everything can be referred to as the Children. Maybe it’s something feminine, maybe it’s something for a 23 year old female, maybe it’s an earth sign thing, maybe it’s from being raised in a primarily Matriarchal family, with a strong mother figure who came from another strong mother figure, etc… Who knows? I suppose the origin is not as important as the satisfaction one receives from identifying what would otherwise be ‘separate’ components of our world as newly baptized children. We’re mothers. Men, you can be too. Or perhaps someone can school me on what it means to be a Father. I really am in the dark on that one — but I’m always up for some sensible dualism, and love putting separates together. (I adore the rift; I adore the seams)

I will update this with photos later – but for now, I’m merrily marinating in mothering two very wonderful Children.

— the Children —

A 2 month old maybe-maybe-not-marijuana plant (cross your fingers that she’s a girl) who was conceived in a relatively miraculous fashion. There were no stars or mangers, but a hand of a god and a delicious fate plate served up to me (by means outside of my control, of course) gave me this Child.
Here’s the brief scoop: I’d been maybe-or-maybe-not on a fun run with marijuana (thanks to the wonder of city living and Delivery options .. strains and briefcases, vac-sealed and labeled for easy visual decision making) … so a few strains into this run, I’d rediscovered my taste for marijuana. Not just the juvenile “aww shit, let’s get STONEed!!L1.rh” — but the “Wow, this high is a body high and lasts ___ hours, and I peak at ___(timesomething) and seamlessly transition into sobriety around ____(timesomething)” .. I’m no sommelier so I won’t compare the pleasure-smoker’s notes with a wine-taster’s language as far as body and top notes and all that jangle, but there is a distinct hedonist joy one can have in the age old practice of ingesting plant material with fire and breath. Of course, it’s a very privileged pleasure. I recognize this. All the more reason not to take it for granted, you know?
At the risk of sounding like a yappy douche, I’ll bring it back to the story. So I’d had a lot of Weeds watching, and was rather embroiled in Nancy Botwin’s growing endeavor with Conrad. I was ensconced in the little details of their grow storyline that addressed simple botany. I go through phases and am mildly embarrassed but honest in admitting that many of my interests stem from video media that first affect me emotionally (can I see myself in the strong-female-hero-role? do her flaws make my heart break with compassion? does her strength make me sit up straighter?) — and later, effect my interests.

Brief examples:

So you see, I began turning to my old knowledgeable friend Google and poring over how-to-grow sites, watching timelapse videos of plants, scouring the online stores to compare grow equipment prices, learning about lumens and watts and ph testing and indoor-growing cycles. Did you know that you induce a growing season when you grow inside? The daylight-to-night-time ratio simulates seasonal daylight levels. So you begin separate from that natural light structure during dark damp germination, then move into the first seedling week or so, then on into vegetative state (the bulk of the grow time), rounding off into what would be autumn/harvest time — the Flowering phase …
Cool, huh? Anyway. Here’s where I got lucky/winked at by some god somewhere. After doing my light research and getting excited, I turned to purchasing seeds. This is where my minor dream melted back into reality. To purchase seeds online (my only option, really, ’cause who wants to request seeds from a distributor you barely know? bad etiquette!) I would have to spend about 300Euro to get a female guaranteed strain. Even the sales were expensive!! So that sent the whole idea back over to Morpheus for safekeeping in my subconcious in the Dream World. He was like, “Girl, I’ll hold this for now.”

As I’m packing a particularly virile and stony bowl of Green Viper and yapping all this to my roommate, I find a seed. Wait for it – a totally healthy looking seed! In my buds! These are quaaaality buds, super strains, ultra healthy and perfectly cultivated. No seeds. Ya know? But lo and behold, at the exact moment my lament is pouring from my lips, between my thumb and finger sat a little seed. The Child.
Long story short – I soaked her and found she was healthy enough to sink and hold water, I germinated her, began her growth, bought a light-timer for her daylight-nighttime-cycles, and moved forward. She’s had some trips and falls since then, considering my ultra novice level of grow experience, but it’s been the nicest thing to see her grow and grow. The girl. I’ve named her Dorus.

The other Child is the coonhound I’m fostering. A more complicated story, but less to tell. He was pulled from a shelter before being euthanized, down in Tennessee. The rescue I foster him for brought him up here in hopes of finding him a good home. He’s a little over 1 year old, and has some serious ticks and issues as far as anxiety/fear aggression go, but with a firm hand, a stable pack life, and a kind and loving Alpha such as myself, he’s already making serious strides. My hope with him is to get him on a solid feet and an acceptable, well-rounded attitude toward the world at large. He needs to go to a home in the country, I think. He should be getting tracking training and hunting or hiking with someone who has the time and car and land for it, and some acreage of his own to call home. His natural distrust would be great to protect a family’s farm and greater property — in the city, the sheer volume of strangers is too overwhelming for him, and even though he tries and listens to me, it’s not fair to him that there are just so many weirdos walking around all the time. He’s just trying to let us all know that there are a ton of people all over the place. I appreciate it, but I doubt it makes anyone else comfortable – considering his deep coonhound bark. Have you ever heard one? If not – imagine this: the purpose of the coonhound baying was generally to let you know he/she’d treed the animals.. So say you’re a mile away and running after his trail, and he’s way up ahead, holding it down at a big oak tree with the animal in it… you’d need a pretty deep timbre in a dog’s bark to be able to hear and find them as quickly as possible.

So speaking of – I have to get Flash (the coonhound, the Child) off to the park for his daily dog run play date. Then I’ve got to mix up some weekly fertilizer water for all the Children in our house. Some vacuuming will follow. These Children don’t take care of themselves, you know 🙂

Karen (and the Children!)


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