Physics [a love poem]

Taut hands extend slowly
finding you smooth, slightly oiled, and receptive

We conform softly,
sharing shapes
spread together

I am a sensuous force
the response is beautifully, thinly, outward

My direction fades
and the dance ends quickly

You are overpowering me.

We disintegrate in the heat
no longer a contrast

In no time, I succumb to frustration
my patience mixed in granules coating my fingers
now dry and crumbly, raw and yet burnt

I howl in my furious belligerence: Again!
My wife chides me for this:
I try pasta or pastry or pie
and am perpetually bested

Olympic Spirit

They only come 'round every four years, but at the first hint of their arrival you start to catch familiar scents. It's the aroma of grit, the wafting fumes of narrative, and the pungent blast of underdog. The games are as much individual tenacity as they are sport, equal parts regimen and recklessness. The heat of the summer and the sizzle of the global spirit are infectious. In response, the garden is flexing its muscles.

From left to right: The green bean stalks are kicking it in down the stretch, while the cucumbers are giving a steady performance; the tomatoes are just warming up, and the red lettuce has concluded its run in prolific style.

We'll keep you posted as the events unfold.

Just Below the Surface.

Three nights ago I dreamed about running. It's not my first dream on the subject, but the timing and features of the dream seem worthy of examination.

I've been out of my shoes for 10 days now in an attempt to heal some tendinitis that developed in my left knee. Tendinitis is an interesting affliction, I've realized, because it mainly nagged at me when I wasn't active. Sitting in the car, on the couch, or standing for longer periods of time often led to aching and tenderness. At the time it developed, I was blending bikram yoga with some of my run training, so when the pain became persistent, I halted the extreme stretching and hoped things would resolve. Since movement didn't make things worse, I continued to run.

I bumped my mileage, varied the terrain, and killed my speed work. I even raced a 5-miler on the July 4, posting a personal record at that distance and performing well.

In developing dialog with my physical therapist, we finally pinpointed the issue. A thin racing schedule in these summer months, paired with a steadfast desire to push strong through my favorite races in the late summer and fall, helped convince me to work on healing.

Not running isn't something I've worked into my training regimen, obviously. And while I love the act of running and the peace and enjoyment it provides, I fret mostly about missing the workouts and losing my base. The gym membership expired, and with it an elliptical to supplement the cardio work. Cycling seems a nice way to cross-train, but the time and distance needed to offset efficiency of running is actually more of a chore than a blessing. It's easier on the body, but it just doesn't appeal to me in the way that it should.

Oh, and I detest swimming. It's ironic, then that I'd find the antidote to rehab anxiety in a foam belt. Every day for the last ten days, a close mate--dealing with his own tendinitis (achilles)--and I strap up our jog belts and head for the pool in his apartment complex. Once there, we bob about in the deep end of the pool, jogging along like astronauts at zero gravity. We're decked out in our running hats and glasses, and he dons his inflatable booties to aid his stability. Together, we're conquering tendinitis, laughing off summer heat waves, and burning comparable calories. Our heart rates are higher, our arms are sore, and we're evening building in speed and tempo exertion to keep ourselves sharp.

Will any of this translate once we get back on the road? Perhaps. But the point is we'll get back on the road. Maybe then, my dreams about running won't seem so noteworthy.

Down on the Farm

The ball rolls a bit slowly in the landscaping department over here. But after a 2011 trip through the farm-friendly lands of the East on which I set about re-envisioning our backyard as a pseudo farm, I'm finally proud to announce the existence of an expanded, productive garden.

On a plan ride back from New Hampshire, I spent a considerable amount of time mulling over elements of my living and eating that I felt needed more personal investment. Despite having some moderate success with tomato and zucchini varietals, I came to realize that I possess an allergy to any kind of substantial yard toiling.

But if the yard can change, so can I, I resolved. The first step was to eliminate the restrictions imposed by a lawn that lapped up all available sunlight. It didn't take much to convince Dr. Z and the in-laws that we didn't need any grass, and once that became clear, my father offered to collaborate with me on building and installing raised beds as a birthday present.

