In The Garden

Betty Adcock (1938-present)

One of the biggest struggles of being a homeschooling family in the country is finding other homeschoolers like you to spend time with. However, over the past few years, God has blessed us with a small group of friends that we really enjoy spending time with. One of the things that we do with out friends is Fine Arts Co-Op. A co-op is basically a group of people that meet at regular intervals (we meet every other Friday) and learn different subjects together. Our co-op is dedicated to the study of the fine arts (artist study, folk songs, poetry appreciation, nature study, and Shakespeare). Other co-ops study different things, but these are the subjects that we focus on.

I love all of the fine arts, and poetry is one of my favorite. Right now, we are studying the poet Betty Adcock. Betty Adcock, member of the Guggenheim Fellowship, was born in 1938, in Southeast Texas. She holds no degree, even though she attended three colleges, and she is the author of six poetry collections. Three of her most famous poetry collections are Nettles, Beholdings, and Slantwise. She has won several poetry awards, including two Pushcart Prizes, a Guggenheim Fellowship award, the North Carolina Award for Literature and the Sam Ragan award in Fine Arts. You can access her website here.  

One of our homework assignments was to write a poem in the style of Betty Adcock's poem Front Porch. We had to write it about a special place that meant something important to us. I chose the garden, a place that I have spent much of my time in ever since moving to Mineola. The garden is a beautiful, living place that brings us all together, and I really enjoyed writing about it.

In The Garden

This is the smell of plants,

a delicious, fresh, odor.

Tomato-laden branches droop.

Water amalgamates on the shiny eggplant,

and the smooth backs of bell peppers

shine in the sunlight.

 

For years this place has stood,

growing richer and fuller each season

as the fertilizer of leaves and humus enrich it.

It is a giving place- no one leaves empty-handed.

The vines of the squash shade the fruit

until you come to take it.

It gives its fruit, but also gives us shade.

It gives you responsibility- something to work for

even when you don’t want it.

As time goes on, the tomatoes grow ripe,

and rot on the branch, till they grow yellow again,

this time speckled with yellow and brown.

But next year, they will come again,

we’ll sow the same old plants, and some new ones,

and feel the finiteness of life. 

*All of these pictures were taken by me in our garden.*