Madre

This is one of the four birdhouse gourds growing on our property. It hangs from a vine that tendrils up into the birch tree by our back door. Vines that blanket our yard. Vines from seeds five or more years old - I plucked them from a moldy Ziploc! My great uncle Ben had given them to me way back when I was finishing up at Naropa and starting life once again as a Southern gentleman. Back in Athens. Working on the psychiatric unit. I never could get gourds to grow - and I tried all the various methods. Here, now, in Iowa dirt, they have occurred. And may Mother Earth take care of the ones I love...