I'm proud to say, nearly a year later, things are happening. Here's a visual rundown of the evolving cropland.

Moderate Bed: Two new tomato plants from Capital Nursery.

A vine of purple Cherokee burpees in the foreground, and a plant of grape cherry tomatoes behind it.

Here they come!

Large Bed: This little guy is a huge surprise. He was the butt of a number of jokes from family and friends. He was born in a Greek yogurt cup. Once he got outside, it took him a while to figure out what to do with the world. Maturity seems to be setting in, finally, though fruit itself remains a question.

"Sweet 100s" cherry tomatoes, started from seed in the kitchen, finally back from the brink.

Halved Wine Barrel: Mint and basil plants, both transplanted from supermarket starters. I was pretty heavy into watermelon and mint salads, but that desire has plateaued. Now, I can't find a way to incorporate the leaves much. I feel guilty, because I hover and pick at the barrel almost nightly--I can't keep my hands off the basil!

Other herb-from-seed plans failed here, so I improvised.

Large Bed: We expressed an interest in potatoes, and our friends Chris and Chelsea were happy to oblige. There are two kinds in the ground here, and we're told they're staying busy underground despite the size and color of the plant. Chris humorously showed us how, come harvest time, gathering your potato crop is like finding big clumps of dirty gold. Can't wait!

Scraps from the Britton Acres, these are red and yellow potatoes, making a go of it in a crowded bed.

Large Bed: Last year I learned the zucchini lesson. I'm told it's something everybody learns at least once. Namely, it's the realization that zucchinis grow like mad and that, after awhile, you run out of things to do with them. Now, I did my best to stay strong on the utilization aspect of that lesson, but heading into planting season this year, I dialed it way, way back. This year we only have two plants. I note that everyone else is harvesting their squash as I type this, but I'm still content to wait and watch.

Yellow squash from seed--giving lots of greenery, but no nubs thus far.

Narrow Bed: Last year, this little rectangle held some Zook/Petty compost and four summer squash plants. It produced an astoundingly impressive amount of food. This year, we kept it in the family by opting for three butternut squash plants. Our composting business is belly up, unfortunately, but these little guys don't seem to mind.

Butternut squash, from seed, is on the move.

Large Bed: I really wanted to go crazy with lettuce this year, but apparently I failed to convince the lettuce types to join in. From seed, only one little bugger decided to join the party. She's in good company with the green beans, and she's made some quality salad thus far. I hope all the corpses of the un-blossoming seedlings are taking note.

Red lettuce, the only lettuce varietal to sprout.

Large Bed: I forgot to insert little lattice squares after planting, so the green beans have taken over. I reward them by freeing them from the burdensome weight of so many beans. Seriously, every two or three days we're going from vine to plate. It's a perfect plant for a party of two!

Green beans, from seed, are continual producers.

Trees: When Dr. Z and I decided to plant trees back in the courting phase, we made choices that reflected our tastes, the climate, and our histories. We ended up with a white nectarine tree (foreground), and a grafted cherry tree (darker green leaves), both also from Capital. After a bit of research, we realized that the cherry tree would probably overtake the smaller, white nectarine tree, perhaps even one day leading to its removal. We also noted that we shouldn't expect any edible fruit from the nectarine tree for at least 5-10 years. Perhaps rightly so, the fruit tree seems to have taken offense to this. This is the second year we've harvested and eaten its fruit, and we're still waiting on the bees and the cherry gods to get crackin'.

The white nectarine tree, dwarfed by the grafted cherry monster on the right, is showing the garden how to make food.

Beds are for sleeping: Our menu now includes an "old vine" tomato special and a "sidewalk salad" option, for those interested in concrete culinary experiences. This cherry tomato plant emerged from the remnants of last year's plant (it sprouted in the location where the medium raised bed used to sit, formerly the only place that wasn't lawn receiving sunlight). Behind it, the lettuce growing through a crack in the driveway, is having the last laugh.

This cherry tomato plant grew from buried section of last year's root. Behind it, we have the Tupac Shakur-inspired red lettuce plant that grew from concrete.

We hope we can break bread with you as the days get shorter and the groceries start rolling in. Happy summer out there!